I Have drawn Ikran and Nantang previously, but it will count as an added character charge. Ikran especially will be an $8 added charge because god are they insane to do.
Your Na’vi/Avatar OCs!
Child characters are okay, just not in any NSFW situations.
What ships can I do?
Any ship that is not involving minors
I am comfortable drawing controversial pairings
What about scenery? Props?
I have done simple background scenery I can provide examples of, but I am most confident with a flat background.
I am most comfortable with simple clothing and accessories, but up for discussion and I can show examples.
Simple weapons (bow, knife, staff) are no additional charge. Guns and more complicated weaponry can be negotiated.
What are my NSFW limits?
No Scat
No minors in any capacity (including “aged up” cannon character)
What am I willing to discuss?
Most kinks are up for discussion! Please talk to me about it and I’ll let you know if I’m unsure.
NSFW content I have drawn:
Shibari
Non-con
Blood/gore/violence
Pegging (MxF)
Body mods (cock piercings ayyyee)
Disclosures:
I understand the avatar universe is heavily influenced by many real world cultures. I will not do 1:1 recreations of important cultural objects or symbolisms (such as indigenous head dresses)
References are heavily encouraged. Whether it be inspo from Pinterest, In-game screenshots, your own drawings, etc. otherwise, please be understanding of the creative freedom I use to imagine the character!
On the last note, I am heavily involved in sending progress pictures, and asking for opinions and suggestions through the entire process to ensure you are satisfied.
Payments
Currently I take Payment through Cashapp and PayPal.
Not open to trades at this time.
Time expectancy
Full color is usually between 1-2 weeks, but I will communicate if there is anything holding me back.
Greyscale typically 3-5 days.
Closing Statment
Honestly guys I’m so chill. I’ll work with you on almost anything. Just talk to me! I’ll be open about what I can, and can’t do, and what I can try!
"Six weeks into the term, I assigned my rhetoric and writing students a 20-page article. It was the same length I had assigned for five years and the same length I had read without complaint as an undergraduate a decade ago. Not one student finished it.
When I asked why, a student answered honestly: It was too long, and she kept losing track of what the paper was about. This was not a remedial class: These were students who had cleared the admissions process and written essays good enough to get them here. Yet a routine academic reading assignment had defeated them.
Every generation of professors has complained that their students cannot read. The lament is usually overblown, but data have caught up to anecdote, and what I am seeing in my classroom is no longer a hunch. There is a measurable, generational collapse in sustained reading and writing, and the academy is responding to it with improvisation and exhaustion rather than the structural overhaul it requires.
In February 2024, Adam Kotsko, who teaches in the Shimer Great Books School at North Central College, wrote in Slate that students who once handled 30 pages of reading per class meeting now seem “intimidated by anything over 10 pages and seem to walk away from readings of as little as 20 pages with no real understanding.” Crucially, he added that this is “not a matter of laziness on the part of the students” but of underlying skills they were never given a chance to build.
The Chronicle of Higher Education’s 2024 investigation found the same pattern across institutions as different as the Stevens Institute of Technology and Wellesley College, where the average SAT exceeds 1400. Nicholaus Gutierrez, an assistant professor at Wellesley, told The Chronicle that the baseline for what students consider a reasonable amount of work has dropped so noticeably that he has cut his readings accordingly; a 750-word essay now strikes many students as long. At Stevens, the science and technology studies associate professor Theresa MacPhail described following the mantra of “meet your students where they are” for so long that she has begun to feel “like a cruise director organizing games of shuffleboard.”
Worse, the national data tell the same story in colder language. On the 2011 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) writing assessment, which is the most recent comprehensive writing benchmark, only 24 percent of 12th graders reached the Proficient level, and just 3 percent reached Advanced; another 21 percent scored below Basic. The reading side of the ledger is worse, and getting worse fast: The 2024 NAEP results released in September 2025 show 12th-grade reading scores at the lowest level recorded since the assessment began in 1992. Thirty-two percent of 12th graders now score below NAEP Basic in reading, meaning that, in the assessment’s own language, they likely “cannot draw general conclusions based on concepts presented explicitly in a text.” And yet more than half of these same seniors reported being accepted to a four-year college. That last sentence is the whole problem in one line: We are admitting a cohort that cannot read at a college level and are pretending otherwise.
Why is this happening? One reason, of course, is smartphones.
I came into teaching as a skeptic of the anti-smartphone argument: I had a phone in my pocket throughout high school and college in the 2010s, and I read long books anyway. I now think I was wrong, because the neuroscience has caught up. In a 2017 paper, Adrian F. Ward and colleagues at the University of Texas at Austin’s McCombs School of Business showed that the mere presence of a participant’s smartphone — whether that be face down, powered off, untouched, or across the desk out of vision — measurably reduces available working memory and fluid intelligence on cognitive tests, with the largest effects on the most phone-dependent users. A 2022 study by Motoyasu Honma and colleagues at Japan’s Showa University used near-infrared spectroscopy to compare reading on a smartphone with reading the same passage on paper, and found that smartphone reading produced overactivity in the prefrontal cortex, suppressed sigh generation, and led to general lower comprehension scores; the authors argued that the sigh inhibition and prefrontal overload were causally linked to the comprehension decline.
So when a student tells me they “kept losing track” of a 20-page article, I have to acknowledge that they may be describing a measurable neurological condition. The neural pathways that support sustained attention are built by use, and they atrophy without it. Your body is a use-it-or-lose-it system, and the brain is no exception.
Another reason for the decline in student reading capability is increasing reliance on generative AI. In June 2025, Nataliya Kosmyna and colleagues at the MIT Media Lab released a preprint titled “Your Brain on ChatGPT.” They divided 54 participants into three groups writing SAT-style essays — one using ChatGPT, the second group using a search engine, the last group using nothing — and monitored brain activity with a 32-channel EEG. The ChatGPT group showed the lowest neural connectivity of the three, with up to 55 percent reduced connectivity compared with the brain-only group, and “consistently underperformed at neural, linguistic, and behavioral levels.” Eighty-three percent of LLM users could not quote a single line from essays they had written minutes earlier. When the LLM group was forced to write without AI in a follow-up session, their brain activity did not bounce back to baseline; the researchers coined the term “cognitive debt” for the lingering deficit.
This is the first neurophysiological evidence that early reliance on LLMs measurably alters the brain’s engagement with writing tasks, and it is consistent with what those of us in front of classrooms are watching happen in real time. When I assign analysis, I am not trying to extract a polished product; I am trying to put the student’s mind through resistance in order to make it stronger. Offloading the struggle to a chatbot does not “free students up for higher-order work.” It deprives them of building the strength to do any substantial cognitive work at all.
There is a final factor that is contributing to this decline in reading skills, and that is that the students arriving in my classroom today are the first cohort to have experienced Common Core-influenced reading instruction across the entirety of their K–12 schooling. Whatever the standards’ original intent, the on-the-ground implementation in many districts replaced sustained reading with the practice of pulling “evidence” from disconnected short passages, the same format used on the standardized tests that increasingly determine school funding. The education scholar Natalie Wexler, among others, has documented this pivot in detail: Students drilled on “finding the main idea” in two-paragraph excerpts never build the stamina or background knowledge that longform reading requires. The pandemic then added fuel to a fire that was already burning. NAEP scores for 13-year-olds dropped sharply in 2022 and have not recovered. A 2023 EdWeek survey found that 24 percent of secondary-school administrators described pandemic learning loss in English and language arts as “severe or very severe.”
In July 2025, the journalist Mary Harrington argued in The New York Times that “thinking is becoming a luxury good.” The ability to read deeply and reason at length is fragmenting along class lines as ultra-processed digital media replaces text in everyday life, much as ultra-processed food has replaced cooking. Her longer treatment of the subject in First Things makes the more provocative case that we are witnessing the end of print culture itself, and with it the end of the cognitive substrate on which modern liberal democracy was built.
I see this stratification in the classroom and on the page every week. My students from districts that protected sustained reading through small class sizes, strict phone policies, and faculty who refused to teach to the test all arrive with their attention relatively intact. My students from districts that surrendered to devices and standardized testing arrive cognitively winded. A democracy that requires a literate electorate is now training one fraction of that electorate out of literacy while marketing to the other a “deep work” lifestyle as a luxury good. The students who cannot read a 20-page article today are the voters who will not be able to read a bill, or the jurors who cannot follow a closing argument, tomorrow.
I do what I can in my own classroom to address the problems. I break 20-page articles into two halves and assign the first half with explicit analytical tasks. I require exploratory writing before formal drafts. I model (visibly, on the board) how to track an argument across pages or distinguish a source’s claim from my own analysis. I make structured peer review explicit, because the workshop format I used to take for granted now collapses into “this is good” and “maybe add more details” the moment I step back.
But I want to be plain about the limits of what an individual instructor can do, and all of these solutions have costs. Scaffolding a 20-page article into halves compromises the integrity of the argument I am asking students to engage, just as modeling note-taking in a credit-bearing rhetoric course is using a college slot to teach a middle-school skill. None of the syllabi I teach are designed to deliver this type of cognitive rehabilitation, and pretending otherwise has produced credential inflation. We cannot keep conferring degrees on students who cannot do what the degree is supposed to certify.
I’m afraid I don’t have answers. I do, however, have some questions that may point us in the right direction. If higher education is going to respond to the reading crisis as a structural problem rather than a private burden carried by composition instructors and adjuncts, it has to stop avoiding the following questions: If a majority of incoming students cannot read at a level the curriculum requires, are we admitting students we cannot serve, or offering a curriculum we cannot provide?
Why are first-year writing and reading-intensive general-education courses still the most adjunctified, lowest-paid, highest-load corner of the university, at the precise moment when their work has become the most important work the institution does? What is the responsible institutional response for AI usage: Is it a syllabus statement, or a sequencing principle that requires students to demonstrate the cognitive work themselves before AI assistance is permitted?
Why are most college classrooms still phone-permissive by default? K–12 districts from Florida to California are now banning phones bell to bell; higher education has somehow lagged behind the public schools. Universities benefit from a pipeline they did not build and refuse to repair. What would it mean for a university system to invest seriously in the reading instruction happening in the high schools that feed it, rather than treating remediation as something to be quietly outsourced to first-year composition instructors?
The thing I am no longer willing to do is pretend this is a temporary adjustment period, or that “students will adapt.” They will not adapt on their own. The conditions that produced this collapse are still in place: the phones, the algorithmic feeds, the test-prep excerpts, staffing models that load the reading-intensive work onto the most precarious faculty, and now the chatbots that finish students’ sentences before they’ve even begun to think of them. If we want literate citizens, we will have to rebuild the conditions for literacy deliberately, against the grain of every incentive currently pointed the other way. I know the academy has the will to do that. It also has the obligation."
— Tyler Jagt, 1 June 2026, "My Students Can’t Read"
The generational collapse in literacy is measurable, persistent, and likely to get worse.
Big things coming soon regarding a clan! Working with some bright minds and incredible artists to turn the Tätana’vi clan into a reality that you can join us in!
Mawn’a makes a drastic decision to escape her fate. It unsettles Kx’leo in a way he did not expect.
Trigger Warnings: suicide attempt Please take care of your selfs, Varang is a red flag, manipulation, mind-games
Na'vi:
Sä'eoio-> Mating celebration
Explicit Content MDNI 18+
She clawed back into consciousness with a shocked gasp early in the morning. It quickly broke into a coughing fit. She tried to lift her hands to hold her throat but something stopped her.
Kx'leo was draped over her hips, still snugly inside of her. He stirred at her coughing, flipping them lazily onto their sides. His knot had deflated just enough she could pull herself away, but it did little to ease the burning in her chest. She looked at the man— her mate, with terror.
Tears started in the corners of her eyes, hands flying over her mouth. Kx'leo stirred again, a hand brushing her cheek as he mumbled something vaguely comforting. Her eyes drifted to their connected kurus. Quickly, she snatched hers back, breaking the bond. Kx’leo made little more than a grumble at the sensation.
A part of her soul ached, longing to share her pain and alleviate it. But her mind bit back; he is too weak, too scared, unable to help. A silent sob shook her chest, tears falling into the furs and fibers beneath her.
She lay there for a while, doing her best to quiet her crying so as not to wake up the monster sleeping next to her. All her grief, terror, and pain crashed over her in waves. The storm only growing stronger at each swell. It was unbearable.
Her eyes glide to the side of the dark tent where weapons were displayed. His trophies from past raids. It'd be easy, she thinks. A brief pain, then it goes cold and black.
She sees the Omatikaya boy lying in his blood. Imagining each step he took to be free of the demon that now snores at her side. She glanced at him only a moment before carefully turning herself onto her belly, and then onto her feet. Her tail gently swayed behind her, tracing each step the boy had likely walked before. It’s only three strides to the wall.
She examines each blade, trying to find the right one for the job. A small onyx hunting knife draws her eye. It was sharp, with a small bone handle. It had sigils carved delicately into the hilt. Anurai, perhaps.
Trembling fingers reached out to the handle.
Kx'leo stirs, suddenly aware of the lack of heat at his side. He cracks his eyes open, still half asleep. He sees Mawn'a standing looking at the wall. A flicker of annoyance burns in his chest. Now what is she doing? He thinks with pinned ears.
When she reaches for the small hunting knife, his gut twists. He sits up as quietly as he can. Surely she did not believe she could get away with stabbing him in his sleep.
But to his horror, she points the blade down at her own outstretched arm. His heart stops, and before he could think it through he leaps into motion, throwing furs off his back.
He stumbles coming off the bed, chest colliding with her back as he reaches desperately for the knife. A heartwrenching cry leaves her when it is pulled from her hands.
Kx'leo throws it across the tent, spinning her to face him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He roared in her face, heart thundering.
She shrinks down into herself, hands covering her eyes as tears start again. He looks at her, ears pinned, annoyed at her audacity for tears.
As she sinks to her knees, his eyes wander his tent to collect what just happened. Starting at the bed, then over to his trophy wall, and finally on the knife now resting by his work bench. With a click, it dawns on him exactly what she was about to do.
He feels sick to his stomach as a twisted fear grips him. Then, anger burns over. He, Kx'leo, a raid captain for the Mangkwan, would feel such fear?
He grabs her hands, roughly ripping them from her face to force her gaze even with his. Bloodshot eyes glisten with unshed tears right through his rage.
“I never thought you so weak,” he hisses. Mawn’a recoiled as if he hit her. He continues, disgust evident in his voice, “what a fucking disgrace.”
Mawn'a folds into herself with a wail, as tight as she could. Kx'leo stills. He was expecting a cruel remark, or some kind of attack, not… this. He just stares at her in disbelief.
With a huff he crouches down and hesitantly touches her back, shushing her. She curls tighter into herself at his touch.
“Do not cry so loudly. You will wake the clan,” his voice cooed softer, though there was still a biting edge of annoyance. Mawn’a took a shuddering breath, still lost. Tears leaving fresh tracks down her cheeks before dripping to her knees. Her grief, still eating her whole.
Huh, he thought, not sure what to even do with this. As he sat there, watching her sob, He recalled what others would do to calm a child. Mothers rocking their babes, toddlers sunk into shoulders.
It was not even second nature to him.
He cautiously gathered her up into his arms, holding her to his chest while she sobbed. It is slightly unsettling that she lets him. Something sharp wraps around his heart. His chest is so tight, and it feels as if stones sit in his throat. Why?
“Mawey, Mawn’a. Do not let the others hear you,” he grumbles gentler while rocking her softly. Still she cries, curled into his chest, but at least a little quieter.
He rests his head on top of hers trying to think how to remedy this situation. What usually makes me feel better? He muses, still rocking her gently. Her sobs settle into small hiccups and sniffing as he hums in thought.
A good fuck or a bath usually does it.
He looks down at the woman, immediately finding the hand shaped bruise encircling her throat from earlier in the night. He decides on a bath.
She doesn’t resist when he scoops an arm under her knees, and lifts her against him. Her arms even snake around his neck on instinct, just holding herself up.
He balanced her on his knee while bending down to a basket, pulling a pxenfyin to wrap over her. She shivers as he ties it loosely at her neck. He holds another wrapped around his own hips, and heads for the door.
The sun is just peaking over the horizon when he exits the tent. The village barely stirs, night shift guards practically asleep at their posts. Morning fires being lit. No one pays them any mind as he walks, mate clutched to his chest.
Mawn’a does not pay attention. Her eyes are emptily staring at her own lap, clutching the cloth over her chest with one hand. She doesn’t have any thoughts. Just an ache that feels right out of reach.
And then warmth, starting at her toes.
She looks up now, taking in her surroundings. Kx’leo still holds her as he steps into a pool of water. It is steaming at the surface in the cool morning air. Several other pools of varying sizes dot the area. He wades into this one until the water is at his hips, just skimming the bottom curve of Mawn’a’s rear.
Kx’leo lowers himself onto a stone shelf beneath the waters surface, settling Mawn’a over his lap. It seems careful, despite the tension running through him. Clenched jaw, and shoulders set like stone.
Mawn’a curls inward automatically, just trying to stay small. Invisible. Her gaze locked onto the fabric clutched between her fist as it soaks up the water.
Then the fabric is being peeled off of her, and tugged from her fist. Her hands shake at the absence. She doesn’t look up as Kx’leo tosses the covering to the warm stone beside the pool.
He cups his hands beneath the surface, and brings the steaming water up to stream down over her shoulders. She flinches. His ears flick in annoyance, but he does not speak. He just does it again.
Over and over he watches as the water tracks in glistening streams over her mottled skin. One hand stays loose at her side for when she threatens to curl into herself further.
Mawn’a’s sniffles are quiet now. Exhausted and empty. The sound causes something to twist unpleasantly inside of him. His grip tightens around her waist a fraction. He is frustrated, not understanding why the sight of her like this unsettles him so much.
She should be fighting. Snarling, threatening to bite. Glaring with that fire in her eyes that has always seemed far too great for her body. Instead she sits limply in his arms, staring at nothing.
The thought sparks fresh anger. His tail lashes sharply through the water. “Why?” He finally growls out between his teeth. Mawn’a does not answer, and the silence frustrates him more.
“Why?” He repeats with more force this time. She shrinks beneath the sound, her breath coming fast and shallow.
Like the paint that floats off of him in strands, his anger loses shape. The fight draining from him as quickly as it came. He stares at her, confused by the hollowness left behind. He lets out a long, aggravated sigh. He just cups more water over her shoulders.
The heat loosens the tensions in her spine little by little. Water runs over bruises, healing cuts, and skin that has spent far too long locked tight with fear. She dares a quick look over him. Over the places the paint is being stripped by the water. The warrior who made villages tremble seems strangely diminished sitting here, washing someone tenderly.
Her eyes snap up to his when he speaks again. “You are a fool.” He mutters.
Mawn’a laughs. It shocks both of them into sudden stillness. It’s brittle enough to make his stomach flip.
“You gave me the idea.” She says in a rasp, looking back down at the ripples on the surface.
His hand pauses half way up to pour more water, the contents trickling through his fingers. His head tilts down to catch her eye, tight with agitation.
“What?” He asked in an exhale.
“You showed me.”
His gaze remains fixed on her, but his ears press back in question. But then, it comes to him. The Omaticaya boy. The memory he had forced into her mind.
“That is my only way out of this. That is what you showed me.” She says quietly.
Kx’leo stares at her in utter disbelief. “That is not—” he cuts himself off in a scoff, shaking his head. “No.” He says firmly, dropping his hands away from her.
“I was trying to scare you—”
Mawn’a looks up to him quickly. He sees it again. The fire burning behind her eyes, fueled by fresh rage and new pain. Those blood shot, exhausted eyes, imagining every single way she wished to tear him apart.
“You believed me too proud to try.” She rasped, suddenly pushing off of his lap to stand on her own in the water. It sloshes around her sharp movements. Kx’leo stays seated where he is.
As she stands, staring at him, the warm water seems to seep further into her bones. Her knees tremble from exhaustion at her little outburst, and she turns away. Her shoulders shake as she tries to settle herself again, not to waste energy on trying to make this monster understand. How could he possibly understand?
The water moves in small waves as he moves behind her. A rough hand lays gently on her shoulder. The other gestures to the pool from her side. Slowly, Mawn’a sinks to her knees, letting the water come up just under her shoulders. She does not look as Kx’leo caresses her back, pressing his thumb into sore muscles. Using the water to work the tension away in painfully gentle strokes.
He lowers himself behind her as he works. The silence burns between them. Each caught in their own world, unsure of how to make the other see it clearly.
“I was worried.” He says softly behind her. So soft it could’ve been carried away by the steam. Not an admission at all.
Mawn’a kept her eyes on the ripples and ribbons of steam. Just allowing the emptiness to cradle her anger. Smooth it into a shape she does not have to strain to hold onto.
“You do not have the right to worry for me.” She says through strained muscles in her throat.
Kx’leo grabbed her by the shoulders again, hard enough now to make her flinch. Her breath caught as he spun her around, and caged her against the steep edge of the pool. His eyes bright with emotion she did not quite have time to decipher.
“I am your mate.” He says coldly through his teeth. Each word has her flinching harder into the rock surface.
Then he pulls back, and takes her wrist to guide her deeper into the pool again. She stays still as he turns her back around, and resumes cleaning her off more diligently. Wiping his hands along the creases and curves of her body. Ignoring when she tenses or whines.
He leaves her sitting, sniffling and processing on the stone shelf as he bathes himself. Wiping away the rest of his paint, and ensuring he is well scrubbed even without his precious soap berries.
The walk back to their tent was tense and quiet. More people were awake now preparing for the day. Some sat and reapplied ash paint while others cooked breakfast. All stared as the raid captain marched by, dragging his new mate behind him hand clutched around her wrist. They whisper about the bruises and wounds adorning both.
Kx'leo stops dead in his tracks when he sees his tent flap open. An uneasiness washes over him, hand flying for a knife that wasn't there. Right. He was in nothing but his wrap without a weapon. With a frustrated growl he snapped to Mawn'a,
“Stay close.”
He lets go of her hand, ears focused on his tent. Eye flick back once to make sure she is following. She is, her other hand rubbing her wrist.
Cautiously he stepped into the entry way, muscles tensed to jump for a weapon.
What he saw had him tense for another reason. Kx’leo instantly lowered his stance, eyes to the ground after finding the Tsahik standing in his tent.
Wukula stood casually next to her, leaning against the center support beam, loose and entirely too entertained by his comrades' anxiety.
“Tsahik,” he greeted with a further dip of his head before looking back at Mawn’a, and gesturing her inside with a tip of his head. Just as cautiously as he had, she stepped inside. Though when she found their guest, she did not lower herself the way Kx’leo had. First she looked at the Tsahik with her chin held higher, then her eyes slid to Wukula. She clutched the damp wrap tighter against her as Wukula’s eyes trailed over her.
She glared at him, body going rigid. Something in those eyes bid her to run, setting off every alarm bell she had. Her ears pinned as she fought her tail from lashing.
Varang looked around the torn apart room with those calculated yellow eyes before finding the couple again. Her tail snapped just once when Mawn’a did not avert her gaze.
“It seems you have had a long night.” Varang says in an almost bored tone.
Kx’leo can’t help a grin. “Nothing I could not handle, Tsahik.”
Then Wukula pushed himself off of the support post with a chuckle, approaching Kx’leo as he straightened. “Do I have to remind you of your duties for the Sä’eoio?” He asked with a smile as Kx'leo rolled his eyes.
“Of course not, brother.” he huffed as Wukula took him by the shoulder. Kx'leo paused, looking at Mawn'a who was still holding eye contact with the Tsahik.
Wukula caught the way his glance carried a little too long. That smile turned into an annoying smirk as he clapped a hand over the back of Kx’leo’s head, hard enough to make him glare back with half a snarl.
“Love sick already?” Wukula teased as Kx’leo jerked his head away from his grip. Then, Wukula looked over Mawn’a more properly. Eyes raking down, nearly salivating over the way the thin covering plastered against her wet skin.
Kx’leo was looking at her too, but for once there was no lust in his eyes.
“Tam tam, ma Kx’leo. She is a big girl, she can handle herself.” Wukula said in a low chuckle as Mawn’a angled her cutting glare to his yellow eyes. She couldn’t stop her tail snapping now.
Kx’leo made a sound that might’ve been a growl as he stood straighter, and reached for Mawna. But Varang’s voice stopped his advance.
“Your mate will be attended, Kx’leo. Go, you have work to do.”
Kx’leo dropped his hand. He gave one more look over his mate, and then back to his Tsahik with a bow of his head.
“Yes, Tsahik.” He said evenly.
Mawn’a stood like a stone as Kx’leo quickly dressed himself, being teased and chided by Wukula the entire time, until the older warrior clapped hands over his shoulders and began guiding him outside.
Wukulas gaze stayed locked on Mawn’a’s as they passed. What is that guys deal?
And then, there were two.
The women stared at each other. Each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Mawn'a shifts her weight. The wet cloth begins to stick uncomfortably cool in the morning air. Varang smiles coldly and tilts her head.
“Sit,” she demands, pointing to the disheveled bed.
Mawn'a feels her resistance fade to exhaustion. She knew that at least this Tsahik wanted her alive. She slowly walks over to the bed and thumps down unceremoniously.
Varang peels the wrap from her flinging it to the side, face grim at the bruises around her neck. Her black stained fingers trace the marks. Mawn’a fights the urge to flinch at the touch.
“It seems your husband is very… passionate,” Varang muses. Gracefully she walks over to the work bench, searching through until she finds what she is looking for. Three stone jars sealed tight with hide.
Next she pulled out a small but very sharp blade, looking it over. Mawn’a ears pinned, nerves shot from the previous 72 hours. Gathering what she needed, Varang made her way back to the bed. Her hand caressing Mawn’a’s head as she went.
This time, she did flinch, leaning away from the Tsahík's touch. Black stained hands quickly found her Kuru and pulled, forcing Mawn’a to hiss up at the woman. The hiss dies quickly when the knife appears in sight.
“Im giving you a great honor, you know,” her hands trailed down her braid to the end. She slowly began to untie it. Mawn'a's stomach tightened. Slowly Varang undid her braid piece by piece to expose her kuru.
“Not many get to say the Tashik prepared them personally for their Sä’eoio,” she hummed, starting to undo the decorative braids on the sides of Mawn’a’s head next.
“I am thrilled.” Mawn'a says through clenched teeth, hissing when Varang pulls her hair a little too hard.
“Stop pretending your life is over. You simply have a new path to walk,” varang growls softly. Mawn’a feels the knife begin to cut against her heads right side, leaving only uneven stubs of hair behind it. Her nails dig into her palms.
Mawn'a's ears flick back in anger but she holds her tongue. There is nothing she can say here. Nothing that will benefit her anyway. She sees the game Varang is going to play. Manipulate her and brainwash her just like every other lost soul here. And it would be better for her to let Varang think she could do the same to her.
“I have that new path for you,” black hands continue to gently cut away at her braids. Varang murmured to her, voice melodic,
“if you were to walk outside this tent right now, the clan will only see you as Kx'leo's woman. A prize to be won,”
she paused.
“Or taken.”
Mawn'a shot her a glare.
“So I'm trapped then?”
Varang chuckled, pleased that the woman seemed to be walking into her plan.
“You can sit in this tent and be used by your husband and convince yourself of that,” varang hummed, hands caressing the other's shoulders, “or you can leave the tent and have the people see you instead.”
Mawn'a scoffed, keeping her head straight and her body stiff.
“Show them who you are, gift them your knowledge. Make our children stronger.” Varang coos in her ear.
“be our midwife.”
Mawn’a actually felt her breath hitch. She did not expect an offer like that. She turns her head just slightly to look at the Tsahik from the side of her eyes.
“Let me give you something no one else here can. A life that will belong to you— not Kx'leo, or any other who lays hands on you,” she continues, offering the poisoned gift. Mawn’a tensed, not wanting to be too eager to accept and be seen through. So she bit her cheek and stayed angry.
Varang chuckled and bent down next to her right ear, arms wrapping around her shoulders, “Take your time, think this over, Mawn'a. I will call for you in a couple days for your answer.” slender fingers walked over her collar bone.
“As you wish… Tsahik,” she responded with bite.
“Good.” Varang straightened up playfully, booping her nose and going back to removing her side braids and shaving the sides of her head.
They stay quiet as scraping fills the tent. Her head smooth under the razor. Soon her Tlaim styled hair is no more. Only a singular thick braid coated in ash to dull the bright brown to a cool grey.
A cool slap on her back snapped Mawn’a back into her body. A black hand passed her the largest of the three jars.
“Cover what you can reach, I will get the rest,” Varang commanded, rubbing ash stained paint against her back. Mawn'a follows the orders that the Tsahik gave her. Empty, simply moving through the motions. The exhaustion from the past days fights settling the longer she sat.
“How is Kx'leo treating you?” Varang's quiet murmur once again brought Mawn'a back from her empty mind. Blue and green eyes snap to cold yellow, closing when varang begins painting red beneath her eyes.
“What does it look like to you?” Mawna rasps back, throat still sore from the various abuses.
“Mm. His toys tend to not last long.”
Mawn'a's ears flick back at Varang's statement, her tail thumping once. Varang takes a breath to continue, still painting down to her chest. Mawn'a cuts her off.
“Let me guess I should thank you,” her eyes snapped open once again, voice sharp. To her surprise, Varang smiles.
“You learn fast. I have given you protection along with your chain,” She grinned while dipping one hand in the next paint. “He is sensitive, believe it or not. The bond will keep him aware of your value.”
Mawn'a fights rolling her eyes, choosing to close them instead. She takes a deep breath through frayed nerves.
“Hm, piercings would look very nice on theses,” Varang mused as her hand held one of Mawn’a’s breasts, slender thumb rolling over her nipple. Mawn’a's tail shot straight up like she was struck by lightning, whole body tensing.
Varang just smirked and continued painting. Mawn’a eyed her nervously until her tail relaxed into short flicks.
Was she making a joke?
The Tsahik continued diligently painting the woman until she looked like just another body in those grave. After the final stroke Varang guided Mawn’a to stand, holding her hands before opening her arms wide. Yellow eyes surveyed the work carefully.
“This will suffice. The paint suits you. Think on what placement you want for the Sä’eoio piercings,” The Tsahik stated, still looking over her work. “You have some time before Kx'leo returns. I suggest you rest. Very important for your health.”
With a knowing grin, she walks over to Kx’leo’s work bench and picks up the blade that had been laying there since morning. Mawn’a swallows stiffly. Varang simply places it back on the trophy wall, fingers lingering over it for just a moment longer than coincidence.
Mawn'a suddenly feels very small. She takes a shuddering breath to hold herself together. Varang snakes out of the tent, and only then did Mawna let herself sag. Her knees dropped to the bed, eyes stinging with fresh tears. As she was about to let herself break, the rustling of the tent flap drew her attention.
“Sorry to disturb you, Tsahik ordered me to keep watch over you… until Kx’leo returns,” a slender woman says as she stands in the doorway. Her skin is painted in ash. Lines of black painted under her eyes like tears, matching Mawn’a’s. Those bright yellow eyes pierced into her, but they were not unkind. Instead, they held a surprising warmth behind them that she had not yet seen in any other Mangkwan.
“Oh goodie,” Mawn'a muttered, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her palm and turning her back to the new intruder. Slowly she pulled the furs back together into bed. She hates the way his smell clings to the blankets, but she is too tired to actually do anything about it.
The other woman’s eyes lingered on her as she moved around, taking in the cuts and bruises in various states of healing. The paint hid most, but these eyes were trained and sharp.
“My name is Sanska,” the woman introduced herself, voice low and soothing, “I am a healer here.”
The woman, Sanska, placed a pile of clothing on the surface of Kx’leo’s work bench before approaching casually.
Mawn'a stalled from slipping into the bed, glaring suspiciously at Sanska. The woman was lithe, but not from fighting. She held the form of a hard life carved out in the Ashlands. Her hair was braided and bundled around her kuru up and out of her face. Her eyes were drawn back to Mawn’a’s face, creased with minor concern.
“Will you allow me to look over some of your injuries?” Sanska asked gently. Mawn'a felt some of her anger melt at the simple question. The genuine care. It was… conflicting.
“No. I can treat them myself given the proper time,” she replied over her shoulder while finally getting into the bed.
“Right now I just need to rest.” She snapped, but then her ears dropped with a bit of shame. This woman had not done anything to slight her. Not yet at least.
“Thank you, though. My name is Mawn’a,” she said softer before signing oel ngati kameie to Sanska.
Sanska gave her a gentle smile as she lowered to her knees, shaking her head softly. “We do not do that here. But, it is a pleasure to meet you regardless.”
Mawn’a gulped, feeling a slight embarrassment. Of course they do not greet each other in the way a follower of Eywa would. What could the possibly have to see of each other. But Sanska stayed relaxed.
“Rest. I will be no bother.” Sanska hummed while leaning herself back against the center support beam. The same one Mawn’a had been tied to hours ago. Mawn’a’s stomach churned, her eyes flickering away.
She laid herself down, and forced her eyes to close. Thankfully her thoughts did not hound her. Sleep was a welcomed friend, wrapping around her to snuff out this nightmare if only for a moment.
OKAY! what A ride! Mawn'a gets a freind?? Maybe?? Sanska belongs to the wonderful @sapphictempest!
and as always thank you to Rats (@switchbladerats) for being my insane co-pilot on this!!
Mawn’a and Kx’leo are now mated. They spend their first night together, and it goes about as well as you would expect from a hostage situation.
Trigger Warnings: do I even have to keep tagging non-con? Depictions of suicide, breath play, restraints/bondage
Na'vi:
Sä'eoio-> Mating celebration
Zarku-> elephant like critter in the great plains
Explicit Content MDNI 18+
Kx'leo stops just before the flap of the yurt. Mawn'a presses deeper into him wishing she could just disappear. A fresh set of tears ran onto his shoulder.
Absent mindly Kx'leo brings a hand up from where he holds her to rub her back.
Her dread still seeps through their connected kurus. In turn she felt the sheer exhaustion settling into the man's bones. The day's events had taken their toll and all he could think of was his— no, their bedroll.
But they had to tell the clan.
He had to tell the clan. He was a raid captain. A leader.
So Mawn'a felt him gather the last shred of energy and walk out of the tent roaring his triumph. The last thing Mawn'a saw was Varang standing, looking exhausted with a hand on her stomach, then the yurt flap fell and she heard the cheering of the clan.
"Oh shit!," someone yelled. Her tail instinctively presses flat to her body, trying to hide, to save a little dignity.
"Are they mated?" another whispered.
"No they just tied their braids together," a smack rang out, "what do you think dumbass!"
"So..." a gruff voice rang out, "I see you were granted more than children." A man with a deep scar running down his chest stepped from the shadows on their right.
Mawn'a pressed her head as deep as she could into Kx'leo's left shoulder and silently urged him to keep moving.
"Wukula!"
Kx'leo ignored her turning to the man. Genuine happiness hummed in the bond from him.
"Brother! I thought you were still out?" Kx'leo chuckled as the pair grasped one another's biceps, hands strong. Wukula clapped the younger man on his shoulder with his free hand as they released.
"Arrived back just a little after you," the scarred man rumbled, "just enough that Ska've was able to fill me in on the night's drama." he skeptically looked at the woman buried into her new mate's shoulder.
"A Talim woman? Really? You know how they can be. Tell you they need their freedom and run from you for fair weather," he chides with a grin that is all bite.
Her ears pin and she sends another silent urge for him to leave.
"She has tried," Kx'leo grins back, eyes glowing with pride, turning to show the deep bite marks. Wukula barks a laugh when he sees the mark on the younger man's ass.
"A pretty one at least. She will draw attention, whether she likes it or not," Wukula teases.
His eyes rake over her ass causing her tail to nervously twitch and curl up towards her leg, desperately trying to keep some privacy.
Bright yellow eyes flick back up, "though... I think she likes it."
Mawn'a leans just far enough from Kx'leo's shoulder to catch the other male's eyes in a viscous glare.
Kx'leo holds a stoic face as he learns more curses from his mate's inner monologue. Wukula just chuckles at her glare.
"You picked a good one, ma' Kx'leo. Very responsive given the circumstances," he continues , "go, my brother. Your day has been long. Let us plan the Sä'eoio."
"Oooh! Are we having that tonight?!" One of the other clan members butts in.
A smoke crackled voice replies, "No, moron. They need the night for the bond to settle."
Wukula steps out towards the central fire with his hands up to get attention and placate his rowdy clan mates.
"We will have it tomorrow. Besides, that will give us time to gather the good shit!" he roars and the clan cheers in agreement.
If you do not start walking towards your tent by the count of three... I am going to start biting, Mawn'a all but growls in his mind.
Kx'leo chuckles as a response and begins walking them home.
The second they leave the fire light she can almost feel him collapse in on himself. The pride is still there but the exhaustion takes over. His shoulders slumped and tail hung low.
" You know what would make this easier," Mawn'a drawled as the man struggled on.
"Do not start," he grumbles.
Finally seeing his tent, stark white bone charms glow in torch light like beacons in a storm.
She just hums plucking a chip of cracking paint for his shoulder, feeling his patience wearing thin. She flicks it from her finger to watch it twirl to the ash covered ground.
She can't help but think of her home; or more so the charred remains of it. A pit forms in her stomach.
The sour feeling creeps through the bond, pricking at his skin in an agonizing sensation. His brow furrows, grip tightening under her legs in some subtle warning.
But she stayed still, thinking anyway.
He ducked through the flap of the tent.
It was decently sized. Big enough for a work bench, cushioned bed, and a fire pit.
The work bench was organized neatly, tools and half finished work laid among the surface.
The bed neat, soft fibers under a thick fur.
It looked to be Zakru fur.
The stone cradle in the center held smothered coals, long since extinguished.
Mawn'a looked up at the ceiling where intricate bone charms hung. Some just random bones, others carved into figures of forest creatures. Webbed together with dark strands of thin leather. She wonders if he made them himself.
But the distraction lasted only as long as the time it took him to kneel on the furs, carefully laying her down on her back, and then rolling onto their sides. There were a few small sounds of discomfort at the strain of their connected hips, but nothing worth dwelling on.
And then the memories crashed back in.
Every flicker of thought was invasive and cold beneath his skin. Every breath moved through him. The grief was heavier than boulders in his palm.
Not only sadness. Faces. Voices. Memories that did not belong to him.
A sister laughing and splashing at the edge of a riverbank.
Friends dancing on the bow of a great ship.
The heavy terror of smoke and screaming.
Bodies falling under blade and arrow.
A young man, hardly grown, gasping beneath Kx'leo's wet blade.
Mawn'a flinched at the vision.
And because of the bond, Kx'leo flinched too.
His ears pinned flat and a strained groan rumbled through his throat as he pressed a hand over his eyes.
"Stop." He said firmly.
Mawn'a looked to him in what might have been surprise, but it was quickly curling hotter than that. Then he spoke again, voice rough with growing agitation.
"Just stop thinking about it. Let us rest."
The rage that exploded through her chest hit him like lightning.
Mawn'a shoved herself up on one elbow despite the awkward angle their bodies were trapped in.
"Rest? You believe you deserve rest?" She hissed, practically spitting the words.
Another wave crashed into him. A deep yearning for her sister. To know she is alive, that she made it out. A hope tempered by dread and mourning.
It churned sickeningly in his stomach. Kx'leo bared his teeth and mirrored her posture, leaning closer into her space. "I said stop."
"No."
Her eyes danced with fury through the word.
"You made this. You forced your way into my head. My soul. You get to live with what is inside it."
He tried to turn away from her with a hiss, but there was nowhere to go. Further than their knotting.
She was everywhere.
Under his skin and inside of his lungs. Every thought echoing between them and pressing harder, with no way to escape.
"I do not care about your dead kin," he growled, shoving her back down onto the furs so he could rise above her.
Anything to feel less small.
Despite her angered expression, he felt the wound the words gave her. The heart break splitting from the seams all over again, slamming into his own chest enough to stagger him.
Mawn'a watched his eyes expose it before the bond could alert her. She looked viciously satisfied despite the tears brimming her eyes.
Kx'leo growled low and surged up, dragging her with him by a fist full of her kuru. She yelped at the sudden pain, snarling as he positioned her into his lap.
"You think this wounds me? Your pathetic little life does not hold a blade to my own tragedies." He said huskily against her cheek.
He was lying.
Mawn'a knew it.
He knew it too.
But Mawn'a wasn't finished.
"You enjoyed it" she spat, head still wrenched back by the braid, hands clasped around his forearm.
"I feel it. Every moment you looked at my people like prey."
"That is all they were." He hummed with a false confidence. The rage surged so violently from her that his own heart began to hammer against his ribs.
Mawn'a struck him hard across the face. The crack echoed through the tent.
His face turned with the impact, and then slowly returned to her. His own anger mixes with hers like waves crashing against the shore.
When she flexes to do it again, his other hand catches her wrist, gripping hard enough to leave a bruise.
She growled against the hold while he just breathed heavily through his teeth.
"You can't hide from me, Kx'leo. I will torture you, every moment you think to touch me." She whispered through bared teeth.
Another surge flooded. But it wasn't hatred, or anger. It was raw pain. Guttural and violent. The kind that stops your breathing, and buries your heart beneath ruins.
Kx'leo's expression twisted like an animal caught in a trap.
He had spent his entire life cutting himself away from weakness, guilt. From empathy. And now there was another being inside of him, forcing him to feel every wound he had created.
In turn, Mawn'a felt him cradle the realization. Her breath stuttered as his hand loosened away from her kuru, instead gripping onto her shoulder like he was holding something back.
"You cannot bare it..." Mawn'a whispered.
His ears flattened further against his skull. "Enough."
"You are weak."
"I said Enough!" He roared loud enough to shake the tent posts.
His hand slashed between them in a violent motion, ripping their tendrils apart. The pain lanced through both of them.
Mawn'a cried out sharply, the severed bond leaving a nauseating emptiness where his presence had been only moments ago. The abrupt silence in her head felt almost worse after being drowned in him. Her chest heaved to compensate. But she was still angry.
Before he could recover, she pulled a knee into her chest and shoved her foot against his center, sending him toppling back away from her.
In the process, his knot ripped from her with a nasty sound and an even nastier pain.
He roared, instinctively covering his aching length, but Mawn'a hardly skipped a breath to scramble away.
She spun herself into a poised crouch with a deep hiss, nails flexed and ready to scar him more.
"Coward!" She hissed. "You could not bear to feel what you've done for even a moment!"
Kx'leo stood and surged forward with a snarl, but she met him half way.
Mawn'a slammed her shoulder into his chest hard enough to wrench him sideways into the work bench.
Tools clattered to the floor.
He reached for her shoulders but she twisted beneath his hands and slashed her claws across his chest.
He cursed sharply and caught her by the waist instead, forcing her into his chest while he tried to collect her hands.
It was a blur of limbs and teeth. Mawn'a was fighting feral; kicking, clawing, even biting whatever she could reach. Everytime Kx'leo tried to overpower her she would twist free from his grip.
"You thought you would tame me?" Mawn'a laughed with all rage, no humor.
Kx'leo caught a wrist before she could take her nails across his face again.
"Would you stop fighting for one breath!" He nearly whined out.
"Only when you've taken your last!" She spat. Then she slammed her forehead into his jaw.
The hit stunned him long enough for her to wrench partially free, but exhaustion was claiming both of them now.
He caught her again, but this time with a low growl he hooked a foot behind her knee and pulled, breaking her balance.
They hit the floor together. The air escaped from Mawn'a's lungs as Kx'leo pinned her from above.
He held both of her hands above her head, trying to force them together in one hand while she thrashed and hissed.
"Get the fuck off of me!" She snarled, tail thrashing wildly against the ground.
He ignored her, breathing ragged as he finally gathered her wrist in one of his iron fists.
His patience had burned to ash.
With his free hand, he reached blindly across the top of the workbench, shoving aside scattered tools until his fingers caught on a strip of leather cord.
When it came into Mawn'a's view, her eyes widened with fresh fury. "You son of a bitch!" She growled.
"Stop. Fighting." Kx'leo snapped each word between his teeth. She only bucked harder beneath him, nearly throwing his balance.
"I will gut you in your sleep!" She declared loudly.
"You are ruining this for yourself," he growled while trying desperately to wind the cord around her wrists. "If you would just behave—"
"Behave!?" She shrieked. She twisted violently enough that one of her kicks connected with his ribs.
Kx'leo only swore and drove his knee into her chest with more of his weight to hold her against the ground while he wrapped the leather cord tightly.
Mawn'a fought every second of it tooth and nail. "You are weak!" She yelled again.
"Says the girl pinned to the floor!" He barked back instantly.
"I hope your people burn!" She hissed with her ears pressing further back.
He startled for half a breath. A flicker of dangerous emotions washing over him too fast to catch. It wasn't anger though.
It vanished, and hardened into another snarl as he yanked the knot tighter than necessary.
Mawn'a jerked against the bindings with a furious cry, kicking at him even as her breathing turned ragged from exhaustion. Kx'leo stood finally, fist clenched as he fought for his breath.
His entire body ached with tension. Fresh scratches evidence of her fury. His jaw throbbing where her forehead had struck him. Every nerve still raw from Tsaheylu.
With more restraint than he thought he had left, he grabbed a longer stretch of cord from the bench.
Mawn'a tried to scramble away again, but he moved back into action. Kx'leo latched onto the bindings and wrenched her back with zero gentleness.
"I hope she gutted your friends before she fled!" Mawn'a screamed while kicking as she was dragged towards a post. "I hope my sister carved them screaming!"
Kx'leo ignored her. Mostly. His ears pressed farther into his head with every word.
He reached the thick support post behind his furs and looped the longer cord around it before forcing her bound wrists against the wood.
"Coward!" She hissed again. Kx'leo jerked her harder into an uncomfortable position.
"You are weak!" She screamed again, trying to get her feet at an angle to kick at him. He just maneuvered out of her reach, and tied another knot.
"You slaughter families and then cry because you had to feel it for one—"
"Enough." He said far too low, pressing his forehead against hers so hard it pinned the back of her head to the post. Exhaustion hollowed him into something colder than shouting anymore.
"The only good you can do for this world is to die." She growled in the same low tone, eyes cutting into his gaze.
He turned away from her before he could lose his temper.
The tent was a disaster now. Furs twisted across the floor. Tools scattered. A basket overturned and spilled clothes across the ground.
Mawn'a kept going behind him as he assessed the damage to his home.
"Your mother should have drowned you."
His shoulders stiffened.
"You are hollow. Nothing inside of you but violence—"
Kx'leo wheeled suddenly, turning to the over turned basket and snatching a long strip of cloth, the fabric stretched between his fist. Kx'leo surged back to her with fury radiating in every step.
"I am sick of your mouth." He groaned hoarsely.
Mawn'a jerked back aggressively as he gripped her jaw with force. When his other hand came up she snapped her jaws, aiming to bite his finger off.
But, he has anticipated her tactics by now. His fingers pressed firmly into the hinge of her jaw until she cried out.
Then he shoved the cloth into her mouth quickly before she could twist away again.
Mawn'a gagged against the cloth, but made her fury known anyway. Muffled growls and curses no doubt as she kicked and burned holes through him with her gaze.
Kx'leo ignored the kicks against his legs as he wound another leather cord around her head to hold the gag in place.
Then he stepped back. Exhausted beyond caring anymore, he dragged a hand over his face and turned away from her entirely.
"I am sleeping." He growled without looking back. "Try not to kill yourself fighting the ropes until first light."
Then he laid down with a drained sigh on his twisted furs, just out of her reach. Back to her as he settled into himself.
He could feel her angry staring, but he was far past taming the beast tonight.
He would simply try again tomorrow.
She sighed and rested her head back on the post. Ears still pinned in anger, tail thumping on the pole and ground.
The fucker had tied her just high enough that she couldn't fully sit on the ground.
As time wore on Kx'leo breathing evened into sleep, and her arms and shoulders ached.
It was just her and her pain in the darkness of the tent.
Her mind whirled around like a hive of Zize'. Between the dread of what her next days look like, if escape was possible, to the unsettled grief of just two nights ago.
Another feeling ate at her chest too.
Perhaps what I said about his mother... was maybe too mean spirited, Her face scrunched, Mawn'a he killed your family... you weren't mean enough.
She shook her head trying to settle her thoughts. Deciding to pray to Eywa, whether she could hear her or not.
The words and rhythm themselves were the comfort.
Eventually after her arms finally went numb, sleep was able to claim her and she slumped deep into the pillar. Her mind is thankfully dark. Head hanging at an awkward angle that will leave her neck sore when she awoke.
Meanwhile, Kx'leo's mind was very much not dark.
Green and blue eyes stared up at him, hot and full of want. Her tongue wrapped around the bottom of his head and shaft. He groaned rolling on to his stomach.
The sensation of skin gliding over skin, warm and soft. Teeth playfully scratching against his neck and down to his sternum. A breathy moan against his ear, sounds for only him. Her warmth and wetness surrounding him as he dragged sweet moans from her. Happy, content, his.
He shot awake, head snapping around to his mate.
He sat there a minute, tail thumping against his bed, debating if it was worth the risk to touch her. His cock still ached from their earlier unexpected decoupling and his damn dreams had stirred his want deep into the pit of his stomach.
A thought struck him and his tail stilled.
If he did it right... it could work, or at least leave him with less bruises.
As quiet as he could he crawled over to where Mawn'a was slumped, her chest slowly rising and falling.
His eyes roamed her naked form; appreciating her lithe muscles, scratches and many bruises from their fights. Seeing the proof of her unyielding nature only lit fire to his desire more, wishing to be the one to catch her storm.
Finally his eyes landed on her kuru.
With light fingers he pulled it up and over her shoulder. His body froze when she stirred for a second, shifting her hips, still trying to find any comfort.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding once she settled.
Carefully he brought their kurus together gently, watching the tendrils intertwine.
He sucked in a breath; feeling Mawn'a once again filled him completely, mind, body, and soul.
She was blissfully quiet. The deep ache of sadness still sat heavy, but for now it rested with her.
With a sigh he settled in between her legs bringing them over his shoulders, and letting a trickle of desire slither through the bond.
Her reaction was immediate; she shifted her hips up and gave a small gasp. He waited a second to make sure she was still sleeping, but she only stirred a moment before relaxing.
With a smile he brings his mouth to her core and licks. Slow and teasing, feeling her growing desire through tsaheylu.
He felt pricks of her consciousness as he leaned deeper into her, now sucking on the sensitive nub.
Slowly Mawn'a stirs, moans and gasps falling from her as her breathing gets heavier. Her head lulls forward and her eyes snap open, landing on Kx'leo smugly staring up at her tongue on her clit.
Her forehead wrinkles in confusion for only a second before the anger floods her chest.
Then the sensation of a pleasurable drag rocks through her, throwing off her anger, as the man below her ruts into the ground.
She gasps and throws her head, squeezing her eyes shut and pulling on her binds. She tries to pull up and away from him but he only takes it as an invitation, one hand slipping back behind her, ghosting her tail, while the other traces her folds and entrance.
Whipping her tail away she glares down at him throwing curses at him through the gag. He smiles and lets a fang catch her fold, she hisses in response.
His eyes roll to their intertwined braids and his voice rumbles in her.
I can hear you, Tíyawn.
Are you fucking stupid? Did I not warn you I will make your life a— her thought was cut short when he plunged two fingers in with a squelch. She moans into the gag while he rumbles with her.
Yes, yes, Tíyawn but to do that you need to concentrate,
she felt his smile against her.
And I will not give you much of a chance for that.
His hand found her tail with a swift yank as he hooked his fingers up into slick walls.
Her mind went blank.
She moaned, head thrown back and toes curled.
He felt her muscles coiling, getting tighter as she got closer. The bond amplifies it all, letting him apply the right pressure without having to search for it. It's beautiful.
Her legs shake around his head as she cums.
"Good," he chuckles while leaning back from his meal, fingers still pumping in her,
"I want three more."
His smile is wicked with amber eyes catching her confusion. Before she can even think, he dives back in, setting a faster pace.
She squeals in surprise, her whole body jerking up. He pulls her back down by the base of her tail, relishing in the pleasant sting she feels.
What–, she squirms trying to get away from his mouth. Do you mean three more? She manages to choke out in her mind. Her stomach tenses as her second orgasm build quickly.
You heard me. Three more, since you were in such a hurry to finish earlier.
A flash of their fight ran through her mind. She growled in response. His fang again caught on her folds.
Your actions have consequences. He hummed to her as she jerked both from his bite and her muscles snapping in unwanted orgasm.
Mawn'a groaned, back arching off the support beam. Kx'leo doesn't slow; he continues eating away at her. Following her up until he was comfortably holding her off the ground and sitting on his heels.
She bucks on his face desperately trying to escape his tongue. Her body buzzes with too much. The angle stretches her neck uncomfortably and the free part of her tail hits at Kx'leo.
Take what I give you Tíyawn, or I add more.
He sucks on her clit harshly, and then lowers down to her entrance. His two fingers wrench out of her to resume circling her clit.
Mawn'a screams into her gag again, feeling the coils of her next orgasm tightening. Her tail wraps around his arm as she squeezed her legs around his head, trying anything to get him off of her.
Every time her thighs got too tight on his temples he'd pull her tail to force her to loosen with an angry gasp.
If you keep fighting me... I'll add another one.
His satisfaction crawled between the bond.
Fuck you, Mawn'a screamed both in her mind and into the gag as she came agian.
Five, he thought lazily pulling his tongue out of her to grind slowly against her clit once more.
Her legs shook from both him and the strain of holding herself up.
Again he made her cum, this time with her trembling and eyes rolling back.
He didn't pause. He just kept going.
Doling out his 'punishment'.
He kept using her with his mouth and fingers, however he wanted. Using any excuse to add another rolling peak.
She stopped being able to count at five. He would not stop.
Soon her mind and body were shot.
Pleasure had turned to pain awhile ago. She felt like an open nerve in the air.
Tears ran down her temples and her body jerked with no control. Muscles ached with tension and her heart felt like it was ready to explode from her chest.
A headache was building, growing each time she held her breath at an oncoming wave.
She was at a point where all she could do was whimper into her gag and behave.
A single thought struck her.
Kiss me, she thought desperately through the bond.
Kx'leo paused to look up at her in shock.
Kiss. Me.
She said again with more urgency.
He all but dropped her hips to the ground rushing forward to pull at her gag. She sat in his kneeling lap as the leather and cloth were ripped from her face.
His lips met hers in a clash of teeth. If she didn't know better she'd have taken him for a horny teenager.
He rested his forehead on hers, looking down at her while contentment buzzed through him.
He went to kiss her again, softer this time.
Slowly exploring her space with tongue and teeth, and she lets him.
Too tired and out of her body to do anything more than taste him back.
With a thrust of his thighs he pushes her flat against the beam, the kisses deepening, becoming more heated.
Slowly her body comes back to her. She can feel his cock throbbing on her stomach. Her legs are heavy and limp around his waist. Pins and needles accompanying every move her arms make.
Kx'leo feels her slow realization of discomfort and lifts a hand to the tie around the beam, loosening it without breaking their kiss.
"See? Good behavior gets rewarded," he purrs into her ear, lowering her to the messy blankets below.
Her hands drop onto her stomach, still too numb to move with any coordination. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath just trying to find the last shreds of her body.
Kx'leo leans down to kiss at her jaw and throat, his hands gliding down her sides to grip her hips. He angles her slowly, ready to take his pleasure and properly knot her.
"Kx'leo please," she whines, bringing her bound hands to his chest to push weakly, begging him to stop.
He growls a warning, his anger flaring in the bond. She pushes stronger.
Quickly dropping down he slots his mouth over hers in searing dominance.
Her own anger flares, and she bites his lower lip until she draws blood.
He snaps back with blown pupils, a small sliver of amber visible. His tongue darts out to taste his own blood.
"Do you really think you have any control at this point?" He asked with a dark grin.
He held his shaft in one hand, lining himself up to her entrance while the other arm cages her shoulder. Her hands again shoot to his chest.
"Stop," she says more firmly.
He scoffs and pushes slowly into her. Both groaning in unison, Kx'leo delighted in how he feels as she stretches around him.
"I said stop! You fucking monster," she spits onto his cheek.
He slams the rest of his length into her hard enough to make her yelp, then slowly wipes away her spit with the back of his arm.
"You are right," he growls.
He slowly pulls out of her, then slams in to the rhythm of his next words.
"I am a monster. I have been nice up to this point."
She scoffs. His hands move up from her hips, fingers ghosting over her ribs and shoulders, spreading goosebumps in their wake.
"And it's high time I reminded you of it."
His voice turned cold as his hands found her neck. He squeezed. Hard.
Cutting off both her air and blood while keeping a slow pace, rutting into her with force.
Her bound hands scratch at his wrists, drawing blood and welts.
She could feel through the bond how much he was enjoying her life crushed in his hands. The way her panic fueled his fire.
Soon her vision was going dark. Feeling the edge of her consciousness, Kx'leo relaxed his grip. At the same time, his hips stalled while she gasped and cried.
Then a memory is pushed to her. The smell of smoke and the burning of embers on the wind. Kx'leo stands with a raid party, bow ready in hands, waiting.
A great tree stands before them, burning.
No, her gut twists. A hometree.
The first silhouette appears running through flickering oranges and reds. Kx'leo calls for the warriors to hold as excitement rises in the group.
More shadows join running from their home. Kx'leo grins. He shouts a command and the silhouettes begin to drop.
The memory ends when his hands tighten again, cutting her air.
Bloodshot eyes snap to his. He smiles and began fucking her agian. This time, picturing how easy it would be to cum as she dies on him.
She fades faster this time, fighting him less. Tears still running down into the furs. He feels both her body and soul on the edge of breaking.
He loosens his hands and gifts her another memory as she gasps.
A woman underneath him sobs as he pounds into her from behind ruthlessly.
A Tsahik. She came forward high and mighty; warning that her people will not yield.
Yet her warriors lay dead, and the lovely tsahik bruises so easily.
He laughs, smacking her ass so hard a bright handprint is left behind. "Well Tíyawn," he husked into her ear, still rutting
"I'm close. Where is Ewya now?"
the woman tried to jerk away from him, begging him to stop. With an amused hum he shoves her face into the dirt.
Another flash.
The same woman, beaten. Now tender hands caress over her legs, guiding them back behind her while another hand winds tight cords of leather. The woman cries and prays.
"Hush now, Tsahik. You've paid your punishment." Kx'leo said softly as he tied her into awkward positions.
Another flash.
The Tsahik is hanging in the crude position from the entrance of her home tree. Her people cry. Kx'leo smiles and waves a farewell.
Breath fills Mawn'a's lungs.
Her hands drop from his and she just sucks in shaky lungfulls.
Heartbreak wasn't the right word. She was shattered.
Kx'leo just smiles, feeling her breaking finally. He stops thrusting for a second breathing through his nose deeply to settle his growing excitement.
"Just finish it already," she rasps. Her head rolls to the side, eyes empty.
He hums while closing his eyes, leaning closer towards her face.
"Im savoring the moment,"
he cracks his eyes peering down at her, malice and lust mixing.
"that sad desperate moment, when you realize..." he leaned down, licking up the side of her face to taste the salt of her tears.
"That you no longer have control, Tíya–"
"Do not,"
her eyes snapped to him. He is taken a back for a second.
"I am not a pet. I am your mate, there will be some respect," she stated with the small storm that stirs in her.
And for a second, she feels a thimble of that respect... then he tamps it down with a laugh.
Hands squeeze once again. Her eyes stay on him. Even as he rutts into her, even as black dots start to cloud her vision.
"How about one more. I think you relate to this pet the most," he drawls.
She can not respond, it happens too fast.
A forest clan, omatikaya maybe. A group of young hunters bound and under knives.
"I like this one." Kx'leo purrs as his knife tips the chin of a young hunter with tears in his eyes.
A flash.
The young hunter is screaming. The hot stone presses into his chest while Kx'leo ruts into him with satisfied grunts. The stone is removed to reveal a gnarly brand, the same shape as the Tsahiks tattoo. Kx'leo licks the charred skin.
A flash.
Kx'leo returns from a raid, and walks into his tent.
The boy is bruised and beaten, but that is not what catches him.
It's the long vertical cuts along the boys wrists. The knife cradled in a limp hand. The blood pooled over Kx'leo's bed, sticky and drying at the edges.
Kx'leo growls, staring down at the body.
A shame. He'd hoped this one would last a little longer.
But more so, now he has a mess to clean off of his new bed furs.
The hand around her throat loosens just enough for a weak rasp of air to fill her lungs. His hips still punish her, though slower now as he breathes through his teeth.
You're sick, is all she can think of. Her body slowly giving up. Like sand being poured in her limbs.
"Oh I know. You are not the first to tell me."
he picks up speed. She feels his knot begin to shove against her.
Before she could think of responding, his hands crushed down on her throat once again.
Her body jerked, pushed to its limit.
"Look at yourself Mawn'a," he leans down to her ear, "Look at how beautiful you are moments from death."
In a wave, her vision returned.
But it wasn't hers.
She was seeing herself, through his eyes. The tears trailing over her temples from half lidded eyes. The dark blue of her lips, slicked with foaming saliva, the way her mouth opened in gasps that captured no air.
His eyes trail down. She sees the bruises he's left scattered on her body. The way her skin stretches over her ribs as her chest heaves for air.
Down further to wear he enters her, bruised and slick with a mixture of blood and fluid.
She can feel him purr above her. Her vision speckles, more black taking over the view. His hand only clutches her throat tighter.
His knot sinks into her with a sickening squelch. She expects him to loosen his hands.
He never does.
Her vision goes black, and in the last shred of consciousness she feels Kx'leo digging his hips into her.
"I'm not going to have a repeat of earlier." He grunts as he finally allows himself release.
The last thing she hears before darkness claims her is Kx'leo in her ear,
"Do not worry ma' muntxate. I will be here when you wake."
cold darkness claims her.
HI Sorry this took so long! I write slow as always
LOVE YOU RAT!!! (@switchbladeratsladerats )
Chapter 8 locked and loaded! WEEEE!!
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