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justporo · 8 months

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A Night of Staying In

After all the doom and gloom in other writing I really needed some cutesy fluff to feel myself again - and also to give Astarion and Tav a break.

Summary: So have Tav and Astarion just enjoying a cozy night in - also Astarion gets a carrot hurled at his face.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav Warnings: Mention of sex, a carrot gets thrown and then murdered Wordcount: 2,2k

Delicious smells of slowly cooking meats and vegetables, spices and a forgotten mint tea were wafting through the kitchen of your cozy little townhouse.

You were bustling around the well-equipped kitchen. The apron you were wearing was full of stains and its pockets full of cooking utensils – even a half-full spoon absent-mindedly tugged away in one of them. It was slowly leaking through the linen with something on it that looked like blood – but was simply a tomatoey sauce. Your hair was messily put up in a bun, but several strands of hair had fallen out of it and you looked only so far from a mental breakdown.

At the kitchen table Astarion was sitting with a lantern, bowing over an embroidery project. He had the very bright lantern you’d gifted him specifically for this purpose directly next to him, but he was still squinting at his work and holding it so close his nose was almost touching the fabric. He looked a lot less demented than you but still very absent-minded.

Fabrics and threads were strewn all about the wooden table. Different needles were glinting everywhere on it too. One could only hope that those would be remembered at some point – preferably before someone stuck them in their fingers.

Next to him were also laying some loose papers, a feather and an ink pot with lots of writing that was then crossed out again and also some small little doodles on the corners – one for whatever reason happened to be a goose with a knife in its beak.

You had several pots on the iron stove and something about to go in the oven as well. Critically you were moving around between all of these things, clattering with copper pot lids, jars of ingredients and spoons to try the food (always in the same pattern: grabbing a new spoon, trying something, putting the spoon in the dish bowl full of dirty water – then having to grab a new spoon). You had some potatoes boiling and in another pot you had been cooking a mixture of vegetables and beef for quite some time. You wanted to recreate a recipe of cottage pie that you had once tried many years ago in a tavern and had kept reappearing in your dreams. And now you finally had the kitchen and the tools to try and cook it yourself!

But it seemed impossible to get it right, this already being your fourth attempt this week. The vampire had already been moaning that you had basically force-fed him the meal because you had no way of eating that much pie on your own. It was not, that the finished pies hadn’t tasted well, but they just weren’t like you remembered. But you started to think that it might be your memory that was tricking you and not your cooking skills.

You went to try the pie filling again after adding some more spices and dash more red wine (directly from your goblet because you didn’t seem to remember where you put the bottle).

As soon as the spoonful hit your tongue you knew you had done it – finally.

You shrieked and immediately heard another shriek behind you in reply. You turned around to Astarion with glee and saw how the vampire was staring at you angrily and shaking his hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out your sudden excitement had caused him to stab himself with his needle.

“Darling, can you maybe not scream like a dying goblin, I was concentrating!”, he hissed at you. Your joy evaporated at his flare of anger – so you turned around again, grabbed a left over half of carrot and threw it at Astarion – and maybe a bit more forceful than would have been necessary.

But he was still a rogue and dodged the vegetable easily. It flew against one of the cabinets and then to the ground. There it stayed until Scratch came into the kitchen, drawn there by the sudden noises. The dog sniffed at the piece of vegetable, then grabbed it and went off again.

“Oh really, are we at the ‘I throw stuff at my lover’ point of our relationship now, love?”, Astarion replied to your responsive outburst of anger with a raised eyebrow. “Am I going to have to sleep on the sofa next?”, he continued sassily.

Your hand itched to grab more produce – there were some potatoes still laying around and they made for excellent improvised throwing weapons. But you saw the smirk that played around the vampire’s lips. So you settled for a verbal rebuttal.

“Don’t be such a prick and you can keep sleeping inside”, you said and flipped him off. Then you turned around again to your cooking and grabbed – yet another – spoon and scooped up some of the filling. The vampire mumbled something under his breath about he wouldn’t have to be a prick if you didn’t make him prick himself.

“Oh, that would be so gracious of you, my dear lady, if I was still allowed in your shining presence”, Astarion then said loudly as you were busy with the pots. The tone still very sassy but you heard the playfulness in it now and knew he was now only teasing.

You went over to him, with one hand under the spoon full of hot goodness that immediately started dripping and burning your hand. You winced but kept going.

“Here, try this – I think I got it now”, you said as you stood in front of Astarion who had put down his needlework for the time being. He threw you a pained look: “Love, if you keep feeding me this I think I might actually start to get a pot belly.”

You snorted at him and eyed what you could see of his upper body. “Pretty sure, you will never have to worry about this kind of thing. Now. Try. It”, you answered and insistingly came closer with the spoon.

Astarion sighed, gave you another suffering look and then let himself be fed. His doubtful expression quickly changed to what you interpreted as pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, I take everything back, that was well worth the scream of enlightenment, my sweet. That tastes wonderful”, the vampire said and grinned at you.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it”, you said and gave him a quick peck on the lips as you could see his face changing to annoyance once more at your petty remark.

You threw the spoon in the dish bowl and rubbed your hands on your apron and started to get everything ready for the final step of the recipe. Meanwhile you said to Astarion: “So, darling, could you write down the following: one and a half cups of red wine and three instead of two sprigs of thyme and just loads of black pepper.”

“Of course, my darling chef”, Astarion replied cheerfully and grabbed the feather and papers laying next to him to write it down. “Any other changes?”

“No, this will be it”, you responded and happily clapped your hands before you put your filling in a cast iron pan, mashed and seasoned the potatoes and then put them down as the topping of your pie. The final touch was some hearty cheese sprinkled on top. Then you put it all in the oven.

In the meantime, you heard the feather scratching over the paper.

“What are you doing, Astarion?”, you asked as you took off the oven mitts from pushing the pan in to cook.

“Just putting the recipe in clean writing for you, my heart”, the vampire replied as he kept looking through older versions and notes on the papers. Brows furrowed as he was concentrating on it.

“That’s sweet, love, thank you”, you said to him but he didn’t reply and probably hadn’t even noticed. Of course – if you said something actually nice you fell on deaf ears.

So you decided to thank him with another gesture. You grabbed another goblet to pour your vampire a cup of wine but as you looked around to find the opened bottle you saw that it had been next to Astarion with an already filled cup all along.

You gave up and sat down across the table with your own cup of wine as Astarion finished up writing. You put one leg up on the bench and hugged it to your chest, head on top of the knee and watched the pale elf.

“Here you go, my sweet”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully after a few more moments and handed you the finished recipe that was now written cleanly in his neat and beautiful handwriting. ‘Tav’s specialty cottage pie’ stood atop the page and next to it was a little doodle of some steaming hot pie.

You smiled broadly at Astarion: “Thank you, darling.” Then you shortly leaned on the table, almost climbing over it to give him a kiss while carefully trying to avoid the needles.

“Do you sometimes wonder how we ended up like this?”, you softly asked him after you had read through the finished recipe.

“Like what?”

“Well, like this – all domestic. I’m cooking, you’re embroidering, we’re bickering like an old married couple, drinking wine and just enjoying a cozy night in instead of wreaking havoc somewhere out there”, you said and waved vaguely in the direction of the city beyond the walls of your home. Then you took another sip of wine.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, we’ve been bickering like that from the moment we met”, Astarion answered and looked at you sternly. You shrugged in agreement.

“As for the rest – well, are you enjoying the way we spend our nights like this sometimes? Because if you’re bored-“

“No no, I’m enjoying this an awful lot. It’s just – this is somehow the most unlike turn of events don’t you think? Like, I sometimes can’t believe we actually ended up in the version where we’ll live happily ever after”, you said and cradled your face in your hand not currently holding a cup of wine.

At your words a warm and adoring smile crept onto Astarion’s face.

“Are you though?”, you asked then.

“Hm?”

“Are you enjoying these kinds of nights?”, you asked Astarion again and lifted your head up to look straight at him.

The vampire looked at you, smile still playing around his lips: “Well, my love, after two hundred years full of godsdamned shit I am enjoying this sort of mundanity quite a lot. And I enjoy it even more because I get to spend it with you. I might even enjoy doing the dishes with you later on – unless you don’t splash me like last time.”

You smiled at him too now, broadly – feeling incredibly lucky that you had indeed taken all the right turns that had led you here, to this: sitting at this kitchen table with the love of your life, talking about doing the dishes.

“But if we ever get bored, my sweet, I have quite a lot of ideas on how to spice things up”, Astarion continued afterwards. The smile morphed into a lewd smirk and his red eyes sparkled mischievously: “For example, I could dramatically throw everything on this table to the ground, rip all your clothes off and have my way with you on this table until you forget your own name.”

His voice had suddenly become deep and smooth like dark molten chocolate. You bit your bottom lip as the mental image of his words set in and you just stared into his eyes point blank. Astarion still looked at you, not breaking eye contact, and his teasing smirk only growing.

“Nah”, you made after some more moments, “not tonight. My cottage pie would burn.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and you drank some more of your wine while still looking into the vampire’s eyes.

Then you both broke down laughing. So much so that you had to wipe tears from your eyes by the end and Astarion had his face buried in one of his hands while silent fits of laughter still shook through him.

“Alright”, he said and bit his lip, one of his fangs showing adorably as if he was a cat, “I’ll write it down for another date night then.” You broke out laughing again.

Until you could actually smell your food burning. With an “oh shit” you jumped up and pulled the pan out of the oven – you had saved it just in time.

You got out some plates and forks, and put some generous servings onto them. As you turned around your gaze fell onto the table full of Astarion’s embroidery supplies. Astarion saw your look, then waved it off, dismissing it.

He grabbed one of the filled plates from you and grabbed your then free hand to lead you to the living room. Scratch was there laying on his designated blanket, chewing on his favourite ball. Some telltale orange spots telling the tale of the fallen carrot.

You settled down on your sofa with your food – you swinging your legs over Astarion’s and getting cozy.

And this is where you stayed: eating until you felt like your belly might burst, joking until you were crying again, talking until you got so tired you almost drifted off into dreaming right then and there. And when you had went to bed: holding each other until you woke up in the other’s arms again.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #tav #one shot #drabble #poro fics

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los-plantalones · 2 months

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Let’s make some color-changing botanical ink using grape hyacinth (muscari) flowers!

Ingredients:

1 cup grape hyacinth flowers

1 cup water

2 tablespoons vinegar

1 teaspoon salt

2-4 drops gum arabic (not necessary but USEFUL)

2 drops wintergreen oil or 1 whole clove (also not necessary but useful)

Instructions:

Add the flowers and water to a non-reactive pot (stainless steel, ceramic, or enamel-coated). Pots that are aluminum or copper can affect your colors!

Bring to a boil, and add the vinegar and salt. Boil for about five more minutes, then turn down to a simmer, stirring occasionally (again, the spoon should be a non-reactive material like wood or stainless steel).

Simmer for 10 minutes, at which point you can test the color by dipping in a strip of paper to see if you like how it looks.

If it looks good, congrats – you’re done! If you want a more intense color, continue simmering, testing with a paper strip every 15 minutes or so until the color is to your liking (this shouldn’t take more than an hour).

Remove from heat and let the mixture cool to room temp.

Filter the flowers using a fine mesh strainer. I use a stainless steel coffee filter for this purpose and it works great.

Pour your ink into a sterilized glass jar and add 2-4 drops liquid gum arabic, which is a natural binder that will 1) keep the liquid and pigment together and 2) thicken the mixture and make it easier to work with.

Add 2 drops of wintergreen oil or 1 whole clove, which are natural preservatives that will help extend the life of your ink.

Label your jar and store it in the refrigerator if not using right away.

YOU DID IT! Now go forth and have fun with your muscari ink.

** The ink will appear very purple, but when put to paper dries in varying shades of blue. If you want to experiment with color further, add an acid (lemon juice) to produce shades of pink, and a basic (baking soda) to make shades of green.

*** Because of the changing nature of the ink, what your painting/writing looks like will change over time! I have muscari paintings that started bright blue/purple but have faded to almost entirely green. Some have stayed blue. That's the fun of it!!

#plantalones tutorials #wildcraft #botanical ink #muscari #grape hyacinth #flowers #color changing ink #ink making #ALSO only use the pot you use for making ink FOR MAKING INK #this should be obvious but I KNOW YOU GUYS

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redbleedingrose · 1 year

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Traditions ~ Cassian x Reader

Summary: You teach Cassian a family tradition

Warnings: slight angst, infertility, tbh mostly fluff

A/N: OMG 2.7k-ish words later!!! I am so sorry to have kept y’all waiting. I know you asked for an Azriel piece but this one was just stuck in my mind. Anyway, I guess this is the time to thank you all for 1.3k followers! That is huge and totally unexpected. I am forever thankful! Please leave your thoughts in the comments below, I always appreciate your likes, and love your reblogs. Let me know if you want to be added to my general taglist. Enjoy!

Your mate gaped at you from where he was seated on your large bed, several feet away from your vanity he had built with his brothers as a mating gift when you had finally accepted the bond. It had been nearly an hour since you had emerged from the bath that Cassian had first started after your supper. You had joined him when the water was still piping hot and as the water had gone luke-warm, your needy husband spent the entire bath running his large, calloused hands all over your body, massaging your sorest parts every now and then, and squeezing at your soft flesh in any place he could without earning a smack on his thigh. The warm pot roast with mashed potatoes settled into your stomach with a glass of red wine to follow, had you feeling sated and cozy while you rested against Cass’ chest. Time well spent cooking with the general, who was barely able to keep his hands off you, until you nearly kicked him out of the kitchen, settling for the occasional spank on your ass.

You calmly moved into the next step of your nighttime routine, circling your aloe cream into your cheeks and under eyes, ignoring your pouting mate who whined in the background, trying to get your attention to pull you away from your seat and into your bed. When you had walked out of your shared bathroom, you wore nothing but a silk robe that ran down to right above your knees, exposing your newly moisturized legs that smelled of his favorite honey and milk lotion. Cassian was feeling almost feral at the sight of you, wanting nothing more than to toss you over any surface so he could have his way with you for hours. Maybe, you wouldn’t be getting the rest you had planned on, and you were okay with that. But, right now? This was your time to relax, to ease into the night, to let the various worries of the day slip out of your mind and into the dark abyss of tomorrow.

So, he sat.

He sat on the large bed, with his arms crossed over his chest, huffing and puffing with his jaw hung open as you heated the fresh hyssop oil in your hands, coating it in your palms before running your fingers through your hair. You hummed in contentment, sneaking a glance at your impatient husband, sending him a sneaky, yet, gentle smile before massaging the silky liquid through your scalp all the way down to the roots of your hair. You watched him through the mirror, as you continued to hum, staring at you with his head tilted to the side in curiosity, his pupils blowing out his cinnamon mixed with copper iris’.

Not once had your dear husband ever asked what it is that you were doing, not once did he ask what your nighttime routine actually was. He never asked why it took so long, he never asked why you had so many steps in the process. He only stared at you in wonder. You weren't exactly sure why Cassian never felt the need to ask, but you had assumed it was because it didn't matter, despite how strange it looked, as long as you were at peace in the end.

It was simple, really. A tradition that had run in your family for centuries. Oiling your hair that is. Your great grandmother had done it to your grandmother, your grandmother had done it to your mother, and your mother had done it to you. It was a form of love, of devotion, and of doting on someone you love. It always brought memories that felt like balm after a long, difficult day. Your mother used to sing you hymns as she settled you between her knees on the floor, rubbing the oil through her hands to warm it before pressing it into your hair.

She would run her hands through your hair softly, “it will open up your mind, my sweet little bird,” murmuring to you her love as she would bounce her fingers against your scalp. After she was done, she would press a kiss onto your forehead before braiding your hair and then sending you off to bed. The tips of your fingers played with the ends of your hair that you had weaved into that simple braid, sliding it over your shoulders, and easing back into the soft white chair you were seated in before calling out to your mate, “C’mere my love.”

He shot out of bed obediently, rushing over to where you were seated, grinning as you spread your legs open, slowly and sensually, till your knees were fully spread apart, exposing your glistening sex. You tilted your head back with a smirk, watching his reaction. The poor male was nearly drooling at the sight of his mate all spread out for him, his pretty eyes sparkling with what could only be described as pure hunger for his mate. “Get on your knees, Cass.” Not a second later, he fell to his knees, right in front of you, growling at your scent that seemed to bleed into the room, his soft hair falling forward over his shoulders as he leaned over to take a huff of your essence. You couldn't help but let a breeze of laughter escape you, resting your foot flat against his shoulder and pushing him back without much force. “Sweetheart,” he started with another growl, reaching up to rest his hand on your ankle, “Not yet, General,” you interrupted with another chuckle, “turn around.”

“B- But–,” his hungry smirk fell into a forlorn expression that made your smile widen, “Nuh uh Cassie baby, turn around,” you twirled your finger around in a spinning motion, trying to motion for him to turn faster. Your poor mate sighed before following your order, willing to do whatever you wished, even if it meant tasting your cunt later in the night rather than right now, like he so craved doing. He expected you to be playing one of your games, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Even after centuries of being together, you still managed to find ways to surprise him, keeping him on his toes, or rather, his knees, and keeping the spark alive in your relationship. You sent a stroke of love and satisfaction down your vibrating bond, soothing his restless soul as his thumb continued to stroke and press into your outer ankle that was resting on the padded floor next to his hip.

You lifted the vial, using the dropper to access the oil that you had used only moments prior, humming the same tunes your mother used to when you sat in the same position as Cassian is now. You settled the vial back onto the glass vanity, warming the oil in your hands as you leaned forward towards your mate, pressing a kiss into his temple. His eyes fluttered shut, resting his cheek against your knee before turning his head to drop a swift kiss onto the exposed skin. He lingered for a moment, smiling into you, pulses of an overwhelming sense of adoration and warmth emanated through your bond from him. It was so clear to you how smitten he still was with you, how devoted he was with you, how he still delighted in your presence even if it meant pushing off your most intimate display of affection for whatever it is that you have planned for him.

He more or less whined as your soft fingers burrowed into his hair, running along his scalp, his head nearly falling back into your lap, reveling in the feeling of you bouncing your fingers into his skin. His jaw fell open further as you gathered even more oil before running it through his silky ink hair, making sure to cover every single strand with it. It glimmered in the soft lighting emitting from the fireplace as you brushed his hair back with your fingers, pulling the tips to the top of his scalp to coat every end. Cassian couldn’t even force his eyes open to watch, his head had begun to lightly pulse at the sensation of his beautiful, wonderful mate playing with his hair. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks with the new conflicts in Illyria sending him and his brothers over the edge with tension and anxiety. His lips lifted of their own accord into an open smile every time he felt you press a sweet kiss into his forehead, smoothing down any residual wrinkles of stress. It was when you pushed his head back up with such ease that he sat back up, thinking you were done with whatever it was that you were doing.

He found, pleasantly, that he was wrong.

Your fingers shifted through his hair, pulling it back into what he could've sworn would be a ponytail, but you let his hair go, letting it fall back to his shoulders. He could feel you hesitate, shuffling closer to him and pressing your legs closer into his side. He waited patiently, unsure of what your next step would be, startling slightly when you began whispering as your hands ran up his spine, “Have you ever wondered why I put this oil in my hair, Cass?” Basking in the feeling of you so near, your warmth radiating off you, your scent almost overwhelming, he murmured an agreement, pressing a kiss onto your other exposed knee. You grinned down at your mates euphoric state, a state similar to the ones that only happened after hours of love making, continuing with your mistrations at his shoulders before threading his hair in your warm grasp to form a simple braid.

Words began slipping out of you like sweetened tea, and Cass listened intently, always wanting to bury every single statement you uttered into his memory so he would never forget, “It’s a tradition that has run through my family for generations. It is said that hyssop oil that is freshly pressed is extremely hydrating to one's hair, and that it helps refresh a person's aura. And so, as tradition goes, my mother would do this for me, warming the oil right in her palm as a form of love, nearly soaking my scalp and hair in it, following that with a simple braid to let it enrich my hair and my aura. And she would sing some hymns to me in the old language while doing so. If there ever were a way to calm me down, it would be this. I guess you could say, it is a way to show your affection to someone.” You rambled softly, hoping that Cassian wouldn’t mind you doing this for him, that he would understand, and that hopefully, he would let you do this again.

His warm hand was now fully pressing into your ankle, squeezing it thrice every so often, an easy smile lilting his beautiful rugged face while you babbled on, “It’s sweet though, if you think about it, Cass. My grandmother did this to my mother. And my mother did this to me. And maybe one day…” you paused, anxiously looking down at your mate who had finally opened his burnt cinnamon eyes to look up at you like you were a goddess to be worshiped. He squeezed your ankle once again, this time more firmly, stabilizing you before pressing a hard kiss into your plush lower inner thigh to reassure you into continuing. You cleared your throat, pushing down the small, painful lump that had formed, “And maybe one day, I can do it for our future babe, whenever that will be.”

It had been almost three years of you trying with Cassian to have a babe, and it still hadn’t happened. No matter how many potions Majda had given you, no matter the reassurance Cass and your friends from the inner circle had given you, especially Feyre, it still hurt. It still didn’t make any sense to you as to how it hadn’t happened yet. And you knew. You knew that sometimes, it could take decades for fae, even longer for Illyrians. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less. That didn’t mean it was any less difficult. You and Cassian had both hoped that it would happen relatively quickly, given how quickly Feyre had gotten pregnant with Nyx. But that didn’t seem to be how it worked out for you both.

And it was hard.

It was painful.

You had spent nights crying yourself to sleep over it not happening. Every month, when your cycle would come, it felt like another stab to your already bleeding heart. You couldn’t help but feel as though you had failed. Failed at reproducing. Failed at being a female. Failed at being a mate.

But Cass never let you feel that way for long. His constant reassurance and strength had been the only thing in recent months that had been helping you push through this period of difficulty in your life. He was the perfect male, the perfect husband, the perfect mate really. Not even for a second did he blame you for your troubles with infertility. Not for a second did he make you feel incapable. He was truly your rock against the crashing waves that kept you standing.

And you loved him for it.

And he loved you for it. He always would.

You were so deep in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed Cassian was now turned towards you, sitting up on his knees and staring at you in concern, his calloused hands resting on your cheeks, stroking away the stray tears that had slipped out. You sniffled, trying to smile at your mate as you snuggled into his palm, raising up your own hand to rest against his, “your braid will slip open my love, turn around so I can tie it.” He started to shake his head, “Sweetheart– ,” you hummed, not letting him finish what he had planned to say, patting at his broad shoulders with a small grin rising on your face, “C’mon Cassie, quickly.”

His iris shifted between yours, looking for any signs of remaining sadness that had seemed to slip out of you as quickly as it had come. And when he found none, he nodded slowly, pecking your lips before turning silently and resting his ass against his shins. You remove the hair tie that has been wrapped around your wrist, gently tying off his braid before running a finger down the length of it. He catches your wrist, pulling it around his body towards his front and planting kisses right along the inner portion, resting it on his chest to where you can feel his heart beating at your fingertips. You blushed at the sensation, the pulses of love he sends down your already buzzing mating bond provide a source of comfort that you could not begin to describe.

“I love you, sweetheart, so much,” his voice barely above a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear, “and we will have a beautiful little babe that you can do this with.” He shifted, hooking his arm under your thigh and swiftly pulling you out of your chair and into his lap. You landed in his embrace with a yelp, his arms pulled you further into his hold allowing him the access to peck your flushed cheeks, the tip of your nose, the edge of your jawline, the base of your forehead, and finally, your lips. His kiss sent tingles from your lips down to your heart which morphed into butterflies that exploded in your soft tummy. Cassian held you there, moving his lips in gentle succession until a smile formed against your lips. He ended the kiss with another soft peck, “But until then, you can continue your traditions with me. All that affection and love you are saving for our future babe, you can give some for me to hold onto until the mother blesses us. What do you think?” A huff of a breath escapes you in a barely formed laugh, your smile too large for you to contain as you lean up to kiss your husband again, nodding once while watching his own smile widen, right before returning your lips against his.

General taglist: @nyotamalfoy @brekkershadowsinger @kennedy-brooke @fieldofdaisiies

Masterlist

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #general cassian #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #cassian acotar fanfiction #cassian fanfiction #cassian fanfic #rose writes #fluff #soft #angst #fluffy fanfic #inner circle #bat boys #feyre

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lunchboxpoems · 8 days

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LIFE ON EARTH

The odds are we should never have been born.

Not one of us. Not one in 400 trillion to be

exact. Only one among the 250 million

released in a flood of semen that glides

like a glassine limousine filled with tadpoles

of possible people, one of whom may

or may not be you, a being made of water

and blood, a creature with eyeballs and limbs

that end in fists, a you with all your particular

perfumes, the chords of your sinewy legs

singing as they form, your organs humming

and buzzing with new life, moonbeams

lighting up your brain’s gray coils,

the exquisite hills of your face, the human

toy your mother longs for, your father

yearns to hold, the unmistakable you

who will take your first breath, your first

step, bang a copper pot with a wooden spoon,

trace the lichen growing on a boulder you climb

to see the wild expanse of a field, the one

whose heart will yield to the yellow forsythia

named after William Forsyth—not the American

actor with piercing blue eyes, but the Scottish

botanist who discovered the buttery bells

on a highland hillside blooming

to beat the band, zigzagging down

an unknown Scottish slope. And those

are only a few of the things

you will one day know, slowly chipping away

at your ignorance and doubt, you

who were born from ashes and will return

to ash. When you think you might be

through with this body and soul, look down

at an anthill or up at the stars, remember

your gambler chances, the bounty

of good luck you were born for.

DORIANNE LAUX

#dorianne laux #poem #poetry

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the-tropes-are-hungry · 13 days

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The Cat's Mother (1/3)

Did someone say mommy issues? Congrats, Narinder, you lose!

CW: Stillbirth, death by burning. [Next]

His mother protected him.

Her litter was cursed. Dead kit, after dead kit, after dead kit. Six dead daughters and one all-black son who came out half the size of the corpses and barely breathing. In their matriarchal colony, he was a travesty.

He let out a single mewl, his first and meant-to-be-last breath.

His mother’s nurse, her sister, took the ill omen for what it was and placed him in the water to drown him. Better to let seven kittens go back to the River Eater together than the incomplete six. Grief would cleanse the poisoned womb. Next time, there would be daughters.

Mother disagreed and took him from the water. She protected him. She held him and groomed him and gave him his first taste of life while his sisters lay cold in a basket and hers lay dying on the floor.

They left the colony before his eyes (only two, Heket teased) opened.

Mother was a warrior. Her fur was the colour of bright sand under the spotless blue sky, her coat thin but sleek over lean muscle that let her twist and strike like lightning. She killed every member the colony sent after them asking her to return, breaking the Wrath Bringer’s prohibition on striking messengers. For this, they became strays, and he wore the blood of mother’s victims as if she’d pulled off their skins and wrapped him in them.

He should not have been a warrior. Every omen, card, tea leaf, entrail, and star said his claws should have folded against sand, never-mind stone. His teeth should have rotted out of his skull. His ears should have been filled with pus. The hatred of seven dead kinswomen should have doomed him to a feeble, terrified existence. The River Eater should have supped on his blood and spat out his deformed bones.

Instead, where mother was the wind, he was her shadow. Where her eye went, his darts followed. Where her sword struck, his claws sank. When she showed her fangs, his already held flesh. There was little she could teach with blade or chain or claw that he could not master, and she loved him for it.

“My little lord,” she praised, purring deep in her chest over every kill, every triumph, every show of power. She loved his midnight dark pelt, grooming him to an oil-slick shine and taking every opportunity to procure the oils and waxes to give him the texture of smoke to go with his flawless grace.

They stayed nowhere, and lived richly (as bandits, Shamura complained). If Mother said they would eat from the Thunder Mother’s table, then they would scale the temple walls and gorge themselves on honeyed meat and rich wine and fill their bags with trinkets and tributes. If she decided the Tortoise Keeper’s tax men demanded too much, they would make a game of slowly cutting around their shelled heads to peel off the shell—only to realize, delighted (and to Kallamar’s horror), that the entire brain came out when they pulled.

Mother adored him, and made his life a paradise. He bathed in her favour, supped on her devotion, and grew tall atop the pillar she raised for him. Six prized daughters had died to bring her one son; therefore, the omens must be wrong and the gods who peddled them equally blind. Their peoples’ colonies did not need another queen, they needed a Lord of Lords to rule them, and she named him appropriately.

“Narinder--!”

It was the last thing she said before she died.

They were, in the end, only bandits in the eyes of the Green-Eyed Queen. Thieves, stealing both from her altars, and her divinity.

Mother had begun to gain uncanny power. He hadn’t notice it, or else he had not been old enough to understand it. The way people whispered of a gold sphynx; a flash of light on the road that became a rain of copper darts and sharp stone; how travellers at midnight could avoid her wrath by offering a pot of lamp oil, or a clever riddle. Whispers, rumors, and—sure enough: prayers.

Prayer, faith, devotion, love. Four names for the same energy, the same power that the Green-Eyed Queen wanted back from them. Theirs was a land of gods and demigods where the love of the many empowered the few. While his mother was never kind to their victims, she never struck the young or their mothers either. She left the elders alone in their beds. She was, in some small corners, to a very lucky few, a grace. A blessing.

So, the Green-Eyed Queen sent her hunters.

A fortnight later, his mother was in chains with nails driven through her wrists and ankles, locked in an iron cage his claws and knives could never break through. He tracked them for three days, twelve years old and trembling with hunger, rage, and terror. All he needed was one chance to spy the key among the knights and hunters. Just a moment’s distraction to get through the lock and cast off the chains and hide her, protect her, feed her fledgling divinity the way she had been trying to spark the same in him.

They dragged her deep into the forest, built a great bonfire to their queen, and hurled his mother’s cage into it.

He fought better than he should have. He killed more than any other twelve-year-old could have hoped for: at least two. In his furor he didn’t see the other figures strike the camp to flank him, he just saw the cage. He just heard Mother screaming, and burning, and dying.

The iron was glowing red when he threw himself at it, but the spider caught him in three strong arms while the fourth kept swinging their weapon. His throat tore with every emotion made sound. He forgot to fight the spider, he needed Mother and he fought for her with hisses, snarls, and yowls.

“It is enough,” said the spider.

He’d dropped Mother’s sword. He’d run out of darts. He unsheathed his claws on all four paws and screamed, shrieked, wailed at the creature holding him. He lashed out in a flurry swipes and kicks and they, understandably, slammed him into the ground.

“Shamura!”

“At ease—he is frightened.”

They pinned him there and no matter how much he clawed and kicked and fought their flesh never wept blood. The spines of their carapace were thick, snaring his claws and tearing two of them out. Their armor was like nothing he had ever seen, liquid black and gold links that flowed like water under his claws. He fought until his throat was bloody, and his arms went feeble, and his eyes were blinded by sweat and tears and smoke. He fought until three horrible days without sleep or food or peace fogged his mind and yet he could still see. He could see his life running thin, the thread of it spun of something almost different but now fraying from abuse.

He saw the moment where Shamura weighed his flesh against the hunger of their brother and soldiers. He understood that if he did not tip those scales in his favor, they would eat him, and at least his flesh would go to better use than the smouldering char of his mother.

He could not die here. He could not let the Green-Eyed Queen take his mother and then be devoured in turn.

He sheathed his claws. He let his arms fall. The spider eased their weight on him until he could roll to his side and see the smoking cage atop its doused embers. He curled up tight as he had been in the womb, and lay there.

He let out a single mewl, his next but never-to-be-last breath, and wept.

Two thousand years later on a hazy bonfire dawn, Narinder will kneel in a circle of gray stone and let the memories come for him. He will remember disciples, and siblings, and priests, and knights. He will remember temple halls and celebrations. He will remember camaraderie and wine and soldiers and conquest. He will remember his mother’s purr and her gentle claws grooming behind his ears. He will remember six dead sisters and understand, for the first time, how his mother’s life was a tragedy and that he had never wept for her, only for himself.

But on that day, in the distant past, on a battlefield swiftly stripped of gold and armor and weapons, with the corpses left to lay in the grass, Narinder limped with Kallamar’s help to his mother’s cage. The squid merely touched the cool iron with a word and it corroded away, letting him inside with a nervous word that anything of value had been taken from her already by her captors.

All he wanted was one more moment with her, if the charred husk flung against the bottom of the cage was anything of her at all. He wanted to make a promise. He wanted her to know he would do it, as he knelt beside her and placed both hands on the corpse.

“I will kill the Green-Eyed Queen,” he whispered, his voice still raw and wet from screaming. “When I am done there will be no more queens.”

When he saw the glint of red he knew she heard him. The corpse was just a corpse, so even his young hands could reach into the charred meat and pry out the sharp edges of a dead womb.

Theirs was a world where faith and prayer could change fate. The cycle of devotion from a mother to her son crafted a crown with a single red eye. The memory of six dead daughters crystalized with intent to preserve one perfect son.

He put on the crown and went back to Shamura.

His mother protected him. Always.

[Next]

I have the Cat's Mother, the Worm's Mother, and the Lamb's Mother all written. Trying to get a full fic to work but at least this "prologue" bit is done. If I actually reach the plot I'll post this to AO3 with its actual title.

#cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl red crown #when it's narilamb I'll tag the narilamb #next up is Leshy #if I get to write this fic it'll be the best religious trauma dump #cotl shamura #cotl kallamar #sunny writes #Estrangement of Lords #Estrangement AU

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handweavers · 1 month

Note

my mother has asked me to ask “that weaver friend of yours” lol — do you have experience dyeing linen? what does the process look like for natural vs synthetic dyes?

happy to be that weaver friend of yours 🥰❤️ dyeing linen is basically the same as dyeing cotton or any other cellulose fiber, so any synthetic dye that works for cotton will also work for linen. a professional grade fiber reactive dye like procion mx or dharma's procion (here) dyes cellulose fiber without heat, and the process is quick and painless. it just involves a large bucket, water, the dye powder and the cloth you wish to dye. i have little experience with rit dye so i'm not sure if you'd need heat for that, but procion dye is higher quality, comes in a lot more colours than rit, and a 2oz container is like $2 usd and goes a long way

the natural dye process for linen takes a lot longer than the procion dye process and requires several steps. cellulose fibers really don't like to take dyes so you basically have to do a bunch of alchemy to convince it to do what you want (compared to protein fibers like wool and silk which love dyes and only need some gentle nudges)

naturally dyeing linen depends on the dye you'd wish to use, but the process is essentially: scouring, mordanting, and dyeing. it's really important that you scour linen especially because it contains a lot of pectins that prevent dye from penetrating the fiber, so a harsh scouring is best (ie. washing it with hot water and ph neutral soap, even to the point of boiling the cloth. linen can take a lot of heat and is better for it, cotton is more sensitive) you'll probably have to do this before dyeing it with the synthetic dye too for best results

most natural dyes require that you mordant the cloth before dyeing. some dyes don't require a mordant (indigo is the big one, but if you're working with onion skins or other materials that contain tannins this is also true. however mordanting the cloth before dyeing with tannins or even mordanting with tannins is still recommended for better colour performance long-term unless you're working with indigo in which case using a mordant can actually cause problems) but if you're unsure, assume that you need to apply a mordant. you essentially have to simmer the cloth in a hot pot with either a material that contains tannins (tannic acid), a natural bio-accumulator of aluminum (symplocos), or use a metal salt (alum acetate is best for cellulose, but iron and copper salts can also be used. the metal salts route requires more safety precautions esp if you use copper salt, you can't dump that down the drain) your choice of mordant impacts the final colour with different mordants shifting the chemical reaction that happens in the cloth when you dye it

with cotton and linen, after you use the mordant you need to use either a chalk or wheat bran bath to remove excess mordant from the cloth, esp if you use alum acetate, otherwise it can leave a whitish cast over the cloth and also impede dyeing lol. wheat bran baths tend to cause a warmer tone to the final dyed cloth, chalk baths cause a cooler tone. i only use wheat bran baths bc i prefer the warmth and i get the bran cheaply at my local punjabi grocer

only then can you dye the cloth, again unless you're working with a dye like coffee or tea or onion skins OR indigo. linen really doesn't like to take natural dyes unless you do all the above steps, it's stubborn. the dye process itself depends on what dye you use and you can do stuff like solar dyeing if you don't want to simmer it in a pot on a stove. if you plan to go the natural dye route lmk and i can send you some scans of a book i have that contains precise instructions for preparing linen for dyeing

#fun fact the word for mordant in bahasa (both msia and indonesia) is mordan lol #i love when stuff like that happens. like computer in bahasa msia being komputer #as a caveat these are the western steps for natural dyeing there are other approaches that include the same chemical processes #but dif techniques like ex. in malaysia/indonesia mordants and dye baths are fermented for several weeks to months #and the fermentation makes it so they can be used cold and you only have to dip them in the baths rather than simmer #but that takes even longer than the western methods and is less documented in an instructional sense so the western approach is easier

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puddle-nerd · 7 months

Text

You’ll Do

Summary: You’re lucky you survived the crash but after you crawled to safety, well, the phrase was out of the pot and into the fire, right?

(Recombinant Jake Sully/Human Reader)

Story Tags: No Use of Y/N, Pre Way of Water, Slight Mention of Gore, Restraints, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Neytiri Died, I’m Sorry, Manhandling, Verbal Degradation, Knife Kink, Mention of Non-Lethal Self-Harm, Mention of Blood, Panties Uses as a Gag, Extremely Dubious Consent, R4p3/Non-Consensual, Interspecies Sex, Na’vi Biology (Avatar – Cameron), Na’vi Language (Avatar – Cameron), Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Belly Bulge, Jake Sully Definitely Babbles During Sex, Creampie

So, this story was requested by @jakesullywhore, happy early birthday, baby girl 😘😘😘, on Tumblr back during Luna’s Kinktober Challenge (and she’s been wonderfully patient with me, I’m so, so, so sorry it took so long) and then it turned out… uh… quite a bit longer than I was originally expecting (insert sheepish shuffling here) in amongst several things happening all at once IRL so if you want to skip to the smut, and you’re over the age of eighteen, scroll down to the

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* Beginning of 18+ / NSFW Scene *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Na’vi Translation: Hì’i — small, little (size) Mawey – calm Olo’eyktan — clan leader (generally gender-neutral) Sevin — pretty (mainly for female(s)) Tawtute — human | Sky Person Toruk Makto — rider of last shadow | currently, Jake Sully

AO3 Link

You looked up as your supervisor groaned in protest as the supply train rumbled down the freshly built tracks, rocking with its momentum slowly but surely back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Your gaze didn’t falter from him as he closed his eyes, trying to center himself so he didn’t vomit while his motion sickness made itself known. “Ya good, sir?” you asked over the hum of the engine and the sound of the wheels turning, your words making your mask fog up briefly. The compartment was atmospherically converted to oxygen but with the increase of raids by the one known as Toruk Makto and his Na’vi followers, it was better to be safe and have your mask on, just in case. “You’re really pale,” you added.

Actually, he looked kinda green and you were beginning to think he was going to puke any second now.

Your supervisor looked up at you from where he sat across the way and gave a weak smile from behind the plexiglass of his mask, sweat beading up visibly upon his forehead. You’d think he’d have been used to the way a train rocked, having claimed to be from New York back on Earth, but who were you to judge? You all had come out here for a chance at a better life and there really wasn’t anything back on your home planet for you, personally, so when they opened up opportunities for grunt work (i.e. luckily you were a high value information system tech), they let you grab a space on the next flight out to Pandora. Only to find yourself in a middle of a war zone and having to take care of people who hadn’t been informed of what they were getting into. You hadn’t really known either, but that was beside the point. You reached beneath your seat and leaned forward to hand him a vomit sack. Suddenly, the illumination turned a reddish hue from a warm white, a skreiching alarm blaring over the speakers, a voice shouting, “Missiles inbound! Port side! Brace for impact! Brace f–”

Then the world went topsy turvy as the train de-railed.

What happened next came to you in spurts. The screech of metal on metal. The blur of the red warning lights amongst the darkness of the cabin with the world turning itself upon its head mimicking a high-speed roller-coaster back on Earth. The pain of smacking your masked face into the cushion of your full-body harness. The reek of liquid iron and the stench of something burning, stinging your nose. The sound of high-pitched screams ripped from several throats. The taste of copper upon your tongue. Pain radiating throughout your body from the top of your head to the tips of your booted toes.

Then nothing.

No sight, no sound, no smell, no touch, no taste…

Was it seconds later when you slowly regained consciousness?

Minutes?

Hours?

Your skull felt heavy and full of cotton as you very slowly lifted your chin, your eyelids blinking slowly as you took in the scene now, acutely aware of the ringing in your ears muffling everything else out. Shock rippled through you, icy and paralyzing, as you stared uncomprehendingly at the wreckage that had once been the train car you had been sitting in. Were still sitting in. Were you sitting? Your head ached.

Fear gripped you, your stomach turning as you surveyed the shattered glass, the debris of metal, splashes of dark liquid that smelled like the sharp tang of fuel and blood, and chunks of unidentifiable meat. You blinked slowly but the throbbing in your head refused to comprehend what you were gazing at – or maybe it was the shock of it all – and so you looked down at your own body. The harness was pulled tight around your chest and hips and your leg looked like it was bent at a funny angle for a moment, until you realized… it wasn’t your leg. Your hands trembled with a surge of adrenaline as you struggled to press the release clasps. Once you managed to liberate yourself from the strangling body-belt, you fell forward and stumbled to your feet, wobbling forward over questionable piles of… things you refused to look too closely at to get towards where you could see the light of day peeking out from where the door had crumpled in like tin, your limbs feeling like they were weighed down with lead blocks but you managed to slide yourself out, your gaze hazy and your mind slow as a turtle.

Pieces of shattered glass twinkled menacingly from the smoldering dirt in the sunlight amongst pieces of metal that should have been on the train.

Something huge suddenly swooped over your head and you lurched to the side as you saw a couple of colorful Mountain Banshees for the first time ever. You stared at them as they landed further down the wreckage and then noticed several very large bodies crawling over the train and the upturned earth.

You blinked and struggled to focus as you saw one of them, huge and blue, turn towards you, painted with black and green paint stripes all over his face and body beneath his battle band and very human-style tactical vest. You watched him incline his head before his lips drew back and he hissed in your direction and a new wave of adrenaline flooded your body.

You were going to die.

You didn’t think.

You just turned and ran.

You weren’t fast enough, though, and a sharp pain to the back of your head had you blacking out.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

You could hear them moving around you as you took stock of your situation, your eyes currently shut as you regained your other senses. There were at least two beings hissing at each other in a foreign language you recognized as the Na’vi tongue that you had no hope of understanding. The air smelled stale and recycled while you could taste a touch of iron on the back of your tongue. Your wrists were tied to the unforgiving metal table you were laying on, the cold seeped into your skin.

Your bare skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the realization that you were stripped almost fully naked and your eyes shot open. You tried to sit up only to jerk backwards, your wrists pulling tightly from where they were secured above your head. Your ankles were restrained as well.

“Oh, good, the sevin hì’itawtute is awake.”

You twitched, shrinking in on yourself as far as you could when you laid your gaze on two big blue striped beings watching you with interested golden eyes.

One was more serious, more intense, with his beaded braids hanging about his rounded cheeks and bordering his red ornate necklace. His broad shoulders, built chest, and thick arms looked more human-like except for the generous smattering of bioluminescent freckles adorning his striped sapphire skin. His torso tapered down into a slim waist, a leather band encircling just beneath his pecs. A light purple loincloth hung from a thin band over the front of his pelvis, a dagger longer than your forearm gracing his left hip. The other Na’vi was smirking much more mischievously at you, his heated golden eyes scanning your body with a hunger that made you shiver. His own braids, unadorned except for two hanging in front, were more towards the top of his head, the right side of his skull shaved. The second male was also so much leaner and gangly than the first, all long limbs with an equally lengthy torso and slutty, little waist though he was easily a couple of inches taller with less freckles that you could see. His dagger, hanging from his left lip, was a littler shorter as well above his simple green loincloth. They were both quite handsome in their unique ways.

“Go get Dad,” the broader male hissed in English.

You blinked.

Brothers?

The leaner male rolled his eyes with a sigh and turned on his heel and you felt your eyes widen as a blush stained your cheeks seeing that his loincloth left his firm backside on display. You glanced away only to see the remaining male raise a brow at you with a knowing look in his golden gaze. You flushed further and looked away, turning you eyes up towards the restraints holding your arms and then down to your ankles allowing you to see you still wore your sports bra and your thin, cotton panties.

The whoosh of the door opening again drew your attention and you choked.

While the two males were handsome, this third Na’vi – their father – made them pale in comparison. His long black hair was styled into thick, unadorned dreads and pushed back from his black and green streaked face. A woven band crossed over his forehead with something shimmering over his burning golden eyes was adorned with small, sharp bones that were probably as long as your hand from base to the tip of your middle finger. A wide, flat nose tipped in pink flared as he scented you, his thin lips pressing together. A comm unit acted as a choker as it settled at the base of his throat, just above a second necklace with five small stones. His shoulders were wide beneath his tactical vest, his chest was… beefy to say the least, and his biceps were near double the size of your head. His built torso tapered down into a trim waist cushioned lightly with an ever so slight, soft and inviting plushness, his brown loincloth embroidered with specialty woven knots around the hem and over the belt clinging to his hips. From mid-thigh to just above his ankles, dark brown leggings clung to his strong legs in a most sinful way that had you swallowing around a growing lump in your throat.

“Out,” the adult male hissed, his gaze not leaving you. He added something in the Na’vi language you had no hope of understanding.

The serious teen male nodded quietly and grabbed his brother by the back of the neck, pulling the mischievous-looking one roughly out of the… you supposed it was originally a shack laboratory that had been retrofitted to become your jailcell, hence why you could breathe without your mask.

You swallowed, watching the adult Na’vi male look over your nearly naked form once more.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, reaching down and unbuckling his tactical vest slowly, revealing a battle band in red and brown nestled just under his thick pectoral muscles, tossing the vest over to the side once he was freed. You shook your head because you weren’t sure. “You probably have heard of me. I’m known as Toruk Makto, more commonly called Jake Sully.”

You felt the blood drain from your face.

This was THE Jake Sully?

Oh, fuck… No wonder General Ardmore was determined to have LOTS of man and firepower because every inch of this Na’vi gave of vibes that screamed ‘lethal’.

You swallowed again and nodded, letting him know you now knew who he was. Your eyes flicked over every single inch of him once more and you shivered again at seeing that his whole body was defined muscle that human men wished they could have. And you weren’t entirely sure if it was because of the cold of the table, the chill of the air, or the fact that he was seriously fucking hot but your whole body trembled. Not, that that meant anything. God, you hoped his ability to smell things was seriously overstated. “I’m telling you this so that you understand what’s about to happen to you.”

You wetted your lips with your tongue and whispered hoarsely, “You’re going to torture me for information?”

Golden eyes – darkened with rage – flicked your way and a slow smirk that promised things pulled at his thin lips, revealing sharp fangs that had your heart doubling in speed. He replied, “Something like that.” He removed the leather strap from around his middle and tossed it over to where the vest was now. “I know it’s not entirely your fault, you’re just a drop in the bucket of problems known as the human race trying to destroy Pandora,” he removed his headpiece and added it to the growing pile, “but I need to know who’s in charge and what your superiors are planning.” His tomahawk from the small of his back was the fourth thing he removed from his body, though this he placed on the table by your hip, chuckling meanly when you attempted to shift away from the sharp edges of the weapon.

“I’m just a lowly IT,” you admitted, fear making you jittery upon the table. “General Ardmore doesn’t even know my name.”

Jake leered at you nastily, unsheathing his front dagger and slamming it down by your head with a startling SLAM. You recoiled sharply, twisting your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as your heart beat vibrated within your chest. “That’s alright,” Jake hissed, bending down and breathing hotly into your ear. “I’m sure I can make use of you… somehow.” You trembled as he pulled back and circled your body on the table. “You know, up until about a year ago, I was happy,” he told you conversationally, trailing his callus roughened fingers over the softness of your body, causing you to flinch again and tremble. “Y’know, I was the Olo’eyktan, wha’chu call the clan leader.” He pinched at your fleshy hip, the one on the other side from where he had left his weapon, chuckling as you baulked away from his touch. “I was respected by The People,” he continued, moving towards your feet and you hoped to god he wouldn’t tickle your soles, “all throughout the vast jungles of Pandora. I had a wife and four beautiful children. Had.”

Oh… shit…

You met his gaze and now understood the fury in his golden depths.

Jake told you, voice flat and ice cold, “My wife, my mate, my better half, my Neytiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite died today because all of you stupid humans had to come the fuck back here where you weren’t wanted.”

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t killed her. You hadn’t killed anyone. But you could see the absolute wrath and the soul-shattering hatered burning deeply from within the golden depths of his eyes. You understood from just looking at him that he wouldn’t really listen to any of your words or, even if he did hear what you said to him, he wouldn’t actually care about them. Either way, he was about to take it out on you in one way or another.

“So… what do you have to say about that?” Jake demanded.

You gulped and murmured, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Jake’s ears flicked back and he bared his teeth, shaking his head as his tail – he had a fucking tail! – lashed back and forth in agitation. “Y-you’re sorry? You’re sorry?! How’s that – how is that going to bring back my wife!?”

“It’s not! It’s – it’s not,” you yelped, flinching away from the fists he pounded down onto the metal table between your secured ankles as best you could, though it wasn’t much. You stuttered, tripping over your words, “But I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Sully! I – I swear, I swear, I swear I had n-nothing to do with it! I – I’ve never killed any – anyone, I swear. I’m just a, uh, just a computer jockey!”

His nose flared as he scented you again and a wide, dark smirk adorned his features as a switch seemed to flip and an idea came to him.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·. Beginning of 18+ / NSFW Scene .·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

“Well, if you’re not high enough up the chain and have no useful information to give me, guess I’m gonna have to find a different use for ya,” Jake announced and reached down. The Na’vi male pressed a lever on the table and the table flipped nearly vertical to about a 75-degree angle, causing you to yelp in surprise as you were suddenly jerked upright, the tomahawk and the dagger sliding – luckily – harmlessly down to hit the floor with a loud double ‘CLANG’. He chuckled meanly down at you, pressing something else to lock you into place.

You gulped, begging to know as your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, “What are you going to do to me?”

The painted male just smirked, flashing his fangs.

Kneeling down between your legs, your whole body shivered of the sight of Jake exchanging your ankle restraints for his large hands, his grip strong and unyielding giving you no chance to kick him in his stupidly handsome face. You felt your belly twist itself into knots as a warm bubble of dread – yes, it was definitely dread and nothing else – began to build inside of you as an idea of how he was going to “make use of you” formed in the back of your mind.

Jake manipulated your legs apart and leaned in, pressing his flat, pink nose against the front of your panties, flaring as he sucked in a deep breath with a chuckle. “Well, …look at that. You’re liking this, little girl,” Jake hummed, rubbing his nose over the material separating him from your femininity. “If I strip you, how wet will I find you, you stupid fucking slut?” You could hear the grin in his voice as he added, “Guess I’ll find out in a second. Don’t move.” Letting go of one of your legs after placing it over his shoulder and nipping at it in warning to not kick him or anything, he grabbed his dagger from the floor and brought it up to your crotch. You whimpered, trying not to squirm as the sharp edge of his weapon was drawn carefully up the silken skin of your inner thighs, leaving little red welts but not actually splitting the skin, getting closer and closer to your cunt. You recoiled slightly. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” Jake reiterated with a rumbling growl, ears and tail both flicking in irritation.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, flinching when he tucked the sharp edge under the hem of your panties and tore it beyond repair. “Please…”

Jake smirked as he cut away your panties completely, muttering up towards you, “You’re gonna be saying that for a different reason in a little bit, little girl.” You froze, watching as he tossed the scraps of fabric away and raised his knife one more time, lifting it to the material of your sports bra and hooking it beneath the front hem. The material gave away just as easily as your panties had, ripping like paper up the middle, revealing your tits to his gaze before methodically cutting the shoulder straps of what used to be your chest covering. “Huh, you are actually pretty, aren’cha?” Jake muttered, more to himself than to you as he tossed the now useless fabric away and set his dagger back down onto the ground. His gaze drifted down to your pussy and he smirked. “Oh yeah, you are such a dirty little slut, aren’t ya?” Jake chuckled, finally placing your other leg over his shoulder and inspecting you. “Gonna be a tight fit but now… I can smell you even better, all sweet and musky. Wonder if you taste just as sweet?”

He leaned forward, cupping your upper thighs with his blue hands, and pressed his nose against your center, breathing deep.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, cringing as much as you could away from his touch. “Oh, please don’t do this. I – I don’t want this, Sully. Please.”

You didn’t know who you were trying to convince more.

Jake or yourself.

He ignored your words and opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue and sliding it up the seam of your cunt from the bottom to your clit. You yelped, jerking away from him again at the feel of what you might describe as sandpaper touched your most intimate of parts. It wasn’t… unpleasant… but it was, definitely, strange. He tightened his grip on your legs and did it again, collecting your wetness upon his tongue. And then again. And again. You chewed on your lower lip, trying not to make any further noises or to move, lest he got angry or thinking you were enjoying this.

‘You weren’t enjoying this. You weren’t. You weren’t. You weren’t,’ you chanted to yourself.

“You can try to be quiet all you want, but I’ll get’cha to sing,” the Na’vi male told you confidently, smirk firmly in place on his azure skin. “Singing like an ol’ opera singer.” With that, he leaned in and began his attack on your pussy, dipping his tongue inside your cunt and rubbing his nose against your clit, determination pouring off of him to make you enjoy yourself, whether you liked it or not. The control this man had over his tongue made you bloody your lower lip from biting down so hard on it, just as equally resolute to not give in. No matter how good it felt. But Jake was a man on a mission, practically shoving his face against your pussy and feasting like you were going to be his last meal.

You felt the pleasure undeniably building, a choked whine building in the back of your throat.

Jake lifted his gaze and pulled back, seeing the blood trickling down your chin from where your teeth had dug too deeply. “Ah, fuck, don’t do that,” he grumbled and looked around swiftly. Spotting the remains of your bra and underwear, he grabbed your ex-chest covering and balled it up, wiping away the red liquid from your skin roughly, ignoring your mewl of pain. Now that your underwear was even more ruined, he tossed the sports bra back down and grabbed your panties, balling them up and shoving them into your mouth. “There now, no biting yourself while I enjoy my snack, you ungrateful brat,” he snarked picking up right where he left off and devouring your cunt like he was starving, humming as he dug his tongue deeper into your passage than you ever got with your own fingers. And his tongue was thick enough to almost resemble the girth of the silicon dildo you’d smuggled in the luggage you’d been allowed to bring with you from Earth.

You could no longer hold back the whimpers, your makeshift gag muffling your noise only somewhat.

“Yeah, that’s it, you needy little whore,” Jake chuckled against your clit before lapping at it greedily. “Let those noises out. Let me know what a filthy little slut you are for the first male Na’vi that gives you attention.” He laughed a little more to himself and then leaned in sucking on your hard nub as he slipped two broad fingers into your wet heat, curling them just so that had your eyes crossing as you jerked against your restraints and dug your heels into his shoulders while also trying to rut your hips up into his mouth and hand. “That’s it, bitch. I can feel you tightening. You’re getting close, aren’cha? Gonna cum with your enemy finger fucking you like a dirty, little slut?” Your inner walls clenched greedily around his digits and then he found a spot deep inside of you.

Your climax took you by surprise, running you over like a bus or a train…

‘Oh, too soon,’ you thought just before the euphoria overtook your senses.

You jerked in your restraints, screaming through the gag as you unraveled, your whole-body trembling with bliss.

“Fuck, yeah, look at you,” Jake sneered as he sat back on his heels, still curling his fingers inside of you as he rubbed circles over your clit to draw out your orgasm. “What a fucking little whore. Look how much you came for me.”

You sagged in your restraints, panting heavily and continuing to tremble, eyes widening when you saw how much his loincloth had tented.

The Na’vi male pushed himself to his feet and began to circle you, casually licking his fingers and palm clean of your slick while his tail flicked behind his toned, bare backside. You looked up at him as he came back around and stood in front of you, gazing at you expectantly but your throat didn’t want to work, didn’t want to form words. Especially with that monster of his pressing against the inside of his loincloth. So, you didn’t bother to try. Instead, Jake spoke up for you. “Got nothing to say?” the Na’vi demanded. You breathed out heavily through your nose and shook your head slowly. He snorted and lowered his gaze to watch the remnants of your orgasm trickling down your leg. He gripped himself, muttering, “You do taste as sweet as you smell, pretty, little slut. Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me.”

In any other situation, you might have been flattered.

Jake moved forward and towered over you, your head barely coming up to his sternum as you hung from the upright table. He smirked and reached down to untie his loincloth. “Think it’s gonna fit in your tight, little pussy, slut? You were squeezing my fingers all nice and snug,” he commented, letting the cloth drop, “I’m wondering if I’m gonna fit inside of you.” You whined, seeing the thick human-like cock spring upwards, firm and full. Jake’s dark blue shaft was decorated with pretty stripes of a lighter shade and bioluminescent white freckles scattered amongst ridges and nubs all over the length of him. What made you clench though, besides the sheer size of him, was that his light blue foreskin was pulling back from the pink tip of his cock to reveal that his slit was beginning to bead with pearlescent precum tinged silvery blue.

“Oh, fuck…” you whimpered, quietly through your makeshift gag, no longer able to deny you were enjoying this.

Whether you liked it or not.

The Na’vi male chuckled and stroked himself a couple of times. “Yeah, thought you’d like this,” he leered down at you with a smirk. Letting himself go, his cock bobbed but continued sticking straight out from his pelvis. Jake stepped closer and grabbed your wet thighs, lifting you up and settling himself between your legs, his shaft hot and hard against the seam of your center so you could feel the texture only a Na’vi penis had; you whimpered, trembling in his grasp, pleasure skittering through your nerve endings. “I can feel how slick you are, you filthy little whore,” Jake commented, grunting as he rutted against you, coating himself in your natural lubricant. “Getting me all nice and wet. Gonna have to go slow, though. Don’t want to tear you.” You whimpered as he continued to lift your hips up and back, dragging your dripping cunt up the length of his cock, teasing you with his firm shaft but not yet putting it in.

You bit down on your gag and jerked in his grip, seeking more stimulation.

“Look at you, you needy little thing,” Jake chuckled, watching you with a derisive jeer. “Yeah, you need it, don’cha? Okay, here we go, then.” Carefully, Jake took his shaft and lined it up with your entrance, slowly easing his thick mushroom head into your channel. You whined as he began to push himself further inside, the stretch burning your inner muscles slightly and forcing all of the air out of your lungs. “Mawey, baby. Mawey. Daddy’s got’chu.” The Na’vi male adjusted your thighs around his lean waist and reached down between you, circling your clit as he continued sinking himself further into you, the inescapable pressure and the incredible feeling of absolute fullness making you let out a whine through the fabric in your mouth. Your inner walls keep tightening and loosening, as if your center didn’t know whether to allow Jake’s girth further inside or to try to push him back out of your body. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jake groaned through gritted teeth. “Le’me in, little girl. It’ll feel so good. I promise.”

You whined, his thumb still circling your clit as he finally, finally bottomed out.

Jake couldn’t quite fit his entire cock into your pussy, the tip of him pressed against your cervix in a way you weren’t entirely sure was painful or pleasurable. Either way, you felt so utterly stuffed you could barely breathe, breaths shuddering in and out of your nose in short bursts. The hand gripping your thigh was definitely going to leave bruises later as he reveled in the feel of your center stretched around him to your utter limit, his free hand still rubbing circles over your hard, little bud.

“Fuck, baby,” the Na’vi male groaned, shifting his hips to test how you felt now that you had started to adjust to his intrusion. “Tightest pussy Daddy’s ever had. Fuuuck, yer strangling my cock.” The noise that escaped your throat barely sounded human in pitch, more like it was an unintelligible fusion of a whine and a groan, muffled by the panties still in your mouth. He chuckled and added, “Pretty sure you were made for this. Huh? You were made to be my little cock slut, baby, right? Daddy’s little whore.” You whimpered and nodded slowly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you again. “Yeah, I thought so.” Then he sucked in a sharp breath and whistled. “Fuck, yeah, I can see myself in your belly.”

You looked down to see your stomach slightly distended to accommodate the total girth of his length and you released a wail.

“Isn’t that a sight,” Jake laughed quietly, hissings as you subsequently clenched internally. “Okay, okay, ya greedy little thing. Daddy’s gonna start moving now, little girl. Tell me if it hurts.” You made a muffled noise of complaint and tried to spit out the panties still forcing your jaw wide. “Ah, forgot about that,” the Na’vi male chuckled to himself and finally pulled the cloth out of your mouth, tossing them off to the side. “That better, little girl?”

“Yes,” you moaned quietly, moving your jaw to relieve the slight ache. “Oh, fuck, Sully. Feel so full.”

The male chuckled, “Yeah. Bet you do.”

Jake pulled out of your center a little before rolling his hips slowly back inside of you, glancing between your face and your belly bulge as you whined, feeling the friction of his textured shaft to cause the most exquisite of pleasure to tease your nerve endings, his heavy testicles bouncing off of your taint with each move of his hips. He slowly began to increase his pace, the sound of his thrusts squelching wetly through the air as he pounded his length deeply within you with the power and the consistency of a machine, causing that coil to tighten once more inside of you.

Without the gag hindering you now, you whined aloud, “Huh, fuck. Oh god.”

“Yeah, my little slut likes this,” Jake snarled, quickening his tempo further and growling low in his throat as your center tightened further around him. “Fuck, little girl, gonna cum for Daddy like a good whore? Gonna gush all over me when you climax? Bet you will, you greedy little cock slut. I want to see how your belly bulges further when I finish deep inside of you.” You whined nonsensically as his thrusts got sloppy as he sped up even further, the head of his cock pressing a spot that made your toes start to curl. “Oh, fuck, baby. I can feel you getting close. You’re even tighter around me. You ready, baby? Daddy’s gonna fill you up.”

You wanted to feel the pleasure but you didn’t want it.

Not like this at least.

The Na’vi male’s breathing increased as his rhythm stuttered further, slamming wetly into your depths even more loudly, his balls now smacking against your taint with each shove of his cock, pushing inside of your pussy even deeper until he shoved himself in firmly one last time, burying himself in to the hilt and –

“Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuuuck, yeah baby! Cumming. Cumming!”

If your first orgasm had been like getting hit by a bus, your second one was more like getting swept away by a tsunami, the pleasure-pain of Jake’s cock being wedged just beneath your cervix and pressing in from behind your bellybutton caused you to release a nonsensical throat-aching scream as well as you beginning to weep in humiliation from the heat overtaking your senses making you feel like you had peed yourself as the lush flow of your and Jake’s combined finish both bulged your stomach and dribbled steadily down your buttocks while every muscle within you spasmed almost violently and your toes curled painfully.

“Fuck, my little slut is a gusher,” Jake chuckled, groaning as he trembled in pleasure. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna keep you. You’ll do just nicely.”

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 24 November 2023 Word Count: 5,500

#avatar #avatar smut #atwow #jake sully #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully x human!reader #graphic violence

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