#➢ story: a tyrant tale

[imaginarymen]

WORLDS AND STORIES

Will be updated over time! Descriptions under the cut, tags below.

BELLUM

All throughout the war, there were odd rumblings, almost like thunder, almost like earthquakes. Sometimes, if one looked, one could see little dark threads and tears before them. There were worried whispers, whispers that intensified along with the anomalies, until a pitch was reached– then, the whispers became screams as the very fabric of the world was torn open.

Fabric overlaps just as it tears. Countless eras and locations throughout history and the world converged in a newfound dimension. Many were and are there, wandering, each with a different reason. Some want to heal the world. Some want to conquer it. Some want to destroy it. Some simply want to go home. Regardless of one’s desire, all are on a journey through the sordid sands of time in the desert of Bellum.

STORIES

THE COASTLEAGUE

Emmerich did not let his former status as Crown Prince of a wealthy empire hinder him when he woke up in Bellum. Instead, he worked hard to build something of his own, something to help him survive. Using his knowledge and love of sailing, he formed a crew and began to trade, and, using his skills in diplomacy and politics, he built a trade network to rival all others in Bellum. 

Now, as always, he faces the challenge of staying out of all conflicts while remaining very, very involved– but that is no easy task in any world, let alone one like this.

Characters: Emmerich

THE MAGEVERSE

[Description to be updated.]

Magic lives within nearly everything. Typically, beings closer to sentience are more powerful, with humans being the most powerful species known— of course, with occasional exceptions. Magic has always been woven into the fabric of human society. As people grew to be more complex, so too did magic— and now, in a time period roughly equivalent to the 1920s, it is more advanced and prevalent than ever.

STORIES

TITLE TBD

Dirk was once just a quaint, well-behaved farm girl from the mountains, spending most of his time tending to chickens and debating with his teachers, forbidden from doing magic by his family’s sect. A few magical times and a hypomanic episode later, however, he has become a rather confident man, a student fervent in his pursuit of knowledge, and a prodigy in the field of magiology. Where will his ambitions take him in such uncertain times? Surely beyond that leaky studio apartment… Characters: Dirk, Gunther

THE VALLEYVERSE

Still, after epochs, the river runs and reigns.

Many, many years after a mysterious, cataclysmic event wiped out much of humanity, the world has been healing, as have the people in it. New York City recovered as a center of trade and industry, and in turn, the Hudson Valley sprung back up with it. 

As before, the Hudson is the backbone of the region, connecting New York City to Albany through various smaller cities. Routes 9, 44, and 55 still act as arteries, and the Queen City of the Hudson, Poughkeepsie, has been experiencing a renaissance. 

However, things are still a little different from how they were before— strange phenomena occur all around, and with the power of these odd events and objects, otherwise lackluster technology has gone in unexpected new directions. 

In a strange patchwork of old and new, people carve out lives for themselves the same way the river does through the valley.

STORIES

KIT OF THE QUEEN CITY

Built in the image of her mother’s ex-fiancé after he left, Kit was always expected to fill the void of his absence. When she could no longer stand the cruelty of her creator, she ran, until, one day, it confronted her in the form of her father, for lack of a better word. He is not the villain her mother made her out to be, and, as she is learning, neither is she herself. Now, with the support of her father and a band of friends, Kit is piecing herself together and learning how to love and trust truly, one step at a time.

Characters: Kit

THE BELT

[Description to be updated.]

A sci-if universe with a variety of settings within it. There are few commonalities between various stories and settings within this universe.

STORIES

A TYRANT TALE

Tyr has always had its share of unrest. The climate is hostile, and so too can be the nations and rulers. Hrodland, a nation in the planet’s north, likely knows thi better than any other, especially after the Frost Famine and the following instability.

Times of unrest are not simply spectacles; they are endured by people. This story follows Hrodland’s unrest through the eyes of a tight-knit group over a long span of time, chronicling the wars, coups, protests, and strife– and then the culmination of great human effort– through the eyes of those who lived through it all.

Characters: Elise, Gerlach, Halstein, Klara, Otto, Phyl, Reinhold

THE AFTERREALMS

[Description to be updated.]

An afterlife ruled by deities— some kind, some cruel— the order of which is begging to be dismantled.

STORIES

DAMNATION AND DEVOTION

An AU. Gerlach, having been unjustly sent to the Netherrealm after his death, fights for a chance at redemption and reunion with his husband Otto. Meanwhile, Otto wages his own war in the Overrealm, having had enough of the pantheon’s cruelty and unfairness. Though apart, their efforts are aligned— in that way, they fight together. Characters: Gerlach, Otto

[mrsthunderkin]

A teensie shading practice with Bart post workout/class

[forcedhesitation]

crazy how he just ignores everyone else and speaks directly to wyll. it's like wyll is like one of the most important characters in this game, or something.

[all-eyes-no-dragon]

WIP Themes Tag

Tagged by @gummybugg !

Rules: Bold the themes that appear in your WIP & italicise those that are loosely covered then tag 10 people.

I'll be using my WIP "A Tale Of Two Tyrants" for this:

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfillment | good vs. bad I government I greed I guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation I knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power I power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth I wisdom of experience | youth

Tags:

@lyutenw @feline17ff @equallyloyalandlethal @dutdutdutdutdut @gaypiratebrainrot @so-many-ocs @allisonilluminated @epersonae @cosette141 @theyoungwritersmind-aristanelson

you're free to ignore, sorry for the tags <3

[sokokoko]

Writing Dump: A Tale Of Two Tyrants (Early Draft Chapter 1)

I shoulder my way through the congregation of people in front of the door, and into the classroom. Shrieking giggles and animated storytelling hushes, turning into low murmurs and badly whispered code. I shrug my bag off and take a seat at the back by the window.

The majority of my classmates linger by the door or top half of the room, under the guise of wanting more time with their friends. I already know that the back of the class will remain barren until the teacher makes his way here.

The sugary scent of bubblegum reaches my nose a few seconds before the one chewing pops the bubble. The explosive noise leaves my ears ringing with static and the girl with gum hanging limply from her mouth gives me a timid look. I don't know what she sees, but it's enough for the gum to drop out from her mouth and for her to scurry over to her assigned seat, in an attempt to keep away from me.

As she passes, she says, “Teacher’s coming,” in a stiff but loud voice. The other twenty-something students clamour about, trying to reach their seats in time. Most do. My ears wince at the scraping of chairs against the floor, making me desperately want to clap my hands over them and never hear again.

Mr Kenmore comes in with his no-nonsense face and a chunky copy of Macbeth, bulging with colourful notes and annotations. We all take out our much thinner copies and he says, “Open the book at act five scene one.”

The rustling of pages catch my ears and I can only open my book with a sigh. It's something I really don't want to do. The play is full of needless violence and crazy people who had plenty of opportunities not to go down this path.

“Everette, you’ll be Lady Macbeth,” Mr Kenmore says, breaking the quiet I so dearly loved. “Yanny will be the Gentlewoman and Una can be the Doctor.”

I pull my lips back into a sour expression and something churns inside me. Or is it burning? Both? The contents of my stomach mix around as if they were ingredients being stirred together to make a potion, whilst something hot flares up in my chest.

Kenmore purposely picks boys to read the girl parts and girls to read the boy parts, which I don't care about all that much. He does it for the supposed irony, his humour being what it is. But he rarely ever calls on me. I can only wonder, am I Lady Macbeth for the same type of irony that Yanny is the Gentlewoman? Because we're both boys? Or is there something else my teacher is laughing about?

My classmates' voices drone around me and I only catch the snippets of their words, waiting stiffly for my part to come.

“It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour,” Yanny reads in a posh voice.

The proceeding lines tumble out of my mouth, which runs like a broken tap, unable to be shut off despite everyone's endeavours.

“Yet here's a spot... who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” I say.

Every line pushes the churning feeling up my oesophagus, like I'm trying to squeeze the last bit of ketchup out of a packet from a fast food restaurant.

“... What, will these hands ne'er be clean?”

“ … Here's the smell of the blood still.”

“... What's done cannot be undone— to bed, to bed, to bed,” I finish.

By the time I've run out of lines to say, my voice box too has run out of words. The walls of my throat cling together, as if sticky, but I know that's false. It's false because they're dry— too dry to speak, too dry to think beyond the urge to hydrate.

“Um, Everette?” Mr Kenmore asks, “I asked you a question. Are you… paying attention?”

My unseeing gaze rests on him and he probably sees the same thing in my eyes that Bubblegum Girl did.

“Never mind,” the man decides. “Una can answer it.”

Sweet how he calls the other students by their names or nicknames. Saccharine, in fact. The thought has bile coming up to dance across my tongue, in its bitter, spiked dancing shoes. As soon as the mechanical chiming of the bell sounds over the intercom, I rush out the door, liberating the others from having to walk on eggshells and ice. But most importantly, liberating myself from the four, constricting peach walls and their cheery English posters.

I speed away from the flurry of colour in my peripheral, but it chases me, all the way to the stairs that lead to the roof. I push open the rickety door that even the janitors only use occasionally. If no student is supposed to go to the roof, why make it so easy?

The prison walls are replaced by cotton candy blue skies and matching white clouds, which places a blanket of calm over my frenzied thoughts. The roof is open, wide and flat and there's a perfect nook for me to settle in by the door. It has a view of the ground below but protects me from falling with the railing. In addition, it hides me from anyone who opens the door but doesn't check either side thoroughly. And I just barely won't be hit by the door if I sit there. I squeeze myself into the space, looking down on the world below.

“Hiki Everette,” I mumble. Nothing in common with Lady Macbeth. Very dissimilar, actually. But turning my gaze to my hands sends another wave of bitter bile up my throat, burning it.

“Hiki, Hiki, Hiki,” I chorus. Not Lady Macbeth, not Everette, not Mad Dog, not son, not Tyrant. Beforehand, I never knew a name could hold such power. Or the withholding of a name. But it can. It can leave a gaping chasm of distance between people and segregate the world into ‘us’ and ‘them’.

I want to say it more, but I feel as if there's a limit to how pathetic a person can be. It's a redundant action anyways since it's not me who needs to say my name. My ribcage sinks down from its tense position and a shuddering exhale escapes me, and with it, the fight in me.

“Should I start a soliloquy? Should I confess all my sins and desires to the sky? Should I wonder if I'm making a difference?"

I hook my fingers on the gate and blurry green grass with shapeless blobs milling about greets my eyes.

“... Should I ask how they can tell I'm a monster?”

[saintobio]

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ THIS SERIES WILL SERVE AS THE THE SECOND TIMELINE -> READ HERE FOR THE FIRST TIMELINE (ORIGINAL STORY) ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Tremble

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Little Gift Masterlist

Beautiful adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Summary: This is your last chance to run.

Warnings: aged up Neteyam, NSFW minors do not interact, dark Neteyam, NONCON/DUBCON, spanking, dirty talk, punishment, size difference, etc.

A/N: This one took a little longer than intended with all the life stuff going on, but yay it's here. Also, migt have gotten a little carried away with this part.

The outpost feels like a relic of a different time. One that you have only heard of in stories, but now seeing those worn down bunk beds and the corner of a room that Spider calls his own, it doesn’t feel as glorious. The worst part, however, is how naked you feel around other humans. It’s only a slight comfort that Spider is wearing Na’vi apparel too. 

“Oh and yeah and this is a spear I made in Awalatuu.” Spider says. “But maybe let’s move it out of the way.” He gives an awkward chuckle but it’s obvious that his only concern is you suddenly deciding to use it against him. 

Your arrival at the outpost had been anything but graceful. In hindsight you would have preferred to meet these people face to face instead of over Neteyam’s shoulder. 

“If you want we can uh….watch a movie. Oh yeah I bet I could swipe Norm’s Star Wars collection.” 

You don’t return the smile he gives you, too busy awkwardly sitting on his bed while pouting. You never thought it would feel strange to be back in a place like this but after being around the Na’vi for the past week, the outpost feels like walking into a rundown dollhouse. Everything is your size and nothing is as beautifully crafted as Neteyam’s kelku. 

The awkward silence is slightly painful but you can’t find it within yourself to feel bad for Spider. Not when he hasn’t shown even a morsel of sympathy for your situation. Your own kind and not even they find it important to get you out of here. Not that they could anyways. No doubt Neteyam would view such actions as a betrayal. 

“He wouldn’t let you come along, huh?” You finally ask. 

Spider stops digging through the worn down hard drives. 

“Who?” 

“Neteyam. Didn’t want you coming to see the RDA off either?” 

Spider scoffs at the, leaving the tech behind to cross the small room. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not the one he’s worried about getting into trouble.” 

Spider may not have heightened senses like the Na’vi but you worry that he sees the way your hands ball around the thin blankets.

“So Lo’ak handed the role of babysitter off to you somehow.” You lean back against the cold wall, trying to appear bored by the conversation. 

“Just for today. He was clear that I would only be a substitute.” 

Your brows furrow at that. Maybe Lo’ak doesn’t mind watching over you as much as he lets on. Then again Lo’ak never fails to find your company amusing, and for all the wrong reasons. Some days you wonder if Neteyam would really be cross with you for slapping his brother across the face. Maybe if you batted your lashes and played it off as self defense….

“Well I’m sorry you can’t be there.” 

It’s Spider’s turn to look confused. 

“Why?” 

“Colonel Quaritch is your dad, isn’t he?” 

“That asshole is nothing close to a father.” Spider’s jaw clenches, posturing already shifting to loom over you. He may be human but his six foot frame of striped muscle greatly outweighs your own. 

“Oh trust me, I know. Quaritch has been nothing but a tyrant my entire life. I honestly don’t know how he managed to get back into General Ardmore’s good graces after half the stunts he has pulled. That’s why I was excited for today. Finally see that bastard put in his place.” Spider watches you closely. In some ways it feels like all he is missing he ears and tail of a Na’vi.

“Thought maybe you would want to see that too.” 

You know a good deal about Spider Soccoro. He is a story that is often shared among the recombinants but never in Quaritch’s presence. Many tales have been told of the feral stripped boy that was more trouble than worth. You wonder if the stories would have been different if he hadn’t chosen the Sullys in the end. Still, even with their biased filters you know that they put Spider through hell. 

Kidnapping is traumatic enough without having to watch islands burn and friends cry for justice. 

“I don’t care what happens to that bastard.” Spider huffs before promptly turning around and fishing through the hard drives once more. You’ve killed the already strained mood. 

“Well then you’re a better person than me. Good for you.” Spider doesn’t answer but you can tell he is listening. 

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Hell, I’ve only had to put up with him from a distance and I would ring his neck myself if given the chance.” 

Spider’s fingers fiddle with a blue hard drive, eyes staring down thoughtfully. 

“But I guess I should trust Neteyam to give him what he deserves. Watch that monster tuck his tail and accept his failure for what it is.”  It’s the one cause you consider Neteyam and yourself on the same side of. 

Leaning back, you prop your feet up onto the creaky mattress. 

“Yeah.” He says shortly. 

“Ugh don’t get me started on Lyle though-”

“What are you trying to do?” Spider springs to his feet, glaring daggers down at you. 

“What do-”

“Do you think I’m really that stupid? Neteyam told me you would do this. Trying to spin a story that would allow you to escape.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You’re startled by the outburst to say the least but at this point there is nothing to lose. This man you only met fifteen minutes ago is the difference between spending the rest of your days here and returning back to Earth. Neteyam’s punishments are far from being enough to deter you from taking this chance. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to-”

“Would it kill you to just stay out of trouble for this one day? For my sake?” The look he gives you is anything but tender in comparison to his words. 

The bitter taste of impending failure is already settling in. You can already feel the immense weight of this dread and it springs you into action. This can’t be the end. 

It won’t be. 

“Can you really blame me though? For wanting to say goodbye to everything and everyone I have ever known?” 

Spider goes quiet, hazel eyes suddenly avoiding your own gaze. 

“Believe whatever you want but the fact is this day will never repeat. This is literal history and…” You voice quivers, blunt teeth sinking into your bottom lip in restraint. The last barrier to holding the words back. “The last glimpse at my old life.” 

You don’t allow the gravity of those whispered words to plant themselves. This is all a ruse after all. Just enough sadness to get Spider to cooperate and yet saying it out loud feels like tying an anchor to your ankle. Truly realizing how stuck you may be from here on out. 

Spider doesn’t say anything for a long while. Neither of you look at each other, letting the silence sizzle between you. 

And then finally….

“We have to be quick.”

“And no touching anything. I mean it, shit out here can be extremely poisonous.” Spider rattles on, listing yet another rule to follow as the two of you venture through the thick terrain. You roll your eyes. You may not be a match for the creatures of Pandora physically but you’ve studied enough to understand what to stay away from.

“We’re there for five minutes tops, got it?” Spider says as he pushes a hanging branch out of your path. 

“Yes sir.” You salute him playfully. Now that you are less than a mile away from Bridgehead a certain giddiness begins to take over. It swirls together with your nerves and apprehension but it doesn’t deter you. This is the closest you have been to freedom in a week. 

Eywa’s mightiest creatures could not keep you from your goal. 

Years down the road when you wake up from kyro this will all be some awful dream that embeds itself into your revenge arch. Starting with Miles Quaritch of course. 

“I’m being serious. Neteyam will kill me if he sees you out here. I’m sticking my neck out for you.” 

“It will be worth it.” You say simply, a skip in your step when you recognize the familiar path that leads back to Bridgehead. This the same one you had carved deeper with every trip you had taken to your oasis. Looking back there is nothing more you regret but the sight of it still makes you smile. 

Spider never stops his stern rambling. Despite the fact that he is built like a Greek God, his speeches do little to intimidate you. Not when you’re used to nine feet of solid muscle and sharp canines. 

There is a bank that overhangs Bridgehead. A spot that Spider deems the perfect lookout for the two of you. You consider trying to convince him to get the two of you closer. After all, what good is a farewell that can’t be heard? Truth is, there really aren’t many people you would bother trying to say goodbye to. Jeremy moved on from you months ago, you have very little friends outside of that and what little you did have can be nothing but traitors by letting you get offered up without complaint. 

It feels like a risky move, however. Spider is sure to catch wind of your deception at the first hints of you disobeying.

“Here,” Spider mutters, suddenly pulling your arm so you stand directly in front of him. This leaves you sandwiched between the cliff’s edge and Spider’s tall frame. 

“Hey!” You snip at him, ripping your arm from his hold. 

“This way I can keep a close eye on you.” He smirks, hands resting confidently on his hips because he knows as well as you that his physical prowess greatly outweighs your own. It’s clear his trust is far from being earned. 

“Well do you have to breathe down my neck? Christ! I could use some space.” 

“No chance.” Spider responds shortly but his eyes are already scanning the crowd of RDA members below. 

“Neteyam doesn’t really take kindly to others sniffing around me.” 

You hate to play that card but it seems to be the only one you have in your deck and if you have any chance of getting out of here, Spider can’t be pressed up against you. A harsh glare is thrown down at you but with knitted brows and a fierce frown, the male takes a few steps back. It isn’t much, surely his presence will still be your first obstacle, but it’s a start. 

Every minute that passes by feels like torture. You watch as palettes of heavy equipment and artillery are rolled along the concrete with Na’vi supervising. Each one packed away is a signal of passing time, another stream of sand that falls through your hourglass of opportunity. The real nerves, however, kick in when the line of RDA members are escorted onto the ship. 

How long is it going to take them to load everyone?

How long until your hopes are dashed?

You spot Neteyam taking his place at the head. He is dressed up in his traditional Olo’eyktan gear completely with a feathered mantle and oval forehead jewelry, but this time he holds a gun. He holds it with confidence, finger strategically placed over the barrel and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His golden eyes spark today like fire. Even from your lookout spot from above, you can feel that darting heat. 

You pray that they never fall on you again. 

Spider shifts over your shoulder suddenly, blonde dreads ticking your neck. You scramble out of his space but instead of jerking you into place as you expect, he takes your spot at the front. Brows knitting together, you watch him carefully as he crawls forward. 

Finally you spot what has captured his undivided attention. 

Colonel Miles Quaritch sternly leads his band of mutants through the crowd. They tower so high over the rest of the Sky People the sight is almost comedic. However, Spider is doing anything but laughing. His mask fogs up as he watches the scene with intensity. 

It’s like he is dead to the world, eyes trained on the man that has been anything but a father to him. 

You expect him to cheer, snarl, anything that shouts of victory. It was promises of seeing karma after all that had bought you this outing but Spider is silent and still. And then there is something else that flashes over his demeanor, a pang of emotion that is hard for you to place. 

Pain?

Hatred? 

Guilt? 

This swirl of tangled feelings is confusing.

Perhaps there is still so much more to learn about Spider Socorro. 

Regardless, this is your chance and you plan to take it. Tension bleeding into the moment you watch Spider diligently while beginning to back away. It feels as if the world’s ambience has been muffled into background noise and the only sound breaking through is the obnoxious puff of each breath through your mask. Neteyam hadn’t given you the serum shot this morning, assuming you would be spending the whole day in the outpost. Now, however, you wish he had. 

Spider is so enveloped in the moment, however, that he gives no recognition of the sound or even branch you clumsily snap when backing down from the cliff’s edge. 

There is no telling how long this trance will last or at what point you will be out of ear shot so you risk it all. 

Bare feet tingling in protest, you race across the forest floor. There’s no sign of an easy and stealthy way down into Bridgehead. Going back down your normal path would risk Spider spotting you race by. That’s not an option but neither is falling to your death. On the east side the cliff shallows out into a grassy hill. If you’re lucky enough you might just be able to creep down it and remain hidden beneath the heavy greenery. 

Upon reaching it, however, you step on loose dirt and the world rapidly spins around you. With neither a hint of grace or stealth you clumsily roll down the hill. Your muscles ache by the time you clunk to the bottom and you’re sure there are other injuries to be found. Adrenaline dulling the pain and panic, you dart to hide in the nearest bush instantly. 

The scene is so much louder now that you are up close. Heavy trucks make blaring beeping sounds while reversing and Na’vi freely let out loose cries of victory and foreign threats. The commotion is just enough to have your presence remain undetected. 

You don’t bank on that lasting for long though.

Your scanty traditional Na’vi attire is sure to draw attention. You need different clothes and you need it fast. Scaling around the outskirts of the chaos, you miraculously manage to make it to that familiar run down door. Sector two-your building. 

Paranoia constantly scraping at your attention, you barely let the room equalize before ripping your mask off. These hallways feel so different than you remember them. Perhaps it is the feel of the metal floors beneath bare feet or the lacking furniture and crowd. It sends a chill up your spine as you sprint towards your room. 

How much time do you have?

They can’t have loaded more than half of the crew by now.

And yet, the sight of deserted halls makes your feet slap against the floor faster. 

Get dressed. Immerse yourself in the crowd. Hide until take off is through and then find a kyro capsule.

You mentally check through this list. 

Piece of cake. 

Maybe saying it out loud would make it sound less like a fool’s hope. 

Fuck it. The odds don’t matter and neither do your nerves. This is a necessity, pure survival and that will be enough to keep you going. It will because it has to. 

Your feet slip across the laminated floor when you frantically scramble to go back the way you came. Two tall and ominous shadows wrap from around the opposite corner and you are afforded just enough time to dart behind a wall before Lyle and Z Dawg appear. 

“You’re an idiot.” She says. 

“Yeah yeah say whatever you want but don’t pretend like you wouldn’t rip someone in half for a Big Mac right now.” Lyle defends himself, their shadows now paint the dimly lit corridor, stretching closer and closer to your tucked away spot.

You could run, but these are recombinants. They would pick up the sound of your footsteps in an instant. The wind from your sprint would carry your scent. 

“Sure, but I asked what your first meal back on Earth would be, not what your guilty pleasure fast food order is.” 

“These savages can keep their overgrown weeded garden of a planet. I want some fucking chicken nuggets!” 

As their voices become louder it appears that running will be your only choice after all. 

“I don’t even know why I ask at this point.” She sighs and a short hiss echoes down the hallway. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, feet repositioning as you prepare yourself to run. If you were smart you would have already been halfway down the hallway at this point but some part of you refuses to move. It clings to hope foolishly. 

“Well I’m sure-”

“Shut up asshole. The comm.” Z Dawg hisses and they both turn silent, no doubt listening to the orders on the other end. 

Your hands are shaking now, that tremor traveling up your shoulders as you await their response. 

“Copy that.” Lyle says and then the sound of heavy boots recedes into the distance. 

You can hardly believe your luck. 

That dark cloud of dread ripples away and hope takes its place once more. Maybe you can pull this off after all. 

Your room is exactly as you left it. No one has bothered to pack up any of your things or even dispose of your half folded laundry. This tiny corner of a shared living space has been your own for your whole life, everything you have known. It feels so small now. 

Rifling through the laundry basket you find a loose green tee and a pair of  tan shorts. You originally had a whole outfit planned for this day, something comfortable but nice. Those garments are, however, still crumpled up on the ground. This will have to do. 

As you hastily slip them over the beaded jewelry and tewng you pray to whatever god will listen that this will be enough to keep you incognito. You are barely finished buttoning up the shorts when heavy footsteps ring down the hallway. 

Their echo is soft, no doubt still several halls away but they are progressively getting louder. Now is not the time to take any more risks. This room is tiny and already cramped with scattered junk. Hiding under your bed would not only be idiotic but near impossible with the way your creaky bed  swoopes so low to the ground. There is, however, an old built-in cabinet above that you’ve used to hold your clothes. 

It’s just barely big enough for you to squeeze into so with those footsteps getting louder and your own terror sky rocketing, you push everything out of it and shove your body into the metal space. The door has metal slots with just enough slant to allow your visual through it. 

Your clammy right hand presses over your mouth when the door to the room creaks open.

Neteyam strolls in leisurely, eyes sweeping over the cramped space with interest. With wide eyes and strangled lungs, you watch him prowl through the area slowly. He bends down to run his fingers over the rumbled sheets, the back of his hand lingers over your pillow case. 

He takes his time looking through the various knick knacks and cords littering your night stand. He doesn’t hesitate to ball the old picture of Jeremy into his fists. Its remains are tossed to the side without care. 

Did he toss the real Jeremy like that?

You make a vow to find him as soon as you make it on board. 

Assuming Neteyam hasn’t already hunted him down. 

You could look for whatever is left of Jeremy.

You can’t think about that now, though. Not as your heart is pounding against your ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. Not when Neteyam lifts his mask for a sip of air as he plays with your tiny music box. 

He is gentle with all of your belongings, roaming through the area like a man that doesn’t have hundreds of Sky People to threaten off of his planet. Surely, he will have to leave soon. He’s just here out of curiosity, more of his stalker tendencies pushing him to invade your space. 

The music box looks like a Christmas ornament in his palm and you worry that he will accidently crush it. It was a pain in the ass to get and a possession you have always treasured because of that. Neteyam’s ears push forward when he finally figures out how to start the music and that delicate ballerina begins to twirl. 

“Maybe it’s all of your silly trinkets.” He breaks the silence, you startle slightly. He can’t be talking to you, you remind yourself. Neteyam thinks he is alone, just nosing through your old room as he thinks out loud. “Is that what you miss so much? What has you running off and acting naughty, little gift?” 

He’s bluffing. There is no way he could know you are here. Your scent has to be strong in the room but that’s to be expected since this was your living space. Ironically this should be the perfect place to hide away. 

“You know,” He starts, carefully placing the music box back down. “I was planning on letting you bring some of these funny things back to our kelku once you start behaving. A little incentive to be my good girl.” 

The knot in your throat is near impossible to gulp down and when you do, his ears twitch. You don’t want to believe it. How did he find you? You tug your legs closer to your chest as if you can contort yourself into a small enough ball that will magically disappear. 

“But it’s obvious now that you respond better to retribution than reward.” 

It’s a miracle that your lip doesn’t split from how hard your teeth press into it. Neteyam may not be able to track your scent here but the smell of blood would be a dead giveaway. All signs point to being caught but you aren’t ready to hand over the last shreds of hope yet. Neteyam doesn’t know about the cabinet. He’s bluffing about knowing you are here. No one has seen you. 

“We can revisit the idea of a reward system later, pet.” 

The muscles in your legs are cramping beyond relief, begging you to stretch out. You don’t heed these discomforts, too paralyzed by the proximity of your captor. Neteyam on the other hand appears deceivingly content and relaxed, rummaging through your things as if he has all the time in the world. 

He carefully opens your nightstand drawer and those hairless eyebrows raise immediately. The bras are tossed to the side with the same care as the picture but then tiny little lace fabric hangs from his fingers. It’s far from your greatest problem but your cheeks heat anyways when he carefully observes your light purple panties. 

Out of all the drawers to open it seems that Neteyam knows just the one to torment you with. 

“Then again,” The Olo’eyktan smirks. “These are quite cute.” And this time instead of inhaling from the respirator he soaks in the scent from the small fabric instead. Your thighs clench together. 

“Wouldn’t mind having my little tawtute model these for me.” He hums, while pulling out several more pairs. He tucks them away safely in a small pouch attached to his loincloth. “That is, once I finally get rid of this rebellious streak of yours.” 

You allow yourself a small sigh when Neteyam goes around to the other side of the bed, just enough distance for you to breathe properly. 

“Time to come out, little gift.” He squats down onto his haunches, prowling across the floor like a predator on track. He must be searching for you and if that is true then you may still have a chance yet. Neteyam may think you are in here but he doesn’t know where exactly. 

Thoughts race through your mind at a thousand miles per minute. They twist and twirl to find some way that you could get out of this situation unscathed. The doorway is visible through the slanted slits of the cupboard. With the proper footing you may be able to close that distance with a courageous leap. And maybe, just maybe that would be enough to catch Neteyam off guard and give you a head start. 

You make one fatal mistake, however. 

If there is one thing a good prey knows to do, it is to keep sight of their predator at all times. 

Your feet don’t even get the chance to hit the ground, instead dangling and thrashing once you are caught with a strong hold around your waist. Hoping is waning but disappointment sprouts into increased vigor as your nails digging into his arms and legs struggle to kick back at him. 

“YOU MOTHERFUCK-” Your cursing slings into a shriek when Neteyam grabs a fistful of your hair and uses it to strongly crane your head backwards. His golden eyes are dilated until only a thin rim of molten gold is visible. The weight of his angry gaze takes your breath away. 

“Enough.” He enunciates the word, like a drawn sword ready to slash. “Listen closely, pet.” The lump in your throat goes down with a strained gulp. “There is not an inch of this Sky Demon hell hole or corner of this planet that you can run to without being drawn back to me. You are mine and I’ve done well to mark my property.” The fingers intertwined in your hair tickle over the back of your neck, no doubt leaving the trail of his scent behind. “You reek of me.” 

Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you flutter them closed to avoid his burning attention. 

“As you should.” His voice rumbles as nothing more than a growl against the nape of your neck. 

“I never asked for this!” Your fighting dimms down to nothing more than squirming as gritting the choked words out sucks your energy away. Before you can do anything to stop it, tears blaze trails down your cheeks. “Just let me go! Please!” 

“Quiet, pet.” 

Another yank to your hair and the words die on your lips. It’s clear now that the time for fun and games is over. Neteyam wastes no time in throwing you onto the creaky mattress and covering your body with his own until he becomes a shadow blocking out the fluorescent light above. His thighs straddle your waist, putting just enough weight down to keep you in place. 

“No more tears.” He sighs, with down turned lips, but doesn’t pause his bunching of your tee shirt. “It’s clear I’ve been spoiling you too much.” 

A broken grasp is pulled from your throat when he easily tears the shirt straight down the middle. You’re not sure what you are trying to accomplish as you swat at his working hands. The shirt was neither your favorite nor of great importance but you still try to stop the onslaught of ripping. 

Confused and overwhelmed you squirm as he rips it into wide ribbons of fabric and then without warning you are flipped onto your stomach. You scramble to crawl away but Neteyam’s plants a foot on your ass and that is unfortunately all it takes to pin you down. Your hands are snatched next, forced together behind your back as the ripped stripes of your own shirt are used as makeshift rope to tie your wrists together. 

Something about him using your own personal clothing to keep you bound for him has your legs kicking out fiercely. It won’t do much damage even if you manage to hit him, but there needs to be an outlet for your anger. You need to feel like there is still some wreckage for you to inflict. The last tiny shred of power that you cling to for dear life. 

Neteyam isn’t in the mood to put up with your outbursts. Much like a fresh kill from his hunting trips he keeps you pinned and makes quick work of binding you imobile. The action is so well rehearsed and instinctual in fact that he already moves on to his next task of destroying your shorts. 

Shrieks and small clawing fingers are simply background ambience for the Olo’eyktan as he works. Surprisingly the small tawtute sized Na’vi clothing is not exempt from the male’s destructive hands. They too become nothing more than rolling beads and scraps of fabric falling to the floor. 

Your string of bloody curses are only temporarily interrupted by your own gasp when Neteyam takes a seat on the bed and throws you over his knee in one swift move. Kicking is no longer an option for your rage when he swings one leg over both of yours. Blood rushes to your head but even dizziness can’t stop your violent outrage. 

However, it appears a cracking smack to your upturned ass can. 

The pain doesn’t ripple forward until a few moments after your shock has subsided. Neteyam has always had creative ways of punishing you but this is different. You’d figured that he would never lay a hand on you after all that he has droned on and on about how important it is to protect a fragile thing like you. 

But another hit accompanies the first and this time you can’t hold back your small squeak. 

“Just as I thought.” He spanks you again, his hand mercilessly hitting both cheeks with every strike. “You’ve been practically begging for a firmer hand.” The cry that the next rapid three slaps pull from you is one that you don’t recognize. 

“Pretty little things like you still struggle to remember their place.” 

“Stop! Stop!” You shriek, trapped legs still fruitlessly sprawling for escape. 

“Don’t worry, little gift.” He squeezes one of your pink cheeks after this last spank. “That’s what I am here for. I won’t let your silly little tawtute tendencies keep you away from me.” 

It doesn’t take long for the color of your backside to match your face as the blood drains to your head. Neteyam is persistent, hardly batting an eye at your cries and shrieks. From cursing to death threats, none of your spewed venom makes him flinch. If anything you manage to catch his small smirk when you twist to glare up at him. You don’t make that mistake again when you find this behavior only rewards you with condescending coos from the Na’vi. 

“That’s a good girl. Let all those nasty words go.” He purrs, heavy hand never letting up on your poor bottom. 

It’s this praise that has your mouth clamping shut. You hold back any and every sound you can as your ass takes a beating. Which is not a lot when the Na’vi male has unfathomable strength and your backside already feels like flames could erupt from it at any moment. 

“Oh pet, I’ve hardly even touched you and you’re already blushing so pretty for me.” Neteyam hums in delight, hand roaming over your burning ass like an art piece just waiting to be admired properly. 

Hardly even touched you?

Is this just his way of being an ass or are you truly that far from the finish line?

You jolt when one finger slips between the crack of your cheeks, teasing over your hole gently. A sound caught between a scream and whimper erupts from you without thought. Bound hands flatten and flail to cover the untouched area but Neteyam simply chuckles and lets his own hand retreat. 

“Mawey, tiyawn.” Neteyam pats your backside softly, almost in a casual reassuring manner. “Another day.” 

It’s hard to say what is more humiliating. Being bound and turned over the Olo’eyktan’s knee like a naughty child or the wetness trickling from your pussy at the feel of his teasing fingers in a place you’ve never dared let anyone else explore before. 

Pain is a great distraction from your humiliation. So much so that it eventually motivates you to dash pride to the side and begin your pleading. 

“A-ah Neteyam! I’m sorry! I’m sorry…eh-ah I-I’ll be good!” It’s not even clear what you are trying to say anymore. Your mouth runs on autopilot, throwing out any line of remorse in hopes of one doing the job. “I ngh-ah didn’t mean to! I won’t run! Can’t take anymo- ah! Neteyam!” 

He reigns his hits to warm the underside of your thighs too, moving between that vulnerable area and your ass in such an erratic way that it is impossible to anticipate where the next will land. 

Plea after plea is thrown out but resembles nothing more than garbled desperation, nothing that can pass as a full sentence.

However, one call catches his attention.

“Olo’eyktan please!” 

The sound of slapping skin stops. 

Tears continue to plunge down your cheeks even without the constant spanking, your ass burns and tingles in shock. The tuft of his tail poruses over your naked thighs, sending a sensation both painful and ticklish. 

“Repeat, pet.” 

“Wha-what?” You stammer, voice thick with tears. 

“What did you say?” That large hand comes down once more like a crack of lightning. 

“AH! Olo’eyktan O-Olo’eyktan please please please. No more no more!” 

He smooths over your knotted hair, pushing it away from your sweaty temple and tear stained face. It’s tempting to look away from his soft gaze but intuition tells you to let him see the trembling state he has left you in. Let him witness how pitiful and distraught a simple spanking has made you be. 

“I….I’m sorry, Olo’eyktan.” 

Neteyam smiles like one would at a lover, a tender pride lacing his lips. 

“You’re learning, pet.”

Putting batteries in that small remote was a mistake. A ridiculous useless mistake that now leaves you standing on shaky legs. The pink vibrator that has resided in your nightstand drawer dutifully on hand for years is now the source of your torment. 

Well, maybe not the source per say. 

No, the true origin of this humiliation stares back at you with knowing eyes and swatting tail, his large hand making that tiny remote look like a children’s toy. The vibrator buzzes inside of you on the lowest setting, but that relief can only last for so long with the way Neteyam enjoys jumping between the different levels. 

Every last shredded piece of your Na’vi and human clothing lays back on the floor of your old bedroom. The only savior of your decency is Neteyam’s cloak that he had thrown around your shoulders. With the size difference this cloak acts more like a dress and therefore gives you more coverage than you’ve had in a week yet somehow leaves you feeling more vulnerable than ever before. Trembling fingers never stray from the seams of the cloak, keeping it wrapped around you tightly as the crowds of humans and Na’vi continue to pass you. 

Neteyam has left you with one of the other Na’vi warriors but never out of his sight. It’s a miracle that your hands were cut loose in the first place but perhaps that is another sick joke the Olo’eyktan plays on you. He knows that you won’t run. He knows you can’t run. His attention and promised consequences for misbehavior are more than enough to keep you tucked in his pocket. 

That and of course his control over the rippling vibrations that torture your pussy. 

The nearest warrior is sure to be noticing your frazzled state by now. At least he has the decency to hide his interest, unlike another Na’vi that watched from the sidelines. Lo’ak, leaned against one of the hoverships like it’s a random Tuesday afternoon, watches with a small smirk and perked ears. If Neteyam notices, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with it because Lo’ak is left unbothered in his ogling. 

The tempo increases, the vibrator now picking a pattern of random pulses that bash against your sweet spot. Bottom lip bleeding now from your biting, it’s a struggle to keep your moans at bay. With the heavy machinery moving and hundreds of Na’vi and humans passing surely there must be enough noise to block out any degrading sounds you make. But you can’t take that risk. You’ve made the mistake of underestimating the Na’vi’s enhanced hearing before and that is what has landed you here. 

Neteyam twirls the tiny remote between his fingers like a fidget toy as another Na’vi warrior comes to report. 

You start to commiserate the loss of that ridiculous human sized loincloth Neteyam made you because at least then there was some fabric barrier to hide your wetness. Now, the thick Pandoran air runs up the cloak and over your soaked thighs and cunt. It reminds you constantly how pathetic you have become as orgasm after orgasm has escaped your grip. Even worse it reminds you how easy it is to carry that aroused scent through the breeze for all Na’vi to detect. At that rate, worrying about your noises is the least of your concerns. 

Lo’ak reloads the machine gun with practiced hands, moving with muscle memory so he can continue to stare and send silent messages your way. No doubt he is theorizing on what exactly his brother has done to diminish you to such a state. His eyes dance with those ideas, the little quirk of his lips telling you just how creative and vial his thoughts have turned. 

Another level up and this time it is Neteyam’s eyes that have you squirming. Your impending orgasm coils tighter and tighter with every passing second and you're so desperate to find some way to release this energy that your bare feet begin fidgeting against the concrete. It’s almost like a little dance, one that has Lo’ak laughing under his breath. 

It stops.

You breathe. 

There is some sort of commotion off in the distance. Not one that you can truly pin down the source of but you do notice the way Neteyam nods as a Na’vi female says something to him. With a wave she is dismissed and then the Olo’eyktan saunters off. Although slightly worried over the trouble, you are grateful for the respite. 

And then a nightmare unfurls before your eyes.

Instead of marching to the issue, Neteyam takes a pit stop to converse with his younger brother. Lo’ak’s tail whips in the wind at whatever is whispered in his ear but the real horror comes when that traitor of a remote is handed over to the younger Sully male. 

You are seconds away from stomping over there and crushing that pink little weapon before the other male can wield it. However, your dutiful guard places a hand on your shoulder after just one step. His eyes remain locked forward but the warning is enough as his hand retreats. You are still being watched. 

With one last glance your way, Neteyam has the audacity to give you, his little pet, a warm smile before leaving you in the hands of his brother. 

Lo’ak swings the gun around to his back in favor of playing with his new toy. Every dark and viscous fiber left within you is channeled into the glare you give him. It should say everything that your lips can not.

Don’t you dare.

Don’t you fucking dare. 

Now would be a good time to look into Na’vi curses, anything you could betrix upon him for what he is about to do, because of course Lo’ak won’t back down. If anything that fire in your eyes lights his own delight and has him sitting down and bracing forward. Forearms resting on his thighs he clocks your every movement.

This is sure to be the best entertainment the bastard has had in a long time. 

He savors the passing moments of anticipation. Never backing down from the ultimate seething looks you give him. Finally a crash sounds and that distraction is right when Lo’ak sets the vibrator to high. From zero to one hundred, pleasure rackets through you like a shock wave. The force is so much that it temporarily makes you stumble on your feet. The other guard wordlessly steadies you back into place. 

Lo’ak’s grin is feral. 

This silent battle slips between your fingers so quickly it is hard to comprehend, because all that can register in your brain is how fast you are hurtling towards an orgasm. After Neteyam’s denial your body is high strung and ready to take any sensation as fuel to push you over the edge. Nails digging into the soft fabric of Neteyam’s cloak, pleasure rockets higher and higher until only the whites of your eyes are visible. 

Knees bowing inward, ecstasy is finally yours. 

There isn’t enough energy left to question why Lo’ak let you reach your high. Instead you focus on riding that wave while simultaneously keeping upright. 

That persistent buzzing against your sweet spot continues until your nerves are short circuiting. The pleasure turns to overstimulation and you give Lo’ak a look that alerts him of this change. 

His amusement tells you that he already knows your predicament but his thumb remains far from the off button. 

Pathetic noises now bubble up your throat without restraint as pleasure ebbs into pain. It switches back and forth until another release is on the verge of consuming your being. The guard next to you doesn’t say anything when he helps to sit on the cold ground. 

The second orgasm has a bitter taste to it but your greedy pussy clenches around the toy all the same. It’s almost too bad that Neteyam decided not to gag you because at least that would muffle your cries as you rock down onto the toy. Lo’ak gulps at the sight, pupils blown wide when the first glimmer of tears scrape down your cheeks.

Regardless, he shows no mercy as he takes in the show with undivided interest. 

Vaguely you register the bustle and commotion around you as different Na’vi and humans rush to and fro, giant machinery finally backing into place but they are only background noise to your third orgasm. 

Your body is caught between delight and despair with every passing second. When you are close to reaching your peak for the fourth time your body is resistant to get you there all the way. The intense buzzing in your pussy is driving you wild but still not enough to drag out another orgasm after being too overstimulated. Despite the soreness that emanates from your wrecked hole, your clit throbs in agony. Begging to be touched. To be licked. Pinched. Flicked. God, anything at this point.

Memories of Neteyam doing just that surface, pushing you closer and closer to another dumbing climax and yet only serve as a reminder of how you are not getting the treatment you so desperately need. Pride is dashed to the side, you’ll worry about the consequences of grinding onto the toy in public later. 

Lo’ak’s hands roughly brush over his inner thighs and it draws your attention. The taunt muscle and smooth skin of those thighs would surely brush over your intimate flesh so perfectly. He would probably help you too, hands clawing at your hips as they urge you back and forth over the area. Even more so, the younger brother would not be able to pass up the opportunity to show his power over the situation, muscles flexing to tease your clit oh so beautifully. 

You’re not sure when Lo’ak became telepathic but he grips his knees and gives you a look that says he knows every dark desire that plagues your brain. His nails press into that soft flesh and drag until there are pretty red marks left behind. If you crawled over there sweetly, would he let you ride? Maybe if you healed those red marks with open mouthed kisses and kitten licks. 

Unaroused you would be ashamed of this train of thought but she is so far gone now. 

The only thing your poor abused cunt is begging for was attention. Anything to get this awful mix of heaven and hell to bleed into euphoric release and rest. 

The only thing stopping you from reaching down and finishing the job yourself is the assurance that Lo’ak would snip all pleasure in a bud at the sight of any touching. 

The area has been cleared of invaders. Na’vi begin to make their way off to the hills before take off but you are none the wiser. Caught in your own little bubble you don’t even notice when a sudden shadow blocks out the sun. That is until, large warm hands slip under the cloak and skate over your spread legs. 

Such a simple touch has never made you whimper more. 

Neteyam’s accent is thicker now, words heavy enough to hardly understand the meaning as he coos at you. “There’s my sweet pet. Little slut just wants to come again, don’t you?”

His fingers force your legs to spread even wider. Lo’ak’s stares as if his glare could heat up enough to burn through that cloak. 

With such delicacy it makes you want to scream, Neteyam uses two fingers to part your pussy lips and expose your pulsing clit. The other hand slithers down to rest on your thigh as you try to buck against the air. 

“Come for your Olo’eyktan, pet,” He growls and with the other hand he begins delivering rapid little taps to your clit. It’s humiliating how tiny the gesture that puts you over the edge is but you paint the toy white regardless. 

When the vibrator finally takes a rest you are too far lost in your own little world. Neteyam swaddles you in the cloak and carries you in his arm as you bury into his chest. And conveniently, when you are tucked back in the forest there is no awareness left in you to recognize the sound of launching ships. 

As always interaction and feedback not only means the world to me but also as a great motivator for writing and updating<3

Taglist: @pandoraslxna@neteyamssyulang@tallulah477@criticallybella@sullybrothersmate@lilghostiequinni@chershire23@lala-1516@teyamshuman@yawnetu@puddle-nerd@ratchetprime211@avatargirly @chocolatechocobo91 @kariz-stark@bunnscoffe @avatarwifey @universal-s1ut@witchsprit@heart-an0n @riri-is-a-girlie @rivatar@minnory@ikeyniofthetayrangi@ilovehobi101@spicymayyo@v4mp1rr3@nilsavatar@bambithewriter@quicktosimp@itchaboi-itchyboy@thehoneymushroomhealer @ilytulipse @witchsprit@imwutim@crazy4books1@thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction@danniackerman@dayyzlol@justabite7 @krispyjellyfishkitty @neteyamtesuli @sakurayuki8655-blog @deadpool15 @valeriinee @leaveitbythewave @aqxllo @mxnygn @crazed-flower @crimsonroses666 @property-of-neteyam @rejectedbytheempty

Let me know if I missed you. It's getting a littly tricky to keep track of everyone haha

[blackopals-world]

Malleus: Marry me!

Noble!Yuu: I will not.

Malleus: My love please. If it's not you then I'd love no one else.

Noble!Yuu: Tragic. How tragic. Don't you understand how impossible it is for us.

Malleus: I don't understand. You love me and I love you.

Noble!Yuu: I'm not naive my dear. I'm not some young sycophant who knows nothing of the world I would be walking into and more than that I have my own responsibilities. Do you think your people will accept a human as their ruler?

Malleus: I can make them. Given time they will accept you.

Noble!Yuu: You can not. You can't make them do anything just because you are king. No matter how powerful you are you can't control anyone. You'd be a tyrant thinking like that.

Malleus: I will protect you!

Noble!Yuu: And be a powerless consort who must rely on you to do everything for me. How humiliating would it be to be ignored and shut away in my own castle? How depressing to only have you to lean on and have no confidence in myself. I was raised better than that and educated for better.

Malleus: You'd be safe. Wouldn't you be happy with me?

Noble!Yuu: I would at first. I'd feel aflutter at the thought of always having you to make things better and not having to worry about petty trifles like money like some peasant. But then I'd be left alone as you govern your nation that I am foreign too. I'd grow to resent you as I feel impotent to change anything other than the decor of my room and even then the traditional fea lifestyle will likely prevent it. I'd never be your equal.

Malleus: You wouldn't be just my consort. My people will understand once we are married, they know how dragons are. They won't have a choice but to love you.

Noble!Yuu: Wishful thinking. Fea are slow to change and they have not moved on from their hate of humans. What can I expect but poison in my cup or protests against us? Not to mention the fate of any children we have. What will they think of a half-fea heir?

Malleus: ....

Noble: Sure a few half-fea here and there isn't much but as their ruler? A child of tainted blood who will only live as long as a human. A magicless human's child at that. In a world where power matters? Blasphemy. You don't think they wouldn't usurp you for that alone long before a child is born? Tell me my love do you think that we will have a fairy tale ending and happily ever after?

Malleus: I don't understand where this is coming from. Why can't we do what will make us happy? Forget about all these silly what-ifs and treasure each other.

Noble!Yuu: We are not at liberty to do such things. We were born in a position of power and trusted to use it for others, not ourselves. Of course, I want us to be happy and to be together. But I can't ignore our differences for the sake of love. Love today could be a tragedy tomorrow. I will not live for long, less than 10 years from your perspective. Can you stop time? Can you prevent death? Will you lose yourself to grief after I'm gone? Do you not think I will not suffer the older I get knowing how much I will hurt you when I pass? Do you think all of this only effects you?

Malleus: Yuu stop! Stop...I can't. Please don't ask anymore. You've clearly thought a lot about this, more than me. I've been short-sighted. But if I could find a way to fix these problems then you would be mine.

Noble!Yuu: Without hesitation.

Malleus: Even if you would cease to be human?

Noble!Yuu: As long as I'm not a monster or four-legged beast then yes.

Malleus: Would you become as fea?

Noble!Yuu: ...yes. I wouldn't take it lightly but yes. Is there even such a thing that could happen?

Malleus: I'll make it possible. For you.

(I think as a Fandom we should acknowledge that being with Malleus would be no cakewalk. There are many problems with it but that doesn't mean we should forget about the bad parts. We all like to fantasize but we should realize that Malleus is complex and so is love. Hardships make stories good and trials make love stronger. I will never understand why some prefer ooc content where everything happens according to what they want with no conflict. How boring and unearned. I love you enough to hurt you so that you can be fulfilled.)

[lafiametta]

As much as I'd like Shōgun to return to the dynamic pacing that characterized the first part of the show (have we really spent the last four episodes in Ajiro?), slowing the action down has allowed for some fascinating explorations of character and theme.

One that featured heavily in this week's episode (as well as in the previous one) is the idea of myth-making and story.

Toranaga, of course, is the center of one such myth. The “boy warlord,” he won his first battle at age twelve and then served as second to his defeated enemy, taking off his head with one blow. This is the story that Saeki Nobutatsu tells at dinner, a tale that delights his young, impressionable nephew. Nagakato, who wants to prove himself to his father, takes such story as truth and wants to emulate him by riding off to battle, where he will likely be killed, but as a glorious end that will be told and retold. (“Will we die with blood on our swords?” he asks, which is the only honorable way to die.)

Lady Ochiba is surrounded by her own legends. Whereas Toranaga's exploits are the stuff of dinner party entertainment, she literally watches her own life be made into drama. The play performed at the Noh theater depicts her courtship by the Taikō, a courteous affair where her character does not speak, an frozen mask covering any expression she might make. (“Dear Lady Ochiba,” the fictionalized Taikō tells her, “if we have a son, prestige will spread in every direction...”)

(Mariko is also haunted by a story, that of her father's actions against Kuroda. But unlike Toranaga and Ochiba, she has no desire to disillusion herself. In her mind, her father died a hero, the man he killed a tyrant, and for fourteen years she has suffered by not being able to fulfill her duty to him by joining him in death.)

But what Shōgun is also trying to tell us is that life is nothing like the myth. A glorious death, the honor of one's family, the prestige of bearing the Taikō's only son, these require far more of us that we can ever imagine, pain and horror laced through every act.

The true story is one we never want to tell. It is being drugged and assaulted on a nightly basis by your consort and his wife, all in the hopes that you will give them a child. It is hacking at the bloody neck of your defeated enemy, until the ninth blow finally severs his head. It is attempting to kill your uncle in the darkened garden of a tea house, only to slip on a wet stone and dash your brains against the rocks, not a single drop of blood on your sword.

[yakourinka]

spoilers about zwilingsturme in herbst

so arturia huh

the episode she had when she was young with the "voices" and "feelings" overwhelming her vaguely reminded me of my mother's tales of my uncle who had schizophrenia. never met the man, he died very young but that's another story. now obviously there's a clear fantastical element here: the cause of her suffering and some of her consequent behaviour is her arts that she was born with, which we can't exactly define as an illness. or can we?

throughout the story she struck me as that specific and very rare kind of mentally unwell that is more of a harm to society than to herself. she does manage to maintain a friendship with cora, something worth nothing, but she's clearly isolated, alienated. the way she interacts with the world ("my eyes, ears and heart") is entirely through her musical instrument, which is completely incomprehensible even to the most committed musicians and which is connected to her arts, the root cause of her social deviance

and out of all fucking people it's the witch king who asks her, but who are you? i guess it makes sense that terra's #1 tyrant/musician would be the only one to understand someone so strange and alien like arturia, whom he considers both dull and interesting.

dull because there's not much arturia. not a lot of substance inside arturia, you understand. arturia is just whomever she's playing at that moment, some sort of emotional vampire who attaches herself to the next delectable meal, craving to fill that void. the moment she couldn't express her grief at her mother's funeral, realized that all the people in attendance around her were "performing" grief - like a play, as she says at one point - was her breaking point.

and so she wishes to create a world - an impossible, incomprehensible world - where everyone's emotions are all laid bare, all emotions, at all times, from the most detestable to the most praiseworthy, to her empty self. so she can finally feel and understand people. she says it will be a utopia for others, but what she wants is actually just a heaven for herself.

in that way, i guess viviana and arturia mirror each other as people who are seeking their place in society.

(i did not proofread this post and just wrote anything that came to mind so i'm not taking any responsibility for it. didn't think i'd like her but i did!)

[ystrike1]

The Tyrant’s Leash Is Held by a Maid - By 박오 (8.5/10)

Is it love, or an unbreakable curse sent down by destiny? Don't worry about it! It can't be reversed. A maid and a prince become Manish and Aradna, which are ancient titles given to the bearers of a great curse. Manish will be unstoppable for his entire life, as long as he has his Aradna. Without her he is doomed to insanity, bloodlust and violence.

Liana is a maid. An actual maid. One without any special privileges. One who has not been treated nicely. She has a young niece to support. She is very smart, but she is only allowed to use her intellect to support a master. She gets the chance to become the personal maid that belongs to Natasha Baldwin. Natasha is beautiful. Her family is noble and wealthy, but her mother is a commoner, so she is not the most lofty master to serve. That doesn't matter to Liana, because Natasha is miles above her, despite her dirty pedigree.

Natasha is currently dating(?) the second prince, Illyd. He is an infamous womanizer. The women who date him never last more than a few months. He is the classic lazy prince with no real responsibilities, because he has an older brother who is the obvious choice for the throne.

Liana is worried. If Illyd abandons Natasha, after dating her so publicly, her reputation will go down. The maids will have to deal with her rage.

Also, Illyd keeps looking at her.

It's weird.

Natasha has a pureborn older sister. One who constantly calls Natasha dirty. Liana gets a raise when she starts serving Natasha exclusively, but she also gets bullied relentlessly. She defends Natasha. Why? Natasha is her master and only loyalty can prove a maid's usefulness. Natasha watches the abuse from a distance. She comes forward to defend Liana only after Liana proves to be very loyal.

They don't become besties.

Natasha notices she's smart and useful.

That's all.

This is the nice guy.

He's not going to win, because Illyd is a cursed yandere. I assume he will be more important later on. The beginning of the story mostly focuses on Natasha, Illyd, and Liana's maid duties.

Foreign prince Arcan, despite all of his kindness and patience, does not stand a chance.

Liana doesn't know a thing.

Illyd and Natasha aren't actually dating. Natasha is trying to destroy the Baldwin family. They're very corrupt, and they have never loved her. She's gunning for revenge. Lord Baldwin intended to sell her off as a bride, because of her beauty, from the start. Natasha doesn't see him as family. She teamed up with Illyd because he's soulless on the inside. He doesn't actually date any women. He just squeezes information out of them. Natasha isn't even his friend. She's more like a business partner. Their sensual relationship is just an act.

Liana gets caught in the crossfire, when Natasha tells her to deliver a love note.

It's not a love note.

Illyd saves her. He hasn't been cursed yet. He's just impressed by her. Drawn to her a little bit. Liana is loyal to Natasha, even when he flirts with her. She doesn't know it, but her sharp wit is a great weapon. Natasha uses it liberally. Liana assists her when it comes to planning and sneaking pretty much by accident.

Natasha gives her another raise later.

After Liana is untied there's a moment. A moment that implies the blood covered prince is genuinely attracted to the maid.

She runs.

The first prince is also present. He's a very good first prince, but he's paranoid. He's scarier than your average evil villain. He doesn't seem stupid, but he's very violent, just like Illyd.

Illyd eventually becomes Manish.

The legend of Manish and Aradna is actually quite simple. It's a well known story. A well known fact. It's not regarded as scary voodoo or anything. Even maid like Liana knows the whole tale.

A wife is created for him. Aradna. She silences the noise, and he can use his powers once more. He vows to prioritize Aradna over all else. He becomes fallible, imperfect, and powerful at the same time. The legend ends happily.

Basically, an all powerful man gets punished with feeling too much. Too much sensation, all the time. He feels his own heartbeat. His breath. His blood too, until he goes crazy. He begs for help. He forgets his hubris. He was the strongest, smartest man before he was punished with endless noise. His punishment reduces him to a wailing mess.

Liana becomes Aradna.

She's terrified. Illyd will go insane without her constant presence, and he's as powerful as a monster. She's afraid of the nobles. She just wanted to make enough money to support her niece. She is attracted to Illyd, but she mostly feels fear.

Especially when his attention lands on her, and it stays there, and he gets frustrated enough to murder when she's out of reach.

[imaginarymen]

THE CONFESSION

CW: none

More writing? More writing! This time, it's my charas Halstein and Klara finally admitting their feelings. Enjoy!

The two lay there together in the blissful aftermath. Typically on nights like these after deeds like this, they would chat in hushed tones with one another until they fell asleep. In this instance, however, they lay quiet, the tension between them palpable. Halstein avoided looking at Klara for a little while, until finally, her voice shattered the silence and commanded his attention.

“Halstein,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “We need to talk about something.”

“Right now?”

“Why not? Best to get it out now instead of waiting for the right moment.”

“Fair point… Now or never, I suppose. Am I in trouble?”

“Depending on how this goes, I might be.”

“Don’t be so enigmatic, Klara. If it’s serious, just say it now.”

“It’s hard to say, honestly.”

“A lot of things are. Doesn’t mean they should go unsaid.”

“Guess so,” Klara replied with a smile, but not the fearless, wild grin that captivated Halstein more than he cared to admit. No, it was an apprehensive smile, one that hid something, one that faded fast.

“Out with it.”

She hesitated for a moment, working up the nerve, averting her eyes until she finally sighed in frustration and threw up her hands.

“I like you, Halstein. I like you. I’m falling for you, even. You giver me butterflies like I’m a damn schoolgirl. I didn’t know how the hell you’d take it, so I tried to just… Not feel that way… It didn’t work, though– and here we are!

Halstein looked at her, shock written on his features. This expression was unusual for him– he typically looked stern and stoic with little variation– the anomalous nature of it was not lost on Klara, who sighed once more, thinking her hopes dashed and her dreams defeated.

“I just… Shouldn’t have said it at all. I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t apologize. I…”

Silence hung in the air, oppressive, as Hastein struggled to find the right words. He wanted to see her smile and those amber eyes glimmering. He wanted to hear her warm voice and laughter. On those days when he woke up beside her, the thought came to mind that he wouldn’t mind waking up every day to her sunny greetings and idle chatter. It terrified him– both feeling like that and admitting it– his heart was a fragile thing, more than he was willing to accept. To have a future of sweet mornings with her, though, he would have to tell her.

“Like you said, it’s hard to say, but like I said, it has to come out.”

Klara’s dejected expression lifted somewhat as as she entertained what she thought was a faint, impossible spark of hope.

“I feel the way you feel. I don’t feel that way often, but I feel it now for you. I don’t know what this means for us, but at least we have some common ground– we have each other, right?”

Klara laughed, radiant and bright.

“By the powers that fucking be, Halstein, I never thought you were capable of sappiness like that. I almost wish I kept my mouth shut,” she teased with a shove that lingered and became a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled, but he could not help but smile.

“Sappy,” she continued, “so utterly sappy!”

“Do you want me to stop?” “No.”

He scoffed.

Klara chuckled in response, then asked: what are we, then?”

He pondered, but only briefly. “Something. Together, I’d say, if you’d say the same.”

“Saying the same was the whole damn point!”

“There’s your answer, then.”

Halstein was never the type to call out future certainties. However, at that moment, he rather liked the coming days– sweet, sunny days waking up in Klara’s arms– and hoped beyond hope that this answer would endure.

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!poseidon headcanons with fem!kokushibo!reader

warning: obsessive behavior, violence, spoilers from manga/anime. Please take caution when reading the content.

Credit for this piece goes to @recreationalfanfics and their phenomenal works, specifically this one. I would like to specially thank my friend @nixes-noxes for helping me fine-tune this script to its fullest potential.

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

A demon was born from the malice of mankind. That is the story that humans and gods believe…but that is not the truth in your case.

 Fearing death, you willingly drank Muzan Kibitsuji’s blood and became the first Upper Moon. One of Twelve Kizuki to serve him and provide aid in his quest to obtain a solution to walk in the sunlight. You had died by the hands of your descendant and his fellow Demon Slayers, unsatisfied with the life you had lived as an abomination. In the end, you could not attain the innate talent your little brother possessed.

Because you were a creature classified as ‘evil’, you were confined to the depths of Helheim as punishment to suffer for all eternity. Not wanting to perish for a second time, you sliced down  enemies and cultivated your Moon Breathing Style in the hellish landscape before you were suddenly plucked out of that place, coming face-to-face with your new master: the Valkyrie called Brunhilde. 

Apparently, she had intended to call out another champion to fight against the gods in a tournament known as Ragnarok, but for some unknown reason you were whisked here by her summons. Seeing this ‘accident’ as an opportunity, you laid out your sword and offered your loyalty to her. Yes you were a demon, but you had been loyal to Muzan until your dying breath. Being the servant to a demigod would not be any different, minus facing the antagonization of both human and gods alike for just being by her side. 

It was better than returning to Helheim, anyway. The water did not scorch your skin and the high quality tea leaves were exceptional. 

The smallest pleasures in life made a difference…but does that include being on the roster to fight against the infamous tyrant of the divine waters,  Poseidon? Probably not. 

Yandere!Poseidon

This is a god who is the physical embodiment of perfection. He is a king who has no need to be supported by individuals who are beneath him in the hierarchy of all life. Furthermore, he was not pleased when his little brother had added him as a contender in this childish tournament without his consent. Why stall the inevitable fate of humanity with Ragnarok? It’s honestly a waste of time for him. 

There has never been an opponent who did not quiver at the sight of his trident nor survived to tell the tale. So why should he even bother to give any effort in this fight? His opponent was a demon. It is only natural that a demon would be stomped down by someone like himself, even if it is a female one with a slightly impressive physique and once bore the moniker ‘Moon Hashira’. 

Untamed [Hair Color] tresses held together in a ponytail that reached to her waist. [Favorite Color] nagagi-kimono and black umanori-styled pants tied with a white obi. [Eye Color] irises and red sclera with words written on them. 

The only reason he even recognized the clothing is because Aphrodite whined about the ‘poor fashion’ taste of Brunhilde’s new ‘pet’...but did she honestly expect anything more from a demon? 

No, but she enjoyed hearing the others praise her intellect and how no one could ever hold a candle to the beauty of the lusty goddess. A hypocrite by any other name. She and Ares had another falling out, again. 

Still it would not bother the gods nor himself by allowing his opponent to try and land a hit on him before killing the unfortunate abomination. The effort of an ant trying to avoid being crushed by a boot is always…adorable. 

This act of ‘kindness’ towards the Moon Hashira led Poseidon into a match that has lasted longer than the previous Ragnarok bouts. She did not hesitate to use the water surrounding the arena to create a heavy mist that acted as a smokescreen before attacking from behind with her sword. She slashed his calves and right forearm, then jammed her sword that is made from her own flesh and blood into his stomach. She was going to kill him. She would do whatever it took to win the fight.  

This revelation enraged Poseidon. How dare a demon think that she can kill a god? Blasphemy! HE IS A GOD, HE IS PERFECTION. ANYONE WHO DISAGREES HIM DESERVES TO DIE. 

And yet he still found himself kneeling on the circular platform, leaning heavily against his trident with the bloodied edge of her sword pressed against the side of his neck. If it isn’t the reversal of positions that bothered him the most, it was the look of indifference dancing in the Moon Hashira’s eyes. As if he was the one being a nuisance and not the other way around. 

Suddenly, she withdrew her sword and sheathed it. “I will not kill you.” She said, “A hierarchy exists to keep the balance between those who sit at the top of the food chain and those who are barely scraping by. Those who upset the balance must be punished accordingly. I am a demon, so I should die by the hands of a god…but I will not allow myself to die by someone who does not respect my master. That is…embarrassing. So take this loss as an act of kindness from me. The humiliation of being defeated by someone such as myself is more than adequate punishment.” 

Turning her back to him, she stepped onto the boat that was tied to a stone pillar and drifted back to the human’s side of the arena. Poseidon also retreated, refusing Ares’ offers to escort him to the medical wing and swiftly returning to his palace beneath the ocean floor. He ignored Proteus’ concerns, isolating himself in his quarters as he…unleashed his anger onto the furniture. They could be easily replaced…but his defeat cannot be remedied just like the splintered wood, the tattered drapes, or anything he had thrown around the room. 

He has lost against an imperfect creature. Him, the one who is the most feared and blessed god in the pantheons. How could this have happened?! How?!

Though is the Moon Hashira truly an ant if she had beaten him? No. But there is no use thinking about the wretched embodiment of impurity anymore. He…has lost the match, and in the end it is just one loss for the gods. Humanity will be destroyed, and the divine waters will be restored to their glory once the vermin have been eradicated. 

Shortly after he had regained his composure, Poseidon returned to the Grecian’s private balcony to watch the other matches. As he is a god, his wounds healed within a matter of hours…so why could he have still felt the sword in his belly, twisting his insides? Why?

This might be the starting point in his descent to madness. He would remain a silent statue even in the aftermath of his adopted nephew’s death by Jack The Ripper’s hands, and Shiva’s obvious win against Raiden Taeemon while his brethren watched the events unfold in awe and anger. 

But no matter how hard he tried to dissuade thoughts about the Valkyrie’s servant, his mind always drifted back to the Moon Hashira. He silently reflected on their fight; he remembered the humiliation when she spared his life, her deadly grace as she released one form of the Moon Breathing Style, her perfection. 

[First Name] [Last Name], the Moon Hashira and a demon summoned from the depths of Helheim to save humanity….she was perfection. And Poseidon wanted her.

Knowing that the moon always gravitated towards the ocean would only feed into his delusions that it must be a sign from the Fates that this is his other half. The companion who will be by his side for all enternity. So why does she still dare to stand by Brunhilde and whisper in the demigod’s ear? Why does she converse with the samurai Kojiro, when he had no business being near her, let alone sharing a plate of Japanese snacks and tea? 

How dare she smile at the man who had killed Heracles and the traitorous Buddha? She is perfect, there is no need to waste her time teaching her breathing techniques to a brat that went toe-to-toe with Loki in the greenhouse! 

When the tyrant of the oceans witnessed [First Name] showing more emotions around the other combatants, he knows must act swiftly or else she will be snatched away by someone else who is lesser than a god of perfection such as himself, or worse be cast aside by her malicious master for the sake of humanity’s survival. 

He will make the necessary arrangements with Proteus to prepare his kingdom for the arrival of a new queen.

Bonus Content: 

The Moon Hashira is fully aware of Poseidon’s psychotic tendencies and will not make it easy for him to whisk her away like Zeus’ previous mistresses. Nor is she blindly loyal to being oblivious to Brunhilde’s scheming. 

She did not live for half of a millennia as an Upper Moon by being an idiot.

Taglist:

@rukia-writes

@recreationalfanfics

@dazailover1900

@nixes-noxes

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@onecantsimply

@yellow-snark

@radioactivesweet

[difeisheng]

A Jianghu Mystery of the Middle Xi: The Tomb of Li Xiangyi

By Qiling, University of □□ (2024)

Left: A photograph of the inscribed text at Li Xiangyi's tomb, reading, "The grave of the Sigu Sect's departed Sect Leader, Li Xiangyi". Right: Artist's sketch renditions from eye-level frontal and aerial side views, recreating how the tomb may have appeared during the Xi dynasty.

Among the numerous important archaeological finds from the Xi Dynasty, the tomb of Li Xiangyi is not the most well-known, nor has it yielded any artifacts of particular intrigue, yet it has raised questions about certain points in history since its discovery. The tomb constitutes a small site, near a mountainous overlook which should have received little common traffic at the time of construction. Its structure is in line with some other aristocratic burials of the Middle Xi period: aboveground, with a chamber at the center of a raised rectangular dais several meters wide, large enough to bear only a single individual. A stone marker, which has survived in legible condition until today, declares it the tomb of Li Xiangyi, leader of the Sigu jianghu sect.

Records about Li Xiangyi are found at other archaeological sites contemporary with this tomb, and so his name is not an obscure one. The Sigu Sect complex has already undergone excavation for nearly two decades, with evidence that Li Xiangyi spent several years there as its first sect leader and founder. His tomb is within two hours' walking distance of the Sigu site, though isolated in its location, compared to the Sigu Sect's grand mountain entrance. (The complex itself was inhabited well after his death; bamboo slips cite Qiao Wanmian as the Sigu Sect's next major leader some years after, who oversaw it for several more decades into the later Xi). In addition, the Baichuan-Pudu site, closer to the eastern coast and historically the headquarters for the Baichuan Court, is affiliated with Li Xiangyi. Its origins apparently lay in an offshoot of the Sigu Sect, which grew into its own independent legal organization after his death.

Legends surrounding Li Xiangyi's life have been well-documented, both at Sigu and Baichuan-Pudu, but also in books and transcriptions of oral stories at sites around the country. These are dated to both the Middle and Late Xi periods, as well as a few scattered mentions in writings from the following dynasty. As a jianghu sect leader and swordsman, Li Xiangyi's reputation truly preceded him. Some tales speak of his early accomplishments, ridding towns of villainous tyrants and defeating criminals. Others talk about the founding of the Sigu Sect when Li Xiangyi was seventeen, and his subsequent missions leading his fellow swordsmen to protect the borders of the country. Not all of these narratives can be verified with surviving historical proof, and given Li Xiangyi's status in the shifting canon of folklore, the percentage that are hyperbole or fiction is likely significant. However, one that should be true, and is the most frequently told story throughout these sources, is that of Li Xiangyi's death.

All texts place Li Xiangyi as having died relatively young, with some providing a specified age, generally around twenty. He perished in a duel with Di Feisheng, leader of the Jinyuan Alliance, a rival jianghu organization and presumed threat to the Sigu Sect. As the sources say, the Jinyuan Alliance killed Li Xiangyi's sect brother, Shan Gudao, and in retaliation he used the Sigu Sect to launch a war against the Jinyuan Alliance. His final battle was the last in this war, dying in the East Sea on Di Feisheng's ship. The Jinyuan Alliance in return was badly defeated by the Sigu Sect; excavations at its first compound in the last five years have shown evidence of siege, with fire having destroyed large parts of the buildings. Afterward, the Sigu Sect disbanded without Li Xiangyi, with only the Baichuan Court continuing to function, before being resurrected one decade later.

Given this knowledge we have about Li Xiangyi, the matter of his burial should be straightforward. He had a tremendous impact on the jianghu in the few short years that he stood at its peak. He died heroically, if tragically, to obtain justice for a brother. He was honoured with a tomb, standing guard over the sect he dedicated his youth to. Why, then, is said tomb regarded as somewhat of a mystery?

This tomb was first stumbled upon during extended surveys of the Sigu site territory, with excavation taking place within the last two years. Parts of the stone chamber and foundation of the dais have withstood time, as have most things left inside. The tomb bears no signs of looting. However, there are some details which, alongside discoveries from other archaeological sites, contribute to a shadow of uncertainty on the existing narrative of Li Xiangyi's life.

Firstly, is that the austerity of the tomb does not line up with what we know of Li Xiangyi. Although overall sufficient enough for someone of his great reputation, the tomb is rather plainly embellished. There are an unexpectedly small number of burial objects inside, with those present being neither rare nor expensive. For all his contributions to the jianghu, less money and resources were poured into remembrance of Li Xiangyi than seems proper for his time.

Secondly, and far more significantly, is that the tomb holds no human remains. Whether the fact of Li Xiangyi having no recovered body to bury was made public is unknown; if it was, we do not have record of it. Certainly those who arranged for the tomb to be built and sealed would have carried this with them the rest of their lives, but no one else may be accounted for. Granted, it is not impossible for a disappeared body to have been common knowledge or presumption, as Li Xiangyi was killed at sea with no guarantee of being found. Yet this, combined with the ordinary appearance of the tomb, causes the entire site to appear... a nominal thing. Constructed to maintain acknowledgement of Li Xiangyi's absence, though his death was only marked by words, rather than a physical state.

He was given a tomb, but was Li Xiangyi truly dead before it was built?

In terms of the aforementioned other archaeological site findings, there is one that potentially implicates Li Xiangyi's death at an interesting political junction, within the context of the dynasty. The Xi Dynasty was unstable and relatively short-lived, established after taking back the Central Plains and adjacent territories from the southern conquering state of Nanyin. It endured for just under two centuries, the first of which was fraught with pockets of conflict, with many jianghu skirmishes such as that between the Sigu Sect and the Jinyuan Alliance. The greatest threat to the Xi Dynasty (until its fall) came one hundred years after its founding. Recovered archival records from the Xi capital excavation report that remaining Nanyin loyalists attempted a coup, supported by jianghu organizations, including a restored Jinyuan Alliance (although whether Di Feisheng was still its leader at this time is unclear). This attack was ultimately unsuccessful, but important to note is that the leader of this renewed Nanyin force is described as being Shan Gudao, Li Xiangyi's former sect brother.

Although Li Xiangyi brought the Sigu Sect into a war upon news of Shan Gudao's death, that demise seems to have been faked, with Shan Gudao disappearing underground only to reappear as part of a later rebellion. Could Li Xiangyi have been aware of this? Was his reaction to Shan Gudao's apparent death genuine? Or part of a coordinated plan, using him as a reason to destroy the Jinyuan Alliance, to eradicate any future resistance? Did Li Xiangyi, too, fake his death alongside Shan Gudao, in service of a shared cause? Were remnants of the Sigu Sect instructed to build an empty tomb, cementing Li Xiangyi as a dead hero so he could work in the shadows of the jianghu instead?

This is merely speculation, contradicted by the fact that if Li Xiangyi had indeed done as such, unlike Shan Gudao, after his duel with Di Feisheng he has no reappearance in any surviving records or at any archaeological site. As well, Li Xiangyi should have had no motivation for committing to such a scheme, with even loyalty to Shan Gudao a stretch for putting all the lives of the Sigu Sect on the line. That being said, history has a way of surprising the present, and this theory may not be entirely ruled out. At any rate, Shan Gudao's survival is a baffling accompaniment to Li Xiangyi's (lack of a) burial, one which will hopefully receive clarifying answers in future archaeological developments.

Perhaps the strangest piece of the puzzle concerning the end of Li Xiangyi's life, however, is Di Feisheng. After the Jinyuan Alliance was scattered by the Sigu Sect, stories regarding Li Xiangyi declared him dead and disappeared. Yet not unlike Shan Gudao, he became known in the jianghu once more about ten years later, witnessing the Nanyin's attempted coup and living long after. His tomb remained untouched, and was excavated eight years ago as part of the greater Tianji Mountain site project. The location of Di Feisheng's tomb is surprising, not only because it directly links him to the powerful and wealthy He clan of Tianji Manor, but also because he was buried next to their sole young master during the Xi Dynasty, Fang Duobing.

The son of financial minister Fang Zeshi and engineering master He Xiaohui, Fang Duobing became a notable youxia travelling the jianghu in the emperor's name, assigned in the wake of the attempted Nanyin coup. According to palace records, he was also betrothed to Princess Zhaoling, although the marriage agreement was eventually formally dissolved. What is otherwise known of Fang Duobing was his admiration of Li Xiangyi, having styled himself as a follower and disciple of him during his youth. As well, one eye-catching artifact among Fang Duobing's burial goods was a preserved wooden replica of a blade, with Li Xiangyi's name carved near the hilt. Likely a children's toy, prized and kept safe throughout Fang Duobing's life.

The exact nature of the relationship between Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing is not entirely certain, but it must have been a very close one, for Di Feisheng to have the privilege of burial on the Tianji estate. This topic justifies future study for our understanding of the Tianji He clan, already known in prior generations for its socially subversive relationships, but pertinent to Li Xiangyi is that the man whose most infamous act was to kill him, was laid to rest beside one who revered him. Why was there such a bond between these two figures, if the stories of Li Xiangyi's death have any truth to them? Did Li Xiangyi really die by Di Feisheng's blade? Did Li Xiangyi's empty tomb, plausibly signifying Di Feisheng's innocence, alter his relationship with Fang Duobing? Or indeed, did Li Xiangyi, the man himself, have a part to play in this?

No traces of him from this time remain in the archaeological record, true. But this should not be taken to mean without doubt that he was not alive then at all.

The discovery of Li Xiangyi's tomb has been an exciting development for studying this era of the Xi Dynasty, but it has also outlined doubt in areas of one man's life that were previously taken as likely facts. Li Xiangyi's tomb is scarcely fitting for his name as a founding sect leader, built more for the sake of its existence than anything else, and there was no body sealed inside to begin with. In addition, Shan Gudao— someone dear to Li Xiangyi— established a precedent of faking his death. Di Feisheng, known across the jianghu for killing the man, held a close bond with someone later in life who had personally looked up to Li Xiangyi, and so he may not have been fully responsible for Li Xiangyi's death to begin with.

What truly happened to Li Xiangyi, resulting in a tomb such as this? The past holds the answer, knowing things that we do not. Hopefully the future of archaeology will continue leading to new discoveries, and allow us to more completely understand the legend that was Li Xiangyi.

[tyrantisterror]

The stories were false. Though he bore the white beard and red coat, there was no warmth to the man, no mirth, no love. His gaze was cold and piercing, exuding a cruelty as biting and all-consuming as the darkest ice in Hell. As he regarded the wretched soul before him, there was not a hint of the good humor and charity that had characterized him in the tales. But then, the tales were always a lie - they placed the N in the middle of his name, after all, when it belonged at the end.

"You gave me a merry chase, you miserable cur," the tyrant sneered, his voice not much louder than a whisper, but as terrible and cowing as any roar of thunder. "But the wild hunt is over, and your soul is finally mine to collect. What did you imagine, as you crawled and lurched your way to the surface? What horrors did you anticipate I'd perform upon your ragged form, to drive you to such desperation? You slit your own mother's throat to sup on her life-giving blood, child. Surely you knew then that whatever nightmare waited for you here, it was deserved."

His face twisted into something like a smile, but the veneer of cruelty that dwelled behind every fiber of his being twisted it into something more akin to a grimace. "You were right to be afraid, child, for I give to the deserving, and I give them what they deserve. Your fate is quite awful indeed. No torches, no pitchforks, no sinking in pit of burning coal. Only the cold, and the dark, the unrelenting dark of the void. There you will dwell in wretched pain, denied of all warmth and comfort, and reflect upon your loathsome life forever. The bell has tolled, child. Time to face your end."

[acoraxia]

shadowpeach moment where I talk about how deliciously toxic they could be in that Macaque obsesses over Wukong like a lost soul in need of worship and Wukong stares at him while thinking of himself, finally, as a god rather than a hero or a leader or a tyrant or a weapon

Something about Macaque making tales and high fantasy stories about Sun Wukong and worshipping him through false beliefs and weird, estranged feelings, while Wukong only watches in faint interest and ignores it until it’s being shouted right in his face—

The concept of god x devoted follower is so underrated and it flies over people’s heads that technically this suits shadowpeach more than enemies to lovers or friends to lovers because at the end of the day wasn’t macaque always making up shit about Wukong like gospel? Wasn’t it some wicked form of worship?

Isn’t it awful how he adds himself to shadowplay? How he says “the hero and the warrior were like the sun and the moon”? How it’s highly likely that if Wukong heard that he’d choke on his own laughter and point and say, “warrior? What warrior? I only see an old, worn out heretic!”?

Ough.. the voices