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eywa-eveng · 10 months

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ɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – mentions of character death, mentions of war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – A bit of a non-linear storyline here, but nothing too confusing.

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Light blooms underfoot, swelling and fading like ripples over water as faint syuratan rises to meet the shadows gathering beneath the night sky. The last dregs of amber sunlight pierce through the treetops like arrows, the warm light glowing like a flame behind the silhouetted canopy. The shades of firelight fade to blue darkness as the forest swallows the last whispers of daylight into the darkened horizon. A path towards the clan’s new settlement is carved in pale green light, each step echoed by the glowing moss blanketing the tree limbs. The newly lit plants burn brighter at the slightest touch, flaring as a breeze brushes through the trees, shuffling one leaf against another until entire branches are bright as torchlight. And when the wind settles the air is filled with the sweet taste of nectar, the hanging plants swarmed with insects that fill the night with their buzzing song. There’s always music in the forest, the sounds of life thrumming through the air like the distant voices of a forgotten lullaby. The chittering of nantang and the shrieking of riti, the thundering footfalls of ’angtsìk.

The noises of the night build as the stars begin to dot the sky, swallowing your nearly soundless footfalls as you weave through the foliage, running along the twisted roots bridging the distance between the trees. The ground rushes up to meet you as you jump from the high perch, ears twitching towards a disturbance somewhere nearby that makes your landing sound like stones rolling down a hill, fumbling and clumsy. Loud enough to be worth a closer look as voices begin to break through the foliage, terse with agitation. Your feet are quick enough to catch the tail end of the confrontation.

Hunters. Some mounted and others on foot. A mix of Na’vi and uniltìrantokx, separated by dignity and appearance. The sawtute are easy to parse from trueborn Na’vi, even at a distance. They’re like fiery red blossoms in a sea of yellow flowers, so plainly out of place. Speaking their human language and wearing their human clothes even when most of their kind have long since been banished from Pandora. The night had been clear when they left and a new star bloomed in the darkness, bright as a white flame in the deep blue sky. Most claim not to mourn the loss but others seem less inclined to surrender themselves to the Na’vi way of life. It is clear that the topic of disturbance involves such cultural differences as you creep closer.

Someone cuts a biting remark, gruff and steeped in a thickening accent the more terse their words become. An uniltìrantokx returns the venom-stricken tone with their own heavy accent, Na’vi words sounding as intimidating as a child when spoken on such a foreign tongue. One of the mounted hunters cracks a smile, a sardonic laugh slipping past his lips. These avatars are like humans. Babies that need teaching especially after being so suddenly stripped away from their system of support. There aren’t many of them left in their place of human dwelling. That strange metal cave system that spirals out like the bloated roots of some shimmery plant. These are supposed to be the truly loyal humans. The kind humans left after the rot and ruin of the rest was scraped away. There are kind souls that remain but some are far too stubborn, like clay dug up from a riverbed and left to dry before it was fully molded into shape. They’re stiff and unchanging despite the offers to be taught your ways of life.

It is a fair argument they are having from what you can hear at the fringes of the clearing. The avatars are being far too liberal with their bows. Eager arrows lead to messy kills and there is no reason to cause unneeded suffering for a lack of discipline. An injured animal will run if it is able and sawtute are far less adept at traversing these forests. It would be easy for them to lose their intended kill and leave the animal to suffer with an arrow in its hide. A mounted hunter says as much, pa’li unsteady beneath her, the direhorse churning up dirt beneath her hooves as her rider’s anger is surely reflected through tsaheylu. When the humans have nothing to say back the silence stretches like a rope pulled taut, slowly fraying under the strain until it snaps and the leader of the hunting party gives the gruff order to return home.

The word still sets an ache in your chest like pressing against a bruise, dull and throbbing as “home” has changed shape. You follow in the trail of light left by the hunting party. Not towards Hometree that always stood above the forest like a fist punching towards the sky, but to grounded dwellings flanking the humans’ nearly abandoned home. The hunting party continues on after passing through the newly made village, escorting the avatars back to their massive metal kelku. Their refusal to learn has stunted their ability to be trusted in the forest alone. Truly like children that need to be guided lest they be met with an accident that could’ve been prevented with proper teachings.

The sounds of the forest give way to a din of voices as green syuratan fades to bright orange firelight. It sounds much the same as Kelutral had, conversations mingled with laughter as everyone gathers around cookfires for their nightly meals. It’s far less communial with the separate homes of woven fabrics over wooden frames. Different sizes denoting the size of the family living within. Your own is modestly small, just large enough for one. Truly it was meant for an avatar if they felt more inclined to immerse themselves in village life but it went unused for so long that you took the honor of christening it as your own, sleeping here most days despite having mates of your own and a more homely kelku to return to. It’s been days of careful avoidance despite the olo’eyktan and tsakarem’s greatest efforts to draw you back to their side.

Unexpectedly, it is Jake that has been more insistent rather than Neytiri. That was something you hadn’t thought to consider a possibility. His longing was enough to make you avoid any member of the clan altogether. You’ve shared no more than a few words with anyone in the days since Jake began sending his warriors chasing after your tail in an attempt to coax you back home. They’d come to you bearing gifts of delicate bracelets made with the rarest beads and feathered hair ornaments of the brightest colors, lingering for a moment to ponder over your rejection before trailing back to their leader with a defeated hunch to their shoulders.

The fire you tend to is only just large enough for your purposes. This kelku is set every so slightly apart from the rest and a light flickering at the fringes of the village is sure to draw unneeded attention whether it’s a kind elder sending children to be sure you have enough to eat or another of Jake’s men coming to present you with another of his finely made gifts. His effort is wasted. Pretty adornments aren’t enough to stitch the wound that’s been scored across your very soul. So much has happened in so little time. So quickly that you were hardly given a moment to mourn. Even as the days fall away to the past with the rise and fall of the sun it still feels like a wound is festering in your heart, refusing to heal as old memories poke and prod, stinging in the back of your mind. No, a new necklace or freshly made arrows won’t be enough to soothe the pain you’re suffering. Everyone might have begun to move on, picking up the fragments of what was left behind to rebuild something new, something better, but you stayed there. Every night, in your dreams, the sky is raining ash and the People are screaming.

The hunger leaves you as the taste of salt invades your mouth, memories of uncounted tears souring your appetite. The small fire is snuffed and the food is set aside with the intention to eat it should you wake with hunger pangs in the dead of night. Sleep has been an elusive thing in the time since the fall of Hometree. Something terrifying as your mind reminds you of the pain and betrayal. Over and over. And there is no place of solace to return to. No Utral Aymokriyä where you might hear some shred of happiness from those that have gone before you. Everything has been torn apart and reknit in a new shape and the only one that seems to truly notice the strangeness of it all is you. But life must go on. A tree does not stop growing when clouds cover the sun.

Sleep is expectedly fitful, full of stuttered moments of jolted wakefulness that find your cheeks wet with tears. And when the hour is bright enough that you can banish any attempts at resting you rise and pad off into the pinkish light of dawn, nibbling on your cold dinner as you trail off into the forest before the rest of the village has time to wake. As usual there is no direction to your walking, no destination in mind. The only thought is to be away from the village and all the people that seem so foreign to you now. Not only are there more humans and avatars mingling with the People but even those that you were once close to seem to have a different face. And that is only those that remain. The rest were lost, gone to a place you can only reach in short grasping moments.

Home is far away, in distance and in feeling. The new settlement feels nothing like home even as the clan has begun to rebuild. So many ancestral pieces were lost in the fall of Hometree. Totems and precious items passed down and preserved between the generations of the Omatikaya. Once you could touch something and know that hundreds of hands, long before your time, had touched the same place. Your favorite had been the wooden looms worn soft and smooth by the gentle hands of weavers that passed their craft down to their children and to their children until the knowledge found its way into your hands. All the memories since the time of the First Songs that had survived in the safety of Hometree, gone in an instant. Everything that the Omatikaya clan was, washed away like footprints in sand.

Now these trees seem so foreign as you traverse through the morning light. In moving to settle closer to the humans’ dwelling the clan has been distanced from the lands you’ve known since birth. Hometree may have fallen but the estrangement seems unnecessary. Maybe to fledgling eyes the forest looks the same but here there are plants that didn’t grow close to Hometree. You’d grown up learning every patch of ferns and every bed of flowers and now you’d need to learn it all again. New berries that prefer the unfiltered sunlight where the humans cleared the trees away and new landmarks to lead you from one place to another in the sprawling forest. Moving was necessary but Jake chose not to claim a new Hometree for the clan and as olo’eyktan his word has become law. With Eytukan and Tsu’tey gone the burden of leading the clan has fallen to Toruk Makto. So strange that only a year ago he hadn’t even existed and now he is leading the People as if he was born to bear the honor when he only just passed his iknimaya.

The ground is cold underfoot, drops of dew seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your back. The feeling is enough to keep your mind steady, to keep the memories at bay. On any given day you’re likely to slip into the past and be lost in your own mind, like a vision from a Spirit Tree. It seems memories are all you have as comfort as of late. With so much change, the past is the only thing that has remained steady. In your mind you can pretend that Hometree still stands, that Jake never arrived to complicate everything. But he has and here you stand, lonely in a foreign corner of the forest, wishing desperately that you were able to unravel the knot that’s been made of your life. What is so wrong with you that you can’t find happiness in the peace that’s been made now that the humans have been defeated. One war has ended and yet another wages inside you with no end in sight.

The loneliness eats away at you but the alternative of acceptance seems so wholly unappealing, like eating a spoiled fruit. Resigning yourself to the same budding happiness the clan has been enjoying in the time since the final battle against the humans seems so strange after nearly a lifetime of fighting and uncertainty. Humans were on Pandora long before you were born and your childhood was spent in Grace’s schoolhouse with the looming threat of the tenuous bonds slowly fraying as the humans took more liberties with the lands that were not theirs to pillage and destroy.

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan.

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two.

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility.

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word.

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close.

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things.

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames.

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous.

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you.

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant.

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!”

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him.

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know.

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more.

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining.

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?”

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words.

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his?

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices.

A mistake if ever you’ve made one.

Eclipse is close at hand when Neytiri broaches the thought of taking Jake to see the Utraya Mokri.

“He is a son of the Omatikaya now,” she says gently, as if too much eagerness would startle you away from the idea. “Tonight would be the perfect night for his first commune with Eywa.” It is traditional for the first commune to happen soon after birth when memories are likely no more than colors and sounds and feelings. Jake is far past the age of first commune but as an outsider he hasn’t been allowed anywhere near such sacred places. When she sees your hesitation, Neytiri’s excitement softens.

“Yawne, he is ready. He has learned and proven himself. Do you still doubt his heart?” You do, still so weary of humans. No matter how kind, the thought of ever fully trusting a human picks at the old wound left by Sylwanin’s death, but you hold your tongue against the words. Mentioning her sister would only spoil Neytiri’s mood. She’s happy. Truly and utterly, and it makes your heart hurt to see her so content when her heart is chanting another’s name.

Jake. Jake. Jake. It’s all you’ve heard in recent times. No sunrise or sunset has gone without seeing the dreamwalker, hearing his name and seeing him walk beside the girl you once thought would be your mate. But she’s beautiful in her happiness. A shy smile playing on her lip as her tail curls playfully behind her. How could you ever disappoint her? And she is right. Jakesully has been accepted as a son of the Omatikaya. He is now no different in spirit than the boys you grew up with. You’ve watched him grow like a seedling sprouting into a tree, learning and changing as his human heart began to take the shape of something different. Yet you cannot completely forget his origins.

“There will be a celebration at nightfall,” Neytiri’s ears droop in defeat, “if we can leave without notice, then we can go to the Tree of Voices.” Upset is immediately replaced with elation as Neytiri beams.

“Will you help me prepare for tonight?” She asks coyly. The rest of the afternoon is spent in close proximity, skin against skin as you go about enjoying the simple intimacy of grooming Neytiri. She hums happily as you undo her braids. Washing and combing until her hair hangs down her back like a black river, tied back with a few sprigs of yellow leaves. She preens you in turn, caring for your hair with a practiced gentility before allowing you to leave to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The most recent of your crafting was made with tonight in mind. Strings of tiny orange and yellow beads hanging over your chest in an undulating pattern, like sunlight sparkling off water. Your tewng is a bright shade of orange to match the band around your arm, hung in a cascade of feathers the colors of firelight. When night falls, music begins to drift up from the communal heart of Hometree. Drums thundering and voices singing as the celebration begins. Neytiri is easy to find beside her parents as they share words of congratulation for the newest members of the clan, and the sight of her snatches the breath from your lungs.

She’s dressed more beautifully than you’ve ever seen her. A collection of deep purple beads trail like tree roots over her chest with matching bands swaying about her arms, and a violet-dyed loincloth slung around her hips. It dampens your mood to see Tsu’tey close beside her, jealousy burning in your chest. He has forgone more elaborate adornments for the occasion yet he looks no less out of place. His presence commands respect. He will be a wonderful olo’eyktan to Neytiri’s tsahìk. A beautiful couple waiting to be bonded. Your mood is only worsened as her eyes linger some distance away. On the group of newly made adults. On Jake.

It tears at your heart like the twisting of a blade. Already you’ve had to accept a life without her truly by your side with Tsu’tey, though the union would be without true affection, but now she’s given her heart away to someone new. So strange how what once was alien looks nearly indistinguishable from the true Na’vi also being honored by tonight’s festivities. Some younger, some older, all joining the clan in adulthood. When the music begins in earnest, lines form to dance. Weaving between each other as bodies move to the beat of the drums. Jake has been staunch in his refusal to dance thus far, though his dreamwalker friend Norm seems open to learning. He’s a bit clumsy like a child learning to use his limbs as he follows along with the people trying to teach him, Na’vi words flowing with staunch formality from his lips despite the relaxed air of celebration. He waves as you walk past, somehow recognizing your face as a friendly one in the sea of people. Perhaps he’s seen Grace’s photographs from when you attended school and knows the shape of your pil to match your younger face. With some confusion, you wave back, cracking a small smile as he stumbles over his gangly feet again.

With fermented drinks flowing freely, the wariness has been tempered enough for the clan to act freely even in the presence of guests. Grace is known within the village, a trusted teacher and ally despite what happened at the school. She wasn’t at fault, though you surely blamed her for a time after it happened. Because there was no one else to blame but the humans. The girl you had grown up with, your childhood friends, all slaughtered in the blink of an eye simply for protecting their home. Had you known of their plan it might’ve been your body that was torn apart by bullets. The thought sends shivers skittering down your spine, the dark shadow returning after the joyous occasion chased it away.

In quieter moments you still mourn your losses caused by the Sky People. But Grace was also wounded, in body and spirit. You remember the blood dripping from the wound in her shoulder as she desperately pulled you away from Sylwanin, urging you outside as the soldiers closed in on the school. The last you’d seen of your teacher, she’d been putting herself between the soldiers and her students. She seems far more relaxed now as she laughs at something a man said to her, taking sparing sips of her drink as she watches the crowd. Ever the scientist wanting to study even under the most eased circumstances. The familiarity of it all soothes the hurt brought on by the memories.

Jake is occupied with Tsu’tey, the two of them sharing a drink. The group around them is chanting Jake’s name as he hisses around a mouthful of fermented juice. It seems so strange to see the two of them settled beside each other without any real reason. There’s no teaching, no exchanging of insults. They seem to almost be enjoying each other’s company. Tsu’tey had been keen on seeking the outsider’s death upon first meeting, as the whole of the clan’s warriors had been, but he seems not to have grown out of the animosity little by little. If anything, his distaste must’ve grown stronger in the convening months as Jake grew closer to the woman that was meant to be his. But the celebration seems to be reason enough to set aside conflicting feelings as Tsu’tey passes Jake another cup, urging him to take another drink. You think to join them but are stopped by the brush of something against your tail.

Hands find your waist, slim fingers tracing over the shape of stripes streaked there. Neytiri’s scent is easily recognized. Something sweet and smoldering as she pulls you close. There are more couples around you, all dancing just as intimately. Twirling and bouncing, hardly parting as the music guides your steps. She’s so beautiful in the firelight. Bright eyes and long lashes that flutter towards the ground as a bashful smile finds her lips. Her tail brushes your leg, curling over the shape of your thigh in a flirtatious display that you reward with a playful hiss. Neytiri giggles at the feigned aggression, pulling you closer by your hips until you’re no longer dancing, only swaying to the music as your bodies press so close they’re nearly one. You want to kiss her, going as far as to lift her chin and press your forehead against hers before remembering that this moment is only fleeting.

She isn’t yours. Not anymore. So instead you revel in the feeling of her bated breaths puffing over your lips before stepping away from the temptation. The short distance of separation has her smile waning but someone stumbles into you before you can find the words of an explanation, arm hooked over yours as the new partner urges you to join her. So you let her, leaving Neytiri to work through the confusion as a frown weighs on her lips. She lingers where you’d been for only a moment before stalking off to join Tsu’tey and Jake’s group, kneeling beside them to urge Jake to dance once more.

This time he sets his cup aside, laughing as he stands to join her. You try to put them from your mind, to focus on the people around you. A few you recognize as Tsu’tey’s students that are also being honored by tonight’s festivities. It is easy to lose yourself in the familiarity of the dance. Far less intimate than the one you shared with Neytiri as all of you move in a circle, feet stomping and hands clapping as the music swells. With the shift of a new melody, though the song is far from over, the steps change and you drift away from the group to join Tsu’tey where he now sits alone.

Despite the festivities, he no longer seems to be in the mood for merriment as a scowl mars his face, mouth drawn low as he watches Neytiri teach Jake to dance. Once again, it is not Tsu’tey with which your upset lies as the both of you sit scorned by the tsakarem dancing with the uniltìrantokx.

“I thought this rift had been mended.” Tsu’tey says after a few moments of discontented silence shared between you. At least the two of you knew where you stood with Neytiri. Tsu’tey was a friend, an ally, a man she would honor as her mate, where you were her true love that she had to give up to fulfill the expectations of her parents. It is tradition for the tsahìk to be mated to the olo’eyktan though there are some clans where it is not always so. But the Omatikaya have always been more spiritual, traditional in the ways that have been practiced since the time of the First Songs. To make exceptions for Neytiri’s feelings would be to go against tradition and it was decided that mating her to Tsu’tey would be best. Now here the two of you are, scorned and alone together.

“I know I am not the one in her heart,” he speaks gruffly, “but now it seems she has no taste for you either. Only this skxawng.” His words sting but there is truth to them. Even after spending an afternoon basking in her presence as you had before his arrival, Jake has come to steal her away from you once more. Simply by being. It isn’t fair to the years you’ve spent loving her, and her loving you, but you don’t say it out loud. The words are far too petulant and like grinding dirt into the wound Tsu’tey must tend to for the rest of his days knowing his mate does not love him wholly and truly.

“His eyes are small.” Tsu’tey says after a beat of silence. It’s enough to make you laugh at the annoyance in his tone. His drinking must’ve loosened his tongue or else you’d never hear him say such things as if he were sulking rather than angry.

“This isn’t funny. He will want to choose a mate sooner or later and what will we do when he chooses her when she is not free to be with him?” That quiets your giggling. Not once had you thought of what might happen if Jake wanted to pursue their budding relationship further. Already the separation between friend and lover has begun to blur like looking through a cloud of smoke. It is not in your heart to doubt Neytiri but people have been known to act out of character in the pursuit of love. What can be done if she is willing to betray her promise to Tsu’tey to be with Jake? And why hadn’t she been willing to do such things for you? It’s a selfish thought, especially with Tsu’tey close beside you. You banish it before your heart can be darkened any further by it.

“I will talk to her.” She wanted to be away from the clan with just the three of you tonight. No better time would come for you to raise such concerns with the way they’re looking at each other. It’s the same way you look at her, without the lingering regret of knowing you will never truly have her. Jake must know she isn’t his to keep yet he wants her even still. People continue to move around them while they stay still as stone, staring into each other’s eyes. It turns your stomach as if you’ve eaten something rotten.

“For the sake of the future.” Tsu’tey agrees. She will one day be tsahìk after her mother, that much is decided simply by birth. With Sylwanin gone the honor has fallen to her. An olo’eyktan is chosen, not born. If Jake can prove his worth as a warrior there might be no reason to object to his mating with Neytiri. Tsu’tey will simply be passed over as the future clan leader in favor of naming Jake as the next olo’eyktan. The thought seems inconceivable. Tsu’tey is the strongest the clan has to offer. Jake has only just been made one of the People, what can he offer that Tsu’tey does not already have in abundance?

The night is deep and the crowds thinned as people begin to trail off to sleep or to enjoy the night somewhere more secluded. The only music left is the din of voices murmuring over the crackling of the fire pits as Neytiri comes to coax you from your seat. Tsu’tey already left, too upset to be faced with the sight of his promised mate dancing so closely to another. With you, there was a tenuous agreement, an acknowledgment of your role as a placeholder. Jake has no such allegiances. You’re not sure why you stayed, punishing yourself with the sight of them together.

“Come, it is time!” Neytiri is smiling as if nothing is wrong. Jake seems not to know where she’s leading the two of you but he follows her tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. He smiles and you wish you didn’t see how Neytiri could fall for him. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, so alike and yet so different to the faces you see everyday. Aside from his eyebrows, his eyes are small like Tsu’tey said, more human. And the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, is decidedly human as well. He’s as playful as a child despite his age and it serves as both an endearing and infuriating trait. And it was only made worse when he was still learning. Truly like a baby stumbling through the forest, curious about everything around him.

He still seems intrigued as you walk beside a river glowing like a sinuous blue thread into the distance ahead. You’ve waded your way past the banks into the warm rush of water. The current is slow, knocking lightly at your knees with hardly enough strength to lead even the fish upstream. Your eyes are low, focused on the finned animals swimming past your ankles. So focused that you don’t notice Jake drawing closer until his hands are on your shoulder with a sudden wave of strength. You lose your footing, toppling into the water and surfacing with a disgruntled hiss, ears drawn back as you bare your teeth in annoyance. The night air is warm, a balmy breeze brushing over your damp skin as water drips from your soaked form. Jake only laughs at your sour face before coming into the water after you.

Instinctually, your arms shoot out in front of you to keep him at bay but he just uses the opportunity to wrap his hands around yours, pulling you in close until you’re chest to chest. Your brows raise at the sudden closeness. In the time since your first meeting you’ve come to consider Jake a friend, perhaps closer even than the friends you’ve made in childhood. He’s been with you every day for so long that you almost can’t imagine a day passing without seeing him, but this is something beyond what you expected of your relationship. Of course, he’d act this way with Neytiri as she curls her tail at him, sharing coquettish smiles and lingering glances, but you’ve never shared in such flirtations. But it is plain to see how you react when it is Neytiri clinging close to you. And with every day spent so closely together, just the three of you, it isn’t hard to imagine how such boundaries might be lost with time.

Still, it’s dizzying how at ease he seems pulling you closer to him. Your eyes search for Neytiri with a frantic sort of helplessness only to find she’s smiling sweetly at the two of you, seemingly happy with how close you are.

“You didn’t offer me a dance tonight, ma’am.” He says, using the human word of respect for a woman. He said it was a remnant of his training when he was a warrior on his home planet. A Marine. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Something he says now to tease women when they take a tone of authority with him. Childish as he always is. You’ve heard him say it to Grace a few times and it’s always accompanied with a subtle roll of his eyes. Tonight, he seems less flippant about the word. More teasing than sarcastic as he raises your joined hands over your head, twirling you in a splashing circle.

“She doesn’t like sharing such dances with others. She will only dance so closely with me.” Neytiri is rather forthright about how close the two of you are. It isn’t something you’ve kept particularly hidden, yet it still seems strange that she’d say such things out loud after so long spent burying your heart in the hopes that her match to Tsu’tey will go smoothly.

“She’ll dance with me.” Jake laughs, “Won’t you?” One of his hands falls to your hip while the other keeps yours in his grasp, held up and away from your bodies like he’s guiding you to shoot an arrow. He hums an unfamiliar tune as he leads you in clumsy circles through the water. It’s clear he’s never been much of a dancer and he’s probably missing steps to the human dance but you let him bob and sway you because asking to be let go would likely spoil the mood, and you want both of them in high spirits if you’re going to broach the topic of a bit of distance between the three of you. It’s only fair that you try to estrange yourself if you’re going to ask that Neytiri and Jake be a bit more conscious of their time together. To tell Jake to take a step back while still clinging close to Neytiri would be too cruel. Especially when you are in no place to be with her either. Even if it breaks your heart anew to truly let her go.

Neytiri laughs as Jake folds you backwards, balancing your weight on the hand he’s placed against your back. You hiss and cling to him, worried that this is another one of his games and you’ll be dropped back into the water. Instead he pulls you back towards his chest, both of them laughing at the scorned look you can feel pinching your face.

“You’re not funny, tawtute.” You scowl.

“I think I am.” He smiles wide, fangs flashing in the blue light. It’s all too familiar, too close. Neytiri joins the two of you in the water, hand brushing against your arm as she suggests a swim.

It’s easy to agree because it sets a bit of distance between the three of you. The sounds of the forest, the chittering and buzzing, quiets beneath the water enough for you to think. Jake must know how you feel about Neytiri. It would only take a glance to see how your heart yearns for her. So why had he touched you the way he had? Held you like you were the most delicate thing his hands have ever touched? It feels like you’ve tangled yourself into a knot. Too many threads have converged around you and it isn’t worth the effort to meticulously unwind them. Instead you want to sever each one in turn before they tighten beyond the point of escape. Neytiri is one thread and Jake another, then a dozen more all tied up tight.

The urge to turn away from it all becomes strong as you emerge from the river and Jake’s hand finds yours once more. It seems almost instinctual. He’s swinging your joined hands and laughing when Neytiri giggles at him for grabbing at her tail. He’s always been playful but you can’t help but wonder if the ceremony confirming him as a member of the clan has lowered some barrier he’d previously set between the three of you. He’s far more open with his touching tonight, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen him as the green syuratan is swallowed by the pale purple glow of the Tree of Voices.

A swarm of kenten bursts to life as you pass and Jake stops to watch them twirl away, still so enamored with life on Pandora. Neytiri stares for a moment, an enamored look glowing on her face before she reaches to take his free hand.

The long branches of the trees sway in the warm breeze, light burning brighter at the gentlest touch. Jake releases your hand to brush his arms through the hanging fronds. Without his hand in yours, you’re free to walk further ahead. It had been Neytiri’s plan to bring him here and you aren’t sure you want to bear witness to whatever it is she’s planning. Though you did promise Tsu’tey to at least try to dissuade them from doing something they might regret. Your feet only carry you a few steps away before your resolve strengthens once more. Instead of walking away with your tail between your legs, you turn to face the issue at hand.

Neytiri is explaining the significance of the trees. A place for prayers to be heard, a place to convene with those that have come before you. It is what you need in this time of confusion and you gather a few branches to connect your tswin. In an instant your mind is filled with a cacophony of voices. Singing and shouting, laughing and shrieking with happiness. Every life that led to yours is held within these trees and their voices offer a comfort like no other. The weight on your soul is lightened as you listen to the happiness babbling through tsaheylu. Old and young, man and woman. Your ancestors sing to you, laugh with you. Their lives are enduring within Eywa. Like salve over a burn, you feel your unsteady heart soothing. The anguish of knowing tonight will change the rest of your life is quieted. When you pull your tswin away from the tree, Neytiri is reaffirming Jake’s place within the clan.

“You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” she turns away as if she is nervous to continue, “and you may choose a woman. We have many fine women.” Her eyes cut towards yours before focusing on the atokirina’ crossing her path. The gentle spirit lands in the palm of her hand. Her ears bend and twist, nervously shifting as she seems to choose her next words with great care.

“Ninat is the best singer.” Jake immediately voices his disinterest and a quiet smile lifts Neytiri’s cheeks. She turns towards you and softly blows the woodsprite in your direction. The little seed twirls through the air, brushing against your cheek like a kiss before drifting away on the breeze.

“Beyral is a good hunter.” Jake seems to realize what Neytiri is doing, offering her advice on the unmated women of the clan. Pretending to put forth a possible match while still hoping he will decline every option he is given. So instead of denying interest, Jake nods.

“Yeah, she is a good hunter.” His tone is hollow, but Neytiri turns swiftly, disappointment clear on her face. The small smile she’s been hiding falls to a look of sadness. Seeing her crestfallen face feels as though you’ve stepped into an open flame. It eats away at you. Searing and burning as you watch the woman you love bare her heart to someone else. If Neytiri is upset, you’re livid. Angry and jealous and bitter because Jake has her eyes on him in such a special place, on such a special night. Yet a small, conflicted part of you is glad for the rejection because that is the reason you accompanied them to such a place to begin with.

This grove of trees is known to be a place of comfort. Many a mating bond has been solidified here, for generations. And you’ve been dragged along to bear witness to the making of another, though it is your hope to dissuade them from their desire to be connected in such a way. A part of you wants to rage and shout, demanding that Neytiri be with no one if you cannot have her. But seeing the sadness that Jake’s rejection has stirred in her makes your heart cry. She deserves this bit of happiness even if it is not with you. Even if it is not with who she is meant to be with. Jake is quick to correct himself when he sees Neytiri’s suddenly sullen face.

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. It feels like knives in your chest. Something acidic wells in your stomach as your tongue struggles to shape out the words to stop him as Jake’s eyes drift past Neytiri, towards you.

“But these women must also choose me.” There’s a breathy laugh from Neytiri as she turns towards you, smiling so wide that her eyes are eclipsed. She takes your hands in hers to pull you in close to her side. You try to pull away but she only shifts her grip, keeping you close.

“We already have.” Her words startle you. We?

Perhaps she has accepted Jake into her heart as more than a friend but you’ve yet to reach such a point in your affections. And even if you had, it is something forbidden for the three of you to be joined as mates. Neytiri is not free to offer herself to any other. But she looks so happy that you don’t have a moment to speak before Jake is kissing her. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat, like you’ve swallowed a rock. It’s hard to make any sound other than short gasps of panic as Jake’s fingertips brush against your cheek, tracing over the pattern of your pil. Feigning at shyness you turn your head away before he can kiss you, too. His lips find your temple, quick breaths rushing over your hairline.

Neytiri leads despite the nerves still clear on her face, guiding the three of you to kneel together as she takes hold of her tswin. It feels as though your eyes are going to leap out of your head with how wide they’ve gone. Everything is moving too quickly like a rushing river sweeping you up in its current.

This is the exact opposite of how this night was supposed to end. You were meant to reaffirm some type of separation between the pair not become tangled up between them. You think of the clan. Of expectation and tradition, of responsibility. Neytiri knows of duty and honor. It is what you’ve been taught since birth. Jake may not understand how precious the mating arrangements of a tsahìk and olo’eyktan are. And if he does, it’s clear he does not care. We can’t, you want to say, this is wrong. But it’s hard to see what is so terrible about it when the love of your life is smiling so sweetly and offering to tie her soul to yours.

Suddenly, Neytiri is in your lap again, forehead pressed to yours as she holds her tswin between your bodies, her other hand petting over where your braid hangs over your shoulder. She cannot force tsaheylu. You must offer your tswin to her with your own hand and it’s clear she is eager to be joined with such closeness. Her lips find yours. Soft, fluttering kisses that slowly sink into something more desperate. Her hands are on your body, tswin forgotten as she clings to you. There’s a shiver skittering down your back as her fingers raise goosebumps over your skin.

Between her frantic kisses you find the courage to say, “We can’t.” Neytiri pauses. Her smile wanes for a moment, face flickering like a flame being snuffed. But then she’s flaring to life again, eyes bright with determination.

“This is what I choose, Great Mother forgive me. Nothing else matters but us here and now.” Her hands hold your face like the most delicate piece of crystal. “It was always going to be you, yawntu. Always.” Those are precious words. Because in your heart, no matter what comes to pass, you know you will always love her. The flame you hold for her has never wavered and it must be just the same for her. Even if there is another sharing the space with you. It’s enough to disarm you, lowering your inhibitions as you pull her into another desperate kiss. There’s a renewed steadiness to your hand as you take hold of your tswin, offering it to Neytiri as you always wish you could’ve. Time was lost adhering to expectation but it’s yours to reclaim as the soft tendrils of your braids twine into one. It’s more blinding than the gentle comfort of the Tree of Voices. Something sharp and overwhelming, nearly beyond comprehension.

It feels like Neytiri is touching you, holding you. Caressing every part of your skin at once. There’s still space between the two of you, a small distance between your chests and yet you feel her heartbeat as if it’s your own, feel each heaving breath as if it’s being drawn into your lungs. All that she is is suddenly inside you, like a pattern being woven into the very fabric of your soul. Another kiss is pressed against your parted lips. Wet and clumsy as she clings as close as your bodies will allow, until it feels like every piece of skin is brushing against yours. And then there’s a second pair of hands against your waist. Larger than Neytiri’s, different than anyone you’ve ever met. It takes a moment for the haze of euphoria to dissipate just long enough to remember Jake’s presence. He’s pressed in close against Neytiri’s back, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms reach to wrap around both of you.

It seems like he isn’t sure what is happening, eyes lingering on the place your braids are joined in tsaheylu. When his gaze flickers back to yours there’s something beyond curiosity sparking there. A look you recognize as longing, determination. It’s something you’ve felt, something you’ve seen reflected in Neytiri’s face. So strange that something so familiar suddenly looks so foreign. Just a few hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a friend. He is still little more than that but you can’t find the words to say it–tongue tied with the feeling of your soul melting with Neytiri’s–before he is slipping his hand under Neytiri’s arm to add his own tswin to the knotting of your spirits.

If the feeling had been sweet as ripe fruit before, it’s turned to something bitter and rotten as the unknown joins the blinding familiarity. If she notices, Neytiri doesn’t react to your sudden anguish. A beautiful moment and Jake has ruined it with his overeagerness. Human as he is, he does not understand what he’s done. You try to find the words, to make your tongue shape out the sounds to tell him that what he’s done cannot be undone, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a toneless gasp. Something choked and rasping. Perhaps you could’ve lived knowing Neytiri had shared this part of herself with the both of you, but there was never any desire in your heart to be with Jake in such an intimate way. And now it is too late to warn him of the consequences. Ruefully, you wonder if this is how tsaheylu feels between arranged mates. If this is what Neytiri and Tsu’tey would’ve suffered had the three of you not snuck away on this night.

It’s a strange, empty sort of feeling. Like water tainted with sand. Cloudy and coarse. Something you would not wish on anyone. Least of all Neytiri. It feels like floating, but just barely. Hardly drifting on the unsteady waves even as Jake and Neytiri’s happiness bubbles through the bond with startling clarity. At least they are happy.

It’s always been in your nature to stifle yourself in favor of others. To do as is expected rather than what you truly desire. Though this strange new bond that is slipping into place between the three of you was desperately desired. At least for Jake and Neytiri. It nearly hurts how hard Jake is holding onto you, fingers digging into the small of your back as he crowds the two of you in his arms. There isn’t anywhere you can go but here with the way the three of you are tied together. You’ll remain this way until morning, though you wish you wouldn’t as the euphoria begins to manifest in less innocent ways. Jake bites at Neytiri’s shoulder as she sits herself higher in your lap, hands rising from your waist to slip beneath the beading of your top. The strange clouded feeling lingers, but you find yourself falling back into the elation you felt moments ago, basking in the way your new mate is touching you.

And perhaps being tied to Jake will not be so terrible. He has proven himself different from the others. A true Na’vi among pretenders. With time, you could learn to care for him in the way he seems to cherish you. The thought feels like taking on the burden of another. This is the life Neytiri was meant to lead. Mate with Tsu’tey and lead as tsahìk when the time came. In saving her from such a bleak future you have banished yourself to something just the same. But some things change with time. Perhaps there will be a day when there is unfettered love shared between the three of you. Because in this moment, a dark hidden corner of your soul lingers on the thought of how Jake has ruined what was meant to be something perfectly beautiful.

Morning dawns in streaks of white light, chasing away the pale purple glow of the Trees of Voices. The slinking branches hang in swaying strands, stirring the sunlight and shadows in sinuous shapes. Everything is warm and soft. The feeling of limbs tangled over your own as ferns and blades of grass cushion your cheek, cutting into your vision as your eyes squint open in the bright light. With some struggle, you untwine yourself from Neytiri and Jake, slipping from the space between their bodies. Jake remains still, but Neytiri stirs to wakefulness with a flutter of her eyelids. Thick lashes fan shadows over her bright yellow eyes as she gathers her bearings. Slow at first as she smiles up at you, then with a sudden urgency as both of your eyes flicker towards a strange sound, ears bending and twitching as your mind tries to make sense of the disturbance.

It’s loud and heavy, but lacks the heavy footfalls of a herd of angtsìk moving through the forest. There’s something distinctly destructive about the sound, like the crackling of hundreds of pyres burning at once. The sound of wood popping and snapping like it’s being torn off in bits and pieces. It grows closer until the trees begin to shudder and fall a few paces away. Then you hear it, the tinny whirr you’ve come to associate with calamity, something made by the Sky People. Flashes of sunlight glint off the edge of something big and metal rumbling just beyond the tree line. Another tree falls, filling the air with a cloud of dirt and pollen, and Neytiri rushes to rouse Jake. He still hasn’t moved despite the commotion, body sprawled across the ground as if there isn’t some metal creature chewing through the trees with its mouth full of blades. Neytiri is perched over his chest, shouting and shaking as the world comes down around you. Leaves fall like rain as the shadow of the whirring beast eclipses the sun, far too close for comfort.

“Grab him!” You shout, already pulling at his arm. He’s heavy as stone as both of you struggle to pull him away from the collapsing trees. Another falls, larger than the rest, landing hard enough to send a buckling shudder through the ground. You fall for a moment, then again when a branch lands on your back. The splintered wood scratches across your skin like raking claws, likely drawing blood as you scamper forward on hands and feet to grab Jake once more. His stillness is like death as the two of you clamor to drag him away from the collapsing trees. But even between the two of you he is heavy, far too heavy to move with any haste. Neytiri gets his head over a fallen tree and you follow with his legs but it isn’t nearly quick enough. The machine is getting closer and Neytiri is growing desperate. Her voice shudders and cracks as she screams over Jake’s unflinching body, wailing for him to wake up. Back still burning from the fallen branch, you cover Neytiri’s body with your own as she shakes Jake’s shoulders. He comes to with an air of confusion, eyes expanding and contracting before he focuses enough to get to his feet.

Of all the things you expect when he pushes the two of you behind him, talking–shouting–at the metal beast is the farthest from your mind. The yellow behemoth has no rider, no obvious reins controlling its movement. It only seems to know forward, but Jake’s yelling seems to slow it to a halt. Though the stillness only lasts a moment before it’s moving again, grinding forward as if it never stopped to begin with.

“Go!” Jake shouts, shoving Neytiri forward. His hand lands against the scratches torn in your back, stinging as he pushes you after her. He doesn’t follow. Instead he runs towards the thing, yet you can’t bring yourself to look back as you run. There’s the sound of crunching metal then the firing of bullets.

It’s your turn to fall still, stumbling to a halt as fear roots you to where you stand. Your hands feel warm. They feel wet. When you look down at your shaky palms they’re suddenly bright as if they’ve been steeped in warpaint. Bright red and acidic as the scent invades your nose. The forest seems different now. More shadows overhead and wood beneath your feet. The smell of blood grows heavier as your eyes focus past your hands to the body at your feet.

Sylwanin is coughing, chest twitching and heaving as she tries to keep the breath in her torn lungs. Your cheek is wet, a spray of her blood speckled over your skin. She tried to say your name before she fell. Hands reaching towards yours, smearing blood over your fingers. Her eyes are dotted with spots of red, and there’s blood leaking from between her lips. She’s trying to talk, trying to say something between the stuttering heaves, but someone is pulling you away from her.

It takes a few stumbling steps before you realize you’re not in the schoolhouse, not watching your friend die. Instead you’re watching the Trees of Voices be decimated by the rumbling metal beasts still tearing through the carnage they’ve cleared behind them. The trees are gone, leaving only splinters and churned dirt behind as the machines beep and whirr their way through whatever lies before them.

Distantly, you hear Neytiri crying, though you feel numb even as you see smoke beginning to billow up from the fires the human warriors have set. Trees that have stood for a small eternity, gone in a moment. It doesn’t sadden you so much as it makes you angry. A seething type of anger that carves you out inside, leaves you hollow and numb. There should be tears. You should be in anguish. Yet it feels as though your heart hasn’t quite caught up to what your eyes have witnessed. It’s the same sort of angry nothingness you felt as Sylwanin laid dying at your feet.

The sound of bullets brought you back to that moment. No longer are you a woman grown, but a child with no knowledge of what to do with the destruction set before you. And now there are no ancestors to ask now, no voices to share your thoughts with. The Trees of Voices are gone. Silently, you stand and begin walking home. There’s nothing left for you here. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. One mistake strung after another in a necklace laced too tightly around your throat. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see as the tears well up at last, but you keep walking.

Hometree is filled with a cacophony of voices, but you ignore them all. You’re tired despite the sun having just risen. Curious hands brush against you as you float past, numb to the soles of your feet as touches graze the scratches on your back. It’s all dull pressure. No pain. No real feeling. Even the shrieking war cries sound distant as you trail between the warriors with their weapons raised and fangs bared. Despite your best efforts, you’re swept up into the maelstrom, jostled and pushed until you’re stumbling blindly to the front of the crowd.

Tsu’tey stands at the heart of the press of people, bow raised above his head. His eyes find yours, recognition sparking as he takes in your discheviled state. He says something, extends a hand, but you hardly realize he’s speaking to you until he’s pulling you out of the throng of incited Na’vi. At last, words begin to make sense again as he whispers privately, “Are you alright?” Vaguely, you gesture towards your back and he passes you over to Mo’at. The tsahìk’s face is lined with tension as she brushes the mess of leaves and splinters from your hair and turns you around to look over the wounds on your back. It faces you towards the crowd as Jake and Neytiri emerge. When had they fallen so far behind you?

With heavy strides, Tsu’tey brushes past you, handing you his bow. A clear sign that you’re meant to stay out of whatever he’s about to do. You hide your face in the adornments of his weapon, ears flattened in shame. He is treating you with kindness you do not deserve. You’ve betrayed him. His trust, his friendship. For your own selfish desires. Perhaps this is what is owed for thinking yourself higher than tradition. For going against the word of your tsahìk, of the Great Mother herself who chose Neytiri’s family as her voice among the People. Mo’at’s matronly hands dab against the burning lines cut through your skin with something cold and soothing. It’s more care than you deserve.

Neytiri is shouting, doing little to quell any notion that your plan to squash this issue has failed. If anything, the problem has only worsened since your promise to urge the two to part. Tsu’tey seems to glean it all from only a moment of looking between Jake and his promised mate, held back by Neytiri pressing against his chest.

“You mated with this woman?” Tsu’tey’s tone is accusatory, hardly a question at all. Against your back, Mo’at’s hand’s still. She soothes a hand over your hunched shoulder as she steps around you to approach her daughter. Each step she takes is slow, menacing as a hunting nantang. When the tsahìk speaks, her voice is filled with thunder.

“Is this true?” Between the words there’s a baring of teeth that makes Neytiri wither before her mother. She glances at you before gathering the courage to square her shoulders and declare herself mated before Eywa. It is like a spark bursting over dried leaves. A fight flaring in the blink of an eye. It’s expected. Months of simmering animosity finally bubbles over as Tsu’tey draws his blade at Jake. In the end he’s bested with a swiftness, blood leaking from his nose as Jake reminds him that he is Omatikaya now. It grants him the right to speak even if Tsu’tey will not hear him.

“These words are like stones in my heart,” he says, and you wish your ears would close to the world once more as Tsu’tey saunters in beside you. There’s a heat radiating from him, like his very soul is burning with his rage. So much he’s lost in a single morning. His mate, his ancestors. Hesitantly, you reach to touch his wrist, as if to hold him at bay. He stiffens under your hand but does not move as Jake stumbles through what he is trying to say.

Then Grace falls. Her body goes still, eyes rolling back as all of her muscles seem to come loose. Jake startles as he tries to rush to make his point.

“I was sent here to–” He collapses. That death-like stillness from this morning taking over once more. Your grip on Tsu’tey’s arm is broken as he rushes forward to put his blade to Jake’s throat. It should worry you, should enrage you. Because that is how mates are meant to act when one is put in danger. Defend, protect. You remain still. In your stead, Neytiri rushes forward to toss Tsu’tey away. She draws her knife in turn, hissing over Jake as if daring Tsu’tey to come any closer. Her lithe body is poised with menacing intent, ears drawn back and fangs on full display. It’s enough to send Tsu’tey away and you follow after him.

“You were meant to fix this.” He hisses, snatching his bow away from you.

“I did what I could but the stone was already cast. A dead tree will no longer bear fruit.” Which is to say a stubborn heart will never be swayed from its desire. It’s doubtless that Jake knew of Neytiri’s arrangement with Tsu’tey. There were days spent training when it was only the two of you. Neytiri and Tsu’tey sequestered away with Eytukan and Mo’at to learn the ways of leading the clan. It’s been mentioned in passing as Jake learned to speak your language, learning what the words tsahìk and tsakarem truly mean. He knew and yet he did not care. Nor did Neytiri. The Na’vi-born woman whose future is ruled by tradition. And perhaps even you did not care enough. Your protests had been meager, not even enough to sway your own mind. Still, you love Neytiri and that is the truth of it. To betray her love would be to betray yourself. Even if it’s what was expected of you. And if Tsu’tey suspects your involvement in this newly made bond, neither of you mention it.

There will be time for these petty squabbles later. For now, all minds are focused on retaliation, on war and revenge for what the Sky People have taken. Sacred lands desecrated in pursuit of their greed. Presently, it is the only thing that matters.

#jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #jake x reader x neytiri #avatar x reader #avatar

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me-uglypretty · 1 year

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they have not chosen me

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: In her rage of not being chosen, Natasha expresses herself to the one person she will always choose.

Warning: (18+), AU, smut, fingering, cunninglingus | 2k words

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“They have not chosen me!”

Her voice challenges them; fools absently picking at their lofty hats, forfeiting their attention from the growls of her exhausted heart. She was perceived as the brute of their conversations, those verses of her were spoken among elite parties, a name that rolls from their filthy tongue into the humid air, the kind of fury that glaze their dull eyes at the sight of her—a woman united with courage, brilliance, passion, and youth—the very form of life which they spite. She was the lone force that charred their miserable existence.

Natasha Romanoff.

The name that wends a faint sound in your throat, orbiting your pulsing heart so persistently, instigating your whole self into a tangled mess, and clumsily falling at your feet. Thus, your body stumbles with the circular bamboo woven basket that was once held firmly in your jaded hands, and those freshly harvested vegetables faced the same devastation at their unforeseen fall.

A known voice, charming and teasing, induces through your moment of embarrassed and dread. “Another mishap?”

The apprehensive guise remained on your face as you hastily gather the fallen vegetables without bothering to clean the additional dirt of mud and stones that stuck. It was that, or you would face far worse, perhaps, the taunting voices of those around and being the component in their immoral act of thieving in daylight for self-amusement at other’s suffering.

Unbeknownst to your muddled state, Natasha had perceived your stumble which had occurred mere seconds after her brash speech. At the sight of your hunched posture, she was simply lured towards you. Her lavish shoes stumps brashly on the ground, emphasising on self-confident that fear itself cowers.

“You’re a clumsy one, uh?” Natasha teasingly jabbed, concluding her question with a chuckle.

In other circumstances—unlike one that would undoubtedly rouse a crowd or worse, a conflict between the status that laid across people of this dreadful town—you would have glared into round eyes gleaming in arrogance while yours flash with irritation. Your tongue would have spat bitterly at her mockery and still, you would perceive the same arrogance smile on her face as you continued expressing your irritation. However, such pleasure was expressed in the confined space of your mind and silence had, will always remain the safer decision than uttering insolent words in front of their prying eyes.

“Awfully quite too.”

And you, still situated in such a helpless state, surrounded by those fools coexisting with her, could only muster a sluggish nod.

“I will walk you back home,” she spoke, before swiftly grasping the handle of your bamboo basket and carrying that broad article as though, it was hers to own. “Follow me, clumsy.”

You disregarded the sound of disapproval that burns at the tip of your tongue and the apparent disrespect at her audacious act. Instead, you had silently trailed behind her, each step seemingly pretentious for those prying eyes, till the village fade at the path that revealed natures’ heavenly greenery.

Trees stood tall, wide, and leafy. Mosses spread the ground and trunk of said trees. Little vegetation grew unreservedly from ruthless civilisation. The scenery was all that appealed relaxed breaths from your lungs.

Your curious eyes shift from flourishing nature as your attention redicts to the vegetables bouncing carelessly in a basket that was meant for your hands to hold. Her fervent steps were to blame. The expression on her face bore a look of bravery and yet, drawing creases on her forehead as her eyebrows furrowed and eyes that gleam so mercifully with nature, shone sadly of anguish. And your eyes, round and wide, curious as they are, remained crucially on her face.

Natasha noticed your attention on her and hums a saddening song that gust into the humid air. “They have not chosen me,” she repeated those words, a verse that exudes despair from her voice. Natasha tilts her head to meet your attentive gaze. “But I have chosen them,” she announced with finality.

And you would continue to wonder for days to come, why had they not chosen her?

“I have chosen them.”

Your mouth remained shut while hers lingers with empty openings of questions, shuffling between brief meeting of eyes that descents lower and lower, then the corner of her lips curls while yours was pressed in a thin line. You had mused the thought and accepted a conclusion of her, of such disapproval for someone like her.

Natasha was unlike them. She must be, she is perhaps the best among them. Excellent in those expectations established on women, considerable of other’s emotions, outwardly brave as she walks and talks, and she so courageously questions the law bestowed upon them. Natasha, as her own, a unique kind of person, completely self-aware, ignorance ceased to exist by her, and yet—

“I have chosen them.”

For once, those words that slips from her mouth sounded like a confession that fell melodiously by your ears. Warmth embraces your cheeks as her sly eyes lingers on your face, basking the slight alterations to your expression. The bamboo basket was left abandoned on the ground as her hands extends further to seam the gap placed between two. The excruciating cold, the painful longing, and so deprived of affection as her hands presses on your cheeks and you contemplate of them.

“I have chosen them,” Natasha whispered, huff of warm breath touched your pursed lips, and her thumb parted your mouth wide open for her. “I have chosen them,” she confessed gently, her eyes shimmers in the reflection of nature’s hues as she passionately gazes into your round eyes, certainly wide and eager for her. “I have chosen you.”

Her declaration conveys with her action as she pushed your backward, pressing your back directly against the rough surface of a tree which leaves crowns above, sheltering two bodies from the scorching sun. It felt as though, time halted for the mere seconds where her hand grasps your jaw while the other rested on your upper chest to ensure you remained at that same potion. Exactly where she wanted you, where she needed you.

You felt lost, so unaware of those increasing thoughts wandering in her mind at such momentum. But you felt the upsurge heat that spread your face, neck, chest, and only worse when her face inches closer to yours, just readily wanting to collide with you.

Then, you counted the moments in between. First, the gust of cold wind that made your shiver, the second that chimes in birds merrily chirping at daylight, the third appeared in sounds of leaves and branches brushing against each other in such symphony—and the pressure that lead after, her lips pressed firmly over yours. A stunned gasp left your mouth, slowly resonating as moans when her hand fell to your waist and confines your body close into her.

Natasha doesn’t spare a moment for your breaths to normalise. Her mouth clashes with yours, swallowing each sound that left your throat, kissing you so familiarly, sucking your tongue as your lips parted effortlessly for more of her. Kisses pressed so keenly on your lips, leading to your chin, and an excruciating moment after where your hand guided her mouth back over yours. The need to feel her, to taste her, for tongues to meet and dance together, you craved for that more than life itself.

There, beneath the broad tree, an unspoken promise was whispered in peckish moans. Her hands briskly tampering with the laces that held your dress, wisps of breath left your mouth at the warmth that spread the width of your body from her heavenly presence. The kind of satisfying hum resonates in your throat the moment her hand slips beneath hefty fabric.

“I choose you,” Natasha murmured, her fingers courageously stroke your bundle of nerves. A hint of something ardent sparks from within by the next words that followed. “I choose you,” her mouth delays by your gaping mouth. Those words carried merrily through your throat, and announcing its arrival at each intense thump of your heart.

It was wet, sloppy, so shamefully disordered when she explores the spaces between your thighs, and you felt the pulsating that rouse in your cunt for her; someone known and unknown, the pure melody of forbidden pursuit on respected grounds, of pleading for her at sinful hours while her round rosy lips shone with a victory grin at your hopeless whine for more of her than the measured touch of her fingers.

“Please,” you had pleaded at that hour, the same sound that was forced from your mouth when she was relentless with her teasing. Your hands were pressed on her shoulders, nails digging into the pads of her dress. “Please,” you whined, thrusting your body forward into hers, and shamelessly continuing the sounds of your voice begging for her to devour you as the chosen one she swore upon.

In her usual manner of complete brashness, where one hand was positioned familiarly over your chest, Natasha gropes the curve of your breast and incited a lurid moan from you. It takes another loud whine for her hand to trail a path that led to your neck, before firmly grasping the base of your neck in her warm hand. It was a warning to silent yourself, or to speak for what you needed, or something—absolutely anything.

At the midst of her firm grasp, you felt her fingers slide into your folds, her leisure ministrations made your inside swarm with a need for more. A beast stirred awake by sinful urges, that your body thrust more into her, grinding unashamedly against her fingers and your eyes shut closed at the hurried pleasure that flood your senses.

“So greedy,” Natasha mocked, her thumb circles your clit. “I can feel you around my finger,” she husked, her voice that sounded so heroic seemed to alter into a tone that only you were fortunate to know.

By her voice, her heavenly honied voice, you felt yourself clenched around her fingers. Something that was so foreign to you was made known by her, such warmth, such corruption to your hopeless mind that you wished for more. She, Natasha, everything you desired to survive.

“Natasha,” her name falls from your mouth as desperate pleads.

It was fascinating to her by the way her eyebrows furrowed at your sounds, closely listening to each whine that drew from your throat and your mouth huffing pleads at her ministration. Natasha listened, applying more pressure as her mouth pressed harshly on yours, and your breathless state was disregard as she continued kissing you like air was granted by that sole action.

“Nat, I feel— don’t stop, please,” your hand found hers between the fumbles of body chasing a common hunger. As if, her touch was the saving grace for your corruption. It wasn’t wrong, it could never be assumed as that, not when she was there with you.

But she stopped.

A whine erupts angrily from your mouth, conveying the ache that was replaced from the pleasure felt. At such state, your mind remained absent, only chasing after the hunger, and your hand hauled hers back. Natasha denied the clash for your pleasure and recoils your touch from her hand. Laugher fills her chest while your heart thumps with anticipation.

The hand that was once situated between your thighs, were closing into your face. Her fingers glistens when the sunlight shines through, the same fingers tracing your lips intently while you admire her. Cheekbones tinge of crimson, perhaps, the weather was chilly or the aftermath of her mouth over yours. Her eyes were bright, orbs of such that stares straight into your soul, and grasping the little parts of you as her own.

Natasha eyes remains on your face as she takes a step backwards and slowly bends her knees. An act known to those who had touched her feet while she stared at them as nothing, but common fools pleading for her forgiveness after their thoughtless act. However, you were different, she had never positioned herself in such manner and yet, your gaze lowered with her and eyes gleaming with such care for her.

Her knees prods into the muddy ground, feeling indifferent for the dirty that would swear to ruin her dress. Keen hands grasp for your dress as you stood there, she fumbles with the heavy material as soft grumbles left her mouth, before she hastily pushed the bothersome away from her path. At that hour, Natasha acted as though, she had known from the beginning of what she desired, determination blazing proudly in her round eyes that shimmer vividly in hues of forest green and blue of the sky above.

Those eyes soften for mere seconds, a silent question lingers in the air to which you answered with an assured nod. The smile that graces after was gentle enough that curses which swirls in your mind ceased to exist. Natasha, so arrogant at first, so her, so someone only you know beneath the persona that left them trembling.

Natasha’s head pushes beneath your dress, disappearing from your sight, you lose her somewhere, till you felt the hot air that blew at your heat, and the warmth wetness that touch you. A loud groan left her throat by the moans that fell from your mouth. Her tongue pressed over your cunt, dragging her wetness to your clint as she circles the swollen nub with such urgence, and felt the combination of slick.

Her tongue was there, your cunt was already wet from her previous ministration, and her tongue thrust into your wanting hole. The abrupt shove of her tongue made your mouth whine of pleasure and hand searching for where her head was situated, to find those strands of red standing in contrast to your grey tinge dress. Your fingers tangle in her hair to feel more, to push her into your pulsating core.

It’s so wrong, you heard yourself whisper into the cloud of lust in your mind, and it’s so right, you countered back. It’s perfect to feel the edges of her tongue, her fingers, the clever ways she incites cries from your mouth at the warmth that spread your stomach to your chest. Natasha has always been relentless. She vowed to have you begging, tears spilling from your eyes at the sheer pleasure that rouse from her touch.

At the high of your orgasm, she pressed a lingering kiss on your mound, another on your stomach that rouse at each harsh intake of breath, and slowly leading a path of kisses to your thighs.

Natasha pushes herself back, steading herself by resting her hands on your waist as she stood. You see her this way; eyes blown of lustful urges, lips swollen of moments before that left your mouth wide open, her untidy hair with red strands sticking to her forehead as her skin glistens with sweat, and the slick that coated her lips to her chin—of your release, of a promised pleasure, of prove she had committed the sin you craved.

Her tongue darts across her lips, her fingers grip your waist fervently. Those eyes stares into yours, seemingly looking at you like you were everything to her. Like she had not cried because of them, expressing such regret and anger of their act. It was like, she knew of what she wanted from the start of day to the end of night.

“I have chosen them,” Natasha whispered, and your hands shakily reach for her face. “I have always chosen you,” she expressed before your mouth pressed furiously over hers.

The taste of you that lingered for hours and days to come, the taste of her that flames in anger and so vivid of life, just you and her—something that they will never understand.

Natasha had dared from the start, grasping your hand to urge for your body to follow her, the promise that settled the ache in your chest, and that of her hand slipping between your thighs. You know that dishonour and sins were shared from the first moment her eyes met yours, when your mouth plead for her touch and she cried when your hand met her warmth. It was love, it was all that they had not chosen, but of what you and her had chosen.

She had chosen you, and you would always choose her.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader smut

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mothmansbanker · 2 months

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Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap- Prologue

Mammon x Human! Reader

It was a wild night for you. It was only Wednesday and you were dead tired, having to work the next morning for the broadcasting station you recently applied for. Why did you feel so drained? So so tired and ready to drop, yet your roommate didn't care! Instead she dragged you out and about to her coffee shop friend's house 30 ish or so miles out of town and towards the more foresty areas of your small town. So…here you were.

With your head against the hot window that had your skin drenched with humid sweat and a gross icky feeling that made your skin itch adn want to crawl out of. "Hey uh,Gwen. Where exactly are you taking me? This seems..a bit far." You gulped down the gathering spit in your mouth, a feeling of uneasiness washing over you as you sat up a bit more in the passenger seat. The blonde woman glanced over before looking back at the road, a somewhat dorky grin tugging at her lips. "Oh come on, are you really that worried about it? Trust me! I'm not an axe murderer or something." Gwen rolled her eyes as she came to an intersection and singaled right…which lead into an even darker part of the forested area. There did seem to be some light, a small dull glow seemed to coat some of the lower branches of the trees.

The car crept closer to this decently well kept cabin that seemed spacious. Two other cars were parked in the front, the quiet noise filling your head with dred as the leaves crunched under the tires before Gwen parked terribly beside the two other vehicles. "Alright," she clapped her hands together before removing her seat belt and kicking open the car door, "Cmon! Out out. We're just going to head inside that front door kay?" She gave you her usually dorky grin before shutting the car door, heaving out a sigh you unbuckle yourself and take a deep breath in…to mentally prepare. Opening the card door you grab your bag and hurry out, slinging your bag over your shoulder and slamming the door shut. This felt like a bad idea.. Your stomach was rolling in its grave. Clenching and twisting in ways to make you wince. Was this a good idea? Going to a complete strangers house with your roommate to do who knows what! Remember your breathing exercises..

…1…and 2…1…and 2… You were okay for now. Until this was over and you can go back home and become your true slug self. Wrapped in blankets and binging some trashy reality tv. An uneasy feeling filled your stomach like lead as you walked into the crickety cabin, the wooden walls looking rustic and ready to blow down if someone even blew on them. Moss and vines kissed the stone path and the wooden logged walls, the door rickety and thumping against the doorframe slightly from the gusts of wind that pulled and pushed the wooden rectangle. You gulped down that residing fear, trailing behind your roommate who hurried up the three crickety steps and knocked obnoxiously. "BeccaaaaAAAaaaAA! Cmonnnn, open up, bitch." It was obvious Gwen and Becca's relationship was like that. Playful with mean comments and names, but honestly it was probably the best friendship anybody could ask for. Or even want! As you waited there on the first step while Gwen was on the first you could hear a quick patter of footsteps and then a thud and a loud meow that sounded like a smug cat...those smug bastards. Opening the door was a tall woman who looked like she had just woken up. Basket ball shorts, some overly baggy and ratted up shirt that had a cat on it, cozy socks with crocs...which was a crime in your opinion, but you decided to ignore that part. She had her hair in space buns atop her head, a bit damp but neatly placed. You stood there now on the second step watching as the two exchanged hugs and smiles, Gwen motioning you inside as she stepped inside, a overly chunky cat making it's way towards you. At least there was a cat! A orange tabby with no thoughts behind its eyes, eager to flick its tail and rub against your leg as if demanding for treats or pets. A tired smile made its way to your lips as you squat down to rub the cat and give it scratches...before it bit you half way through. Scurrying off to who knows where while you stand back up and look at the nibble mark left upon the crook of your hand.

"So....What are we doing? My plans for tonight were just gonna be to chill maybe..and well a new episode of The Girls is on and I was gonna finish that season-" Your rambling was quickly interrupted by the two other girls laughing, Becca wiping a fake tear from her eye.

"Holy shit, Gwen, you didn't tell me your roomie was a riot! God I love you already." Becca had a smile still on her face, but in a cute dorky way. As she wrapped an arm around your shoulder she brought you in close so you were nose to nose now.

"Listen. You're cute, but you seem VERRYYY boring. Have some fun! Ever try those shitty cringe challenges from middleschool?" Before you could even THINK about answering her question she placed both her manicured hands on your cheeks and squished them, "Gwen and I found one and we wanted to try! buuutttt...we needed a third person! Which is youuuu~ Isn't that fun?" The feeling of being overwhelmed washed over you as you just furrowed your eyebrows and looked confused as she was rambling about some 'spooky challenge' and it probably not going to work. What were they even talking abou- your swirling thoughts were quickly and once again interrupted as she started wrapping a piece of deep green fabric around your eyes.

"Wait- hold on!" Your frustration grew as you tried to get away from Becca's touches and grabs, "You haven't even told me what I'M doing!-" You felt a set of hands on the sides of your face, holding your cheeks as the scent of mint and cigarettes wafted over. "Cmonnn, babes! Just trust us! You trust me right? I'm your best friend!" "Gwen, you're my only friend." Was your only reply as you felt the same frustration, but diluted a little bit now. As the blindfold was snugly tightened against your face and blocking your vision, it felt as if your other sense were heightened. You could hear the slight creaking of the house and the small giggles between the two girls. You could smell the minty and menthol scented breath still of Gwen, and the light airy perfume that Becca wore that reminded you of an old woman at a thrift store. Suddenly you were pushed further into the room, the sound of a rug dragging along the wooden floor was loud in the depths of silence that was cascaded down on you. Shivers spiked along your spine as you tried to be calm, hearing the click and flicker of a lighter somewhere to the side of you as one of the girls sat you down on your knees, locking your knees and elbows together.

Trust them right? Trust Gwen? You knew Gwen since freshman year of highschool..So why shouldn't you trust her? But there was that feeling of doubt and uneasiness planting itself in the pit of your stomach, its seed sprouting and its roots planting itself inside of you more permanently. Your breath quickened as you tried to steady it, panic washing over you as a low hum was heard form the two. Then it began. The softly low mumbling of the two girls as a pouring sound was heard to the left of you, a liquid hitting the cusp of metal. A smell lingered, a burning smell. With a hint of rotten eggs and the smell of some burnt meat... An acidic feeling rose within the back of your throat before a weird smoke began spreading through out the room, filling your nose with a acidic putrid smell that was thick. Scrunching your nose the distinct sound of...a cash register was filling the air for a split moment? Then you heard it. The rough whiny sound of some angry Australian.

"Now which one of you fucking cunts summoned THE Prince of GREED to this SHIT HOLE?!"

#i tried #hazbin hotel #helluva boss mammon x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss #mammon #fishasks

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stalarys · 11 months

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the final chapter of 'a rolling stone gathers no moss'.

uh . thank you all for reading?

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #bdubs

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fernclans · 1 year

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MOON 05. (part 2) (tw; none i think!)

Starring: Cliffpaw (BuddingClan), Flippaw (BuddingClan), Amberpaw (BuddingClan), Dashpaw (BuddingClan) Mentions: Magpiestar (FlintClan)

“May all cats of BuddingClan gather beneath the Echoed Stones for a clan meeting!” A ginger feline called before leaping, landing unsteadily at first atop their clan's gathering place; a set of three stone pillars, one taller than the others, where the leader, deputy, and head mediator would sit once upon a time.

“UGH- finally!” A small rosy brown molly bemoans loudly as she bounds around the grassy slope beneath, claws catching dirt between them.

Another cat strides forward, rolling his eyes when he sits. “You don’t have to say the whole thing every time, y’know Cliffpaw? It’s just the four of us.” Dashpaw teases, shooting the other tom a playful wink to show he’s not being serious.

“It’s better than us completely abandoning the traditions our clanmates died fighting to protect.” Amberpaw sneers, not picking up on the toms’ lightheartedness.

The half-white tom’s cheeky expression dissipates into a flat one of disappointment. “You don’t have to suck the air out of every situation, Amberpaw. Lighten up will you?”

“Could you two wait until after my ceremony to argue?” Flipkit complains, shooting both of them an exasperated look and sparing Cliffpaw from having to break things up himself. Both felines seemed startled at the younger cat's comment, both reacting with their own levels of embarrassment and apologies.

Cliffpaw clears his throat one more time, dipping his head to Flipkit in appreciation.

“Flipkit, you have reached the age of six moons and are ready to begin your training as a warrior of BuddingClan. From today forward, you will be known as Flippaw; while I can’t act as a proper mentor for you, we will all work together to complete our training as a clan.”

“I won’t let you down!” Flippaw meows back enthusiastically while Dashpaw and Amberpaw call her new name in celebration.

The cheering subsided and the three apprentices looked to Cliffpaw expectantly; there was still one more ceremony which needed to take place. His own.

For once, the confident tom looked uncertain, his remaining yellow eye concentrating down on his paws. “I, Cliffpaw, feel as though I’ve completed my training and that I am ready to take the full responsibility of BuddingClan’s first full warrior.” Not that he hadn’t done so already moons prior. “Though, to be honest, I’m not sure what I should call myself. Since I was a kit I always imagined Magpiestar being the one to do it, I hardly spared the thought of thinking of what I would want it to be.”

“You could just skip a step and call yourself Cliffstar.” Dashpaw meows jokingly.

Cliffpaw grimaces. “Even if StarClan didn’t smite me for that, I’m not sure I feel ready to call myself leader- not in that way.” He was a leader, but he didn’t feel quite like he could be the leader. "Besides, I haven't even trained an apprentice yet."

“How about Clifftalon? Or Cliffsnarl? Something cool and intimidating!” Flippaw chirps, eyes shining.

Amberpaw chuckles beside her. “Do you think Cliffpaw is intimidating?”

“Do you think Cliffpaw is cool?” Dashpaw jeers.

“Well I don’t, but other cats might.” The youngest of the four explains.

“Hey--! Come on!” Cliffpaw perches on the edge of the stone, tail swishing behind him. His vision spins slightly as he looks between his clanmates, claws sinking into the stone and moss for stability.

“Right, sorry.” Amberpaw shakes her head, looking up at him and taking notice of his unsteady state. “Do you want to get down? Dashpaw’s right, it is just the four of us…”

Cliffpaw shakes his head, regaining his former posture. “No, not until we settle my name.”

“What about Cliffstone?” Dashpaw meows, almost seeming sincere before following it up. “Because once you’ve set your mind on something, you’re as stubborn as one.”

Cliffpaw begins to grow frustrated. “I’m not that stubborn.”

“Yes you are! Only a cat as stubborn as you would make it back home with that kind of an injury still fresh.”

“Dashpaw kind of has a point.” Flippaw interjects. "He would've let CypressClan take care of him until they forced him to leave." All but Dashpaw laugh, the brown and white tabby tom feigning offense for dramatic effect. The moment subsides, leaving them back to where they'd began.

Amberpaw hums thoughtfully. “How about instead of stubborn, we can say reliable? Even after you were gone for days, we were sure you were coming back.”

Cliffpaw seems taken by surprise, a warmth filling his chest. “How sure?”

“As sure as the stripes on your back.” She smiles.

Cliffpaw goes silent, tapping his tail rhythmically against the pillar while in thought. “...how about Cliffstripe?”

“‘Cliffstripe’?” Flippaw echoed. “Isn’t that a little… basic? Come on, Cliffpaw! You fought a WOLF for StarClan’s sake!”

The dark ginger tomcat bristles somewhat, forcing his fur to go flat before replying. “We lost everything to those monsters- I won't give them my name too.”

Silence again fills the grassy slope, all cats feeling heavy under the weight of the past five moons. It's Amberpaw who breaks the silence again. “So, Cliffstripe, right? I like it.”

Dashpaw speaks next. “Yeah, it suits you.”

“Mm. It’s fine.” Flippaw pouts, just hoping that her suffix will be different.

Cliffstripe gives a weary smile, slowly easing his way onto the soft ground. He brushes against each of his clanmates, a deep purr rumbling in his throat while they depart.

#clangen #clan generator #buddingclan #buddingclangen #cliffpaw #flippaw #amberpaw #dashpaw #moon 5 #omg he's so big now

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their-satanic-majesty · 1 year

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Sticky Fingers (1971)

The Rolling Stones (Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Charlie Watts, Mick Taylor, Bill Wyman) individually posed with the Sticky Fingers album cover for the promotion of the new album.

📸 David Montgomery

#the rolling stones #rolling stones gather moss #classic rock #mick jagger #keith richards #brian jones #charlie watts #ronnie wood #bill wyman #mick taylor #sticky fingers #1971 #music history #70s music #the glimmer twins

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paxions · 1 year

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#the rolling stone gathers no moss

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tearlessrain · 7 months

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the thing about me is I've never been able to interpret the expression "a rolling stone gathers no moss" purely because I can never remember whether it's intended to be read as pro or anti moss. it could easily mean either "stay in motion so you don't get moss all over you" or "settle down or you won't get any moss" and I've gone through three decades on this earth not entirely knowing which it's supposed to be.

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electronicwitchcollection · 11 months

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For those that prefer to read on here, here’s the continuation of my Grimmjow smut, Accidental mate. I’ve planned out around ten chapters, not all will be smut, but some will! It’s Grimmjow after all 😂

Morning sunlight filtered though the rotten slats, held together by sheer willpower at this point, of the shack you had sought shelter in from the storm in the night before. The harsh light burned through the closed eyes of Grimmjow, awakening him rudely from the most refreshing sleep he had had in recent memory. Grumbling under his breath he screwed his eyes shut tighter, defiantly unwilling to let the sun dictate when he should wake.

Despite his efforts, sleep evaded him, senses rushing an onslaught of smells and sensations into his consciousness. His own scent was overpowering, lingering on the soft flesh he had caged in his arms. Cracking his eyes open he was met with his own teeth marks, angrily prominent on the back of your neck. The night rushed back to him with nauseating speed.

The taste of your blood as he sunk his teeth into your pathetically weak skin. You moaning like a bitch in heat as he fucked into your vice like cunt. The pride he felt having a willing bitch to rut into. He felt strong and in control, the undercurrent of his rutting desire was subdued, finally sated enough to not feel like clawing his own skin off.

You moaned in your sleep, nuzzling deeper into the pillow under your head. Grimmjow snatched his arm away from you as though you had caught fire, glaring into the back of your head. His cock had come free during the night, knot deflated. No longer attached to you, Grimmjow crawled from your nest in search of his clothes.

Locating them easily, his eyes kept darting to you as he covered up. The nest was pitiful, worn and dirtied by other men. Grimmjow sneered at the thought, turning to leave the hut to hunt. Humans were disgusting. The state of the nest niggled in the back of his mind, rooting deeply, stopping Grimmjow when he reached the door, pulling his eyes back to it. A growl rumbled in his chest, teeth flashing in a sneer, annoyed with how the nest looked, annoyed that he was bothered by it.

Grimmjow quietly stalked around the room, feet of a hunter not disturbing the smallest of stones scattered around. Grimmjow gathered up the discarded clothing that held your scent, along with the pillow left on the floor where he originally stayed. Meticulously he placed them around your sleeping form, building a barrier around you. It wasn't enough, the alpha sneered. Adding your backpack and some rags he found in a chest near the window, Grimmjow debated going outside do find some greenery to pad up the nest when you rolled to your back in your sleep.

Grimmjow stood above you, taking in your appearance. You looked like shit. Your fur was tangled and knotty, fanned out around you. Dangerous. It would be easy to grab onto in a fight, easy to yank it back and expose your throat, ripe for slitting. Your face was clammy and flushed. You looked sickly. Grimmjow knelt besides the nest, leaning in to sniff at your exposed neck

Grimmjow's own scent was heavy around you, dominating your own salty sweet smell. You didn't smell like infection, which was a relief. Only because he didn't know the way to where the shinigami live. He didn't care if you were sick. His keen eyes spotted two more of his marks on your skin, purpling on your otherwise milky complexion. The one marking your tit was particularly drawing his eye.

With a disgusted huff, Grimmjow determinedly stalked out of the cabin, letting the door swing shut behind him. He took a lung full of the crisp air brought on after a storm, clearing his senses from your lingering scent. He could taste the damp moss and earthy soil in the air, hear the ruffling of feathers and swaying of creaking overhead branches. He felt a tingle in the air to the right, head snapping in that direction. He caught the subtle aroma of a hollow caught in the breeze. Bearing his fangs, Grimmjow gave chase, following the scent easily.

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You woke up slowly, body heavy with tiredness, your aching muscles protested as you started to stretch out your tense limbs. A sharp burst of pain between your legs had you gasping. Hissing around clenched teeth you held still, taking stock of your body. You felt weak, limbs sluggish and heavy. Muscles felt tense and tight. Your throat was painfully dry, you tried to swallow and was rewarded with a dry scratchy feel. Your neck throbbed, a pulsating heat reminding you of the vicious bites you endured from that animal.

What had you gasping however, was the pain radiating between your legs. It felt bruised, swollen and uncomfortable. You couldn't remember ever feeling this drained the morning after the night before. Moving slowly, you attempted to sit up, wincing at the shooting burn travelling through you. Head hung down, you closed your eyes waiting for the ache to ebb away.

Feeling as though this was as much relief as you would get, you opened your eyes, only to cock your head confused. What the hell? Littered around you on the bed were your ruined clothing and back pack. Curiously you picked up a rag, inspecting it. It wasn't yours. Grimmjow must have found it. Why he had arranged them around you in the bed though was a mystery.

Grimmjow.

You looked around the small cabin, easily concluding he wasn't there. The fire had long since snuffed out, not helpful in any way to indicate when Grimmjow may have left. Sighing you pinched the bridge of your nose. It could be hours before he returned, if ever. You wouldn't put it past him to make his own way back to soul society without telling you. You may as well get up and ready to leave in case he did come back.

Gingerly you manoeuvred your legs over the side of the bed, lowly groaning through your discomfort. Twisting to grab your bag, you rummaged through it, looking for your shinigami uniform, silently rejoicing in the Knowledge that it would be hung loose on your aching body. You pulled on as much of the uniform you could while sitting, dreading when you'd eventually have to stand

Deciding not to dwell on it, you shakily rose to your feet, grimacing at the pain. Uniform fitted securely, you take small tentative steps towards the cabin door in search of your unhinged companion. A painful throb jolted through you at every step, fatigue making itself known in your abused body. You were panting when you reached the door, sweating from the effort it took. You had not considered feeling this pitiful when you had agreed to help Grimmjow out last night. While it was an experience, you we're thankful it was a one time deal

Outside held no more clues as to where Grimmjow was than inside the cabin did. The worn in path on the Forrest floor seemed like a logical direction to follow. Forcing yourself onwards, you shuffle slowly, scanning the lush green area for a hint of blue

"Grimmjow!" You call out into the quiet, pausing to await a reply. When none came you shuffled further along the path. The sun felt nice on your skin, the black of your clothing sucked up the heat, resting it on your sore muscles. You call out again, letting a surprised yelp when your foot caught in as tree breach, the grassy flooring racing up to meet you

"Grimm-ahh!"

A muscle riddled arm darted out to catch you as you fell, saving you from a heavy impact with the ground. You look up to your would be saviour, about to give thanks when he growled at you

"watch where your fucking going"

You quickly concluded two things. The first being that sex did nothing to improve the Espadas bed side manor, the second is how little his rutting season effected his personality, because even after having sex, he was still an asshole. You were too tired and achy to engage in an argument though.

You leaned heavily on his arm to straighten yourself up. Once you let him go, Grimmjow removed his arm as though you burned him.

"where did you go?" You ask, stalling for time to catch your breath. Grimmjow folded his arms over his chest, glaring out into the trees over your shoulder

"hunting"

Reasonable, you yourself were famished after last night's activities. You were pretty sure you had some more preservatives hidden in the bottom of your bag. They'll suffice until you made it back home. There was still a long days journey ahead, the inn you were originally planning to spend the night was about three hours away, soul society another four beyond that. While normally you could use flash step to take you a good portion, your lack of energy and the throbbing pain wouldn't get you far, only succeeding in draining you further, prolonging your walk.

Seven hours walking with a grumpy Grimmjow. What did you do to deserve this? If you wanted to make it back before nightfall, you had better leave in the next hour. You made to head back to the shack, talking to Grimmjow over your shoulder "we've got a long walk ahead of us, we should start getting ready to leave" You could feel his presence behind you, the only thing letting you know he was following you. His footsteps were eerily silent, walking over the same rubbled path as you were, yet even when straining you couldn't hear the slightest disturbance under his feet. He truly was frightening.

A slightly bigger stride than you should have attempted made you stop suddenly, gasping loudly at the ripping pain jolting up you. In an instant Grimmjow was in front of you, hovering closely.

"you hurt?" He asked you, leaning in to sniff around your neck. "What happened?"

"Im fine Grimmjow," you grunt through clenched teeth. You were throbbing between your legs, sharp prickling pain felt hot inside you. "I'm just sore" You watched as Grimmjow sniffed around you, fascinated by the strange response to your pain. "We really need to... HEY!"

Grimmjow had fallen to his knees mid sentence, sticking his face into your clothed privates and inhaling deeply. The harsh smack across his face you delivered in a knee jerk response rebounded through the trees, echoing deafeningly. The loud animalistic roar he offered in return silenced the sounds of the Forrest, woodland animals ceasing all chatter at the predatory warning.

"what the hell are you doing!?" You demanded outraged, shuffling back a few paces. Grimmjow sprang to his feet, advancing angrily. You could see a vein protruding down the side of his neck, throbbing with hostility

"smack me again woman, and I'll rip off your goddamn arm!"

"you're angry at me?! What the hell are you doing sticking your head between my legs!" You shoved him back a few steps, own anger flaring. You were absolutely flabbergasted at the way he twisted the situation, damn neanderthal.

"checking for infection! The fuck do you think I was doing?!" He snarled back at you, fists clenched at his side, shaking with the desire to reach out and hit you. That would be the last time he would be helping you. In fact, he hoped you did get an infection. Let your cunt fall off for all he cared.

"You.. you can do that?" Surprise calmed your tone, genuinely interested in the unheard of talent. He was a hollow, panther hollow at that. If you took the time to think about it, he had already displayed a few animalistic traits. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility for him to be able to sniff out an infection. A little warning next time would've been nice though.

"Ya can't?" Grimmjow also appeared to be genuinely curious, rage falling off his face as quick as it had appeared. "How you shinigami are still alive is fucking beyond me." Well. That was a short lived reprieve of his anger. "Fucking weak, all of ya"

If he could get a handle on his explosive temper, he would make a great asset to the fourth. He would save loads of time sniffing out an infection instead of waiting for labs to run tests. The idea almost made you chuckle. This brute had zero bedside manners. He would scare off more injured than he helped. Though, if anyone could tame the wild beast, you'd bet good money on Captain Unohana. The woman was terrifying. Most, if not all of the other captains blood ran cold when she gave them that scarily gentle smile. Grimmjow didn't stand a chance.

"So, did you smell any infection?" You asked as he turned his back on you, heading towards the shack. It wasn't the most ideal diagnosis, but out here in the middle of nowhere, you'd rather that than nothing. Grimmjow raised his arms, crossing them behind his head languidly

"Nah," that was a relief. You hadn't packed anything for that. A hot soak was all you needed, and that could wait until you arrived home "ya just reek of my seed"

Your steps falter at the new information, staring at the back of his head at his brazen remark, spoken as easily as though he had mentioned the weather. The man literally had no filter.

"Charming" you utter, hurrying to catch up with him. That bath couldn't come quick enough.

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Grimmjow trailed behind you in the aggravatingly slow pace you had set, steadily getting more irritated at the slow ass walk you were blindly leading him on. The trees that littered the dusty path looked the exact same as the hundreds of trees you had already passed in the last three fucking hours. He was bored, his body vibrated with pent up energy, straining his muscles uncomfortably. He needed to run, to fight. Not be led around by this fragile woman on some sight seeing walk.

Maybe that spiky headed Captain would be up for a fight when he got back? Him or that annoying furless guy that always hung around him. Ikku or something. Grimmjow rolled his eyes, there were too many shinigami, the place was infested with them. He couldn't remember any of their damn names either, not that he cared to. Weak sounding names the lot of them. Like that drunk commander guy, he had a fruity name , Sue something. Was told it had ment spring water, not that he had asked.

"How much fucking longer woman" Grimmjow growled at your back, the snarky way he addressed you had your teeth itching. The sun was still high in the sky, you estimated you had only been travelling for about two hours, though you hadn't covered as much ground as you would've liked.

"About fifteen minutes less than the last time you asked, Grimmjow" the sarcastic retort maybe not your finest moment, but you were tired and aching, and the Espada was getting on your last nerves with his moronic complaining. You recognised your surroundings now at least, you knew the inn you were originally planning to stay at was about half an hour away. From there it was a pretty much straight shot to the West White Road Gate entrance to Seireitei, just out side of the elevenths division territory.

Grimmjow huffed at your response, eyes unknowingly dropping to your ass. He was momentarily mesmerised by the way your ass bounced, transfixed on the hypnotic sway of your hips with every step you took. A strong gust of wind picked up, snapping Grimmjow out of his staring as your scent washed over him. He instinctively rumbled at the smell, mouth rushing with saliva. The instinctive reaction made him stiffen, sending him into a fit of rage

"HOW MUCH FUCKING LONGER?!"

He needed to get away from you. It was a mistake, using your body during his rutting season. He could feel your warmth in the air, your taste on his tongue. It was making him weak, pathetic. Damn body betraying him, overtaken with his rutting instincts. That fucking mark on the back of your neck a flashing beacon, drawing him back in.

You stop and turn, startled by his outburst. He wasn't the friendliest of fellows, but that was a little excessive even for him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" You ask rhetorically but with a soft tone, confused by his sudden aggressiveness. He looked murderous, fists clenching at his sides, teeth grinding together behind his clenched jaw "the inn is about half an hour away, when we reach there, I'll direct you which way to go. You can head back by yourself if you want to get back quicker, okay? "

He begrudgingly met your eye, breathing heavily through his nose. He tilted his chin up, unspoken command to get moving. He waited until you were a safe distance away before following. Your smell no longer clouding his reasoning, your words started to register. You wanted him to go back without you? An unusual amount of concern flooded him at the idea of you walking back alone, unprotected.

Grimmjow sneered at the intrusive thought. Damn rutting season messing with his instincts, what did he care if you were unprotected. The alpha in him growled, He couldn't let you be harmed. Mine. Catching himself staring at your ass again, Grimmjow rubbed a large hand down his face, what the hell was wrong with him? He felt like he was going insane.

"Alright Grimmjow". You turned to face him. Thankfully the last stretch of your journey went smoothly, as smoothly as it could go being in the company of that unpredictable heathen. The inn was just to your right, a quaint little building surrounded by trees, flowers decorated the dusty path leading up to the door. Much more pleasing to the eye than the shack you had stayed in the pervious night, the walls actually seemed sturdy on this building. "the gate near the eleventh is that way". You directed his eye line with your hand, "it's a straight shot from here, don't deviate from the path and you'll get there in a couple hours"

Grimmjow had his arms crossed over his wide chest, pointedly making show of refusing to look you in eye. He was, at least, following the direction you were pointing in. He had good instincts, you were confident he would make it back easily. You would follow on in the morning, hopefully feeling much better. You would report to the captain commander, your captain, and return home. You missed your bed.

"It shouldn't take you more than a few hours, especially if you use flash step for part of the way" You felt awkward now, prolonging your parting needlessly.

"Sonido"

"I'm sorry?" You honestly hadn't expected him to say anything, least of all a word you didn't have knowledge on. Grimmjow rolled his eyes, tutting annoyed at having to explain everything to you. How stupid could one shinigami be?

"Sonido. Espada don't use that weak ass flash step"

"Right... well anyway. It shouldn't take you too long." His eyes flashed dangerously at your flippant disregard of his explanation, baring his teeth slightly. "I'll check in with the Captain commander tomorrow, repot in about our mission" you throw a half hearted wave over your shoulder, heading up the path to the inn you were praying had availability. You were in desperate need of a hot bath, full dinner and sleep on a bed that didn't have questionable stains.

Grimmjow followed your movements with his eyes momentarily, before angrily setting off on his own powerful march down the opposite road. He stared deliberately ahead, refusing to look back. His breathing was heavy, eye brows furrowed in unexplained anger. Useless fucking woman. Glad to rid of her. He was better on his own, faster, stronger. Nothing weighing him down, that's how he preferred it. A tight clenching around his chest had him stopping in his stride, as though a thick invisible band wrapped itself around his chest and pulled him to a stop.

What if something did happen to you. Surly he would get the blame, easy to blame the arrancar. That would probably mean more of these irritating missions, having to prove himself, again. He would get an earful of that hat wearing weirdo, he was the one who pushed so hard to get Grimmjow a place here in soul society after all. With a huff he begun walking back towards the inn, tightness around his chest loosening as he spotted you, slowly beginning your walk up the few steps that lead to the door

No, what the fuck was he doing?!. Grimmjow growled, forcing himself to turn back around, start running down the path the led back to the shinigamis territory. What the fuck was wrong with him. He couldn't give two fucks if you died out here, one less shinigami polluting the area. If you got hurt, that was on you. Too damn weak to look after yourself. Survival of the fittest. Only the strongest made it. That's why Grimmjow was still around, the only Espada to have survived Aizen, the shinigami, those freaks with the arrows. Grimmjow was a king, didn't need no one.

His feet skidded across the ashy path at his abrupt halt in his run, dust billowing up in a murky cloud. He looked back again, some hidden force prickling in the back of his mind, demanding he get you in his sights. You weren't there, and his stomach felt cold and heavy. With a frustrated growl, Grimmjow screamed up to the sky, a flock of frightened birds fluttering manically out of the tree at the primal sound.

"Fucking god damn it!"

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"Welcome to the Lotus Inn!How may I help you?" A small woman greeted you from behind a large dark oak desk, smiling welcomingly at you as you neared the counter.

"Good afternoon, I apologise for the short notice, but was hoping you had availability for one night?" You ask, crossing your fingers out of sight. If they didn't, you'd have to suck it up and walk back to soul society, the next inn you knew about was too close to home to be worth staying in, this was your only hope for today

"You're in luck, we actually have one room left" You let out a relived sigh, muscles already beginning to relax at the promise of a good night sleep. The woman rummaged about the desk, looking for the correct key and paperwork "It's a small room, with a small double futon, but it has access to a decking with a private outdoors hot bath, will that be acceptable for you and your companion? "

Companion? You look behind your shoulder confused, startled to see Grimmjow looking murderous behind you, jaw tight and arms crossed tightly over his chest. You sent him an inquisitive look, head tilting to the side. Grimmjow ignored you, turning to stare at the wall defiantly, seething at his own pathetic decision to return.

"Yes, that's perfect, thank you" you turn back to the Inn worker, smiling pleasantly to make up for your rough tag along. "If you could please send the bill directly to the Captain Commander? He will be taking care of all of our expenses this evening". That was what he used to bribe you into taking this job in the first place, you hadn't yet taken advantage of it, not usually the one to accept gifts or hand outs. Another night stuck with Grimmjow, however, yeah. The captain can pay for the privilege. You might even order a bottle of sake to go with your dinner too, toast to your generous beneficiary this evening.

"Absolutely. If you would like to follow me, I'll show you to your room"

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The room was more spacious than you had anticipated, or you were just overjoyed with the difference in size compared to the trapper shack that you imagined the space to be larger than it was. Clean floors, a soft fuzzy rug warmed your feet. There was a small table surrounded by plump pillows to sit on. You appreciated the art work on the walls as the worker quickly and efficiently made up the bed for the evening.

Clean white sheets. A blanket that looked fat with feathers, surly to be cosy this evening. Lanterns were lit, and the large sliding door was opened to reveal the small decking. Two wooden chairs pointed outwards, allowing a view of the rolling fields just over the privacy hedge. Down three wooden steps was a large circular tub, bubbling frantically with steaming hot water. Separated by a wooden panel, that you assumed hid a shower.

Once the woman had left you to your privacy, Grimmjow gruffly announced he was going hunting, leaving you alone in the room without a second glance. You had so many plans. You were going to shower, curl up in one of the outside chairs and read the book you had brought with you, followed by a snack to strive off hunger until your evening meal.

The bed was too inviting, however. Laying down your stretched out your muscles, sinking into the soft padding. It felt heavenly, softly moulding around your body, cradling you perfectly. Just ten minutes you told yourself before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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