#will this be the year I actually learn something about shading? Doubtful if I keep pushing things till after midnight

[authorautumnbanks]

One Night (27)

There is nothing worse than having to spend part of his free time at the Zenin compound. Satoru cuts the engine and gets out of the car. There is nothing warm about the Zenin compound. It may as well be a prison. He opens the back door for Shippo and places him on his shoulders. Like Satoru, Shippo is dressed in white training pants and a black shirt. While he doubts the Zenins will try anything because, as a whole, they are weak compared to him. Even if they all teamed up, he could kick their ass with one hand, and he's not above sending a message.

Satoru will retaliate if they push him enough. Clan war or not. Maybe it's because he has a family of his own now or maybe it's because he's tiring of these would-be assassins targeting his family. Either way it's safe to say, he is busting at the chance to knock some heads.

Okay, fine, it's also because of the way Kagome looks at him when he comes home with a little bit of blood on him. He was curious to see how she would react. Satoru inhales, breathing in the crisp air. He's ready to head back home.

If Suguru were here, he'd tease him about how much of a family man he's become. Satoru frowns. It'll be a year since Suguru's death in just a little over a month.

"Thanks for coming with me," Megumi says, shutting the door. He's dressed in an oversized black sweater and jeans.

"Did Naobito say why he wanted to meet today?" Satoru leads the way, with Megumi following behind. How annoying—not coming with Megumi, but that the Zenins would insist on meeting with Megumi today of all days. It's Koushi's 100-day celebration and a celebration for Shippo, since the other Gojo members haven't seen them in person.

"No, he just said it was urgent and that it couldn't be discussed over the phone." Megumi huffs. "I don't think it's a trap."

"You have the ten shadows. They wouldn't try to harm you." While the Zenins may not try to harm Megumi physically, they could be up to something else. Satoru blows out a breath. Naoya is somewhere nearby and the urge to kick his ass again just because is almost overpowering. "After this, we're going to head back to the house and get ready for the party." Tsumiki should be on her way to the house. Even though she isn't a sorcerer, Kagome insisted that Tsumiki should be invited to the party.

"Okay, but how is everyone supposed to travel in the car? It isn't big enough."

"I'll just teleport the car with everyone in it, so either you or Tsumiki can hold Shippo in your lap. Kagome will want to hold Koushi to keep him from assisting," he replies with a smile on his face. Koushi is something else. He wonders if the next kid will be as inquisitive as Koushi or if they will be as rambunctious as Shippo.

Shippo taps the top of his head.

"What is it?"

"Is there anything about these people I should know about? Picking up on some murder vibes."

Murder vibes? Is Shippo more sensitive to those things because he's a demon? He tries to think back on what he knows about demons, but most of it is just folklore and is probably exaggerated. And while he could ask Shippo, he is quickly learning that nothing is free when it comes to Shippo.

Satoru rolls his eyes behind his shades. "Probably Naoya. He's still pissed because I kicked his ass for hitting on your mom. He must have begged for Shoko to heal him since he's up and running so soon." Speaking of Naoya, the annoying sorcerer, is the first one to greet them.

"Gojo-san," Naoya greets. The overtly sweet tone is nauseating. "Megumi-kun, what brings you here?" Naoya smiles, but the grin falters when his eyes land on Shippo.

"Shippo, this is Zenin Naoya," Satoru says. "And this is my oldest son, though I'm sure you already knew that."

"... Yes, I have heard all about your sons." Naoya forces the smile back on his face.

"So, this is the peon that was hitting on my mom?" Shippo chuckles. "You actually thought she would go for someone like you?"

Megumi coughs, but there is no disguising the surprised laughter. For his part, Satoru keeps his face blank, not because he's upset with Shippo, but more so because he wants to see how Naoya will react.

"That was in the past," Naoya says stiffly. "Your mother is a loyal woman, and I merely misunderstood the... situation."

"So, you're just an idiot?" Shippo sighs. "Big brother, I'm so happy you don't have the Zenin last name."

"Where is Naobito-san?" Megumi asks, stepping to Satoru's side. "He asked me to come here. Said it was urgent."

Naoya scowls at Shippo for a moment and then turns his attention to Megumi. "Oh, Father is probably wanting to discuss the succession. It's like Shippo-kun said, you don't have the Zenin last name, so I'm sure this is simply a formality to let you know you won't be next in line." He shrugs and then turns. "But you didn't hear it from me."

Satoru bites back the snort. Megumi doesn't want to be the clan leader to the Zenins, which is why he put that stipulation in when he negotiated to have guardianship over Megumi.

"Your sons are just like you, Gojo-san," Naoya says as he leads them down the long, bare hall. "Strong personalities."

"Maybe one day you'll have kids as weak as you," Satoru says.

Naoya clenches his fists at his sides.

Satoru ignores Megumi's stare. He's positive that Megumi can put two and two together. It's probably a bit strange to Megumi to see Satoru and Naoya being so hostile to one another when just months ago, Naoya was worshipping the ground Satoru walked on.

"Just curious. Why did you think Mama would go for you?"

Naoya unclenches his fists. "As future clan leader, leader of the Hei, and as a special grade one sorcerer, any woman would be happy to have me as a prospect. I simply thought Gojo-san had discarded your mother after the birth of your brother. You were never mentioned until recently." He stops in front of the door and then turns. Naoya bows. "Apologies for misunderstanding the situation. It will not happen again."

Something about the way Naoya is bowing and the way he stresses the last part of his speech gives Satoru a bad vibe. Satoru is admittedly biased, but Kagome isn't someone you just get over and while Naoya only spoke a couple of words to her, the fact that Naoya even tracked her down is enough to tell Satoru that Naoya isn't backing down, but plotting something else.

Is it simply Naoya wants to recreate a Koushi for himself? He's heard about how the Kamos have been going around shrines lately. The Zenins are probably doing the same, but Naoya isn't as much as an idiot as the others. While Naoya's thinking was flawed in that Kagome was discarded, he wasn't wrong in assuming that it was Kagome who caused another six eyes user to be possible.

"Good," Shippo says. "Even if Papa died today—"

"Hey?"

"You still wouldn't be good enough for my mama."

"Shippo," Megumi says. "No one is trying to break up the family." He runs a hand over his hair and then scratches the back of his head. "Shippo is really protective of his mom... and his dad."

"Call him Papa too."

"Absolutely not."

"You called Mama, mama. What's the difference?"

"It just is!" Megumi turns his head. "Can we just get this meeting over with?" He steps forward and waits for Naoya to open the door. From the shadow, the cat shikigami leaps and lands on Megumi's right shoulder.

Now why did Megumi summon a shikigami? And why did he summon the one Kagome gave him?

Naoya does a double take at the sight of the shikigami and then steps to the side. Naobito rises from his position behind the desk. He grabs a bottle and takes a swing from it. "You came. Good. I knew you would bring Gojo-san with you. This won't take long, and it concerns you both." He walks around the desk and leans back against it. "Naoya, you can leave."

Concerns them both? Satoru holds up a finger, indicating for Shippo to remain silent. The kid has a mouth on him and while he doesn't mind him picking on Naoya, for a Zenin, Naobito isn't too bad. Once the door closes and Naoya's energy is further down the hall, Satoru motions for Naobito to speak.

"Is this about the Zenin successor?" Megumi cuts in.

"No. The succession does not include you... unless you wish to be considered."

"I do not."

Naobito frowns and then takes another swing from his bottle. "At any rate, you still have Zenin blood, and you have the family cursed technique." He sets the bottle behind him on the desk. "This is not a demand, but more of consideration. Gojo-san, should you have a daughter, I would like for her and Megumi to be wed. Should you not and you only have sons, then I would like for your oldest to be wed to Mai... and if their child is blessed with the ten shadows, I ask that it would be raised as a Zenin."

Satoru chuckles, the sound turning into outright vitriolic laughter as the annoyance and anger he's been keeping at bay surges with a dark heat that has Naobito sweating.

"You wasted our time for this?"

"It was merely a suggestion," Naobito says slowly, as though he is watching how every word spoken affects Satoru. "For the greater good of Jujutsu, it would be beneficial to have stronger young. For each family to have multiple members with their family technique would only benefit society."

The cat shikigami nuzzles the side of Megumi's face and lets out a purr so loud it could rival that of a motorcycle. Satoru stiffens. The cat is trying to calm him down as well, not just Megumi. It works a little, but the anger inside of him is too great for the growing shikigami. His nostrils flare as his jaw clenches. Today is Koushi's 100-day celebration, and it's a big day for Shippo as well. He doesn't want to overshadow their moment by wiping out the Zenin clan.

He really wants to burn this place to the ground.

"The Gojo clan does not participate in such outdated customs and for you to even fix your mouth to ask tells me just how far up your own ass you are." He takes a step closer to Megumi and places a hand on his head. "Anything concerning Megumi is to go through me. This conversation is over. I'll pretend the alcohol has poisoned your mind." He ruffles Megumi's hair and leads them out of the compound. Each step is harder than the last.

How dare they?

He's not one to get worked up, but this pure rage in his chest is growing and no amount of telling himself to calm down is helping.

"Papa, why was that man so desperate?"

"Because people like him are only concerned with power. They don't care about bettering society or raising up strong sorcerers to prevent needless deaths, but more to increase their influence. The Gojo clan and the Zenins do not get along. The Kamos are more neutral." He plucks Shippo from his shoulders and sets him down, right before opening the car door. "They see how strong you and your brother are, and I guess they want the same for their clan."

Shippo wrinkles his nose. "Good thing Mama wasn't here. She probably would have burned down the place accidentally. It's like demon courts then, but without the bloodshed."

Satoru pauses and tilts his head. "Demon courts?" He lowers his voice. They are still on Zenin property, after all.

"Yeah, but a lot of the marriage prospects were for keeping the peace or gathering intel." Shippo pats the seat next to him. "Big brother, don't you want to sit next to me? I was soooo scared. They tried to marry me off to a... how old is Mai?"

"Too old for you." Satoru closes the door and shakes his head. What the hell is he going to do when Shippo gets older? "Let's not tell Kagome about this." He starts the car and backs out.

"Why?" Megumi pats the cat shikigami, now resting in his lap. He ignores Shippo grumbling from the backseat. The cat shikigami continues to purr. Whatever it is doing is working somewhat. Seeing Kagome will help.

"I don't want her to get worked up. I'll tell her later, after the party."

"Can we come back sometime and play a trick on them?"

Satoru looks at Shippo through the rearview mirror. That's right, Shippo can turn them both invisible. He should say no and behave like a proper parent, but...

"Yes."

***

A/N: Naoya may not be invited to the party, but Shippo is still finding ways to troll him. During the 100-day celebration, there is no set time for the party to be held but it's supposed to be the 'first' meal. They are having the party in the afternoon/evening because they are also celebrating Shippo and Souta will be there as well (I almost forgot about him-okay I did forget about Souta lol).

There will be other POV chapters kind of like how we have them in How To Tame.

Next update will be The Christmas Wish and then Thousand Days.

It's snowing pretty heavily over here. Make sure to stay warm and safe. If you have to get out, make sure to buddle up and give yourself plenty of time to get where you need to go.

[bullet-prooflove]

Trust: Will Trent x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yezzyyae @words-and-seeds @trublu2u @cassiopeiablog @reneejett4

It takes three months for you to realise that Will is dyslexic.

At first you think he’s just a visual person. You’re no stranger to organising your thoughts about a case through coloured post its. Something about seeing them stuck to the wall in front of you like that helps you make connections. It’s worked like that for years.

Will, however, does it with everything. Rainbow shaded folders inside of case files, small stickers in different shapes on important documents, even the font and background on his computer screen are different from the standard black and white.

It isn’t until you accidently knock a pile of folders off his desk that you actually see it. The paperwork spills across the floor, the white pages intermingling and the expression on Will’s face…

That’s what tips you off, that and the fact his fingertips chase along the words at the top of the page, his eyes darting back and forth as he tries to read them. Your nephew used to do that, he said it was because the words moved around the page, he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia not long after.

Will hides it well. Some kids with dyslexia they learn to conceal it from an early age and with the glimpses you’ve gotten into Will’s history you can understand why. He’s developed a series of work arounds over the years, things to aid him with his job. The Dictaphone, forgetting his reading glasses so that you had to read important documents out loud, checking his watch before making a turn because he can’t decipher left from right.

It’s ingenious, and you imagine quite lonely.

You kneel down across from him, your hands coming to rest upon his, stilling his motions. He pauses, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the paperwork.

“Will.” You say quietly. “I know, I know that you’re dyslexic.”

His jaw tenses, he doesn’t speak. The silence it sits between you until you clear your throat.

“It’s not…” You begin before catching yourself. “You’re exceptionally clever.”

You’re referring to the fact he’s managed to keep it hidden for so long. You doubt that there’s anyone else in the GBI who knows about his condition, you can’t imagine the immense pressure of that, how isolated it must make him feel.

Will snorts in response to your comment, shifting into a sitting position instead of resting on his knees.

“You know what I had before dyslexia?” He asks you, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Stupid.”

“Will, you know that’s not true…”

“I’m basically a functioning illiterate.” He tells you.

“One that has a ninety four percent clearance rate.” You remind him as you sift through the sheets of paper in front of you, putting them back into order. “Who runs circles around any other agent in this place.”

“It doesn’t stop that feeling.” He confides in you, his back coming to rest against the wall. “To everyone else it’s as simple as breathing but to me…”

He shakes his head.

You stack the files back into a neat pile before take up residence alongside of him, your shoulder brushing against his. He can feel the heat of your body through your shirt and instead of pulling away he leans into it. He will never admit how reassuring he finds your presence, that just being around you makes his day just a little easier.

“Being dyslexic doesn’t make you stupid. It just means you see the world a little different” You tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I can’t do what you do. I can’t walk into a crime scene and see what you can, I can’t read it the way that you do. It’s not a weakness…”

“It’s not a strength either.” He remarks, tipping his head back against the wall.

“The point is we’re a team.” You say nudging his shoulder lightly. “It doesn’t change how well we work together. This partnership, it’s a good fit for the both of us right?”

Will inclines his head into a brief nod.

Truthfully he thinks it saved his life. Amanda must have seen how withdrawn he was becoming after Angie’s death, how he locked himself away and she decided to thrust you into his life. He’d hated you at first, you were too bright, too vibrant, too sunny but you grew on him, your warmth thawed something deep inside of him and now he can’t imagine his life without you in it.

“Cam…” he begins and you tilt your head towards him.

It’s those eyes that he gets lost in. Sometimes it feels like he’s drowning because he’s overwhelmed by the strength of his feelings for you. It was never like this with Angie, there was no fondness when she looked at him, no kindness. Just this void behind her eyes.

“Will…” You say softly, taking his hand in yours. “I’ve got your back, with this and everything else. You can trust me.”

There’s no doubt in his mind that his secret is safe with you, that he’s safe with you. It’s a new feeling for Will, one that he welcomes, because he’s never had that before.

“I do trust you, Cam.” He whispers, squeezing your hand. “I trust you with my life.”

Love Will? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[digishima]

Deuce Housewarden HCs

First HC is free, the rest is under the cut.

When Trey becomes a senior and can no longer act as Vice-Housewarden, who does Riddle choose to take over his position? Maybe not the smartest student, or the best behaved, but definitely the hardest worker. Deuce Spade.

Riddle has been tutoring Deuce personally since Azul’s stunt and he’s absolutely proud of how he’s steadily improving and dedicated to working, there’s no one else he considers for the role.

When he’s vice housewarden, Deuce brings up how he and many others struggle with remembering the long list of rules. He doesn’t want to abolish them entirely, but has a few ideas to assist the students.

Rules are posted in areas where relevant.

Can’t remember how to feed the flamingos? Well, now there’s a list of rules beside their enclosure, with a color swatch sheet that includes all the acceptable shades of pink to wear! Colorblind? The vice housewarden will help you find something to wear (and also help label all the other colors in your closet).

What are the dining rules? Well, they’re posted in the kitchen and dining area, along with a list of alternatives that can be used to substitute in cases of allergies and dietary restrictions. Strong aversion to lemon tea but you still want to respect the rules? Try an Arnold Palmer or have a lemon tea cake instead!

What rose colors for which occasion? They’re all listed at the gates to the garden along with diagrams that display which bushes to paint what color for each occasion.

Rule compliance skyrockets after they implement this, but Deuce isn’t entirely satisfied, so what does he do? He compiles an electronic document of all the rules and all the amendments and additions that he and Riddle planned and posts it for all the students to access electronically at any time they need.

He also fits everything into a little pocket sized book and offers them out to students who want them to keep on hand.

He is always referencing his own book, opens it every time he’s about to talk about the rules (he already has most of them memorized by this point, but he always doubts himself), lets students borrow it all the time if they ask about the rules.

How did he get these things done in such a short time? Well, because he made the document when he was a freshman. The first of the little pocket books was one he made for himself to keep on hand. He would talk to Riddle about ways to help others during their study sessions. It just wasn’t until he was made a vice that he actually started giving the assistance out to other struggling students.

He makes all the incoming freshmen a little care package to give out as they’re sorted into Heartslabyul. It’s got the book, but also a guide on caring for flamingos and hedgehogs, a box of tea, some cookies he learned to make from Trey, and some fresh roses from the garden.

Ace teases him relentlessly after the fact, but surprisingly never challenges Deuce’s authority when he makes statements as a Housewarden because he knows how hard the boy worked to get there.

Deuce keeps all his old notes and study guides and offers them freely to underclassmen who are struggling. He has an open door policy within reason.

But, Digi, I hear you saying, this is all vice housewarden stuff. This is labeled as Housewarden HCs.

Patience, child, I am getting there. 

It’s halfway through his second year when Deuce challenges Riddle. He uses protective magic to guard off Riddle’s Signature Spell and takes all the hits from his other spells until he’s able to take him down with his own Unique Magic.

But he respects the hell out of Riddle, so once he’s won, he confesses that he doesn’t want the housewarden position. Yet.

He knows how much being Housewarden is Riddle and explains.

“I still have a lot to learn about being a housewarden, so I want you to continue out the rest of your Junior year as the acting housewarden. I only challenged you to ensure I would be the one to take your place once you're gone.”

Riddle calls him oblivious, because he was already the only choice for the position, but managing to beat him was more than enough to cement it in his mind that Deuce was the correct choice.

Despite this agreement, they seem to slowly switch their roles, Deuce attends housewarden meetings with Riddle with more frequency until it becomes “Housewarden Rosehearts has requested that I attend in his place” more and more often. Riddle takes a backseat to all of the planning so Deuce can learn how to host the dorm’s parties.

Azul is so freaking confused because ‘Riddle?? You were my sophomore Housewarden buddy? Why have you abandoned me at these meetings and left me with your dumbass vice?’

Riddle essentially becomes the vice housewarden while keeping the title of Housewarden so Deuce can learn to do everything.

Deuce realizes what Riddle’s doing halfway through the second semester and confronts Riddle.

Riddle’s response? “You always say it takes you time to understand things, so I can’t just try to force all the information in a week or two. This way works better for both of us.”

Deuce is not able to disagree with him, but still insists that Riddle keep his title until the last possible moment.

Obviously Deuce chooses Ace as his vice. Ace grumbles about it but he can’t deny the fact that the two of them know the dorm and the rules better than the other students.

Riddle and Deuce both hammer the vice Housewarden duties into Ace's brain in a single week and he hates them for it.

He absolutely forces Ace to wear a fedora as part of his dorm uniform, and cackled for five minutes straight the first time he saw him actually wear it.

Deuce is such a reliable Housewarden and you cannot convince me otherwise.

He starts a choir for the students who enjoy singing solely for the purpose of always having a group of people willing to sing for the hedgehogs.

Keeps a list of permanent and temporary exceptions that his dormmates have for certain rules. Dietary restrictions, medical conditions, anything and everything. You don't even really need a reason other than "I really hate the color pink" and you are exempt from flamingo feeding, but now you have to pick up an extra task to make it fair to the other students.

He also implements a strike system for the people who break rules without asking for any kind of exemption.

It's a three strike system, but the number of strikes you get depends on how badly you fucked up. You're only gonna get one strike for staying out playing croquet until 7, but if you set a rose bush on fire because you decided to try and use magic instead of painting them by hand then it's two. You get 3 for doing something stupid and reckless like, I don't know, scorching a statue of the seven or breaking a magical chandelier.

But honestly who would even do something like that, right?

Ace also knows exactly how to redirect Deuce’s anger when he does lose his temper. Just because he’s gotten better doesn’t mean he’s no longer our impulsive dumbass.

Regularly recognizes when he can’t handle tutoring his underclassmen in certain subjects and arranges certain dates when the other dorms’ housewardens will host study groups in the library or other classrooms.

He’s the best at summoning magics though, don't @ me. 

“Help with potions? Sorry, I’m a little useless at that. But tomorrow Ep-Uh, Housewarden Felmier is holding a tutoring session in the alchemy lab for all students!”

“Huh? Jac–Housewarden Howl sent you over for advice with summoning? Okay! Let’s do this-Uh, go to the garden first. Indoors isn’t the best place to practice.”

Scarabia and Octavinelle feel so confused because of how close the other housewardens are with each other. They do not understand the trauma bond they all have.

He doesn't lose any challenges to his housewarden position, until a month before the end of his junior year when he intentionally loses to the student he wanted to become housewarden after him.

If he hadn't challenged him to the position, Deuce would have handed the reigns over around the same point in time

He works so hard to be a good student, let him be the housewarden!!!

[thechaoticdruid]

MEET THE PARENTS

Okay so I've had this same Astarion x Tav idea floating around in my head for a while and I'm so surprised I legit have not seen anyone write about it! It's basically the classic meet the parents scenario! Yes I know we never see Astarion's parents and probably never will, they could be dead for all we know, but they are elves, a very long lived race so it's very possible they could actually be alive! So basically I'm gonna start a little fun writing challenge and tag three of my favorite Astarion romancers.

@spacebarbarianweird , @vixstarria , @marcynomercy

(If none of you are actually interested in this I'm so sorry 😭 I just wanted to do a thing.)

The challenge is to write up headcanons of your Tav meeting Astarion's parents and vice versa. Doesn't matter if your character's parents are dead or MIA this is strictly a what if scenario. And if you'd be so kind please tag some Astarion x Tav writers you think would be interested in this challenge!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Astarion meeting Winnie's parents.

It definitely was not planned, Winnie literally had no idea her parents were even alive.

Her Gran had told her a long time ago they went missing off on an adventure after leaving their village and that they were very likely dead.

About 20 years later after their disappearance Winnie returns back to the ruins of the village she grew up in with Astarion accompanying her.

Astarion had actually insisted on venturing here in hopes of finding a lead on the drow wizard that plagued his beloved's nightmares.

The one who orchestrated the massacre of her village before kidnapping and experimenting on her.

There's nothing left but basically an unmarked graveyard. The amount of death and dark magic that seeped into the area has even brought some of the dead back from beyond the grave.

It is a horrifying turn of events for Winnie, actually seeing some of the people from her childhood roaming the land as lifeless corpses and then actually having to kill them herself this time.

Once the two of them were safe they took shelter in one of the old huts which just so happened to be Winnie's childhood home.

Astarion had to hold and comfort her as all the memories of her village's slaughter came flooding back.

At some point as they rested they noticed something watching them.

It was a wolf, with dark brown fur, eyes shining pink in the moonlight. A very peculiar shade indeed.

Peculiar but not unfamiliar as Winnie's own fuschia colored eyes stared back.

She just had to follow after the wolf and eventually it led her back to a small hut surrounded by some kind of dome-like barrier.

The wolf ended up shifting into the form of a tall muscular human woman who was none other than Winnie's long lost mother!

A short pudgy man with a lute stepped out of the hut as soon as he heard the tall woman shout. This was Winnie's Father.

Winnie was overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions with the revelation that her parents had been alive all this time!

Molly and Harry were their names.

Despite welcoming Winnie with open arms they seemed rather on the fence about Astarion.

At first glance Molly was overjoyed that her daughter had a partner so handsome and immediately began to babble on about what beautiful babies they'd make much to Winnie's dismay and embarrassment.

Harry was polite and willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn't as baby-crazy as his wife.

Then came the realization that Astarion couldn't pass their magic barrier they'd created to keep out undead.

Winnie was quick to come to Astarion's defense however, but learning that your daughter's lover was a vampire would be unnerving for almost anyone.

At first Winnie's mother even asked if she was with him willingly, wanting to check and see if she was charmed. It was honestly a bit ridiculous.

Molly was checking her neck for bite marks and nearly losing her mind and screaming when she found them there.

Harry had to calm down his wife, wanting her to give the vampire spawn a chance.

Things were a bit iffy from there on our, but eventually they came to accept Winnie's undead love.

And Molly expected a dhampir baby or two within the next few years, which Winnie had to remind her frequently that she was not ready for that and might actually never be ready for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie Meeting Astarion's Parents.

This was Winnie's idea all on her own.

Despite Astarion always telling her she was the only family he needed whenever she'd bring up the subject on if he thought his family was still around or not.

Yet the curiosity, the uncertainty just ate away at her.

His past was a mystery, not only to her, but to Astarion himself.

And they were elves for gods' sake. So it was very likely that they hadn't yet succumbed to old age.

What's two centuries to an elf?

But also she wanted her beloved to have someone other than herself to feel loved unconditionally by.

The human female had no idea how long she'd be able to run from her mortality.

With help from her tressym familiar Maddie to keep Astarion occupied, Winnie returned to Baldur's Gate in search of any old records of the Ancunin family.

Using her Hero of Baldur's Gate status to her advantage Winnie is able to get access to certain private documents no normal citizen would be able to.

She finds some old records on Magistrate Ancunin which immediately brings a grin to her lips.

Astarion's parents apparently left Baldur's Gate three years after his death.

From what little else she could find they moved to Evereska, but nothing told her if they were both actually still alive or not.

Winnie had her elven friends Vesperr and Arva do some investigating since they were constantly traveling nowadays and likely may be able to find out more than the human could.

She sent them a raven detailing her intentions and findings before returning home to her beloved vampire spawn.

He was a tad upset about her sneaking off for a few days and only leaving a note in her place, but Winnie was able to smooth things over with a little blood.

About a few weeks later a letter from Vesperr came back, telling Winnie that there were some Ancunins living in an estate just outside of Evereska. A couple in fact!

The human female could hardly contain her excitement, but she had to keep calm, especially when Astarion became curious about the letter she received.

He actually chased her around their home demanding to read it but Winnie wouldn't let him.

Soon after Winnie proposed that the two would go on a trip. A romantic getaway as she put it.

That was the cover she made up for going to meet his parents.

Luckily at this point the two had been able to locate the ring of the sunwalker so Astarion's days of running from the sun were a thing of the past.

The set off by carriage, taking Winnie's faithful tressym along with them.

Eventually at some point on the road Astarion ended up finding the letter from Vesperr Winnie had tucked away in her pack.

"A romantic getaway hm?"

The druid just smiled at her partner with a nervous chuckle.

Of course she apologized for lying and keeping secrets and said that she only wanted to make Astarion happy.

He forgave her and decided just to go and meet these people since the two of them had come too far to turn back now.

Astarion was getting more nervous the closer they got.

Perhaps this wasn't a good idea? What if they tried to stake him after what he's become?

Winnie would place her hand over his to comfort him after she noticed his stressed mood.

Winnie's tressym Maddie would also curl up in his lap and purr like a good little emotional support kitty.

Finally they would arrive at the estate where Astarion's apparent relatives were living.

They walked in, hand in hand before promptly being approached by who they assumed were the estate's security.

Winnie was quick to introduce Astarion, hoping to avoid any sort of confrontation.

Astarion's name had immediately made the guards freeze in place before then demanding he come with them inside.

They legit told Winnie she had to wait outside which Astarion was having none of.

If his lover was not allowed in then he would be leaving immediately.

The unfamiliar two elves muttered to each other in elvish as Winnie just watched in confusion. Every word coming out of their mouths sound like pure jibberish to the human female.

She then heard Astarion snarl back at them in elvish.

Winnie had a feeling they might have been talking about her due to her partner's very offended and frankly pissed off sounding tone.

The elven guards eventually agreed to let them both enter together.

Winnie was amazed by all the extravagant decor, almost getting distracted several times and having to be pulled along by Astarion who kept an arm linked around her waist.

Finally the time had come when they were face to face with his parents.

They were both insanely beautiful as Winnie assumed practically all high elves were, both adorned with fine silks and jewels Winnie had only ever dreamed to see.

Astarion appeared to have gotten his father's handsome facial features and his mother's luscious ivory curls.

Both his parents had different colored eyes his father's were golden while his mother's were green so the mystery of Astarion's eyes was still yet to be seen.

His mother looked over his face with pure shock before eventually bursting into tears.

She hugged him tight muttering something in elvish as she held him.

Astarion seemed to stiffen under her touch. Perhaps she was his mother, but at the same time she felt very much like a stranger.

His father eventually joined in on the hug as Winnie just stood there awkwardly.

It took them a few moments before the realization set in that their son was back from the dead.

His skin, cold to the touch, his eyes blood red and the fangs peaking out from behind his lips as he gave a nervous smile.

Immediately they jumped to a conclusion that the strange human woman Astarion was with was somehow the cause of this.

To which Winnie snarkily replied, "Do I look like a vampire lord to you?"

Astarion had to step in and explain what happened, he skipped all the unpleasant details to save himself a bit of pain.

While his parents seemed to become more accepting of his affliction rather fast, they barely batted an eye at Winnie.

And whenever they did look upon her it was with disgust.

Hells his father even assumed she was some kind of hired manservant! And tried to get her to carry Astarion's things in.

When Astarion said that Winnie was his lover, his mother gasped, acting as if she was going to faint.

It seemed theatrics ran in the family.

Things went rather poorly from there.

Astarion's father apparently tried to explain to him that bedding humans was not acceptable.

Winnie just stayed quiet and stood there awkwardly as she heard his mother claim that she probably used magic to tempt him into her bed.

It was then the pale elf snapped and told them off for not being there for him for over 200 years yet Winnie, a 'filthy human' had been there for him since the moment they met.

He made sure to let them know he wouldn't even have been here if it weren't for her wanting to reunite him with his 'family.'

Astarion eventually had enough and dragged Winnie out. He apologized to her very profusely afterwards.

He felt awful that she had gone through all this trouble only to be treated like trash by people she should have been welcomed by.

Winnie just smiled sadly and told him it was okay. It was worth trying.

The two hugged before leaving deciding to head back to Baldur's Gate and probably get drunk at the blushing mermaid.

Of course on their way out, one of the elven servants rushed after them with a letter.

It was from Astarion's father, apologizing for their behavior and begging Astarion to come back.

The vampire spawn simply rolled his eyes and tossed it out the window of the carriage.

Sometimes a real family was just a wild feral girl, a sassy vampire elf , and a winged cat.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

What? Did you expect Astarion's parents to be nice people?

~Druid

[psychagoguedigitalmusical]

My way in - Analysis and Concrete Action Plans

Anyone can be inspired by art. But can anyone create art?

I think that's a complicated question. Generally speaking, of course anyone can pick up a paper & pencil and draw something, or type out some poetry from their stream-of-consciousness. But is the artist in this scenario satisfied with what they've put out into the world? I wouldn't be. The artistic inspiration often comes paired with a clarity of purpose. And when our own lack of technical skill prevents us from matching the clarity we have inside, it feels helpless. Like there's some sort of "skilled artists" club out there in the world, and somehow they all got the mysterious membership card somehow, and it's just a gulf that can't be crossed. "Man, it would be cool, but I just don't have the stuff." It wasn't until last year when I completed the first project I was ever truly proud of creating that I realized that the gulf is crossable.

Basically, what I'm saying is that before I can make art that I am proud of, I need to understand my current limitations and learn my tools.

I have some music experience and some theatre experience, but I primarily studied a STEM subject in school. My experience with the arts has been enough to dabble, but not enough to express, and basically everything is hard. Tag urself in this meme, I'm both people

So what's my plan for dealing with this?

First: What skills will I need in order to create a project on the scale of Epic?

Writing (Plots)

Writing (Characters)

Writing (Lyrics)

Music (Composition)

Music (Singing)

Music (Production)

(There's other stuff like social media, advertising, etc. but I'm intentionally choosing to ignore other necessary aspects unrelated to the creative process, because honestly a lot of that stuff is interchangeable and can be figured out as it comes up. No use overplanning. The most I'll do for now until I've got something to show is to keep up these blog posts and crosspost to other sites. Hi Instagram!)

I have done minimal creative writing before. I know just enough music theory to play the trumpet, but I can't improvise my way out of a paper bag and don't know a chord progression from a lydian triad. I don't even feel comfortable right now singing in general, even by myself. And even if I did, I doubt I'd be good at it, and my space at home isn't exactly conducive to practice mush of anything loud. Lots of challenges, but with the confidence that even these large gulfs can be crossed, it feels not quite so overwhelming as it might have to me as a younger man.

Second: What are the concrete actions within my power to start to cross the skill gap?

Writing - I'm going to make a spreadsheet. I will start with systematically analyzing each song from Epic, laser targeting some basic information from the text (starting with lyrics only, musical analysis later once I have a better idea of what I'm doing). I will be focusing on identifying how the situations, characters, philosophies, and relationships are communicated through the lyrics. After I get through everything in Epic, I'll probably do a similar exercise for some of the other seminal works of musical theatre, and even non-musical theatre. If I want to make a competent contribution to the artistic conversation, I need a solid foundation of artistic context.

Parallel to this, I will map out the narrative shape of Epic and other stories I'm drawing inspiration from. By discovering patterns, I can reverse engineer what Morvic's journey through the Realm of Shades could look like.

I am also personally taking notes whenever specific ideas about Psychagogue, its characters, situations, and its themes come to me.

Music - I'm less certain about this one. At the very least, I'll sign up for a singing class and emphasize that musical theatre is the style of singing I would like to focus on. Music theory and composition is currently looking like the actual most difficult part to me right now. At this point, I'm honestly struggling to find appropriate resources for learning music theory and production that will stick with me this time. But I also was never able to consistently work out until about a year ago when I found a sustainable way in, so if it's possible for that, it's possible for this. It'll just take more time. I have some tentative ideas for what this might end up looking like, but I'm keeping the horse before the cart on this one.

Ramble over.

Next post, I'll show off initial progress on the spreadsheet and what kind of progress I've made on learning music.

[why-is-it-always-autumn]

Finished reading Sanderson Secret Project 4! Thoughts below the cut (mostly copied from me messaging my friends on Discord)

the vibes are so scifi. Like it's still Breaths and Shardblades but he's being so science about it

Spren in Stormlight: magical girl fairy companions. Spren in this: AI companion built into your scifi augments

Ooh, Nomad's been to Ashyn? That's the only planet with floating cities near Roshar, iirc

I love that Rosharans always specify shade when they mention eye color. She doesn't just have green eyes she has light green eyes. That adjective is important

Man on the run for his life hasn't slept in a week no way out keeps getting distracted by the urge to do anthropology

Another thing that's very funny is Nomad is talking about how unbelievably low on Investiture he is and it's still, like, unfathomably wealthy by Nalthis standards

Actually I'm gonna look this up. Nomad has 1500 BEUs in chapter one. He had at least 18750 shortly before that.

In Warbreaker, Vasher starts off with around 50 Breaths, which he considers low while acknowledging that many people would not. Most Returned have the equivalent of 2000. This is enough to be worshiped as gods.

Ah okay looking at the coppermind for the Heightenings this makes sense. It's all very consistent

Fifth Heightening: 2000 Breaths: fast healing, high durability, casual magic Ninth Heightening: 20000 Breaths: oh, you know ;) Tenth Heightening: 50000 Breaths: now that's just excessive

Now I will exit the coppermind before I have another "let me just check Rayse's species midway through reading RoW" moment [Fun fact: vital status is listed right next to species!]

I'm sorry did this man break his radiant oaths and then Mayalaran his shardblade back to pseudo life? Is that what's happening here?

Chapter 6 "No. Even in my head I will not admit Rock is right about the airsick lowlander thing"

I thought part of that phrase sounded like Nazh's name!

Gonna be honest, given how very dead He is, I somehow doubt that Adonalsium will remember their plight eventually

Love that "one of them is secretly a dragon" is a legitimate possibility

Huh. I wonder if they're Ghostblood Scadrians, Harmony-sent Scadrians, or just random people

Chapter 9: "Walking into a storm wasn't something usually done on [Roshar]" Unless you're in the middle of dinner and you really need a knife, of course.

I really wonder how confusing it would be to read ssp4 without reading Stormlight Archive

Oh boy. Wit's here!

Like if you only read the secret projects as if they were a standalone series how long would it take to realize that the cabin boy, the coatrack, and the hologram are the same person

"back before God died" You mean before you and your friends killed God? It didn't just happen there was a whole 17 person conspiracy

Hoid has two modes: "I am a silly little man" and "I am older than your planet and I will weep as I allow it to burn". No in between

"Adonalsium will remember our plight eventually" Man who just got off a skype call with one of the people who murdered Adonalsium ten thousand years ago:...

"Can you fly?" "Who told you I used to- oh you mean fly a ship. Yeah probably."

"The Chorus tells of our old world..." "Yes, yes, the forests of Hell, we've all been there"

The implication that there's a thriving interplanetary job market for specifically bronze Mistings...

If there's one thing that I've learned from Homestuck, it's to never turn your back on the body

Every new hint about what went down on Roshar in the back half of Stormlight just increases my fear about what's going to go down in the back half of Stormlight,

"I was destined to unite all of my people" Man who used to work for Dalinar Kholin: l, and I cannot stress this enough, ol

"Your planet shouldn't have different countries. You should have conquered and unified it all" Sir I cannot stress enough how Big Roshar is. They can barely keep the Alethi Princedoms unified there are so many more people on Roshar than here and they are so much more spread out

Now I'm just picturing that Ron Swanson meme. "I laugh at who I want - Wit"

It feels appropriate that this guy's ancestors are from the planet most closely associated with Ambition

It also feels appropriate that Mercy was there, tbh

Love that this guy is not a particularly soldier-y guy by Rosharan standards, but he's got so much soldier energy in comparison to Canticle that no one has yet noticed that he physically can't hurt anyone

Love that they talk about actual rocket science but it's interspersed with phrases like "raw investiture" and "zephyr aether" and "why take all the effort to travel the void of space when you can just walk through another dimension to travel between planets?"

Yes, yes, the plot to kill God, we've all heard of it

Khriss's Second Law :D

I'm really wondering how newbie friendly this book is. Like, they're explaining everything, but they're also throwing a lot of terms around and all of them are things I already know. For me, who read Warbreaker, when he mentions Commands as a thing on Nalthis that's just a refresher. If that's all the context I have...

The fact that this book includes both hoverbikes and a room full of angry ghosts in the same town

Oh that is a very different perspective on the whole lighteyes/darkeyes thing

Ah. Hemolurgy. From Threnodites. He's right, the cosmere is an increasingly small place

Highspren????

What did he even swear to?

I mean "Auxiliary" isn't a very Honorspren name and obviously not all of Bridge Four are Windrunners but Most Of Them Are

262 "You threw out your conscience years ago, I know, though I never had a chance to meet her" Seriously what is going to go down in the back half of Stormlight

Roshar Man: yeah you can totally go into the murder storm my friend Kal does it all the time lmao

They're called Skybreakers because they break you. Storms yeah Bridge Four!

Yessss He did the thing! I was hoping he'd do the salute!

Oh, that's who Zellion is

Hoid, Zahel, etc: I'm changing my name just for fun. Just for the vibes. New planet new me :) Also same planet new me :) Aliases are so fun :) Elegy: I'm literally not the same person anymore but I am keeping the name because it fits me really well. Dead me can change her name idc

Yeah something really bad goes down in the back half of Stormlight. They should not be that surprised to see a Rosharan.

Awakened Steelmind? This tech is so fun

"I like to think that this is all part of God's plan. That He made before He died :)" -- Tootsie Noodles, Starship (2011)

"God had nothing to do with it it was all Auxiliary." "And what's Auxiliary?" [Zellion remembers that spren are fragments of Honor and Cultivation, who are/were themselves Shards of Adonalsium] "..."

"Sigzil was a capable fighter, but far from the Order's best" -- Rhythm of War chapter 6

I'm done btw

Also I didn't talk about her much but I love how down for murder Elegy is. She loves her sister and she's learning all about different kinds of strength but she was so happy when she had that shardblade

Also, speaking of Stormlight, didn't love Nomad mentioning that glowing red eyes remind him of his friends! Hope he just meant Renarin and Rlain but I'm worried he didn't!

In retrospect it makes perfect sense that they already know about the Shattering. They fled Threnody, which is only Like That because of the Odium/Ambition/Mercy fight that killed Uli Da and Splintered Ambition. Those three only existed as Shards because they had already killed Adonalsium.

Also I hadn't realized or had forgotten that Shades are a "being from Threnody" thing, rather than a "dying on Threnody" thing

Fascinating that Auxiliary's corpse can still change forms even when his consciousness is completely gone. That implies that Maya and the others did something on purpose to lock themselves into sword form, rather than it being a direct consequence of the spen dying.

Also don't think I didn't notice Sanderson deliberately dancing around exactly what Sigzil's oaths were. He was Fourth Ideal in two different Orders and everything past Second is personalized

Of course the Scadrians don't interfere except to ruin things. That's so Scadrial

Love Nomad repeatedly going "Okay... I'm Azish, though." Man isn't Thaylen or Alethi it's a completely different culture that happens to share a planet. The Cinder King has no concept of this. The Greater Good doesn't even understand the difference between Roshar and Scadrial

I was laughing at the Cinder King for thinking that you could just conquer all of Roshar (it's so big), and then I remembered the Voidbringer reveal in... I think Words of Radiance? And just started laughing harder. They literally did conquer the entire planet, other than the Shattered Plains and a few other remote areas. That canonically happened

Adonalsium is literally mentioned more in ssp4 than all the other Cosmere books combined lol

[inklessletter]

I absolutely love following along with your art and the process behind it! I'm curious about more behind the scenes stuff, as I have picked up digital art after not having drawn regularly in 10+ years.

When you do your drawings, what steps do you take? Do you use real references? Skeleton sketches? I'd love to know more about how you approach things digitally!

Oooh, first of all, thank you so much @emeraldzephyr! It is such a lovely thing that you decided to pick it up again!

As for how do I organize myself for drawing, every person works with a different procedures and it is important to know what works for you. For me is organization and inspiration.

For me, the most important thing is having references. It is more important than experience, more important than skill and even than inspiration. When you start messing with a blank canvas you need to know first hand where you want to go, or at least, have an idea. I won't likely start drawing without some references pictures. I learnt this when I took classes last year and this is probably the only thing that actually fully stuck.

My main resource for them is Pinterest, and I navigate through it with intent. I also have multiple packs of pictures of models and references that I have purchased in Artstation. Either way, references, to me, are essential and necessary. In Pint for example I have different boards, some for poses or compositions, some other for finishing, some other for colors palettes, or effects, or styles. I may have (and it is likely to be that way) multiple references for a single illustration ("I like the composition of this one, but the color palette of this other one, but the light works incredible in here, and wait, how was exactly the curvature of the nose of Joe Quinn in this perspective...? Shit! Keery's moles!! How were them distributed in the right side of his face? asdfadfs").

So you see, this is the first and the main thing I do. And I am also fattening with pins all my boards anytime I've got the chance (on my way to work, in public transport, waiting in lines, etc.), so I don't run out of ideas.

When it comes to actually drawing, I always make my canvas extra large and fit the main reference there so I don't get it out of sight (probably the one I'm using for composition) and make a first sketch than I later proceed to fix because it is often that I get wrong the proportions or the perspective, and that's okay. I can do five or six layers of sketches and then I do a first lineart that is messy, but it compiles everything that I have from different references. I spend a lot of time with this. Before shit gets serious and you start with colors, it is important for me to be happy with the sketch, or I may work a lot of hours on this particular illustration and you will end up hating it because "fucking shit, that ear is too small, how didn't I see it before!!!! [yes, I have no shame in showing what I think I failed miserably, the next piece was better, and so on. I keep learning everytime. I trust the process in broader aspects of art, not only in piece by piece]).

I create folders for the color process and try to organize the layers in it, first painting them with plain colors in separate layers and then adding layers once the whole illustration is fully coloured, first starting with shading, and then to light.

For me it is really important to play with the different effects of layers, play with opacity, gradients, brushes, tools, etc etc. I always find some effects that I wasn't expecting and the quality of my work will rise up just because I just found something interesting that weren't expecting at all, so, yeah. I play a lot with my software. All the time.

And finally when I am happy with it as a whole, I add a few filters (noise, blurs, etc.) If I want a very specific effect and I don't know how to do it, I have no doubt in stopping for a minute and finding a tutorial that teaches me how to do it (like the flare in this illustration, or the video effect moving color channels in this one). I always keep in mind that I should not get frustrated when I don't know how to do anything because I can always google it and it is a great opportunity to learn something new.

I am so so so sorry if this was too long, and probably it wasn't interesting enough, but that's what I do. And again, I want to make myself clear when I say that there is not a correct way to do things when it comes to art, this is just what works for me. I am no expert, I had to try and fail many many times to find the right approach for me without getting sad or frustrated. I, myself, have reconnected with art not that long ago after a decade, too.

I wish you the best of luck with your reunion with digital art!! Looking forward to seeing your pieces <3

[askinkiskarma]

I should be writing my own fics but who cares about me when my queen mak dropped a WHOLE ASS NETEYAM ONESHOT??? You know I fall to my knees for your writing, that much is obvious, and I can’t wait to delve into this so let’s goooo

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out

I think that’s so fascinating, this dynamic. I would love to see more of this in avatar 3, the peaceful coexisting of the two species - we get glimpses of that in avatar 2 when we see norm and max in human form at Neteyam’s birth and his and Kiri’s first communion, but I’d loveee to see more and see them really blend lifestyles

 It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

She’s me fr

Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left

Omg she’s literally me stop

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

This girl just gets it honestly, she’s too relatable

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

SOMEONE’S JEALOUSSSSS, HIS SPIDEY SENSES ARE TINGLINGGGG

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

He’s so hot I cry

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

He’s such a dick I love him so much

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

Argh :(((( I know he’s being sarcastic but I want him so badly fuckkkk

Neteyam is hot as hell.

FACTS! Truer words have never been spoken, this right here is the gospel

It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

Yet another fact

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking.

I loved this sentence so much, and I once more have to commend you on your phenomenal story telling, you have an amazing ability to write dialogue and descriptions, in a way that feels so real and tangible. I love it (and you) so so much

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

AHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA I LITERALLY BURST OUT LAUGHING THIS IS TOO FUNNY OMGGGGG

Neteyam gives a long, low groan

The thought of neteyam groaning literally has me clenching my thighs together

you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs

^^ something like that

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different

I’m gonna lose my FUCKING MIND

“Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

I GASPED HOLY SHIT

It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

BITCH HE’S JEALOUS ARE U BLIND???? She says speaking to herself cause I would 100% also think the same and think there’s no way this is about me

 and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

If she knows how to do that and she could give me pointers that’d be great

It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

I can see how that might happen, and once more I have to ask NETEYAM JUST ONE CHANCE

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

I could copy paste this whole interaction between Lo’ak, reader and Spider because I loved it so so os much, your dialogue shines so brightly, I am OBSESSED!!!!

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is

GIRL I’M BEGGING YOU TO GET A GRIP

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body

Alexa play the YOU theme song

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

I’m so confusedly turned on right now???

MAK I NEED THEM TO FUCK RIGHT NOW AHAHAHAHAHAH

That was so so good my love omggg :((( I can’t wait to read part two and I hope you enjoy my mindless rambles xx it’s always such a pleasure reading your work and ily xx

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

[jentlemahae]

the fact all of the pinks brands are never really great at the met gala and the pinks have to wear those brands in order to go in the first place means the stylists will have to work extra hard and ummm... idk if they can do that you guys 😬

jennie - sadly she will have to wear chanel but she makes it look good so i'm not too worried tbh. last year's look was very cute however her stylist played it extremely safe so we need to step it up this year please <3

rosé - both her stylists are hit or miss and one of them styled someone for the met gala before and missed so bad omg 😖 ysl is always boring at the met gala too and they are never ever ever on theme so i have to keep my expectations extremely low for my wife. if she wears another mini dress i'll cry.

jisoo - despite dior being ugly asf, they actually do ok at the met but they're rarely on theme either. no shade but i have no faith in jisoo's stylist to choose something sickening or on theme bcs she styles all her clients in very simple and elegant dresses, which is fine but not very met gala.

lisa - i'm obsessed with her new stylist and there's potential for her to devour. she's also the member that's most likely to wear something a little more adventurous and interesting. however she will probably wear louis vuitton and lv SUCKS at the met gala 😭😭

oh i have ZERO hope that they will be on theme fshsh i just read up about this year’s theme and i guess they could just put them in some archive piece and we could make it work, but honestly this time i just want them to all look great and memorable 🥲 i am also not that worried for jennie bcs we’ve learned she can pull off whatever chanel gives her so it’s gonna be fine, and so far it seems lisa can pull off lv too despite their clothes being what they are so im also not worried about her 🤷🏻‍♀️ rosie tho……if they have looking like a cocktail waitress agin i will be SEETHING! i know ysl doesn’t shine at the met gala but there must be something they could do to have her look a little interesting! i agree for jisoo — her problem this time isn’t really the brand, it’s her stylist 🫥 out of these four brands, i gotta say i have more faith in dior this time (and only this time) but ooooh i have many doubts in her stylist, she reeeeally likes to play it safe which is not the vibe for this event 🙃😕 i just hope they look good idk

[darknightsandfairylights]

I don't know why shouting into the void of the internet helps, but sometimes it's an invaluable tool on this journey. So today, I shout.

TRIGGER WARNING: Talk of unhealthy dieting, body dysmorphia and body image issues

I'm in a weird spot, mentally, with health and fitness. I grew up very out of place. I come from stocky people, but was adopted into a family of fast metabolism. I never quite fit in. Combined with other issues (poor socialization, small private school, general awkwardness), I never had many friends or social interaction in general, which I chalked up to not being pretty or popular enough. In high school, I joined Weight Watchers, starved myself, but didn't work out at all, and so I ended up much thinner but VERY unhealthy. And with basically no muscle mass. I stayed roughly in that (bad) weight range for about 3 years - until college. I had semi-helicopter parents, so I never really learned how to regulate my own eating, and I also went through a horribly abusive relationship that triggered depression and massive anxiety my last year of high school and the summer into freshman college. So, left to my own devices, I gained the freshman 15. Then 20. Then 30. Then second semester, I met someone with disposable income, and suddenly I was eating Domino's multiple times a week, and other takeout besides. 30 extra pounds grew into 50, then 80 by the end of college, then a new trauma / depression spiral the first 2 years out of college bumped the number up to 120 extra pounds. Almost as much as I weighed to start. And the whole time was horrible yo-yo dieting, juice fasts, several stints in Weight Watchers, a ton of fad diet books, and emotionally bullying myself, horribly.

So now we come to the latest "era" of my life. The era of childhood healing, true self care, and hard fucking truths. It took a lot of work, and I doubt I'll ever be completely "done", but I've done quite a lot to lessen the voices telling me fat = bad. I no longer consider fat to be a moral failing. It's not something to be celebrated either - it just is. It's morally neutral. It is an emotionless fact about me, much like the color of my hair. Brunette isn't bad, blonde isn't shameful, it's just... hair.

With that said, being morally neutral like hair, I believe it's objectively OK to want to make a change. If I want to dye my hair a slightly darker shade, no one will really care. If I want to go red, or purple, or oil slick hair, no one's gonna care. (I mean. With some bright colors / multicolor shenanigans, there are some angry people that might take personal offense, but these aren't people whose opinions I value.) Wanting to change my weight and physical health should be so morally neutral. The answer to both is "do what makes you feel good." Purple hair makes you happy? Dye it. Growing muscle makes you happy? Hit the gym.

Because of my history though, I freak out about eating anything I see as a "health food" (we aren't even talking dieting, because I never want to see a fad diet again. I just mean like... eating a side salad with dinner) because I don't trust myself. What if a salad turns into a slippery slope and suddenly I'm an unhealthy skinny weight again? What if I go off the deep end and spend way too much time in the gym and drive away everyone I love? What then?

I know these fears are unfounded. There's a balancing act, finding that sweet spot. If I stay with morally neutral, and keep food morally neutral, so cake and pie hold the same moral value as fruits and veggies, I may find (if I allow myself) that I actually like eating a mostly veggie / fruit / bean diet ("diet" as in "things you eat" in this sentence - not as in "strict eating plan"), and I may find that I love the gym, and my metabolism is great, and weight just falls off. Or I may find I still want to eat a lot of pasta and potatoes and desserts, but I can add on enough fruits and veggies, and go to the gym enough, that I slowly get to a healthier equilibrium. But I have to stop being so afraid of the journey to even let myself start.

I don't know whether this helps. You, or me. I'm still overwhelmed. And tired. I Aldo hate meal prep. If I had someone making me fresh acai bowls and salads and bean burgers, this would be easy. But alas.

[vinsmokehaveemotions]

Vinsmoke children Part 1

These 2 articles will be about the Vinsmoke, mostly as 8 years old children. The first part will focus on the dynamic of the brothers. The part 2 will be more focused on their dynamic with their father. But both dynamics are connected.

I want to start with something that might sound unexpected. Ichiji is obviously the most affected by Sanji being a 'failure' , I will tell you why.

This event might look like just another bullying scene, but it's deeper than that. Ichiji is insulted to be hit bit Sanji since he consider him 'inferior' , but he also seem to be pissed off at how weak Sanji's hit was. The brutality Ichiji hit Sanji with is speaking for itself, you can feel this is an emotional beating. Ichiji rarely act, he usually just watch and supervise the bullying. However, Sanji's hit seem to have triggered something very deep within Ichiji: Disappointment and incomprehension.

You clearly see that Ichiji doesn't understand why is Sanji is different from them, I doubt Judge explained the reasons to the 3 brothers. I also doubt that they know much about their mother. Not knowing the reasons seem to be what make Ichiji so angry and Judge obviously didn't learn his sons to express their negatives feelings in another way than violence. He also seem secretly disappointed, as if he would have liked it that Sanji was like them. Of course this is not a valid reason to beat Sanji, there is never a valid reason, but this time it has a purpose in understanding Ichiji's character.

I also want to point out a plothole. We have no idea what the relation between the 4 brothers was before they learned that Sanji was a 'failure' my guess is that the 4 of them were initially close because they had no reason to naturally reject Sanji. As they grew up the differences began to be more and more apparent and when Sanji was labeled a failure, their relations worsened even more. It's like Ichiji hasn't be able to grief his brother Sanji, he doesn't accept that he is different and he doesn't understand. It's hurting him believe me or not. A bond of twins is strong it cannot be shattered that easily. If Judge had accepted from the beginning Sanji's differences I doubt this bullying would have happened. (or at least a lot less) After all, their brutal personalities are flued by the desire to be loved by their father.

You might think 'wow this girl is taking this way too far' No. I don't think I am, i'v studied in psychology and I know how to observe family dynamics even if it's a fictional familly . This is my interpretation of Oda's subtils intentions. I actually enjoy this a lot, the Vinsmoke are such a interesting familly. No one can investigate more deeply than a curious fangirl trust me on this.

Also, Ichiji is the dominant twin of the quadruplets, he is also the leader and he take pride in it. Niji and Yonji seem to consent to this and they respect Ichiji. Judge is also encouraging Ichiji in this way , he has high expectations because he believe he will be the future king of Germa. Ichiji take his role seriously, even at 8 years old he know he has to prepare for the moment he will take the throne. It's one of the reasons he absorb everything Judge teach him like a sponge and it's one of the factor that explain why Ichiji is so arrogant. As the leader and dominant twin, Ichiji is intelligent, he know he has influence on his younger brothers. He use his influence to keep Judge's beliefs in his brothers head. Ichiji seem to be the one that seek the most validation from his father. The brainwashing is strong.

Niji's reaction can be interpreted in différents way. It could be that he is simply curious about what happened to Sanji, but does not care if he is dead or alive. Or it could be a shade of a worry for Sanji's fate. Either the reason, Ichiji did not like this, he quickly remind Niji that 'who really cares about him anyway'? This same manipulation was used in this scene:

Once again, Yonji and Niji are curious about Sanji, and Ichiji once again bash Sanji to suppress any possible positive feeling toward Sanji , he doesn't take any chance. I feel this manipulation on Ichiji's part is to hide his own care for his brother Sanji. Ichiji is the model of his youngers brothers, he has the pressure to keep the balance. Ichiji is especially verbally cruel to Sanji because It appear the lost of their brother unconsciously affect him the most. Of course, these feeling are deeeeep within the brothers they are not even aware of it themselves but they know these thoughts are forbidden by their father.

The 3 of them can't hide a smile of satisfaction when they hear Sanji calling himself 'Vinsmoke Sanji'. I'm not sure if they are aware of it. It could either be hope for them to be close again somehow, or they could smile because of the excitement of beating him up at will like they used to. Or both.

Shortly after , no matter what was his reasons for smiling, the joy was temporary. Ichiji silent face speak more than it look. It's like his bubble has burst, he saw through Sanji's fake speech and he is somehow disappointed.

This is only the beginning...I will cover various more situations in the future articles. The relation between the 4 brothers is a really complicated one especially because of their father Judge. Their education is messed up.

Remember, my articles are about my analysis and my intrepretation of the story, they are not facts.

Stay tuned for part 2!

Credit for the pictures : https://ww9.readonepiece.com/

[koocycle]

as you were | jungkook one shot

↳ synopsis. He was only two months into knowing you, yet he already loved and cherished you like no one had done before. But now you’re gone, and you brutally left him nothing behind besides a story with missing puzzle pieces and a set of questions.

pairing. architect! jungkook x fem reader

word count. 4.6k

au + genre. summer! au, semi-exes! au, angst, fluff.

warnings. none

author’s note. being on a writing hiatus for more than a year now, you’d think this was planned to make a come back. (jokes on you and me both), but i actually wrote this rough draft half a year ago and never pushed myself to finish it. struggled with it, could cry over it, same old same old when it comes to me and writing. i’ve decided to get my ass out there and post one of my hundred, rotten and forgotten drafts!!

also why i want to thank @latetaektalk for being SO patient with me as she keeps pushing me (in the most unfriendliest ways) to keep it going!! linh who’s been reading every draft (and each version of every draft, if yk what i mean), from hundreds of different aus. MUCH much thanks!!

while i’m working on bigger things that bring me more joy while writing, i want to show my face out here before i hide in my docs again, and until i dare to peek out again with something new and better, i’d love to read what you think!

this is based off the netflix series ‘lovestruck in the city’.

Jungkook was eager to unravel your every secret.

Without much doubt, both parties knew that you’ve gotten him hooked around your finger from the moment he laid his eyes on you. And you knew there was not much that could go wrong; it never mattered to him how mischievous or how harmless your secrets could possibly be, to what limit his imagination dared to sketch the images you never showed him. Never has he cared about the weight they could hold on to, about the depth that only seemed to increase the longer he thought about all the things you could be hiding from him. You drove him insane like nobody had ever done before. There were no restrictions when it came to you and him, never did he even dare himself to think about setting boundaries. Like a love-sick campus boy, Jungkook was only longing to learn more about you. Over his dead body that he was ever losing you like a damned fool would.

‘‘I think what I’m trying to say is that… it’s probably better for us to pretend last summer never happened.’’

Jungkook’s phone screen falls black in his hand when the voicemail goes quiet once more, coming to an abrupt ending that has his office go mute. His fingers travel through his dark locks ever so gently, like they aren’t filled with rage. His body grows tense in his office chair, no tears hanging on for dear’s life in the corners of his eyes this time around. Maybe they were there the first few times he listened to the 30-second audio eight months ago, maybe the tears were shamelessly streaming down his cheeks back then. Yet today, his sadness is replaced with fury, and it’s everything he can’t handle.

Jungkook doesn’t want to go home just yet. The sky above his workplace paints a hideous, jet black shade and the inside of the building is gloomy and tragic at this hour of the day. The place looks a bit unfortunate without the presence of his colleagues around here, but it’s not enough reason to bring himself home. He’d tell you the cheap prosecco he just poured in his coffee cup is what keeps him at the office this late, just like how he’d tell you he’s used to heavier liquids other than the bubbled wine he buys at local night shops. Yet his eyes are starting to get heavy, and there’s no point in lying when you were the person who knew him best.

Your voice doesn’t even sound the same in the message. The merry tone that always colored your words was not there when you told him to forget about you—again, over a voice message. An action so impersonal, so distant and so foolish, like it was easy for you to forget about him, expecting him to do the same thing with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it was him who was the foolish one for not expecting you to be capable of such cruelty.

‘‘You remember my phone number, right?’’ Is what he asked the final time he was able to hold you, beams of sweat dripping down his forehead with the way the sun fell down his skin.

Worried, massive eyes met yours for the nth time that day.

‘‘Yes, Jungkook.’’ You grinned at him, eyes twinkling the longer you watched him in his troubled state. ‘‘You only made me repeat it a hundred times. I’ll probably forget it the second you’re gone.’’

His smile was unbeatable. ‘‘You’re cheeky.’’ His fingers nipped at your cheeks, ‘‘what if you forget?’’

‘‘I won’t.’’

He sent you a knowing glare. ‘‘What will you do if you do?’’

Merely to satisfy him, your hands scurried inside your shoulder bag to find what he was wishing to see. In a rather clumsy manner, you pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, fingers hurrying to open it. ‘‘Then I got this.’’

His teeth showed. ‘‘That’s my girl.’’ It only took another look into your eyes before he felt secured again, arms falling atop your shoulders to pull you closer to him. His chest was firm as your head rested against him, the assuring hand on the back of your head not dismissed. ‘‘I told you to get yourself a phone. Would’ve made this so much easier.’’

‘‘I told you I’ll be getting one as soon as I get back home.’’ You had told him. ‘‘You’ll miss your flight if we’re getting into this now.’’

‘‘You say that as if that’s a bad thing.’’

‘’You’re lame.’’ Your eyes shot up to meet his, the arms you had wrapped around his waist tightening when they did. ‘‘You should go before you actually miss it, though.’’

He took another moment to take your features in, eyes scanning over every possible detail he could find so he could safely hide them in a memory box up his head. That, for what he thought would be for the time being.

‘‘Kiss me first?’’

Jungkook was a dork, you should’ve seen it coming, yet the taken aback looking smile that made your lips curve was there all the same. You reached up as you stood on your tippy toes, a chuckle leaving both you and him before you were able to press your lips against his. ‘‘I’ll miss this.’’

‘‘No need to.’’ He grinned down at you. ‘‘Do you remember our meeting spot?’’

Your eyes flickered back to his lips. ‘‘Of course I do.’’

‘‘When, baby?’’

You studied him. ‘‘The final Saturday of the month.’’ You cooed, meeting his gaze again and a hand reaching up to rest on his chest so you could gently push him away. ‘‘Now go. I’m not joking.’’

‘‘Whatever you want’’

With a silly, boyish grin on his face, he gripped on to the suitcases on his side. A firm grip on them in the hopes they’d increase his will to leave you. And barely later, when he was only a few steps ahead of you, Jeon Jungkook turned back around to shower you with a dozen of pecks, not without muttering a quick but ensured ‘‘I’ll see you soon.’’ after, of course.

The cup of prosecco in his grip feels heavier than ever before now. He should’ve known you were not one to keep a promise.

Jungkook is in a mourning state the day after. Ever since the clock hit 9 AM as he’s cleared his office; throwing unnecessary papers, floor plans and blueprints out of the way, his mind still doesn’t stay on track. The ongoing design that’s displayed on his computer screen stares back at him in a mocking manner and if it wasn’t for the way Jung Hoseok is keeping an eye out on him just outside his office, he’d be losing himself in another bottle of wine by now. He could always close his blinds, a little voice in the back of his head has been challenging him, but Jungkook knows that it’s only a matter of time before the office’s little mouse barges in to give him a lecture about whatever ‘consequences’ he could be going through if he continues now.

And as if proving his exact point not too long after that, it’s exactly Jung Hoseok that titters into the room like it’s him who owns the place.

‘‘Can’t you knock?’’ Jungkook groans when the older man is only a couple steps in, fingertips reaching up to massage his throbbing temples, elbows supporting his position.

‘‘I could if I wanted to,’’ Hoseok sing-songs in response, a disturbing layer of satisfaction coating his voice as he does so. ‘‘But I like the concept of caution. Makes things a little more exciting in here.’’

The younger can only so much roll his eyes at him, swallowing the words that are seated at the tip of his tongue. ‘‘You don’t have to check up on me every hour. I can take care of myself.’’

‘‘Oh, but I know you can. You’re just not doing it.’’ The elder marvels, his voice a tad bit too loud for an already hectic morning like this. He makes himself comfortable in place, diving down Jungkook’s leather sofa with his hands behind his head like it isn’t his first time. ‘‘How is the design going?’’

‘‘Fine, I guess.’’ Jungkook whimpers, palms rubbing his eyes like he just strolled out of bed. His hair looks like something has gone through them a couple times already, and once more, a hand goes up to do exactly that. ‘‘I’m changing it up.’’

‘‘Again?’’ Hoseok asks from his snug position on the couch. ‘‘How long do you want to keep those people waiting for?”

‘‘I wanna give them what they’re paying me for. God damn.’’ He falls back in his chair with a loud huff, fingers crossing over his chest. ‘‘Not some shitty design that’s making me run in circles.’’

‘‘You know you’re not, right?’’ The brunet sits up, tugging his glasses higher up his nose before leaning down to rest his arms atop his thighs. ‘‘Come on, what did she do to you, Jeon?’’

She.

It’s not Jung Hoseok’s fault that Jungkook became so fucking delicate. And the younger usually enjoys putting a flat hand on his chest as he swears it’s merely a phase he has to go through: a phase of heartbreak, a phase of discomfort that takes some more time to heal. It’s easy for people like Jung Hoseok to walk in here and pretend like everything is fine. People like Jung Hoseok who got their lives figured out with the people they love. It’s an easy job for them to talk out loud, and it’s peak arrogance if Jungkook were one to speak.

‘‘Don’t talk about her.’’

‘‘Obviously, it seems like I’ve got to when you’re not doing what those people pay you for. All fingers point her way, Jungkook.’’ Hoseok hisses, pinched brows pulling together. ‘‘You went on a vacation and met that woman just as fast as she disappeared. You used to finish project after project with ease, people quite literally lined up to see you work in action. Suddenly you come back and lose your drive? As if.’’

‘‘Can you stop? I don’t need you to give me a lecture.’’ Jungkook jeers. ‘‘You don’t know her. The way I get to work these days is on me, I don’t appreciate you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.’’

Hoseok nods with a tightness to it, like he’s holding himself back from spilling words he’ll regret. ‘‘Okay.’’ he mutters quietly, fingers grazing over his denim jeans. ‘‘I just want the best for you, you’re my friend and that woman was no good. It’s for the better if you forget about her.’’

For the better, he said.

Jungkook huffs, fixing his position so half his face hides behind his computer screen. ‘‘You can get out if you came to argue.’’ He doesn’t like the way his voice sounds, but he’s having a hard time toning it down. ‘‘I’ve got work to do.’’

Hoseok doesn’t say anything after that, sensing that silence is the best way to deal with his younger friend for now. Thus he gets up and exits the room without another word, leaving Jungkook and his thoughts to suffer by himself for the time being. It’s not something he enjoys doing, but Jungkook has always been a little stubborn, an individual that needs time for himself to sort his thoughts out. He’ll figure it out by himself sooner or later.

On the other side of the door, Jungkook is unsure what to do with himself as soon as the soft thud is heard from behind Hoseok’s back. The office runs quiet again and Jungkook’s thoughts are the one thing keeping him trapped in his chair, still and timid like the incomplete design isn’t staring back at him in a pleading, discomforting manner. He would love to care, take charge and put a little more effort into it, yet his mind is elsewhere, making it hard for him to keep his head into the game.

That woman was no good, he had said. His chest filled with confidence as he spoke, making sure Jungkook understood every word even though the younger boy would much rather cover his ears. It was a work in progress, Jungkook had been telling himself the past couple of months, but people like Jung Hoseok only seemed to be eager to speed things up.

You can’t be a bad person—Jungkook knows you are not a bad person. Jungkook saw things that others didn’t see, felt things that he knew you felt as well. And even though he had known you for no longer than a brisk two months, he was sure he was ready to examine your every persona that was hidden beneath the flowery, dazzling girl he met at that beach last year. You promised him that much.

‘‘I think we should just dive in!’’ You had exclaimed back then, wet sand creeping between your toes the more you jumped around the place. ‘‘I’m like, so ready to catch some of those waves you’ve been gushing about.’’

‘‘Absolutely not.’’ Jungkook scoffed on your side, the slight curves that tugged on to the edges of his lips betraying his cool character nonetheless. ‘‘We’ve got to go through the basics before we actually get into the water, you know that right?’’

He watched as you threw your head back at him, a loud and exaggerated groan leaving your throat before you locked gazes again, an obvious pout on your lips this time. ‘‘What’s even fun about that,’’ you whined. ‘‘You’re so boring.’’

‘‘Patience, baby.’’ He beamed, two hands curled around each hip from behind with a slight push forward, ever so gentle, of course. ‘‘Now, get on that board for me. I’ll teach you some positions.’’

He knew what was coming when he saw the way your brows shot up. ‘‘Positions…’’ You sang, a teasing edge to it as a silly grin spread on your face.

‘‘Keep on dreaming, doll.’’ He quipped, fingers nipping at your chin and the way he fought his smile back not missed by you. ‘‘Now do as I say before I make you figure it out yourself.’’

You complied with ease after deciding you shouldn’t be the one to give him such a hard time that early into the crisped morning. He noted how you were having a difficult time keeping your lips sealed shut as he kept stepping around the surfboard beneath your feet, knowing he got the upper hand even if it was you who slipped inside his trailer that morning. Ever the sly little fox you were, your feather-light footsteps did nothing to wake him up as you sneaked into his cramped bed—it was nothing compared to the queen-sized bed you hid from him inside your hotel room just a little away from the beach’s area, but you were not planning on telling him as long as you could slip beneath his thinned covers instead.

It wasn’t like Jungkook was giving you a run for your money, either. Even that same night, when you eventually snuggled deeper at his side and let your arms fall all over his body, outside’s chilly air still lingering on your skin as you did so, he didn’t complain one bit. Jungkook slept with his door unlocked for a reason, and he thought it was more than worth it. Not even when you dragged him out of his bus barely an hour later, clumsily tugging his surfboard beneath your free arm on your way to the shore as you begged him to teach you how to surf. His eyes were still puffy and his hair was a hot mess in the middle of the empty beach, pushed out of his face by the many times you had run your fingers through it.

Yet still, he taught you how to surf. Because Jungkook could never say no to you.

‘‘Basically,’’ you had started, feet planted on the wooden material. ‘‘We live together at this point.’’

‘‘Is that so,’’ Jungkook chirped, his question not really a question. ‘‘Spread your arms. Like this,’’ his hands moved from your behind to grip on both of your wrists, spreading them to match the board beneath you.

‘‘Hmm, yeah,’’ your head fell down his shoulder as soon as you felt his chest pressed against your back, hot breath fanning in his neck. ‘‘Don’t you think so? I’ve been sleeping in your trailer for a week now and you haven’t kicked me out once.’’

‘‘I should’ve.’’ He piped, his smile evident in his voice. ‘‘Spread your feet as well.’’

You did as he told you, curving your upper body when you felt his hands guide you. ‘‘You would never,’’ you snapped back at him, a smile fighting its way on your face. ‘‘Could never.’’

‘‘Curve your back and go down your knees a bit. Your posture looks off.’’ Ignoring your previous comment, he knew he couldn’t beat you to it.

‘‘I think I got it now.’’ You started, waving his hands off you before you turned around. ‘‘We should totally get into the water now that we’ve got the place to ourselves.’’

Jungkook was nearly melting in your hands when you brought them up to cup the plush of his cheeks, ushering him a tad bit closer to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, another one followed against the corner of his mouth when he didn’t provide you an answer.

Hooded eyes looked down at you instead. ‘‘You’re underestimating how complex of a sport this is, doll.’’ His features fell serious even as his thumb rubbed circles on your hip bone, a small gesture of kindness Jungkook always seemed to carry with him.

‘‘I don’t doubt that at all.’’ You preened, hands playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, ‘‘but I got myself such a great tutor, not much can go wrong.’’

With a pause and another look into your eyes, he couldn’t pass. ‘‘You’re so used to having everything your way, I don’t know how you do it.’’

Correction: Jeon Jungkook knew quite exactly how you did it—it was like you had put a spell on him that’s got him looking like a lovesick fool chasing rainbows. Hence it didn’t surprise him when your fingers intertwined with his own the moment a smile flashed up on his face. With your hand that had looked so much smaller, so much more delicate than his rough ones, he underestimated the power they held when you dragged him forward, heading straight towards the water with his surfboard clutched beneath your arm.

‘‘I told you it seems easier than it actually is.’’

The damp piece of cloth felt hot against your skin the more pressure Jungkook put against it, the shed’s familiar scent of old paint and planed wood reaching your senses as soon as he told you to sit down. ‘‘And I believed you,’’ you chirped, ‘‘but we had fun, right?’’

Jungkook huffed. ‘‘There is no fun in you getting hurt.’’

‘‘Good thing I’m not hurt anywhere.’’ Jungkook crouched down to match your eye level, not offering you a response as he pinched his brows together and gently continued tapping the cloth against the blossoming bruise on your forehead. ‘‘Can you stop worrying that big head of yours? You’re making me nervous.’’

‘‘I make you nervous?’’ He snorted. ‘‘You fell pretty fucking hard, ___.’’

A hint of annoyance coated his voice like you haven���t heard before. The lips that curled inwards gave it away. ‘‘So? I feel fine now.’’

He didn’t say anything at that and continued to focus on the bruised spot above your brow. You took the opportunity to inspect his features as he did so, allowing your head to fall back against the wall on your side as your eyes attempted to pry into his. Silence took over when you waited for him to say something to tame the tension down, but yet again, without much luck on your side.

‘‘Now what, you’ll just ignore me because you don’t believe me?’’

It didn’t take much for him to drop his hand then, thighs supporting his elbows as a hand ran over his face with a huff. ‘‘It’s not that, ___.’’ He refuted, cheeks blown out. ‘‘You’re just so fucking careless, I wish you wouldn’t push your safety aside just because you,’’ he air quoted, ‘‘‘had fun’.’’

The look that swam in your eyes after that was something he had rather not seen; they were a little conflicted, unable to think of words to say next and the silence that ran through was a bit strange for the type of relationship you shared.

‘‘Ah,’’ he groaned, standing up on stretched legs once again. ‘‘Forget about it.’’

You gave yourself a little longer to keep quiet then, watching as Jungkook awkwardly dusted his pants off and casually started to pace around the shed like you wouldn’t notice the way his cheeks colored a pretty pink. His tattooed fingers played with a couple figurines by the window and it took everything in you to keep yourself composed, (for the sake of his own ego).

‘‘It’s okay,’’ you stood up from your seat, the rusted creak obvious to Jungkook’s ears. ‘‘I like listening to what you’ve got to say.’’

His stomach grew warmer the closer you got, and unlike the floor in his camper, where you tried your best to hide every footstep from him, the shed’s unoiled floor gave them all away.

‘‘It wasn’t important.’’ He had said, body visibly relaxing at the feel of your arms that wrapped around his waist, cheek squished against his back like you knew what it did to him.

‘‘Sounded important to me,’’ you replied, voice small as you hugged him tighter. ‘‘Besides, I like it when you get concerned like that—at what? Week three into knowing me?’’ You teased him, knowing he felt the way you looked up at him from behind. ‘‘When will you be proposing, Jeon? You can’t keep me on my toes forever.’’

‘‘Please,’’ He prattled, no way you couldn’t sense his smile. ‘‘Like you’d say yes.’’

You hummed, the vibrations running through his skin. ‘‘You don’t know unless you try.’’

It didn’t surprise you when he turned back around with a toothy grin on his face. ‘‘Alright, you little tease,’’ he cooed. ‘‘Show me that huge bulge on your forehead.’’

You slapped his chest. ‘‘It’s not huge!’’

‘‘Hm, sure.’’ He mumbled, thumb softly stroking against your forehead. ‘‘It’s massive. Can’t keep my eyes off it.’’

You crossed your arms, muttering a quiet ‘‘jerk,’’ underneath your breath but swallowed the rest of your complaints when his hands cupped the sides of your face, fingertips tugging strands of hair behind your ears as his eyes flickered down your lips. He didn’t ask for permission this time, feeling like it was the right thing to do when your mouths molded together, his fingers resting at the back of your neck as his thumb caressed your cheeks, lips guiding you for better access. Jungkook’s hands slipped lower down your back and rested in place before he pushed you closer to stand chest to chest.

A look of uncertainty painted his face when you broke the kiss, ‘‘You haven’t brought me here before.’’ your arms still embraced him but your curious cat eyes scanned your surroundings. ‘‘Is this where you hide from me?’’

He snickered. ‘‘Can’t hide from you, doll.’’

Jungkook leaned down to press another longing kiss on your lips again but you moved away, resulting in him kissing your jaw instead. ‘‘Are those yours?’’

‘‘Mhm.’’ He hummed, nose pressing against your skin as he inhaled your sweet fragrance.

‘‘You’re not even looking!’’

The heavy man in your arms didn’t bother to lift his head from the comfortable spot on your shoulder this time, the small, wet pecks he left in the crook of your neck not coming to a nearing end, either. ‘‘I don’t have to look. Everything in here is mine.’’

‘‘You’ve got to be kidding.’’ You struggled yourself out of his arms when your eyes fell on something in the distance, moving past him to reach out for it. Jungkook followed after you with a long huff, arms limply falling next to his frame. ‘‘These are yours?’’

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, but your excited voice made up for it. ‘‘Yeah,’’ he grinned. ‘‘You like them?’’

‘‘Do I like them?’’ Your eyes bulged out of your head, a camera in each hand that you came to admire. ‘‘I love them Kook, what…’’

‘‘Careful with them, baby.’’ He quickly reached out for them just in case anything went wrong, one hand on your hip as the other went to the heavier device. ‘‘They’re fragile.’’

Heartening eyes met his, yours filled with curiosity. ‘‘Can you teach me how to work with them?’’

And there you went doing that again; eyes growing until they couldn’t increase any more, corners of your lips that were unable to stay into a straight line due to the excitement that became visible feature by feature. And yes, Jungkook fell for it, once again.

‘‘Again,’’ he began, wanting to tease you a bit further. ‘‘It’s not the easiest hobby out there.’’

He watched as you rolled your eyes to the back of your head. ‘‘We get it, you’re a genius. But I’ve got to start somewhere, no?’’ You gauged, fingers playing with the buttons before you looked through the viewfinder. ‘‘How hard can it be to shoot a couple pictures?’’

Jungkook studied the way you pinched one eye to a close, how your nose scrunched and lips pursed. ‘‘There’s a lot you need to keep in mind while doing so,’’ he dared to wrap his arms around your waist again, nice and warm as he placed his chin on your shoulder. ‘‘Where is all this curiosity coming from anyway? First the surfing, now the cameras…’’

‘‘Hm, can’t I be curious?’’ You smiled, loving the way his breath fanned your throat. ‘‘You’re an architect that surfs and photographs? Something is not clicking.’’

He listened to your mumbles, the teasing tone not dismissed. ‘‘Are you doubting my skills now?’’ He jabbered, ‘‘Come on baby, can’t deny that I was pretty impressive out there. Don’t think I didn’t see you drooling all over me.’’

‘‘Of course, Kook.’’ You hummed, a pretty smile on your face. ‘‘My boyfriend is pretty impressive.’’

The larger man grew still against you for a moment, progressing your words first. ‘‘Boyfriend…’’ he muttered, arms growing tighter around you as his fingers intertwined. ‘‘I like the way you say that.’’

‘‘Do you?’’

‘‘Hm, yes.’’ He pretended to think, trying to hide his beam in the dark spot of your neck. ‘‘Say it again?’’

You put the camera away. ‘‘Say what again?’’ You quipped, turning around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. ‘‘Boyfriend?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ he groaned, squinting his eyes. ‘‘Feels good.’’

It did feel good.

© koocycle 2022

[neurodivergientqueerthoughts]

Introduction

Have you been wondering what ADHD is really like? This will not be biased towards one minority of people who have ADHD. It will be focused on the big picture.

This document will explain the seriousness of ADHD and everything that may come with it. Make sure to do more research into ADHD, as I am not an expert (although I, myself, have ADHD). In this, I go into detail about different aspects of ADHD and why it should not be taken lightly.

What is ADHD?

(Note: Not everyone with ADHD has these symptoms. They can vary from person to person.)

Constant activity going on internally (Hyperactivity)

Hyperfixations

Hyperfocusing

Depression (Co-occurring)

Anxiety (Co-occurring)

Sensory Processing Disorder

Executive Dysfunction

Auditory Processing Disorder (Co-occurring)

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria

Insomnia / Sleep issues

Inability to focus

Difficulty switching tasks

Inability to stick to one task

Mood swings

Difficulty regulating emotions

Choice paralysis

Problems with focusing

Poor impulse control

Trouble recalling things, such as commonly used words

Exhaustion levels

Imposter syndrome

Overwhelm

Overstimulation / Sensory Overload

Understimulation

Memory issues

Motivation issues

Time blindness

Poor sense of time

Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome (Co-occurring)

Extreme boredom

Going into Detail

Executive Dysfunction/ADHD Paralysis:

A feeling of constantly ‘waiting for something’, without knowing what or why.

Confusion as to how to start or do a task.

A feeling of being completely overwhelmed, even by mundane tasks, to a point of being unable to do the task or function.

A very good description of how this can feel is “a fuzzy-restless feeling when you need to do something but your brain won’t focus on anything… you’re silently begging yourself to just do one thing but instead you’re [sitting there] even though you don’t even want to be. It’s like your head is filled with heavy electric cotton… you’re both uncomfortable and unable to stop.”

This is not the same thing as procrastination or laziness. This occurs with tasks that the person is afraid to do, does not want to do, or even wants to do. Laziness means that a person does not feel like doing something, but they could if they wanted to. Executive dysfunction/ADHD paralysis can be described as something a person has been trying to do for [insert amount of time between minutes and months/years], but they physically cannot do the task and end up feeling like a failure because of that. It is debilitating.

Hyperfixation/Hyperfocus:

An extreme obsession over something. This can be creating something, finding out everything about something, or just something that creates extreme emotions in somebody.

This obsession can easily become unhealthy as the person may forget to take care of themselves due to it. However, these hyperfixations cause extreme joy or curiosity in the person.

Difficulty switching tasks:

“When you have ADHD, task switching can often be difficult. You might feel like you're stuck in a gear. It might be you're trying to start, and your gears just keep on grinding. Other times you may want to stop but the gear just stays in place because you're hyper-focusing on whatever you're doing.”

Inability to stick to one task:

People with ADHD often have issues with motivation, which leads to many unfinished projects.

If a task does not give a person with ADHD dopamine, they are often unable to complete the task (i.e. homework; chores).

Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome:

Instead of having a regular circadian rhythm, with sleeping hours from 11 pm to 7 am, people have an irregular pattern of 2 am to about 10 am.

These times are flexible. However, this means that people with ADHD tend to have issues with falling asleep at a “normal time”.

Extreme boredom:

People with ADHD have issues with dopamine and serotonin.

There are moments when boredom can be painful. People with ADHD can be bored to tears due to extreme emotions and a lack of dopamine.

Time Processing:

If somebody has to leave at 8 am and they wake up at 5:30, they will think that they have two hours or less to get ready. Time seems to pass without a pattern or rhythm.

“Today is Monday, but tomorrow is Tuesday and I have class. After that is Wednesday: I’m having lunch with my mom. Then on Thursday, I have a night class which means it’s basically already Friday and this week is already over.”

Time Blindness:

Not knowing how much time has passed based on their ‘internal clock’; they don’t have one!

Being completely unaware of how much time something will take.

Memory issues:

With ADHD, memory can be greatly affected. Some things will be forgotten very quickly, and some things can be over-remembered.

Difficulty regulating emotions:

“Processing emotions starts in the brain. Sometimes the working memory impairments of ADHD allow a momentary emotion to become too strong, flooding the brain with one intense emotion.” -Thomas Brown, PhD

Brain imaging shows that delayed rewards don’t register for people with ADHD. They are more motivated by the instant gratification that strong emotions deliver.

As a result, a person with ADHD may struggle to deal rationally and realistically with events that are stressful, but not of grave concern.

Motivation issues:

People with ADHD have much lower levels of dopamine than those without ADHD. This causes the brain to constantly crave dopamine.

If a task is not providing the dopamine the brain wants, it will make a person with ADHD less motivated to complete the task, or even start it.

Overstimulation / Sensory Overload:

Information reaching the senses feels like an assault of competing stimuli.

Understimulation:

Outside stimuli are dulled, as if a shade has been pulled over the environment, muting sights, sounds, and touch. These people crave extra stimulation to feel alive.

Exhaustion levels:

Feeling fatigued and tired all the time can actually be related to ADHD. Due to low dopamine levels, people with ADHD can feel exhausted even after getting ample amounts of sleep.

Ironically, people can get bursts of energy from ADHD as well. This can be from hyperactivity or high amounts of dopamine.

Imposter Syndrome:

Feeling like a fraud and doubting your own abilities.

Somebody who is intelligent and who has ADHD can have imposter syndrome towards both. They are not related to each other, but the ways they are portrayed in media causes imposter syndrome.

Auditory Processing Disorder:

Things can take longer to process when somebody hears them than when they see/read them.

The amount or complexity of noise around somebody can affect how they hear things.

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria:

Extreme anxiety towards being criticized or rejected by others, despite their relationship with the person.

Extreme pain or emotional sensitivity is caused by a sense of ‘rejection’.

Hyperactivity:

This is not always visible, if at all. There is constant activity going on inside of a person’s head when they have ADHD.

This creates difficulty with sleep and relaxation.

If visible, it usually takes the form of fidgeting or stimming.

“Dealing” with ADHD

ADHD cannot be fixed, but some things can help people work with it. The coping mechanisms vary from person to person, and they aren’t always going to work. Getting diagnosed with ADHD is the best step to take before anything else, as trained professionals can help with ADHD symptoms.

It is important to understand that ADHD is a learning and doing disability. It affects every aspect of life, but it isn’t a bad thing! Many things with ADHD can be positive as well. Hyperfocusing can lead to a lot of productivity! Additionally, people with ADHD are known to be more creative and inventive (according to numerous studies). Empathy and compassion are higher in individuals with ADHD. People with ADHD even have a stronger moral compass!

[sarasapen]

Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

-------

 You were a fraud.

 Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

 Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

 Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

 It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

 Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

 “You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

 Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

 His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

 You scowl.

 He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

 “Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

 You’d let him do anything.

 You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

 He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

 When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

 Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

 And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

 Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

 You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

 And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

 Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

 You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

 Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

 You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

 Hold on.

 You loved him.

 You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 “What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

 Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

 “She seems nice.”

 FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

 “She… The Duchess?”

 “Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

 “Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

 “You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

 “Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

 There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

 “What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

 “Do you love her?”

 You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

 “...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

 “Used to?”

 “It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

 It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too. 

 “So… what? You decided to give her up?”

 He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

 But you’re the exception.

 You’d always be his only exception.

 So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

 There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

 “Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

 “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

 And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

 “Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

 Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

 “Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

 It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

 Your eyes fly open at his words.

 “If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

 Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

 “Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

 “Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

 Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

 Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

 Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

 Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

 You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

 He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

 And…there.

 You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

 The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

 You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

 It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

 So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

 And then you’re meditating.

——

 “It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

 “You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

 “I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

 “Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

 “Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

 “A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

 Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

 A dinner.

 It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

 And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

 Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

 Then you see her.

 She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

 “The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

 He’s looking at you.

 You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

 Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

 “If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

 It’s strange, you think.

 The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

 Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

 No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

 “The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

 Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

 He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

 You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

 And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

-----

The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

-----

Obi-Wan taglist:

@allinmymind @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mugoi-usagi @babymango-writes @fluffyhales @whinsical-ash @filthy-thots @altarsw @mando831 @ruleroftides @soft-and-lush @softlikefairydust @bumblegadget @stafskislava @torihester @shedobeclownin @satikryze @buwnni @mando-amando @mrskenobi19 @butch-medusae @fandomtrxshh @a-c-lee @neji85 @reejero @silverpuppi @thereluctantherosrose @shinybananapastanickel @hey-there-angels @grumpymuffinmama @hufflingpuffling-blog1 @kyle9no @qt-ane @arsowon @aesthelliec @lovelyweepingrebel @marvelranger @lovelylostminds 

[babylyctor]

can John actually control time or am i making things up? trying to reach a conclusion via tumblr posting

so as a theory this is 75% vibes. however there’s some things in the books that give me pause, and i wanted to put together all those bits and see if there’s something there. i’m not totally on board with this idea because it seems too complex to leave entirely to the last book, and i don’t know how it could fit with the rest of the narrative (or do i?) but in any case i keep thinking about it so here’s this way too long post. spoliers for everything

first, this fucking suspicious sentence that’s one of the first things John tells Harrow (Chapter 2, HtN)

"I would let you come back, bit by bit, until you felt entirely ready to wake up. I can’t. I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I’d done the smarter thing and mastered Time. I have to ask you to get ready soon, and so I am going to show you something I hope might … trigger your readiness.”

so this sounds like a really dull complaint on this immortal god’s part but also i don’t trust a single thing out of this man’s mouth, and this would be the exact kind of private joke he would make if he had actually mastered Time (capitalized) too. Also the context in which it’s said, talking about Harrow coming back from her coma, regaigning consciousness, awakening... you get it, oddly relevant theme wise.

then there’s the whole Soup Moment (Chapter 25, HtN), in which John seems to actually stop time maybe? i have doubts about this so lets see what our narrator tells us;

And God said, “Stop.”

The world slowed down. Augustine and Mercymorn stopped, arrested in the act of half-rising from their seats. Ianthe stopped, left arm paused, outflung, to shield her face. You stopped, sitting upright in your chair: your bones somehow rigid and still, and your flesh chilly and rigid around those bones. The shrapnel spray from the Saint of Duty did not stop, [...] But what remained of him stopped too, half man, half rupture—his prurient details hot and white, naked insides clothed with the sinus-drying burst of the power of God.

so here John freezes all the lyctors in place, they’re still conscious, or at least Harrow is, but they have their range of movement almost totally restricted. this is not like Mercy pinching Harrow’s dorsal nerve to paralyze her, this is a completely different feeling, maybe John’s thalergetic powers? it would make sense, all the lyctors are living bodies, they have thalergy and Johs is able to manipulate that, presumably. the bits of Gideon OG cascading down the table don’t stop but that might be John selectively using his powers, or it might be that that’s no longer living flesh.

so we’re saying this could just be John’s super special thalergy magic and nothing else. the first problem though is that technically he shouldn’t be able to use it against his lyctors without touching them, thanks to lyctoral invisibility. in fact when he explodes Mercy’s chest (rip in peace queen) he expressely reaches out and touches her to do so, because presumably he needs to make contact with a body in order to use magic against it, same as Mercy. so that’s a caveat, then there are these descriptions from the same Soup Moment;

You stared down the table at him: at the blank, remote faces of your two nominal teachers—at the frozen ivory stillness of Ianthe, her hair now whitish pink—at space outside the window, where the asteroids themselves seemed to hang in tranquilized arrest.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses stood. The spell, whatever it had been, dropped like a white sun setting.

These seem to imply certain ambiguity. John’s God and all that but i don’t think thalergetic magic should be able to affect asteroids, lifeless space rocks. of course it says they “seem” to hang in tranquilized arrest, not that they are really unmoving, but i think it’s a suggestive sentence all the same, and i’m suspicious of every word Muir writes. The second quote, specifically the highlighted part, is also a bit frustrating. It seems to imply that John isn’t exactly doing magic as we know it, but something else. If it was Harrow narrating we could go further with it, but since it’s Gideon we could simply attribute it to her lack of knowledge and familiarity with magic. However, two sentences after that we don’t have that problem;

The construct gamely clamberign our of the Saint of Duty dwindled to a powder of pink dust. The shard you had been driving up the cervical vertebrae to the base of the spine [...] simply disappeared: destroyed or removed, you could not tell.

This is still Gideon narrating but in this case she’s specifically telling us that Harrow doesn’t understand what John just did, it’s not magic Harrow is familiar with. There’s also the contrast between what we know is a normal process of destroying a construct - reducing it to dust -  vs this mysterious disappearance, that doesn’t really fit into what we know so far about the way thanergy/thalergy work.

so far, nothing conclusive, we know John is really powerful, but we don’t know exactly how, where his power comes from or what it can do. Then there’s the moment he unexplodes himself (Chapter 52, HtN);

White light.

It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

That light took colour from the room—everyone was a slow-motion cavalcade of greys, of eyes caught widening, of mouths parting in stone-shaded articulations of shock.

It happened in an instant. It happened over a myriad. A wet red construct knitted itself back together, [...]

again that white light that has been associated with thalergy magic and again all these references to time slowing down, stopping or just behaving in strange ways in general. again lots of ambiguity, this could be a thalergy based power - the ability to hold living bodies in stasis, and therefore make everyone feel like time has slowed down - or it could be that John is actually affecting time, maybe even reversing it (?) since he literally un-exploded himself, after Mercy put all her millenia of expertise into atomizing him and reducing him to almost nothing.

is that even explicable with regular thanergy/thalergy based magic? i’m not sure, a regular necro could never do that, a lyctor couldn’t do that. So if John isn’t just an overpowered lyctor what’s the difference exactly? i mean, how do his powers manifest differently from those of every other necromancer we know?

the other person we’ve seen using powerful thalergy magic is Silas. Whenever he siphoned, Gideon describes a similar vacuum sensation to the one that John’s magic also provokes, as well as white light;

As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of thunder. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Silas clambered to his knees, clasped his fingers together, and the feeling of suction popped the pressure in both of Gideon’s ears. (Chapter 34, GtN)

Silas is nowhere near as powerful as John but siphoning - thalergy based magic, condemned by God - still causes that suction effect and is marked by white light and lightning, just like John’s magic. However, there’s no mention of a time altering effect, no slowing down, no freezing in place, and seeing how both kinds of magic are similarly coded otherwise i find this difference suspicious.

To end this somewhere, two quotes, first, this thing Harrow tells Ortus when they both discuss what it must be like to be a lyctor (Chapter 5, HtN);

“Nigenad, what would be the tragedy in living for a myriad? Ten thousand years to learn everything there is to know [...] What is the tragedy of time?”

honestly to me that sounds like Muir making Harrow say things she will regret later. of course it could be about any of the numerous tragedies in Harrow life but still, gave me pause, specially because it kinda echoes John’s earlier sentiment, wishing he had mastered Time.

finally, a quote that might be totally meaningless and completely off base in this theory or it could round it up perfectly, i haven’t decided yet;

[...] ; yet you prayed all the while knowing Ianthe’s facility for tergiversation would have given the whole universe pause. (Chapter 36, HtN)

we know Ianthe is a girlboss and gaslighting is her thing. However, isn’t this sentence a bit too dramatic to describe Ianthe? doesn’t it sound kinda ominous to you? it definitely does to me, and although it might totally be my Ianthe bias wanting her to play an important part, who is Ianthe hanging out with lately? exactly John God “Jod” the Emperor.

in conclusion, i haven’t reached any conclusion. but i still think there’s something off with John’s powers beyond what we’ve been told, which isn’t much really, and i think there’s something going on with Time within the narrative (that’s another whole post though), and i think these two things are most probably related. but i can’t say i’m 100% sure of any of it. this was fun though. if you made it here thank you so much you’re the best <3

[taechaos]

Blackmail

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Jimin offers you information on Jungkook, but your friendship is misconstrued by Jungkook who ends it singlehandedly with one video of you professing your love to him between moans.

warnings: dubcon, fingering, degredation, mild squirting, manipulation

word count: 2.8k

a/n: jealous kook doesn't realize he's jealous. this part is a bit extreme, so beware ><

One doesn't come across someone like Jungkook every day. It's fate that you met him in your first year of college, extending to your second where he grows closer to you; fair, it's clear that he only intends to use you for his academic success, but you've deluded yourself into thinking you're in love with each other. Growing up, you only had your dysfunctional family to teach you about how to love, how to think. As long as Jungkook needs you, he will love you, and you’re willing to do anything to be with him, only him. You need him to live.

Birds sing in the background as you lay on your stomach on the grass of the yard across the campus. It’s sunny and breezy, the perfect spring day as you work on Jungkook’s research paper due next month. You compiled multiple credible sources in a separate file to create an outline for his essay the moment he forwarded the assignment to you. You want him to praise you, pet your hair, kiss your cheek for starting so early so he can turn it in before anyone else. He would be proud, flashing you his pearly whites and adoring eyes. The reward motivates you to work harder and you’re relentlessly skimming through articles while counting down the minutes of Jungkook's lecture. He'll be outside with his friends in 7 minutes.

With a bad childhood, you don’t care to befriend many people. You only have a few friends to keep you company and you’re socially awkward outside of that group. You’re content, so you steer clear of boys who try to sabotage your relationship with Jungkook. Jimin, however, doesn’t get the memo.

Typing away on your laptop, a shadow looms over you to give you a break from the sunlight. You glance up and stop swinging your legs absentmindedly when you recognize the shadow; it’s a boy with frames and a tight collar adorning his neck.

Park Jimin is a typical nerd whereas you’re more of a closeted nerd. When you’re in love, you usually put more effort into your appearance to impress the one on your mind, but that doesn’t work with Jungkook. It’s always other men giving you their attention through second glances, and that includes Jimin.

“What do you want?” you rudely greet. Jimin is ruthless with his attempts at pursuing you; he’s the perfect gentleman, and often volunteers to do group tasks with you. He is never mean to anyone, and has a squeaky clean reputation, but his only flaw is that he can’t take a hint. You don't bother being friendly to him because you don't want friends.

"I want to know why you look so happy," he bends over to curiously glance at your screen, "while doing homework?"

You slam the monitor closed to stop his ogling. "You wouldn't get it. And stop watching me," you sternly say.

"What's your secret?" he grins and sits down on the grass next to you with crossed legs. His upper body serves as a shade and you stop squinting.

"There is no secret, I was just in a good mood until you came along." You're not upset, but you don't want to lead Jimin on and he won't leave unless you blow him off.

"Thinking of Jungkook?" he teases with a mischievous smile.

"Are you stalking me?"

"No, you're just too obvious," he chuckles, but the sound is strained. You don't notice his melancholy as he continues, "You were doing his homework again?"

You shift on your propped elbows a little uncomfortably. Jimin doesn't need to know what you do in your free time. "Yes," you answer anyway.

"You know he has daddy issues?"

Your eyes round as your discomfort dissipates instantly; he's piqued your interest. "Really?"

"Yeah, he has a tough exterior but he's actually a real softie."

An involuntary smile carves on your face before it falters as you ask, "How do you know this?"

"We went to high school together. I can tell you some stories if you want," he boasts when he realizes he has your attention. The context makes his heart sink, but when he imagines your lovesick grin is directed at him, it fills him with joy.

"Tell me, tell me! Please."

"Weeell," he draws with a lopsided grin, "don't tell him I told you this, but he used to hate girls. I don't know if he still does, but back then he couldn't even stand talking to a girl."

"Why?" your eyes are wide with interest as you whisper.

He shrugs, "No idea, but he hit a girl once when she wouldn't stop clinging onto him. Not like drop-kick her," he laughs, "he just shoved her on the ground. Be careful with him, okay? He can be very aggres-"

"You guys forming a nerd club now?"

You gasp when you hear Jungkook's voice. When you look up at him, he's almost glaring as his eyes flicker from you to Jimin. You're gleeful at his approach, because he never comes to you unless it's about a new assignment. It flutters your heart to see him without any papers in his hand.

You don't take his subtle insult to heart as you immediately respond, "No, we were just talking. H-Hi."

"Pull down your skirt, you look like a whore. I can see your panties all the way from the gates," he seethes in distaste. You instantly sit up with a blush and tug your skirt down to your knees. He looks back at Jimin who's glaring at him under his lashes, "The fuck's your deal?"

"Nothing," Jimin grits. Although he hates Jungkook's guts, he's too smart to fight a lost cause. He has his own set of muscles, but it isn't enough. It's best to accept defeat now.

"Did you start on the paper?" Jungkook asks you.

"Yes, I-"

"Good," he cuts you off and crouches to peck your lips by pulling the back of your neck. You're stunned when he pulls away and nonchalantly walks off to his friends.

Jimin follows him with his eyes and mutters under his breath, "douche."

Your heart is racing and you clamp a hand over your chest as a lovestruck smile spreads across your face. You know this is your end of the bargain, but it never fails to shrivel you up in delight.

"Are you two dating?" he mumbles as he pulls on the grass with a pout.

"Something like that," you exhale as you caress your lips.

It’s become routine to link up with Jimin where he reminisces his high school memories and you don’t doubt a single word he says unless it sheds a bad light on Jungkook. You’ve learned so much about him in the past few days, and you’re eager to know more. He likes energy drinks to this day, he was athletic in school and often got into fights. He began interacting with girls when he entered college, as Jimin says, “only for a quick fuck.”

Though it hurts Jimin that you only talk to him for information on Jungkook, he can’t bring himself to care when you hang onto every word he says with a glint in your eyes like you’re doing now.

You're sitting in the bustling cafeteria across from Jimin, sipping on a homemade strawberry lemonade from your thermos, and you don't notice Jungkook glancing at your table every now and then. It is the first time he doesn't feel your heavy gaze on him. Jimin does notice however, because he is facing him every time he receives a threatening ferile look.

"He could become a lawyer with how much he blackmailed the teachers to give him a good grade," Jimin tells you as he glances back and forth between you and Jungkook. "He's quite dangerous, you know. He's manipulative, a liar and has no empathy-"

"He's clever," you counter defensively, "he knows how to get around the system."

He makes a disgruntled noise from the back of his throat with a grimace. "I don't think the judge would listen to that."

You laugh at his comparison of the conversation to a court hearing. Jimin can be funny sometimes, and you have to admit that he's not that bad of a friend either. You've come to enjoy his company without the topic of Jungkook the past few days, but talking about him is always appreciated.

"Are you the judge then?" you cheekily ask.

"I might as well be, since I'm not biased like a certain someone," he teases with a grin.

"A lawyer has to see the bright side of things, but if I was the prosecutor, I wouldn't tell you that your lecture is in five minutes."

His smile falters as his eyes widen; you remember his schedule? He ran late for a lecture yesterday, but he’s in disbelief that you reminded him today. "Th-Thanks," he breathes as he packs up his belongings before giving you a curt, shy nod. His heart pounds when he walks away, and he resists the urge to look back at you.

It's a good idea, because that's when Jungkook settles down on his former seat.

"I'm thinking you might be forgetting who you belong to," he starts as he gets comfortable on the stiff chair. You instantly smile at his appearance.

"No, I'm very well aware of it." Your tone is high-pitched in excitement.

"It wasn't a question."

"Oh..."

“You talk more than you work,” he observes with a quirk of his brow. “One would think another nerd would be a better influence on you.”

“I work at night,” you defend worriedly, “I promise I’m not slacking off. Can I get a kiss please?”

You’re so adorable when you’re needy. He hides a smirk with a bite of his lip; he thrives from your loyalty to him, but he knows Jimin is a threat to it. He wants you to stop talking to that freak, and he justifies it as a concern for his grades. “I’ll kiss you when you’re not procrastinating. Do you think you deserve even a pat on the head?”

“I do! I’m halfway done with the research paper, please Jungkook,” you beg pathetically, “I-I’ll show it to you, I have it with me right now.” You start unzipping the case of your laptop until he holds up a hand for you to stop.

“You’re going to read it to me, but not here.”

When he stands up, so do you in a haste. He leaves the cafeteria with you hot on his tail, almost jogging when his strides are much bigger compared to yours. You resemble a clueless lamb following a lion, desperate to hold his claws with your hooves. You don’t know where he’s leading you as you walk down the halls until you stop in front of a door. You’re about to freak out when he swings open the door, but you realize the lecture room is empty.

“You want me to read here?” you inquire meekly. It’s a little intimidating to do it in complete silence, because you have a tendency to stutter when reading out loud and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jungkook where no one can talk over you. 

“Yup.” He snatches your laptop case from your hand with the handle, and roughly opens it before placing the device on the front row wooden desk. It’s a large hall, and the desks stretch out to the half of the room. You’re feeling stage fright for no particular reason; it feels like reverse claustrophobia. “Open the document and give me your phone.”

You don’t question him and hand in your phone before going through your files on the laptop. Jungkook is looking through your contacts and grins when he finds himself saved as: the love of my life ♡. Jimin is saved by his name, and he finds his WhatsApp through his information below. Once he opens your empty chat with him, he switches to your camera and pushes your back so you’re bent over the desk. You sharply inhale and ask, “Kook?” 

“Don’t get distracted now,” he lightly scolds and starts pulling down your pants. You stopped wearing skirts after the incident a week ago to appease him. You stammer with your back arched, and your ass is on full display for him. It’s humiliating. “Start reading.”

“H-Humans are- Jungkook?” you warily look back at Jungkook when he slides the slit of your panties to the side.

“Are you slacking off?” he condescends. 

You bite your lip anxiously and continue reading, “Humans are social animals that n-need social interaction,” Jungkook spits in his hand, “the extent of our social relationships is the most important predictor of h-happiness.” You squeal when you feel wet fingers graze your folds, but you know better than to stop and ask what he’s doing.

“Continue,” he coaxes softly as he brushes his fingertips over your pussy lips. 

“Um, o-one of the main reasons our brains have developed the way they have is so that we can be social,” you speak between shaky breaths. Your cheeks are tinted crimson with embarrassment from his touches; why is he pleasuring you when he specifically told you, you didn’t deserve any? “Being happy a-all of the time is neither possible nor desirable.”

“Is it now?” He slips a finger in your cunt and you involuntarily let out a cry as you push your body forward. You don’t notice him holding up your phone behind you while slowly sliding his finger in and out of you. His saliva is mixing with your arousal as you answer in a gasp, “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“B-Because negative feelings are natural. When it comes to negative feelings, the most important thing to remember is to learn,” you pause to exhale with quivering lips, “to control certain potentially harmful thoughts.” You whine his name when another finger is added to your heat. You’re moving your hips back and forth until he slaps your wet folds as a warning. “Sorry,” you peep and continue in a breath, “Happiness all of the time entails epistemic irrationality.”

It’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you just want to indulge in his thrusts, but you’re encouraged to stop reading when he doesn’t comment on your moans. His pace is quickening and you chase his fingers with your hips, cum dripping down his wrist as you mewl.  

“You enjoying yourself, whore?”

You nod and whimper, “So much.” You’re clutching the edge of the desk as he fingers you with fervor.

“And you're my girl?” 

“Yes, all yours, I love you so much,” you pant, not stopping for a moment to question his words. He has a full view of your sopping wet cunt on the camera, and he lightly blows on you, making you shiver. He’s recording you confess your love for him while getting fingered.

“Only me?” he presses.

“Only you, Jungkook, I love you more than anything,” you slur as you start to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Then pee.”

“Wh-What?”

“Touch your clit and pee.” He removes his fingers from your clenching hole and takes a step back. “Prove your love to me.”

You mourn the loss of his hand while staring wide-eyed at the floor. You’re contemplating his demand as your hand slowly reaches down to your clit. Is he asking you to squirt? Your breathing is shallow as you near your climax, and you still don’t know if you’ll go through with his requirement.

It drips out in tiny drops as you come undone, moaning as clear liquid spills out of you for only a few seconds. 

“Good girl, my good little girl,” Jungkook whispers as he intently watches you humiliate yourself in the name of love. You’re twitching and trembling in shame when he stops recording you and sends it to Jimin without a second’s waste. “Are you okay, baby?”

You hum with a pout as you collect yourself by standing up straight, a sway in your posture. 

“Give me your panties, you’ve made a mess on the floor,” he chastises as he holds out a hand. You slip and step out of them before giving it to him. In return, he passes your phone before feigning a gasp, “Shit, I think I sent Jimin a video of you when I was trying to forward it to my phone.”

Your mouth falls open as heat consumes your entire being. “H-Huh?” Tears brim in your eyes almost instantly; your heart is pounding from anxiety.

“How will you ever look at him now,” he empathizes with a fake frown. “He must think of you as such a slut now.”

“Let me delete it,” you panic as you open your phone. “Wh-Where is it?”

He motions you to give him the phone and opens WhatsApp after. “He’s already seen it.” There are two blue ticks under the message.

“No, no, no,” you pull your hair in agony with a whimper. You quickly put your pants back on and cry as you do so.

“I guess that’s the end of your friendship,” he raises his eyebrows to himself without a hint of sympathy.

“What do I do?!” you wail and fling your hands in stress.

“Avoid him. I’ll make sure he won’t leak it.”

He steps forward to lean in your face intimidatingly. “And don’t talk to him ever again.”

You don’t exactly have a choice now, do you?