#I will not be tagging every single character!

[finnlongman]

I'm not going to keep going on about this, because I didn't really mean to make a whole Thing of it, but there are two reasons it really bothers me when people say my books should have had a romance plotline/love interest:

They're saying they wish my protagonist's sexuality was different. When somebody says, "I wish this gay book was straight instead so that I could relate to it more," or whatever, we rightfully recognise that as homophobic. When somebody says, "I wish this aroace character had a love interest," people call that a personal preference and make excuses for why that's not the same thing. Given that my protagonist's sexuality is something she shares with me, it feels particularly unkind, because it's essentially saying, "Lives like yours aren't interesting to me, I wish you had a different sexuality." Ouch.

I may have been exaggerating when I said 99.9% of YA books have a romance plotline... but not by much. It is everywhere. If you want a YA book with romance, you don't have to make any effort to find one, because nine times out of ten, whatever book you pick up will have one. It might be the main plot, it might be the subplot, but it'll be there. I was told repeatedly that I would have to have romance if I wanted my YA books to be published, because the category insists on it. So if you want YA books with romance: basically every other book is for you. It's not like it's a rarity that you were hoping I would finally give you. You have the entire cake; leave us our crumbs.

Like I said in the tags on my original post, this wasn't about one specific person or review. Please don't single anybody out if you've seen them say something similar to this. If it happened once, it wouldn't bother me; it's the pattern, and years of being told before publication that I would have to compromise on this element of the story if I wanted to make it, and social media marketing trends that focus almost exclusively on romance tropes and make it hard to engage when you don't have them.

And, on top of that, it's the weird anxiety of knowing that my next book, the Bisclavret retelling, is more romance-heavy, and while I want it to succeed, there's a bittersweetness to the idea that my yearning book might succeed where my aroace books didn't, purely because romance is marketable and friendship isn't.

(Even though I know there are so many other factors -- different genre, different category, different format, different publisher, different style, and a retelling that can appeal to an existing audience rather than my own characters and story that have no prior fanbase. It still feels like the romance will be what makes the difference.)

As I said on Bluesky yesterday, talking about both my fiction and my academic work:

Okay. That's all.

[hya-ichor]

upon newly wading into a media’s fanfics— I search the pairing(s) I’m interested in, sort by kudos, remove unfinished works— and then I read summaries.

if the summary sounds interesting I glance at tags and chapter/word count — some summaries will be 3 paragraphs and then the fic word count is 80? not 80+K, 80 total? also if a fic is 6K but 42 chapters… idk it’s a turn off for me.

in smaller wading pools (old guard, megamind) I’ll work my way through every single fic. in larger lakes (boku no hero academia, star wars) I’ll swim out as far as the hyperfixation takes me, and circle back with less discernment for summaries in the future —and then I start sorting by date updated and refresh the tab every other day like a heroin addict chewing on a table leg.

now: sometimes tags will jump out and grab me; I’m a sucker for time travel, time loops, fix-it, BAMF!characters. curiosity will get me pretty far; I am more than willing to read a ‘never interacted, never in the same room in canon, what crevice of your brain did this fall out of’ rarepair just to see if I can be convinced. crack and crack treated seriously also fall under the realm of curiosity.

BUT. the biggest loophole to summary/tags/word count is if I like an author. if I like an author I’ll read whatever. I’m reading ships I hate just to see their take on it. I’ll read huge epics or the drabble collection they started in middle school. I’ll read for medias I don’t know a single thing about. fics I Would Not Click on will get a full steam ahead if I see the names colubrina or shanastoryteller or deniigiq.

so ig just keep writing?

By this I mean, what is the most influential on your decision? E.g., for me it is the summary because I rarely pay attention to the title or stats, and only read the tags after I've liked the summary enough to want to give the fic a go.

[theblaseharbinger]

Happy one year anniversary to this hot mess! ✨️❤️

[ricciardoracing]

when we were young - CS55

carlos sainz x oc!engineer!character

summary: carlos and sasha were carlos and sasha since birth. but what’s going to happen when he leaves ferrari?

warnings + fc: some translated spanish, 90s timeline totally forgotten and different, isabel slander (i love her im sorry). nicola peltz and gigi hadid

september 1st, 2019

Madrid, Spain

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sashaivanova feliz cumpleaños para el mejor amigo y persona (y conductor) del mundo entero, gracias por ser parte de mi vida desde siempre. te quiero más de lo que las palabras pueden describir.

(happy birthday for the best friend and person (and driver) in the whole world, thanks for being part of my life since forever. i love you more than words can describe.)

tagged: @/carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 mi princesa, no te merezco y nunca lo haré, pero con gusto seré egoísta y te mantendré conmigo para siempre. te amo ❤️ (my princess, i don't deserve you and never will, but i will gladly be selfish and keep you with me forever. i love you ❤️)

charles_leclerc happy birthday mate! @/carlossainz55

landonorris happy birthday muppet @/carlossainz55 ! grateful for having you as teammate ❤️

ivanivanov57 happy birthday son!

isahernaez happy birthday to my love!

user1 anyone else think it’s funny how isabel don’t even follow sasha nor even LIKED the post and yet she’s here commenting

user2 ugh I KNOW “my love”???? okay girl we know he’s yours you don’t have to make a scene

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Back in 92’, when Carlos Sainz was winning his first Rally championship, Ivan Ivanov, a 20-year-old rising star for Scuderia Ferrari, formed a close bond with the rally driver and his family, including his wife Reyes and daughter Blanca. Ivan introduced his girlfriend, 17-year-old model Mariya Orlova, and their relationships flourished.

In 1994, Reyes became pregnant and asked Mariya to be the godmother. Mariya supported Reyes through her pregnancy, and in September, Carlos Sainz Jr. was born. The following year, Mariya became pregnant, with Reyes and Carlos Sr. as the godparents. Reyes and her son frequently visited Mariya during her pregnancy. On September 10th, 1995, Mariya gave birth to Aleksandra Ivanova. From their first meeting as babies, it seemed destined that Carlos Jr. and Aleksandra would one day be together.

As the years passed, Aleksandra “Sasha” Ivanova, a child prodigy, entered mechanical engineering college at 16, in Oxford. In 2015, she became the racing engineer for four-time F1 champion Sebastian Vettel at Scuderia Ferrari, forming a highly successful partnership despite skepticism over her age.

In October 2019, her father, four-time F1 champion Ivan Ivanov, passed away unexpectedly, prompting his daughter Sasha and his godson Carlos Sainz Jr. to miss a race weekend, drawing media attention. Following the loss, Carlos grew distant from his girlfriend, Isabel, and became closer to Sasha, with whom he shared an apartment in Monaco. In October 2020, Carlos ended his relationship with Isabel.

september 10th, 2020

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carlossainz55 happy birthday to my other half and soulmate. i thank my dad every single day for being friends with yours and making us get to grow up together. here’s to many more birthdays together! te quiero mucho, mi princesita.

tagged: @/sashaivanova

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During the pandemic, the tension between Carlos and Sasha grew so overwhelming that their relationship became strained. One evening, Sasha walked barefoot around the apartment with another bottle of wine closed, the McLaren merch with a huge '55' in front being so big that it was used as a dress, her hair half tied up and her face very red. She sat on the couch with her legs on the Spaniard's lap, opening the bottle and taking a big sip. "You know, I was thinking," she began to speak, her voice a little shaky from the drink. "Have you ever thought about what would have happened if we had stayed together?". Carlos looked at her with his puppy eyes and approached her, his hands, which were resting on the couch, touching each other.

"I think about it every day, Sash. You're my best friend." Carlos' voice trembled a little, but it wasn't because of the drink. He got closer, his eyes almost apologizing to her.

Sasha tilted her head to the side a little confused, her hand moving to touch the Spaniard's forehead, "Is everything okay?" She questioned him, worried. Without further words, he closed the gap between them, pulling her for a kiss that was nothing like the fun night they were sharing moments before. This kiss was slow, deliberate, full of the intensity of everything that had been accumulating between them for years. Sasha froze for a second, surprised by how quickly it was, but then she melted in him, her hands squeezing his face while kissing him back with equal fervor. The heat of the fire seemed to intensify as they deepened the kiss, their bodies pressed together, the wine now forgotten.

That night, Carlos and Sasha's relationship went from 'best friends and confidants' to 'best friends, confidants and sweethearts'.

When Ferrari hired Carlos, the first thing they did was inform their love relationship. Fortunately, the team was very receptive and they lived three seasons (and three years) very happily. Until February 2024.

The announcement of Lewis' hiring and Carlos' dismissal was a thud for Sasha. Of course, she would love to work with Lewis, but Carlos was her pilot. He was everything she ever wanted in a pilot and she wouldn't give up on him. Scuderia Ferrari offered her a contract renewal, 5 more years, another jackpot of millions of euros. But Sasha wasn't sure if she should accept, she wasn't sure how that would leave her with Carlos.

After Carlos announced that he signed a contract with Williams, the British team went after Sasha. Of course they would, the Russian girl was brilliant. Absurdly brilliant. But she backed down, not sure if she should refuse Williams' offer and renew with Ferrari.

During the summer break, Carlos was feeling down. He flew back to Madrid, knowing that she would go there as soon as she visited her mother in Monaco. He kept rominating on his thoughts, feeling more and more useless. He would never be enough. Not for Ferrari, not for the Formula world, not for Sasha. Lost in thoughts, he didn't remember that that would be the day she would return to their house.

She entered the house silently, feeling something seemed wrong the moment she came in. The air was heavy, the kind of silence that was restless in his chest. He barely noticed when Sasha entered, very stuck in the spiral of his thoughts.

Sasha was beautiful, brilliant - he thought - everything he dreamed of, but never really believed he deserved it. And just like the team, she had a choice. There would always be someone better, someone who could love her more.

"Carlos?" Her voice broke his thoughts, soft but firm, pulling his gaze to her.

“Hi, cariño, you came home early.” He forced a smile, but seemed fragile, ready to collapse under the weight of everything he couldn't say.

Sasha got closer to him, her footsteps now muffled by the carpet. Her chest tightened when she knelt in front of him, her eyes examining his face with a kind of tenderness that he didn't feel he deserved at that moment. "¿Qué ha ocurrido? ¿Qué está pasando?"

Her voice came out low as she asked, his body shivering from her Russian accent in that rusty Spanish.

"Nothing," he said quickly, the sound empty and shallow. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for asking, mi cielo.”

"Amor," she pressed, her voice firmer this time. Her hand rested slightly on his knee, grounding him in a way that calmed and terrified him. "Please talk to me."

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fell on her hand on his knee, her thumb gently brushing against the fabric of his jeans, and his chest hurt.

"It’s just…," he finally murmured, his voice low, almost resigned. He shrugged his shoulders, his lips pressing on a thin line as his thoughts turned. "I’m not feeling good enough for anything today. Ferrari dropped me for Hamilton, I signed with a horrible team… And there’s you."

"Me?," Sasha said softly, her fingers squeezing a little on his knee. He still didn't look at her, and that only made his heart hurt more. "What about me? I always thought you were enough, mi vida."

Without thinking, she reached out, touching his face gently, but firmly enough to force him to look at you. His eyes were cloudy, carried by a storm of emotions that Sasha could barely stand. “Carlos, look at me. Her voice came out firm, almost a plea. He blinked, surprised, as if he didn't expect that determination. "There is no way in hell I’d choose anyone else but you.." The words came out clear, unshakable, loaded with a truth that he seemed reluctant to accept.

Sasha sighed, moving her thumb gently against his cheek. "It was always you for me. I love you, Carlos. Only you."

Carlos didn't hesitate anymore. He pulled her to his lap, holding her waist as if he was afraid of losing her. His forehead touched hers, the breaths mixing, and for a moment everything around disappeared.

Sasha didn't let him say a thing. She couldn't. Instead, she leaned over, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn't soft or temporary - it was all Sasha felt for him, all the love and devotion that the blonde couldn't put into words. Her hands cupped his face, holding it tight while her lips moved against his, spilling everything she had at that single moment.

After they felt the need to breath, Carlos told Sasha every single thing he was feeling. How useless he felt leaving Ferrari, how undeserving of her love he felt, how much of a disappointment he felt he was. Sasha spent the whole night reassuring him of his fears.

He went to bed early, wanting to rest, while she was still on the couch, her laptop on her lap and her hands working violently against the keyboard. That night, Sasha decided that even if her engineering career went down the drain, she would follow him wherever he went. The next day, she called James Vowles, informing him that he could announce her hiring. For the same period of time that Carlos stayed.

In the last race of 2024, as soon as Carlos won a well-deserved P2 in Abu Dhabi, he ran to the barrier where the team was, his eyes desperate until he found Sasha. When he found her, he ran to her, hugging and kissing her, pulling her through the barrier and getting her in front of him. "Proud?" He asked, his voice hoarse from yelling so much at her and the team on the radio.

Sasha left her hands caressing the back of his neck, a smile bigger than the world stamping her beautiful face. "I love you so much, mi vida. I'm so proud, you deserve so much. We're going to rock Williams next year."

Carlos let out a muffled laugh, his hands letting go of her body and taking something in his pocket, a black velvet box, and kneeling. "I don't want to spend another day having to listen to someone calling you 'Miss Ivanova'. Marry me, mi reina. Today, if you want. Please. Let me make you happy forever."

That same night, with Max Verstappen and Lando Norris as witnesses of the marriage and Carlos Sr. delivering her in marriage, as a tribute to her father and his late best friend, Aleksandra Maria Ivanova became Aleksandra Maria Ivanova-Sainz.

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carlossainz55 happy to call you mrs. sainz for the rest of our lives. gracias por nunca renunciar a mí y amarme, la amo, sra. sainz. (thank you for never giving me up and loving me, i love you mrs. sainz)

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lando thank you for letting me be a part of this! i love you both so much 🤍

sashaivanova we love you landinho! thank you for being you

carlossainz55 greatest best man of all time!

maxverstappen1 i love you, big sis @/sashaivanova. tell this dickhead spaniard i’m watching him.

sashaivanova will do, maxie pooh! i love you ❤️ thank you and kelly (and baby p) for coming

carlossainz55 love you too, mate!

danielricciardo happy for you guys! thanks for letting me be a part of it liked by author

charles_leclerc so, so, so happy for you! alex is asking if you liked the present…?

sashaivanova we LOVED it! and i love her

In January 2025, Carlos announced that he and his wife, Sasha Sainz, were expecting their first child, expected to be born in June.

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carlossainz55 bebé sainz, junio de 2025. gracias por hacer realidad mis sueños, sra. sainz

(baby sainz, june 2025. thank you for making my dreams come true, mrs. sainz)

sashaivanova ¡te quiero más de lo que las palabras pueden describir! gracias por darme todo lo que quería. (i love you more than words can describe! thanks for giving me everything i wanted.)

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In the 2025 season, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro, after turning Williams Racing into the strongest team in Formula 1, won his first world championship, with his racing engineer and wife, Aleksandra Maria Sainz by his side.

· · ✧ ･ﾟ:✧ · · · · ✧ ･ﾟ:✧ · · · · ✧ ･ﾟ:✧ · · · · ✧ ･ﾟ· ✧ · · ✧

lauren’s radio: guys IM SO SORRY for the late fic, i planned on posting earlier but things been kinda busy. ANYWAY, tell me your thoughts on it and if you guys want to see more of carlos and sasha! love you all

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 2

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Part two baby let's goooooooooo

Okay first up, I wanna thank every single person who has liked, reblogged, commented on and read part one (if you didn't catch it, you can read it here :)) . I love and appreciate every single one of you. Your support, comments and tags are literally food for my soul. So thank you ^^

Second, this fic makes reference to @beckyninja 's Titus x reader fic series. Specifically, it references Titus' relationship with the reader character "little healer." I really wanted to reference them bc they were such a big inspiration for me and @beckyninja is such an awesome writer and creator. If you wanna know more, go check out their fics. They're superbly written, and as mentioned above, they are among the inspo for this series. So go read them! :D

Third, standard warnings and notes: this part is sfw, but has violence, angst and general 40kness. Also unedited so apologies for any spelling and grammar errors (I'm sure there are some lol)

As always, thank you for reading and please enjoy :)

Between the towering grid of criss-crossing spires, the night sky twinkled at Ellicent. It was only a sliver- if she held out her hand, she could cover it entirely with her palm. But for a girl whose life until how had been spent at the very bottom of the Underhive's deepest fissures, it was like looking through a planetary telescope.

Stars of every colour shone against the deep blue back drop. It might just be her imagination, but Ellicent could've sworn it they were winking at her. Like they knew how pretty they were, and were only too happy to show off of her.

A smile touched Ellicent's lips. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly content.

"I thought I might find you up here."

She turned in her seat. On her left, not far from where the chimney sat, a warm, round face framed with silver hair appeared over the edge of the roof. Ellicent's smile broadened a little more. "You know me well," she said.

Climbing off the ladder and onto the roof, Gadriel carefully made his way over to her Although they were about the same age, were she was lithe like a cat, he built like an ox. Meant with every step he took, the iron sheet that made up the roof shook and rattled. He lowered himself down beside her, then followed her gaze upward.

"Pretty, right?" Ellicent said.

"Uh huh. If only there weren't so many hive spires in the way."

Smirking, Ellicent leaned into his shoulder. Gadriel lifted his arm to make room for her, then draped it around her. Ellicent had to resist the urge to sigh- after sitting outside in the cold for so long, the warmth of his body against hers was heavenly.

"If you join the Angels, you'll get to see all of it," she said.

"You mean when."

"Sorry. When."

Both of their tones are humourous, but underneath is an edge. An unspoken tension wedged between them, despite how close they are now.

"I thought you'd be too old now, anyway," Ellicent said. "Don't they only take young boys?"

"18 cycles is the official cut off," Gadriel said. "I've still got one more left to make it."

Eliicent nodded, but said nothing. Her silence, however, spoke for her.

Gadriel's arm around her tightened. Gently, he guided her head into the crook of his neck. "Ellie. I-"

"I know. It's the best way to get out of here. To get us out of here." She shook her head slightly. "But it's not the only way. And it's definitely the most dangerous."

"It's only dangerous for me," Gadriel said. "For you and Mum, it's the safest."

Ellicent swallowed the lump that was forming in the back of her throat. An old familiar grief rose up within her heart. With it, it brought pictures of her father.

"Ellie?" Gadriel asked. She felt the warm kiss of his forehead touching her crown. "Will you say something?"

Gazing up at him, Ellicent gave him a brief peck on the lips. "We've still got one cycle," she said. "We'll figure something else out by then."

"And if we don't?"

"We will," Ellicent said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It wasn't him.

Over and over, her head tells her the same thing. With every turn of her screwdriver. With every jolt of pain that shoots through her shoulder from her damaged cybernetic arm.

It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

"But it was," Ellicent says aloud. "It was. He said my name. I heard his voice. It was him."

Why did he never come back, then?

Why did he leave you?

The screwdriver slips from her hand and clatters to the floor. Cursing, she stoops down to pick it up. "I... I don't know," she hisses at herself. "Maybe he- maybe he was too busy. Or thought I was already dead."

Or maybe he forgot about you.

Tears sting Ellicent's eyes. It's all she can do to keep herself from crying out loud.

"It wasn't him," she mutters. "It can't have been."

The snap of an opening door makes her look up.

"Ellicent! What the hell was that?"

Ellicent winces away from the voice. It grates her like a razor across her ear, spawns a knot of anxiety deep within her gut. "I'm sorry, sir," she says. "I-"

He punches her in the face. Hard enough to break the skin of her brow. Ellicent tumbles out of her chair, breaking her fall with her still-damaged cybernetic. The arm's metal hisses like a snake who's been stood on.

"How many Space Marines have you killed for me already, huh?"

Ellicent touches her finger to her brow. She stifles another wince.

"How many?!" Severus bellows.

Ellicent swallows bile and blood. "Ten," she murmurs.

"That's right. Ten." Grasping her by the pony tail, Severus hails her to her feet. His own bionic arm whines with the effort. "So tell me, " he spits. "Why the fuck was some trio of damned blue boy-scouts able to best you?"

Ellicent avoids his eye. He hates it when she looks at him. Doing so now would only earn her another punch. "I'm sorry," she says again, even meeker than before.

She can feel Severus' glare boring through her skull. Her scalp is screaming, but she bites her lip against the pain. Show no resistance. Only subservience. Even if you hate it, it is the only way to survive.

With a wordless snarl, Severus throws her to the ground. "Worthless wretch. I invest everything in building you, and you give me nothing in return."

Ellicent sneaks a glance up at him. Running his hand through his long, greasy hair, he wears an exhausted, frustrated scowl. "The Drukhari won't forgive us for this," he says, more to himself than to her. "They'll want to cut ties. Won't wanna risk having the Sons of Guilliman looking their way."

He carries on like this for several minutes. Completely ignoring Ellicent, as if she'd never been in the room in the first place. Ellicent pushes herself up to her knees, but doesn't risk trying to rise. Even without the threat of Severus' wrath, however, she doubts she could stand anyway. Her face aches from the punch, and her head is spinning.

It wasn't him, her mind tells her. Over and over again.

Her heart, however, is not so easily silenced.

But what if it was?

* * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"A Valkyrie is on it's way for Chairon," Titus reports. "Despite appearances, the Apothecary believes he will likely survive."

Gadriel looks up from his hands. For the last hour, he's done nothing but stare at them in silence. He looks past Titus to where their brother lies prone. When the gas charge had detonated, Chairon had caught a piece of debris to the side of the head. It had struck with enough force to sever his helm, break his skin and crack his skull. A sickening mixture of emotions broil within Gadriel at the sight of his brother like this. At the knowledge of who had done it to him.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"Sergeant?"

Gadriel starts. "Forgive me," he says. "That is- that is a relief. Thank the Emperor, indeed."

Titus' expressionless helm stares at Gadriel for several long moments. Gadriel has to stifle the urge to squirm. The lieutenant briefly looks around; after the attack, the fireteam had retreated into a nearby complex, smashing down the windows and taking cover within its walls. Since then, the area has been silent. The only evidence of there ever being a fireifght are the odd tangle of black smoke still spiralling in the air. Satisfied that they are still secure, Titus looks back at Gadriel.

Then, he removes his helm.

The seals around his throat hiss as Titus breaks them, lifting off the helmet before tucking it under his arm. His face is squarer than Gadriel's, with a firmer jaw and a blunt nose. His hair is cropped close to his skull and the pair of silver studs above his right brow indicating his century-long career as an Ultramarine- gleam in the low, polluted light. His is a fierce visage to look upon, there's not doubt about that. But despite that, when he looks at Gadriel now, the only thing fierce about him is the intensity of his worry.

"Forgive me for saying this, brother. But you appear to be distracted. Unsettled, even."

Gadriel's instinct is to lower his gaze. To try and brush the lieutenant off with a snide remark or flat out refusal. Indeed, if they had been having this conversation back on Kadaku, that might have been exactly what he would have done. But much has happened since then. Many things, both good and bad, have passed between him and Titus. As such, the lieutenant has become one of his closest friends.

If anyone might understand, it will be him.

Taking a breath, Gadriel sighs it out through his nose. Removing his own helmet, he sits upon a nearby ledge and sets it on his lap. "That woman," he starts. "I... I know her."

"You've encountered her before?"

Gadriel covers his blush with one hand, feigning the need to rub his nose. "That's one way of putting it."

Titus eyes him carefully. Despite his best efforts, Gadriel can feel himself wilting under the scrutinisation. Titus clasps his helmet to his hip, then walks up to Gadriel to sit beside him. He's leaning forwards elbows braced on his knees. Something about the posture gives Gadriel a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Is she a former ally?" Titus asks quietly.

Gadriel chews his cheek. Shakes his head.

"An enemy, then?"

"No," Gadriel says sharply. "No, she- she was the first one."

"An ally?"

"How much more?"

The word makes him wince. "Yes. But she was..." Throne, how do I even describe it? "She was more than that. A lot of more."

Gadriel bites his cheek. His tongue feels like ash in his mouth. "We were... together. Before I joined the Ultramarines."

Titus nods thoughtfully. "I see."

A beat of silence passed between them. Titus is the one to break it. "Tell me, how long have you served for?"

"As of this cycle? Fifty three years."

Tirus nods again. "That's a long time. Particularly in the eyes of a baseline."

The comment is innocent enough, and in no way untrue. Even so, Gadriel feels his hackles rise. "What are you saying? "

"She tried to kill us, Gadriel. She raised a weapon against the Emperor's Angels. And even if she hadn't, I know you saw the same as I: the particle beams, the necronian cybernetics. That alone is-"

"It's not as simple as that," Gadriel says. He looks down at his hands. "It can't be."

His hands become fists. For the first time this entire interaction, Gadriel looks Titus right in the eye. "I need to talk to her."

"Sergeant-"

"No, listen to me. Ellie would never do this. Never. Severus must be coercing her or have her enslaved."

"Gadriel-"

"She could've killed me back there, at the warehouse. She had her blade at my throat. But she didn't. When she heard me speak, she stopped. She recognised me, Titus. She said my damn name!"

"Gadriel, enough!"

Titus' voice snaps like a whip, cutting Gadriel off mid-breath. The corners of his eyes have hardened slightly, and though he still appear sympathetic, Gadriel can feel exasperation bubbling beneath it. "I understand your frustration, brother. If she were truly falsely accused, you know I would take your side. But we both saw her wielding alien technology. We both saw her bomb wound Chairon and her blade almost kill you." His voice softens. "Whoever she was to you does not change that. It can't."

Gadriel bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it bleed. The taste of his own blood is sharp on his tongue. Sharper still is the invisible blade scything away at his heart.

But what if it's all my fault? He wants to say. What if I was reason for whatever terrible thing that brought her here, and if I didn't remedy it, I could not bear to live with myself.

Gadriel says no such thing, however. If he did, all he would get from Titus is more stern sympathy.

That isn't to say that Gadriel remains silent, however. In fact, he's already got his next argument prepared, has for a while. He doesn't know if it will work, and the only thing he does knkw is that, initially at least, it will do nothing but outrage Titus. But Gadriel has no other ideas. He's desperate. And he running out of the time.

"What if it had been your little healer?"

Titus' entire body goes rigid. "What?"

Gadriel clenches his jaw. Both of his hearts pound as if he'd just stepped into a firefight. But he keeps talking. "She was accused of heresy, wasn't she? Her own people tried to kill her. But you saved her."

Titus' nostrils flare as he exhales sharply through his nose. "What relevance does that have here?"

"What relevance?" Gadriel demands. "It is the same thing!"

"My healer was falsely accused."

"You didn't know that when you saved her, though, did you?"

With a crash of ceramite on concrete, Titus is on his feet. "Speak your mind, Sergeant," he growls. "But I warn you; you are on thin ice."

Gadriel steadies his pulses with a slow, deep breath. Then, joining Titus on his feet, he meets the lieutenant's gaze. "If this was your healer," he says. "You would not hesitate in seeking her out. Even if she had attacked us- even if she'd succeeded in killing Chairon and I- you would go to her. You'd want to help her. Or, at the very least, try and talk to her. I know you would, and I know that you know it too, even if you won't admit it. So why won't you allow me to do the same?"

Titus' jaw feathers with tension. Gadriel can practically hear the storm raging behind his eyes. He imagines Titus can see something similar happening behind his own eyes, too. "You know the Codex would absolutely abhor such an action," the lieutenant says quietly.

"I do," Gadriel says. "But the codex is not always right. You taught me that."

For a long time, Titus says nothing. He just stares at Gadriel. Either searching for something within the sergeant's expression or mulling over his own thoughts. Gadriel's hearts roar in his ears. The cut he'd chewed into the side of his cheek has now become an open wound. But he doesn't dare interrupt the Titus' thoughts. Right now, the lieutenant is Gadriel's only hope. By extension, that makes him Ellie's only hope.

Finally, after what feels like a century, Titus opens his mouth. "You're right," he says. "Absolutely, you are right. And as your friend, I wish I could stand by you. But I am not merely your friend, Gadriel. I am also a servant of the Emperor, and I am also your commanding officer." He trails off, but Gadriel can hear what goes unspoken. It makes his throat close over, fills his stomach with rocks. "Titus," he whispers. "Please-"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. But there is nothing I can do."

Gadriel opens his mouth to argue, but as the first curse word leaves his mouth, the bang of a firearm makes both Astartes turn. Gadriel scoops up his helmet and makes his way over to the window. Above the city skyline, piercing the dying daylight like a sword through armoured plating, a single, scarlet light rises into the sky.

"Is that a flare?" Titus says from Gadriel's side.

Gadriel swallows thickly. There's no way... No way she still has it.

"Yes," he replies.

"But there are no other Imperial forces here."

"It's not Imperial," Gadriel mutters.

Titus looks at the sergeant, confused. It doesn't take long, though, for the pieces to fall into place. "Gadriel-"

But Gadriel is already gone. Slamming his helmet back over his head, locking its objective marker onto the location of the flare, no other thought, feeling or concern in his mind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Feel like I'm finally cooking now XD part 3 is about to be the scene that I dreamed up that made me wanna write this story in the first place so I am SO HYPED to write it :D

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi

[sir-fenris]

Talking a bit more about this, if I may :)

It's really hard to work on something and show it to the world without knowing how the world will react. For a lot of authors, the post button is the hardest part of all the process.

It only takes one tiny comment to put their minds more at ease. So even if it's scary to post what you thought about their work, do it. Even on that work that haven't had any chapters since 2015. Even on the work that has only 2 likes and make you feel too exposed. Especially on those, actually.

Sometimes all the authors are waiting for, is a single person to show their work wasn't a scream unanswered in the void. That someone saw it and answered back with kindness.

Don't be scared to say too little, or too much, or do a way too long analysis of a chapter/character, or sound a bit too cringe. All the author will see is an appreciation of their work, and that means the world for them.

I remember every single person who ever reblogged with tags and commented on my work. When I'm feeling frustrated, I look back at those. Some were short tags, like "cool", other were excited comments about stuff that I wrote. I cherish them all.

Even the reblogs that doesn't say anything, because they allow me to know someone liked my work more than just a like, and help me reach more people. I cherish them.

Even the quiet lurkers that only ever like my posts, I recognize the ones that appear on my notifications frequently, and I cherish them too. I cherish every silent person that just like my works and gives me a notification to be happy about.

So tell the author you like their work, even if it's scary. Because they also posted, even if it was scary for them. Don't be afraid to share kindness <3

-

its so scary to put yourself out there but a SINGLE message saying "hi i loved what you made it touched me in some way" makes it all worth it 10000%

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer

Part 13

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Part 14: To sneak

The lab was alive with the hum of machines, the glow of datapads, and the occasional chatter of the xenobotany team. But amidst the usual commotion, all eyes seemed to drift now and then toward the far corner of the room, where Neteyam crouched next to her. His large frame seemed out of place in the compact, human-scaled lab, but the way he leaned in close to her, his attention entirely focused, made it look as though he belonged there.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with some explanation about the latest plant sample they were analyzing. He didn’t say much, but the slight tilt of his head, the way his tail lazily swayed behind him, and the soft smile tugging at his lips spoke volumes. It was as if they were having an entire conversation in their own language, one that didn’t require words.

Kate, seated a few feet away, nudged Norm with her elbow. “Look at them. I mean, seriously. You’d think they’d been mated for twenty years already.”

Norm chuckled, his gaze following hers. “And yet, somehow, it’s still kind of sweet.”

Kate smirked. “You’re just saying that because you saw their first kiss on the CCTV footage last week.”

“Okay, first of all,” Norm said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I didn’t mean to see it. The cameras are for lab security, not spying.”

“Sure, Norm,” Kate teased, her grin widening. “And I didn’t hear you gush about how romantic it was. She’s a goner,” Kate remarked quietly, glancing at Max. “But who wouldn’t be? I mean, look at him.”

Max chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched the pair. “It’s not just her, though. He looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.”

Max leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know Jake’s been piling work on him lately, right? Testing him like crazy. And yet, somehow, Neteyam still makes time to come here. Every day.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Norm nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Without fail. Even if he’s exhausted, he shows up. I don’t know how he does it.”

Kate glanced over again, catching the moment when she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Neteyam’s cheek. His tail flicked playfully in response, brushing against her legs and making her giggle. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Kate said with a laugh. “They’re disgustingly cute.”

The others chuckled, though none of them looked away. There was something mesmerizing about the way they moved together. If she shifted, he shifted too, his body naturally adjusting to hers as though they were two parts of a single whole. And when she laughed—soft, unguarded, and full of joy—it was clear to everyone in the room that she wasn’t just happy. She was in love.

And Neteyam? The way his golden eyes softened every time he looked at her, the way his tail flicked lazily behind him, and the way his entire frame seemed to relax in her presence said everything that needed to be said.

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. “It’s disgustingly sweet. But good for her. I mean, she got herself the literal Omaticaya prince. That’s like winning the intergalactic lottery.”

Brian leaned on his station, adding in a mock whisper, “But you can tell his title doesn’t mean anything to her. She’s so in love with him, it’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, she giggled, her laughter light and musical, as Neteyam’s tail playfully swiped against her side. She swatted at him halfheartedly, her cheeks dimpling with amusement. “Neteyam!” she scolded, her voice laced with affection.

Kate snickered. “Yup. Ridiculous.”

Norm, always the quieter observer, tilted his head as he watched Neteyam lean closer, speaking to her in a low, rumbling tone that none of them could hear. Neteyam turned slightly, crouched tightly beside her, his golden eyes never leaving her face. She tilted her head up, standing on her tiptoes again to press a quick kiss to his flat nose. He chuckled, low and deep, his hand brushing against her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kate sighed dramatically, waving a hand in the air. “All right, I’m officially done. Someone get me an insulin shot.”

Norm smirked. “Jealous, Kate?”

“Of her? Nah.” Kate’s grin widened. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of awesome seeing them like this. She deserves it. They both do.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and turned to Max. “If this doesn’t make you believe in soulmates, I don’t know what will.”

Max grinned but stayed quiet, watching as Neteyam’s hand lingered at the side of her face. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him. There was no denying it—they moved together as if tied by an invisible thread, perfectly attuned to each other in a way that felt almost otherworldly.

“She’s completely gone for him,” Norm observed quietly, his voice tinged with genuine happiness. “And you can see it’s mutual. She’s not even guarded around him anymore.”

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, her tone softer now as she watched them. “It’s nice to see her like this. I mean, we all knew she was head over heels for him, but now she’s just... glowing. She’s happy.”

“And he’s different, too,” Max added thoughtfully. “Not just the dutiful warrior anymore. He looks... at peace when he’s with her.”

As the group went back to their tasks, their teasing subsiding into fond smiles, the pair remained lost in their own little world. Neteyam reached for her hand, her much smaller fingers slotting between his effortlessly. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the lab faded, leaving only the quiet warmth they shared. And for everyone watching, it was impossible not to feel a little lighter, a little brighter, in the glow of their happiness.

*

The lab was hushed as the last of the team headed off to their bunks, leaving only the faint hum of machinery and the soft glow of the bioluminescent samples. Neteyam stayed close, his presence a steady warmth beside you as you focused on your datapad, scrolling through the day’s results. It was late—too late, really—but you were used to long nights.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Neteyam crouched beside your chair, his golden eyes gleaming in the faint light. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Neteyam, it’s the middle of the night. Do you know what Norm would do to me if I left the outpost? He’d lose his mind. Not to mention the forest is... well, you know, dangerous. Especially for me.”

His ears twitched, the faintest flick that betrayed his amusement. “Norm won’t know.”

“Because I’d be dead before I could tell him,” you shot back, your tone dry. You set the datapad aside and crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

He crouched beside you, his face level with yours, and the intensity of his expression made you falter. “You’ll be safe with me,” he assured you, his voice low but filled with conviction. “I promise.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “The golden child himself, encouraging reckless behavior? What would Jake say?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t back down. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gave him a pointed look, your tone light but tinged with concern. “Neteyam, you should be sleeping. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I don’t care how much you try to hide it—I see it.”

Your words softened his smile, but he didn’t waver. Instead, he tilted his head, his ears flicking slightly downward, and his wide, pleading eyes met yours with a look that made your chest tighten. “Please,” he murmured. “It’s important.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You’re a monster,” you muttered, but the warmth in your voice betrayed your affection. “Fine. Let me grab my mask.”

His face lit up, and the flick of his tail behind him made you laugh despite yourself. You followed him out of the lab toward the airgate, muttering under your breath about how you must have lost your mind, but there was no real resistance in your steps. You grabbed your exo-mask from the wall and secure it on your head. The hissing of the compressed air relaed you slightly before you waited the airgate to open. You found yourself drawn to his excitement, even if you couldn’t fully understand what had him so eager.

“If I die, Norm is going to kill you. We are understaffed.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Neteyam teased, his tail swishing behind him as he led the way through the dimly lit outpost.

You reached the edge of the clearing where his ikran waited, its sleek, powerful form glowing faintly in the bioluminescent light of the forest. The sky above was thick with clouds, the faint rumble of distant thunder hinting at rain later. You paused, looking up at the looming sky with an uneasy expression.

“This feels like the setup to a bad horror movie,” you said, glancing at him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Neteyam chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. “You worry too much.”

He extended his hand to you, his smile softening as he added, “Trust me.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the outstretched hand, then at his ikran, and finally back at his face. His earnest expression, the way his golden eyes searched yours with quiet confidence, was impossible to resist. With a sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“I must be insane,” you muttered as he helped you onto his ikran, his steady hands guiding you with care.

“You’ll see,” he said as he climbed up behind you, his arms securing you safely in place pulling you closer to his chest. “It’ll be worth it.”

You paused, glancing up at the dark sky. “You’re aware it’s probably going to rain, right? This feels less like a romantic adventure and more like a guaranteed soaking.”

Neteyam laughed softly, his hand resting on Tawkami’s neck as he reached behind himself to grab his kuru. “A little rain won’t hurt,” he said, his voice light with amusement as he made the bond with his ikran. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, though your smile lingered. “Unfortunately for my better judgment, I do.”

As you took off into the night, the wind rushing past you and the forest stretching out below, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Whatever he wanted to show you, you hoped it was as important as he seemed to think it was.

*

The cool wind would whipped against your face harshly if you wouldn’t wear the mask as the ikran soared through the darkened sky, its wings slicing through the clouds with a quiet power that left you in awe. You clung to Neteyam, your arms wrapped tightly around his arm, your heart thundering as the dense forest below blurred into an endless expanse of glowing greens and blues. The faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, a reminder of the coming storm.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and despite the comfort of his warmth against your back, unease prickled at the edges of your thoughts. Why did I agree to this? The forest was dangerous enough during the day, let alone at night, and the storm on the horizon didn’t help ease your nerves. But then you’d think of the way his eyes had silently begged you to follow him, the quiet desperation in his voice when he’d asked you to trust him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

His ikran let out a soft screech, tilting slightly as Neteyam adjusted its path. The wind grew colder, and you glanced overthe ikran’s shoulder, your breath catching as you spotted the faint glow of something ahead. As the ikran descended, the sight became clearer, and your unease melted into awe.

The Tree of Voice.

Even in your studies, you’d heard of this place—one of the most sacred site of the Omaticaya, the heart of Eywa’s connection to Pandora. Few humans had ever seen it, their stories now no more than whispered memories. But here it was, glowing softly against the darkness like a beacon, its long pink tendrils swaying gently in the breeze.

The ikran landed smoothly, its talons gripping the soft earth near the base of one of the smaller trees. Neteyam dismounted first, his movements fluid and precise as always, before turning to help you down. His hands were strong and steady as they guided you to the ground, your boots sinking slightly into the mossy soil. The air here was electric, charged not only by the approaching storm but by something deeper, something alive.

You turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight around you. The remains of the larger trees, destroyed long ago by the RDA, still stood as solemn reminders of that dark time, their trunks hollowed and charred. The war was 20 years ago. But nature had fought back. Around those lifeless husks, smaller trees had sprung up, their glowing tendrils dancing in the wind, pulsing softly with life. It was as if Eywa herself had ensured this sacred place was reborn, stronger than ever.

“It’s... incredible,” you murmured, unable to find words that did justice to what you were seeing. “Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the wind. “I shouldn’t—”

He cut you off with a gentle look and reached for one of the glowing tendrils, his fingers brushing it with reverence. The tendril responded to his touch, its movement graceful and alive. He glanced back at you, his golden eyes soft and thoughtful. “It is said to be a place for prayers to be heard,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking louder would disturb the sacredness of the moment. “And sometimes... answered.”

You watched, transfixed, as he brought his neural queue forward. The strands of his kuru intertwined with the tendril, the connection seamless and natural. His eyes fluttered closed, his expression softening as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

“They live within Eywa,” he murmured, the words carrying a depth of meaning that made your chest tighten.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way the soft light of the tree illuminated his features, the serenity in his expression—it was like you were seeing a part of him you hadn’t fully known before. When he opened his eyes and looked at you again, a small smile tugged at your lips.

This is sacred to him. And he’s sharing it with me.

Without thinking, you reached out to one of the tendrils, your hand trembling slightly. Can I? Should I? The glowing pink strand seemed to move on its own, its gentle sway aligning with your hesitant motion. When your palm made contact, a jolt of warmth pulsed through you, startling but not unpleasant. The tendril pulsed faintly under your hand, alive and vibrant, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“It’s alive,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. You smiled, unable to help yourself, as you watched the tendril respond to your touch. No, you couldn’t connect with the ancestors like the Na’vi, but you could feel the vitality of this place, its sacredness. You glanced back at Neteyam, who was watching you now, his golden eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

Neteyam opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you. The warmth in his expression made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel that this moment was something rare, something you would never forget.

Neteyam’s heart swelled as he watched you standing beneath the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices. The bioluminescent light bathed you in soft pink hues, reflecting in your eyes as you gazed in awe at the sacred place. He’d dreamt of this moment, of sharing this part of himself with you, and now that it was happening, it felt more profound than he’d imagined.

Bringing you here wasn’t a decision he had made lightly. This place was the heart of his people, the connection to their ancestors and Eywa herself. It was sacred, almost untouchable, and to bring a human here was unthinkable to many—including his own mother. But to him, you weren’t just a human. You were his. His heart, his balance, his anchor in a life that sometimes felt overwhelming.

As he stood there, the wind tugging at his braids, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude that you were here with him.

“You’re beautiful in this light,” he said softly, breaking the silence between you. His voice carried easily in the stillness, and he saw the way your cheeks flushed faintly at his words.

You smiled, glancing at him. “I think you’re the one who fits here, Neteyam. Not me. This place feels... too sacred for someone like me.”

He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

“Neteyam,” you said softly, breaking the silence. The wind played with your hair, carrying your voice to him. “Why did you bring me here? Really?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze shifted to the glowing tendrils swaying in the breeze, and his jaw tightened as if he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady, laced with something that sounded almost like reverence.

“I heard you,” he said, his gaze flicking back to you. “A few days ago. With Kate.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head slightly. “You heard me?” you repeated, unsure of where this was going.

He nodded, his ears flicking slightly downward in a gesture of vulnerability. “You said... you said you would never truly be a part of Pandora. That you could never fully understand this place. That no matter how long you lived here, it wouldn’t matter.”

Oh. The memory rushed back to you, unbidden. You and Kate had been joking—lighthearted banter about how Pandora seemed to resist human understanding when someone doing their job, how even the most advanced research couldn’t capture the soul of the planet. But the weight in Neteyam’s voice told you he hadn’t taken it as a joke.

You opened your mouth to explain, but he held up a hand, stopping you. His expression was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes that made your heart race.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Pandora isn’t about understanding. It’s about feeling. About connection. And you—” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. “You are a part of this place. Whether you see it or not.”

Realization dawned on you, and your chest tightened with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “Neteyam, that was just... I didn’t mean it seriously. We were joking.”

But his expression didn’t change. His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked once behind him—a sign, you’d learned, of quiet determination. “You may have been joking,” he said softly, “but I don’t think you believed it was entirely untrue.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. He was right, in a way. There was a part of you that had always felt out of place here, like you were borrowing space in a world that didn’t belong to you. A world that, no matter how much you learned or loved it, might never fully accept you.

“I brought you here because I want you to see something,” he continued, his voice quiet but steady. “This place... it is the heart of my people. It is where we come to pray, to ask for guidance, to feel Eywa’s presence. And it is where I came before I met you. I prayed to Eywa to show me my path, to help me become the leader my father expects me to be.”

You tilted your head, your mask glinted in the light of the bioluminescent tendrils, curiosity replacing some of your unease. “Before you met me?”

Neteyam nodded, his gaze distant for a moment as if he were looking back on a memory. “It was a time when I was lost, unsure of the path ahead. I came here to ask Eywa for guidance—for a sign of what my life was meant to be. And then... I met you.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and your breath hitched. “Neteyam...” you whispered, but he shook his head gently, urging you to let him finish.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Why Eywa would place someone like you—someone so different, so human—on my path. But the more I came to know you, the more I realized that it was not a mistake. It was her will.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing as he continued. “From the moment I met you, you have been a part of this world. Not because of where you were born or what body you were given, but because of what’s here.” He crouched down before your, reached out and pressing a big hand gently over your heart. “Because of the way you see things. The way you care, the way you listen.”

His hand lingered, warm and steady, before he let it fall back to his side. “Eywa does not make mistakes,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine. “She brought you here. To me. That is all the proof I need.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his gaze, left you speechless. He truly believed it—that Eywa, the great life force of Pandora, had guided you into his life. That you were meant to be here, with him. The thought was overwhelming, humbling, and impossibly beautiful.

The depth of his words, the raw vulnerability in his gaze, left you speechless. You searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but there was none. He truly believed every word he had said.

“I never thought...” you began, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, trying to find the right words. “I never thought someone like you—someone so deeply connected to this world—could see me as anything more than... an intruder.”

“You are not an intruder,” he said firmly, his hand tightening slightly on your cheek. “You are a gift. I didn’t bring you here just to show you this place,” he continued, his voice softening. “I brought you here because this is where everything began for me. This is where I asked for guidance, and this is where I realized that you... you are my answer.”

His movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. His large hands found your arms gently, his touch grounding you as he brought his forehead to your mask. Overwhelmed by the closeness, the intimacy of the gesture, you closed your eyes.

“You are my prayer answered,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the peace I didn’t know I was searching for.”

Your hands trembled as they rose to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as though to anchor yourself. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. The wind whipped around you, the storm drawing closer, but in that moment, the world felt still, as though it were holding its breath for the two of you.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Just stay here, with me.”

*

The wind stirred gently around you, carrying with it the faint hum of life emanating from the Tree of Voices. Your masked head remained pressed against Neteyam’s, his warmth grounding - even through the thin glass-  you as his words echoed in your mind, a profound declaration that left your heart aching in the best way. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin.

Your eyes remained closed, tears drying against your cheeks as you let yourself be present in the moment, his presence filling you with a sense of peace you’d never known.

When Neteyam opened his eyes, intending to take in your face, his breath caught. His golden gaze widened in shock, his entire frame stiffening as his focus shifted over your head.

“Eywa,” he whispered, the word reverent and filled with awe.

“What?” you murmured, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his voice. You pulled back slightly, confused by the look of utter wonder on his face.

Neteyam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the small, glowing spirit drifting gracefully through the air toward you. An atokirina—one of Eywa’s seeds, a sign of the Great Mother’s favor. The luminous tendrils of the seed pulsed faintly as it floated closer, glowing softly against the darkened backdrop of the sacred grove.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the atokirina descended. It hovered for a moment before settling lightly against your head, its tendrils brushing your hair with a gentle, otherworldly touch.

Neteyam’s lips parted, his ears twitching as his tail gave a subtle flick of astonishment. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice a blend of awe and quiet conviction. His golden eyes burned with emotion as they met yours, his expression a mixture of pride, reverence, and love. “I knew Eywa brought you to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the sight of the sacred seed resting against you. You lifted a trembling hand toward the atokirina, though you didn’t dare touch it, afraid to disturb the delicate moment. It lingered for a few heartbeats longer before floating upward, its tendrils swaying in the breeze as it rejoined the others dancing around the Tree of Voices.

“Neteyam,” you began, your voice trembling with disbelief. “What... what does this mean?”

He cupped your head gently, his touch firm yet tender as his thumbs brushed your temples just right behind the mask. “It means,” he said softly, his golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, “that you are not just mine by chance. You are mine because Eywa willed it. She brought you to me for a reason.”

You couldn’t speak, the weight of his words and the sacredness of the moment rendering you silent.

“I’ve always believed it,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But now I know, without a doubt, that you are meant to be with me. Eywa has seen your heart, your spirit... and she accepts you.”

Your hands clutched his arms, seeking stability as your knees threatened to give out. “Neteyam,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to... I’m just—”

“You are enough,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm yet soothing. “You have always been enough.”

The wind shifted again, stronger this time as the impending storm drew nearer, but neither of you moved. The sacred grove seemed to pulse with life around you, as though the forest itself was acknowledging the connection between you.

And in that moment, standing in the heart of Eywa’s blessing, you felt it too—you belonged here, with him.

*

The first drops of rain fell like tiny cold pinpricks, pattering against the leaves and the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls. You tilted your head upward, squinting at the darkened sky as the rain intensified into a steady downpour. Within moments, the world blurred around you, the heavy rain making everything seem like a hazy dream.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless sound that bubbled out despite the chill settling in. “I told you so,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair out of your mask’s glass. The rain plastered your clothes to your body, the chill seeping into your skin, but the exhilaration of the moment kept you from caring too much.

Neteyam, soaked and unbothered, stood beside you, his hair clinging to his face, droplets catching on his bioluminescent freckles. He looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation before glancing at his restless ikran. The storm, with its rolling thunder and flashing lightning, made the creature uneasy, its wings flexing as it let out a low, nervous chirp.

“We can’t fly in this,” Neteyam said, his voice steady despite the weather. “It’s too dangerous.”

You nodded, glancing at the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. The wind whipped around you, pulling at your damp clothes and making you shiver. “So, what’s the plan?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth.

Neteyam tilted his head, his golden eyes scanning the forest as the rain poured down harder. “There’s a hunter’s hut nearby,” he said after a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm there.”

Before you could protest, he was already helping you onto his ikran. The creature’s discomfort was evident as it shifted and chirped uneasily, but it took off smoothly under Neteyam’s guidance after the bond, its powerful wings cutting through the rain-soaked air.

The flight was short but tense, the storm intensifying around you. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the forest below in sharp flashes. The rain stung your skin, and you clung to Neteyam’s arm, trusting him to guide you through the chaos. Finally, the ikran swooped down toward a sturdy tree where a small hut was built high above the ground. It was simple but well-constructed, designed to offer shelter for hunters caught in bad weather.

Once you were safely inside, you collapsed onto the woven floor, panting and dripping wet. The rain hammered against the roof, the sound a constant, soothing rhythm despite the storm raging outside. Neteyam secured the hut’s door and knelt by the small fire pit in the center, quickly lighting it to bring some warmth to the chilly air.

You turned to him, your clothes dripping water onto the wooden floor as you crossed your arms and gave him a pointed look but after a few moment you rached up just to wipe the glass of your mask. “I hope you’re happy,” you said, a teasing edge to your tone. “This is officially my last night alive, and I’m spending it with you.”

Neteyam arched a brow, clearly amused despite the storm raging outside. “Your last night alive?” he repeated, his voice warm and soft with mock offense.

“Yes,” you said with dramatic flair, stepping closer to him as you wrung water from your sleeves. “Because when I get back to the outpost, Norm is going to skin me alive for being out here in the middle of the night. He’ll probably hang my remains in the lab as a warning to others.”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking slightly as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret spending your last night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. The storm continued to howl outside, but in the quiet safety of the hut, his presence made it feel like nothing else mattered.

*

The fire crackled softly in the center of the small hunter’s hut, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls as rain lashed against the roof. You sat close to it, trembling slightly, your soaked clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The chill had seeped into your bones, making it impossible to stop shivering.

Without much thought, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head, tossing the wet fabric aside. Your pants followed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

You didn’t realize what you’d done until you looked up and caught Neteyam’s gaze. He was staring at you, his golden eyes wide and unblinking, his expression unreadable. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and suddenly, you felt unbearably self-conscious. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you grabbed the crumpled woven blanket from the floor and quickly draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around your body like a shield.

“How do you not freeze?” you asked, squinting at him through the dim firelight, your voice more accusatory than you intended. He was still soaking wet, his inky braids dripping onto his broad shoulders, and yet he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Like most Na’vi, he only wore a loincloth, his blue skin slick with rainwater, but he looked completely unaffected by the chill.

Neteyam tilted his head, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Our bodies are different,” he said simply, his voice low and calm, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that made your cheeks burn even more. “We’re used to this.”

You huffed, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself. “Well, I’m not,” you muttered, shivering despite the fire’s heat.

Neteyam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand, his long fingers curling slightly in a beckoning gesture. “Come here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of warmth and invitation.

You hesitated, your grip on the blanket tightening. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

“Come here,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his golden eyes steady and patient as they held yours. There was no judgment in his gaze, no teasing—just quiet concern and an unspoken promise of warmth. “You’ll be warmer.”

Reluctantly, you shuffled closer to him, dragging the blanket with you. As you reached him, he uncrossed his legs slightly, creating space for you to sit between them. You settled hesitantly, tucking the blanket around yourself as you leaned against him.

The moment your back pressed against his chest, you felt his warmth envelop you like a cocoon. He was like a furnace, his body radiating heat that seeped into your chilled skin almost immediately. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh as the tension in your muscles began to melt away, your shivering subsiding. His arms came around you instinctively, his large hands resting lightly on your hips as he pulled you closer, and you felt his chin rest gently against the top of your still wet head.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax against him. “You’re not just warm,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the blanket. “You’re unfairly warm. It’s not natural.”

Neteyam chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. “Unnatural?” he teased, his hands smoothing over the blanket covering you. “Or just lucky for you?”

You smiled despite yourself, nuzzling closer to him. “Lucky, I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The storm continued to rage outside, the rain lashing against the hut and the wind howling through the trees, but it all felt distant now. All you could focus on was the steady rise and fall of Neteyam’s chest behind you, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and the way his arms held you so securely, as though he never wanted to let you go.

*

"Even when I won’t see the sunset anymore,” you said dramatically, your voice muffled as you nuzzled into his chest. “Because Norm will make me so dead.”

Neteyam tilted his head to look down at you, his golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “Norm wouldn’t dare,” he said, a playful edge to his tone. “I’d stop him.”

You laughed, the sound light and sweet, filling the small space of the hunter’s hut. “Oh, sure. But I bet Jake will lecture you into the next week. So, even just for a tiny bit, we’ll be even. Perfectly balanced,” you added with a smirk, “as all things should be.”

His smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, his braids shifting with the movement. “I’d take a thousand lectures from my father if it means spending a night like this with you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, your teasing expression softened. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, tracing the strong line of it before letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” you said with a small, shy smile. But your tone was soft now, lacking its usual teasing bite, and your gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer than usual.

Neteyam’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tender, and he leaned down to press his forehead gently against your mask. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Every moment with you is worth it.”

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you broke eye contact, nuzzling into his chest to hide your flustered expression. Absentmindedly, you reached for the blanket draped over you and pulled it up higher, tucking it around his broad shoulders as well as your own.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your voice wavering. “Completely unfair.”

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, his tail giving a lazy flick behind him. “Unfair?” he echoed, a smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, you’re the one making my heart race like this.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Stop being so smooth,” you said lightly, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the affection behind the words. You tilted your head up slightly, your mask brushing against his collarbone as you glanced up at him with a soft, playful smile.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your hair, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Never,” he whispered, holding you close as the storm raged on outside, the world beyond the hut feeling far, far away.

As you rested your head against his chest once more, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the blanket, you couldn’t help but think that, no matter how angry Norm might be—or how long Jake’s inevitable lecture might last—this moment was worth it. Every second of it.

Part 15: (Soon)

[vanfleeter]

Performance Sheets

Summary: Jake misunderstood what performance sheets actually were when he buys them from the store. (Small smut piece) Characters: Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader Word count: 1,755k Warnings: 18+ || Language. Adult themes. Smoking. Smut. Nudity. Unprotected, penetrative sex. Slight strip tease. Smacking kink?? (is that a thing?) Oral sex. (if I missed anything, please let me know so I can add it) A/N: No tags since it's a small piece.

❌❌❌❌

Hearing the front door opening, you peer around the corner of the kitchen threshold to see Jake stumbling through the door with grocery bags hanging on each arm and he’s kicking a couple more with his feet. Dropping the dish towel, you quickly make your way to him and pick up the bags from the floor. He utters a breathy ‘thank you’ as he follows behind you to the kitchen.

“What did you buy?” You ask as he dumps the bags onto the kitchen island. “The whole store?”

“Pretty much,” He huffs. “We’re practically bone dry in this house.”

“Well, we have been gone for six months,” You say as you start to put away some of the groceries. The two of you dip and dodge around each other for the next twenty minutes putting the groceries away.

“Oh!” Jake randomly exclaims as he picks up a bag that had fallen to the floor. “I found these in the home section.” He pulls out a pack of sheets from the bag and holds them out for you to see.

“Performance sheets? Jake, we don’t need those.” You say as you put away the last can of spaghetti-o’s in the pantry. “We have many sets of sheets.”

“But not performance sheets.” He empathizes as he sets them on the counter.

“Jake, honey, do you even know what performance sheets are for?” You ask, leaning on the island counter.

“Per..for..ming sheets?” He says slowly. “As in you “perform” on them?”

“Oh honey no,” You giggle while shaking your head. “They help to regulate body temperature and keep you comfortable while you sleep.”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow and he leans on the counter. “So they aren’t for…” You shake your head and he huffs. “Which means I spent sixty dollars on this for nothing?”

“Sixty? Jake..”

“What?!” He exclaims. “I thought they were–”

“Why in the world would Target sell sex enhancing sheets?” You continue to giggle.

Jake shrugs his shoulders. “Do you know who does?”

“Jacob..”

He simply laughs and grabs the sheets in both hands before tossing it up into the air and catching them when they fall. He smirks at you and wags his eyebrows. “Shall we change the meaning of performance sheets?”

“If you put them on, I will gladly fulfill your request.”

“Aw thanks baby,” He says as he kisses you. “Give me twenty minutes tops and then you are all mine.”

“When am I not?” He shoots you a wink before dashing out of the kitchen and running upstairs to the bedroom.

–

Twenty minutes tick by and you hear him calling for you from upstairs. Putting the last of the dishes away in the dishwasher, you close the door and press the start button before making your way upstairs. When you step into the bedroom, you’re suddenly taken aback as you find him laying out on the bed on his back, fully naked and propped up on the pillows with his legs crossed at his ankles. He’s got a blunt in his mouth that he’s trying to light, his focus solely on that. So when he finally looks up, he sees you standing in the bedroom door with your mouth hanging open. A lazy smile spreads across his face as he holds the blunt between his teeth.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, pulling you from your trance. He chuckles when you only nod your head. You start to take a step forward when he stops you. “Uh uh.. You know the rules..” He says before tossing the lighter over onto the nightstand and taking a drag from the blunt.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes because you wanted him to undress you. So you stand there at the end of the bed and start to remove articles of clothing from your body. His eyes watch every single movement and you could see him swallow as his eyes lock with yours. You know he’s struggling to hold himself back so you take your sweet time dragging your underwear down your legs. His mouth drops slightly open, the blunt sticking to his dry lips.

Straightening back up, you reach your hands behind your back and unhook your bra. The relief from the uncomfortable under garment makes you moan, dropping your head back.

“Fuck..” You hear him mutter.

Dropping your bra to the floor, you swing your knee up onto the bed and hoist yourself up. You crawl across the bed and straddle his waist once you make it to him. His hands immediately find their rightful place on your ass. You take the blunt from his mouth and take a drag before giving it back to him. He reaches for it to take a drag before reaching over to the side and setting it on the tray on the nightstand.

“You look so beautiful,” He says as he squeezes your ass. “Are you ready to put on a show?” You nod your head and he draws you in for a kiss. Without breaking the kiss, you lift your body upwards and reach between you two to line him up with your entrance. You slowly sink back down, completely enveloping him inside of you.

You both moan into each other’s mouth and he squeezes you even tighter. Slowly you begin moving your hips and pulling away from his kiss. Your hands come to rest on his chest to keep yourself steady and you start to pick up your pace just a little.

“That’s it, baby..” He says.

He lets you ride him for a few minutes longer before he’s changing positions. He keeps you on him as he wraps his arms around you and moves to sit on his knees. He spreads them open allowing him to be seated comfortably with you still on his lap. He keeps his arms wrapped around you to hold you in place and he thrusts his hips forward, fucking himself into you as you sink right back down on top of him. He connects to you with each thrust of his hips.

“Are you enjoying this?” You ask, clearly out of breath already.

“Most definitely, baby..” He says.

Starting to feel his thighs cramping, he quickly changes positions again, laying you on your back, your head facing the end of the bed. He rests still between your legs and straightens them out.

“Sorry..” He groans. “Started to cramp.” You can't help but to giggle and he pauses. “Are you laughing at me?”

“You just sound like an old man.” You giggle again and he thrusts himself roughly inside of you, making you gasp yet moan at the same time.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for an old man..”

“Jacob Thomas, I do not!” You say, reaching behind him to smack his ass.

“Oh baby, don't do that..” He says.

“Did that feel good?” You ask.

He nods his head and fucks into you again. “Do it again?”

“Oh?” This you were not expecting.

“Please baby, do it again.”

You slap your palm against his ass again and he moans as he thrusts inside of you again. He buries his face on the crook of your neck as he moves a little faster. He’s sure there will be a red handprint on his ass but he doesn’t care, the feeling it gives him is like euphoria.

Before either of you even reach your orgasms, he’s pulling out of you and leaning back on his knees. He pulls you onto his lap again but makes you face the end of the bed. He doesn’t waste time pushing himself back inside you and beginning again. You cry out his name when he shoves himself so deep that he’s hitting your cervix. There is some pain but the pleasure of him rubbing against your walls is far greater.

You can feel yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm as he continues his relentless speed. Your walls clench around him and he groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

He’s never had you in this position before but it’s definitely becoming one of your favorites. And he knows your favorite positions. You can feel his hands glide up your sides before he’s cupping both of your breasts. The stimulation from him twisting your nipples combined with his thrusts is enough to send you crashing into your orgasm. He holds you against his chest and he stills himself inside of you to feel you spill all over him.

Once you have relaxed and come down from your orgasm, you carefully climb off of him and lay out on the bed. He chuckles and leans down to kiss you.

“You did so good for me.” He says as he begins to trail more down your body.

“You’re still going?”

“These are performance sheets.” He says with a wink.

Gently he spreads your legs and leans in to lick up all of the release that still drips out of you. You shudder when you feel his tongue lick over your sensitive clit but he pins your hips to the bed to keep you still while he still licks you clean. Once he is finished, he crawls back over top of you and presses his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. He’s still very much hard, his length rubbing against the inside of your thigh.

“Want to try a new position?” He asks when he pulls away.

“Jacob Thomas, what has gotten into you?”

“Changing the definition of performance sheets, darling..” He smirks. “Plus I did a little research while I changed the sheets.”

“Alright, and what do you have in mind?”

“The eagle position.” He says. “How far back can you bend your legs?”

–

When he finally orgasms, he pulls out of you and moves his arms allowing your legs to drop back to the bed. Both of you are completely spent and covered in sweat. He kisses you before rolling off of you and onto his back beside you.

Your heart races in your heart, the thrumming of it is the only sound that you hear. Turning into his side, he props himself up on his elbow, resting his head in his hand.

“So.. How did I do?” He asks. “Did I perform well?”

You laugh, making him smile. “You definitely gave performance sheets a whole new meaning..” You tell him. “I’m going to need a day or two to recover.”

“I can just see the standing ovation..” He jokes, laughing again when he sees you roll your eyes.

[dross-the-fish]

A follower tagged me on a post that was talking about how Edward isn't actually a bad guy but rather he's misunderstood and I'm not going to reply to that post because I don't want to start drama on someone else's blog but I've seen the sentiment brought up a few times so I'm going to make a blanket post about the topic rather than single anyone out. The post I was tagged in mentions the trampling of the child and seems to frame it like an accident so I'll start there and I'll let Henry himself tell you how he views that incident. "An act of cruelty to a child aroused against me the anger of a passer by," He outright says it, it's an act of cruelty. He doesn't deny that. And that's what I hate about fanon Hyde. A lot of interps seem to forget that Hyde is a middle aged man struggling with a repressed sadistic streak and not a social awkward teenager. I think the most concrete evidence we have of Jekyll/Hyde's nature is in Jekyll's letter and how he describes himself and his relationship to Hyde. “To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost.” As afraid as he is of losing the life he's built for himself there's so much LONGING to be Hyde despite the evils Hyde has done. He wants to indulge in his appetites and he knows if he embraces Edward he won't even grieve his losses. I find it interesting that he notes that becoming Edward would cost him his "aspirations and interests," because he would be losing everything to his vice, choosing pleasure and indulgence over his own goals and ambitions. "If I am the chief of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also," Henry Jekyll is a complex and repressed but also very selfish man and here's where the interpretation of Edward as a metaphor for addiction comes most strongly into play. Jekyll shows textbook signs of a drug user: experimentation, denial or minimization of the harmful effects, attempts to quit, withdrawal when he goes too long without being Edward and eventually he develops a dependency and falls into a spiral. The fact that he's taking a potion just drives the imagery that much harder. Even the description of the effects of the potion itself mirror drug use. "something indescribably new and, from its very novelty, incredibly sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body ; within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a mill race in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked" It's agony at first but once the "high" hits and he becomes Edward he feels good and his inhibitions are gone. He can indulge every depraved and twisted act his heart desires without having to take the hit to his reputation or the responsibility. “since then I had been obliged on more than one occasion to double, and once, with infinite risk of death, to treble the amount” - Jekyll risks an overdose because he keeps taking more of the serum. This illustrates his dependency on Hyde and his inability to quit. One thing I've noticed about Hyde interps that favor the lighter, softer, readings of the character is that they almost always neglect the characterization of Henry Jekyll. Either depicting Jekyll as the good half or all but erasing them from their fanon version of Hyde and that's something you can't really do because it misses the point of Jekyll and Hyde. Which is about Henry Jekyll and his repression and his eventual turn to a destructive outlet.

"The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn towards the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another, relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde." once the leash is off Jekyll is shocked by what he's capable of, what Hyde is capable of. The words used by Stevenson paint a lurid picture, Depravity, bestial, torture, villainous. He can't outright say what Hyde is doing but it's pretty clear he has a sadistic streak. He also lets slip at one point by using "My" instead of referring to Edward as separate. "My vicarious depravity." He's aware, he is complicit and he enjoys himself. You cannot separate Jekyll from Hyde therefore any interpretation of Hyde as being soft, innocent, unaware or merely mischievous is not only incorrect but it directly contradicts the purpose of the story and strips Jekyll of his complexity. If you can't like this character as he is written then you don't like this character. There are some things you can leave up to interpretation but Hyde's sadism and Jekyll's addiction to Hyde are both very clear cut and Jekyll's confession spells everything out in a way that you'd have to reach pretty far to claim that Edward is being misrepresented by Utterson throughout the bulk of the novel.

[moonsanoverthinker]

Thanks for the tag!

Why is it every time I have to pick characters I can’t remember a single one

Anywho tags! @cult-of-the-eye @isitjustmeorlifeisweird @generalidiocy @peach-coloured-glasses @doctorwhatwhenandwhere @derecho-noah @thermodynamic-comedian @vibrantlifeboringdeath @bloodied-metal-pipe and anyone else who wishes to join <3

Not me having some kinda type... Who shall I tag? I think I wanna tagggggg... @mybugsmybugsmybugs @mexicangela @lunar-years @biscuitboxpink but no pressure!! I just thought it would be fun!

[alelathedragon]

Well ga damn. I hit the big one zero zero.... OVER A MR PUZZLES AU TUMBLR SEXYMAN COMPETITION

I LOVE THIS COMMUNITY

FUCKING WHEEEEEEEEEZE god i dont even know what to say that i havent already said at this point, the small community of Mr.Puzzles lovers is so fucking wholesome and funny, ive made lots of friends. Made new mutuals. Being involved in so many things whether it be simple Answers to my asks, character interactions, drawing war.

Im going to give a quick shout out to my best friends :3

@kizzorelli my wife/playtonic one of the best things to happen to me period. Silly rodent whos art speed is concerning but amazing

@thecourtofinfestation EEEEEEVIL BEST FRIEND literally so awesome, ANOTHER best thing to happen to me in my life period. We're in sync on another level

@mothfoxwastaken bug woman. Zeroist funny person on the planet

@mpc07-foundtheinternet ramble more MORE. I love your ideas and playing with ya!

@infundi360 wife again/playtonic another best thing to happen to me in my life period. Literally how are we friends ur so pog

@your4thwallbreaker i just met you like a month ago but if anything happened to you i would kill everyone on this app and then myself. Youre super cool and i went on a rattle about that but fuck you get rattled again bc my heart is too large

@thestuffiesheadquarters you have wormed yourself into my life and i am attached to you by the hip/playtonic. Silly goober i enjoy holding in my palm

@liliththequeenofdemon you also speedran yourself into my life broda, youre really funny. Silly, and i enjoy your company :3

@alex-dolmatescu2-0 GET OVER HERE MY FELLOW SOCIALLY AWKWARD PLUSHIE!!! I wuv ya and your funnies. Youve been sweet to talk with and also just a large help with the sexyman poll i cant thank u enough like goddamn

My new mutuals!!! HIHIHI!!!

@the-masked-astro

How the FUCK do you keep track of all your characters and give them all the screen time they deserve you absolute MADMAN/pos. I always admired your artwork - but i have the funny ADHD so everytime i liked one of your posts or reblogged them... And MEANT to follow you.... I got sidetracked immediately 😅 BUT I FIXED THAT NOW!!! literally youre a god of some assortment for being able to give all your fellas screentime and awesome writing. SMG4 wishes he could do that

@michealscorneroftheinternet

Youre TEHCNICALLY my mutual now!! Following my holiday smg4 account that ive been working on slowly. And like i think you deserve to be shouted out anyways. Me when i look at your posts for literally 20 minutes picking out the smallest details and thinking about them. Me when im constantly looking forward to the next drop and all the nitpicks i get to do, it's like a gift basket to my eyes i love biting onto your content with my jagged teeth and ripping it to shreds. Even though ive never commented on your Change In Script. Know that im looking at it a normal amount and thinking about it on the regular. Same for The Fallen one you and Dorro are making. Im happy to see them here for Change in Script!!

@theclosetcreature

I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH YOUR ART TICKLES MY BONES. the way you DRAW GAW DAMN. It's so crunchy and delightfully pleasing to my soul. I have to restrain myself my reblogging every single damn post you've ever made period. Going through your entire blog and reblogging every single one type of deal lol. Ur chill. Happy to have you :3

@fenicearts420

DRAGONNNNNNS DRAGON DRAGON DRAGON DRAGON DRAAAAAAGOOOON

Ive expressed how much i love your HTTYD content BUT FUCK YOU WERE DOING IT AGAIN

THE AMOUNT OF EFFORT AND SKILL IN YOUR HTTYD ARTS BLOW MY MIND, MAKE ME KICK MY FEET, GIGGLE, RUN AROUND THE ROOM, CRY AND GIGGLE AGAIN

YOU SHOULD BE A HTTYD CONCEPT ARTIST SAVE THE SERIES. S A V E IT FROM LIVE ACTION HELL PLEAAAAAASE *cough* ahem

Your self ship dynamic is very silly and wholesome at the same time. Critter and sophisticated man dynamic my beloved. You're charming and i like seeing the tags you put in your reblogs.

I feel like im missing someone so i might come back and edit this later

Oh yeah and btw im going to be a stinky fucky little cheater and just say the tumblrsexyman competition is my 100 follower special 👊✌️👉👉👉 suck it /silly

[solarpire]

re: your tags on the poc/character post

I'm sorry but did. we watch the same Arcane

Ok so you've activated my rant card (I mean this with joy, I love talking about this kind of thing and I do enjoy the show they just did like abysmally for representation)

Here is why ekko rings as an empty/token character to me:

1. We get no personal motivations for him. We had three whole episodes of character setup for our characters. By the time we get to progress day, we solidly know what every character is about, and why seven years later they would end up in the places they did. Except for ekko. Sure he lost benzo, but what does that mean? All we ever see from that is him crying with vi. Why is he running the firelights? Did he start this group? What got him passionate enough to start all this? How did he find the tree? Why is he so jaded now? How does he feel about how things went down for vi and powder? Why does he hate jinx? (For those who dont know, that last one was apparently Supposed to be answered, but was among one of the MANY ekko scenes they decided to cut for time.) Genuinely we get better character drive for Marcus. We barely get to know his thoughts on anything, let alone see his downtime. The only exception to that is when hes playing at being someone else in the au episode. Which leads me into my next point-

2. He is always only used as a plot piece for the white characters. We only see him in the au in service of having an au episode, furthering jinxs plotline, and getting his time power in time to kind of help stop victor. In the game he always had it, he would use it as a kid to make dinners with his family last longer, and worked on furthering it when he was older to save his friend, that he ended up not being able to save in the end. That's interesting! That's something for him to have on his own, that's a driving force for why hes doing things. And when this

Is genuinely the best characterization for him? Theres a problem. (He also falls into the black hair tropes of white hair and that specific short dreads with the side shave look to make him look cool, but since the white hair was a problem with the original character design in a load bearing way, and dreads do work for his character I dont necessarily consider them the worst offenses. Can we Please explore some other hair styles though I swear his look is begging for some twists, or maybe some box braids). And otherwise, his screen time is next to nothing. I want to say season one he gets less than ten minutes total. They treat him as if hes a main character to further the plot, but the moment it doesnt matter to the more important main characters hes discarded.

3. He doesnt get to be questioned. Every single character in this show is grey in some way, except for ekko. He is lorded as an absolute moral good by the show, but we dont actually get to see what that means. We barely actually get to know how he feels about shimmer divorced from silco, let alone any of his politics in regard to zauns freedom. Hes put on a pedestal of "the good guy" without actually letting that mean or accomplish anything aside from being something pretty to look at. A token. They almost do better by sevika, if they didnt fully ignore her after the parts they needed her for in the first half of season 2, not let her mourn or even find out about the people she cared about dying, didn't let her participate in the last episode, and then did her the disservice of being the only zaunite voice on the council when it runs on majority vote (I'm sorry there is No fucking way shes rolling over and taking that deal after how much shes devoted to fighting for zaun)

4. HE FUCKING WORKS WITH THE COLONIZER OF ZAUN AS A FRIEND AND MENTOR. HELLO. I have so many problems with how heimerdinger was portrayed as a constant voice of reason, but the fact that in ADDITION to that they make him buddy buddy with ekko? Makes it incredibly clear that they have no fucking idea what they're saying.

All in all, on the surface? Ekkos awesome! Ekko is really cool and fighting for an important cause! But the moment you look past that there is almost nothing to him character wise. And when hes the only black character they use culturally black ties for outside of hair, and the only main black zaunite character? It rubs me wrong.

[selfship-confession-void]

Every time I see a Selfship ask game where it’s basically like, people sending an emoji to ask you a question— I wanna reblog it so bad. I really do

but every single time, I never get any asks. Whenever I do, it’s because someone I know sees me asking for it and pities me

Someone suggested I tag my mutuals but like, why would I bother them about this?

I know I shouldn’t feel this upset about it. In my head I know that no one has a reason to care, since my f/o isn’t from a well-known media at all, and I’m just some random guy

I look at all the Selfship-centered blogs and feel very jealous of the attention they get. But then I remember they have popular characters as f/os, are completely Selfship based, or contributed a lot to the community

I just wish I had people I knew to talk about my f/o with them. But no one really pays much mind

-

[charminglygrouped]

Here's my advice:

you are writing a novel, not a screenplay

this means that you can exposit in the narration, rather than in dialogue. that's what the narration is for. there is absolutely no reason that all of your exposition needs to be in dialogue. in my opinion it shouldn't be, because this is one of the things about audiovisual formats like film that can be really awkward and conspicuous if not done well. this is a major strength of prose; feel free to use it.

sometimes, if it's very obvious who's speaking, you don't need a dialogue tag. otherwise, just use "said." use "said" (or something fairly neutral like "responded" or "asked") every single time, unless you really want to highlight something about the manner in which someone said something. you don't need to indicate the emotion behind every line unless it really isn't clear from the dialogue. "said" is so normal and ubiquitous that I promise it does not appear to the reader as repetitive.

more description is not necessarily better. don't mention what someone is wearing, what the furniture looks like, or even what the scenery is, unless there is some particular reason for doing so (e.g. there's symbolism in what this person is wearing; the furniture indicates something important about this person's taste or wealth; the reader is meant to connect an object in the scene with where it comes from; the scenery is particularly emotionally affecting to the characters in the scene; you're trying to slow down the pace during a dramatic bit; &c.)

it can be pretty obvious when someone is seeing a scene play out like a movie in their head and trying to describe that. but this is a prose medium. you are not writing a screenplay.

if there are two characters having an argument (about a personal conflict, or politics, or whatever), try not to make one of them "the right one" and the other one "the wrong one." it's boring

imagine someone asking you "why is that line here?" or "why did you include that detail?". you should always have an answer about why the work would be less effective without that line there. make everything pull its weight.

there is nothing wrong with just using an emotion word to state how someone feels. if you're going about it in some different way (mentioning their bodily reactions, for example), there should be some reason for it. is the character themself unaware of how they feel, only noting their own physical reactions? is the scene focalised through (meaning roughly, is it written from the POV of) someone else, who can only "read" the physical clues of the character's emotions? is this a character who is particularly susceptible to having strong physical reactions to things--someone who feels things very keenly? in my opinion, mentioning a physical reaction is a very strong, marked strategy that shouldn't be used every time.

a simile, metaphor, or otherwise imagistic or descriptive writing is not good just because it's beautiful. you might write a very beautiful sentence that nevertheless doesn't fit the mood of the scene, or whatever patterns of symbolism you've built up over the work as a whole. a metaphor is not just a container for meaning which, once unpacked, may be thrown away: the metaphor is the box and its contents. why specifically this metaphor for this thing? you should be able to answer that question. if a crescent moon has been "carved into"--why? are you trying to say something about consumption, violence, craftspersonship, "nature" versus "artifice," what? something can be very pretty and still need to be cut or revised. kill your darlings

basically, a lot of writing advice is going to tell you "more." more imagery, more description, more emotion, more "showing." this is good advice for anyone whose writing is particularly leaden (who isn't doing it on purpose), but it isn't always good advice for everyone. actually nothing is always good advice for everyone

"head hopping" isn't a real problem except for when it is. occasionally perspectives can switch in a way that's genuinely jarring and awkward, but that's not every perspective switch. look up "free indirect discourse"

read more, read widely, read lots of different genres and time periods, read translated works.

not only that, but read secondary literature about those works. if there's a text you particularly like, go on academia.org or something and try to find some scholarly articles that talk about some aspect of that work that was interesting to you. this will show you the kind of thing that readers can analyse when they read a work. for example, my writing is influenced just as much by Jane Austen scholarship as it is by Austen herself.

take all advice with a grain of salt, and don't trust anyone who tells you that their advice is the one and only key to good writing. there are 1000 different styles of writing and ethos behind those styles, and there are "trends" and "fashionable" ways of writing that change over time, as anyone who has read widely enough can tell you. don't listen to me even

look up what a comma splice is

look up what a vocative comma is

look up what a dangling modifier is

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Writing Advice

[yanderehighschool-confessions]

INTRODUCING THE YHS STUDENT* BRACKET!

Have you ever wondered who the YHS fan-favorite is? Well, to be honest, we all probably know, but for the 4 and a half people that have... more niche tastes, let's pretend we don't!

So, here are all the students! Or at least... kind of. I say student with an asterisk, since AFAIK MegaNecra only shows up in school like, once. I don't really know what the deal with him is. Is he even a student? No clue.

But that's enough of me rambling- I hope you all enjoy the scuffed bracket! Round 1 polls will be started later today. Or never, if I forget how a bracket works.

Feel free to spread propaganda for your YHS 'skrunkly'. May the best mildly-murderous highschooler win.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

over & over resident evil animation

yt link