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mischievous-piltovan · 6 days ago

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The Undying Oath (NSFW)

Chapter 4: The Emberlift Alley Workshop (NSFW)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader

Summary: Ralph takes the Reader to see the mysterious engineer building prosthetic parts for people in Zaun for free. It turns out the requiem was deafened.

A/N: This is a tough read. The NSFW part is not gonna be what you expect for a lovers reunion.

Warnings: The loss of a loved one, but not for death. Very angsty. Weird sexual consent.

Word Count: 5.2K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (In Progress)

Also on AO3

The next day, Ralph led the Healer out of the Firelight's Hideout and into the Undercity proper (which she learned people have been calling it the Nation of Zaun - or just Zaun - as of late). She hadn't left the Hideout ever since becoming their resident medic, facing again the decaying reality that the conflict between the sister cities brought to Zaun's doorstep felt jarring. Most neon signs peppering the underground were off, the streets were eerily empty and the few people out and about walked with haste, looking over their shoulders in skittish apprehension. The only sounds were the constant humming of machinery and clanking of pipework.

Lucky for her, Ralph had been on scavenging missions for the Firelights for a while, his experience navigating this new oppressive Zaun proved worthy. They reached the Entresol level without a hitch.

“The workshop is down this alleyway.”

As they ventured forth, it wasn’t long before dissonant sounds began to emerge, mingling with the industrial noises of the underground. Voices. A cacophony of conversations.

As the voices grew louder, signs of inhabitancy started appearing, becoming less scattered as they went. Tents with people inside, laundry poles filled with clothing, small groupings of people talking among themselves. It wouldn't be so weird to see such things in Zaun, had the rest of the underground not been so empty. A spark of light in the darkness.

“They’re all patients, waiting for their turn.” Ralph commented. And that's when she noticed - all these people either had missing limbs or busted prosthetics. “Most of them are victims of the conflict.”

Ralph led them towards the core of the settlement - a narrow building slotted between two others. Here's where the number of tents were much denser. It's also where a woman stood, leaning with her back to the building's wall, right next to the entrance door. She had her arms crossed over her torso, one of them a prosthetic similar to Ralph's. She smirked upon noticing them.

“So you brought Little Miss Magic, huh,” she sneered. “Come right in, the Herald's expecting you.”

Without another word, the woman held the door open for them. Ralph nodded at her, going in first. The girl hesitated a bit before taking a deep breath and venturing inside after him.

The first noticeable characteristic of the place was the smell - moldy and dusty with hints of motor oil, battery acid and a distinguished metallic scent. The second was how dimly lit the place was, enough that her eyes took a second to adjust to the new surroundings.

As her vision got accustomed, she saw what could only be described as a very messy living room. Almost every surface was full of tools, books, trinkets and rolls of parchment paper, but you could clearly see a tattered carpet on the floor, a beaten sofa on a corner and even a small dinner table with some wooden chairs on the other. This was a home made into a workshop.

Before she could register anything else, Ralph whistled at her as he disappeared around a corner.

“C’mon, the actual workshop is this way.”

With a nod, she followed Ralph, taking caution not to step on anything.

The threshold to where he disappeared to took her to a stairway leading down, presumably to the basement. The crackling noises of welding carried all the way up to the top of the stairs, where she stood. Light shone from the basement entrance every time the tool made contact with the metal and said whirring took place, outlining a tall silhouette on the wall facing the doorway downstairs.

Ralph was already halfway down, carelessly making his way to the ominous lair of the Herald. She brought her hands together for a moment, caressing her marble palm in a grounding motion. Everything since leaving the Hideout felt ominous, oppressive. And this dark workshop where this mysterious Herald resided was almost comically villainous - in the basement of a suspiciously dark, damp and empty house.

She very much missed the verdant nature of the Firelight's Hideout.

With a resolute exhale, she ventured downwards. Whatever waited for her here, she could face it. If anything, her arm could save her like it did before. Hopefully.

As they stepped through the wooden archway that framed the workshop entrance, they were faced with the source of the welding. At the opposite side of the room, a tall, distinguished figure stood with their back turned to them. The glint of metal caught her eyes immediately - the Herald seemed to wear some sort of full plate armor. His right leg and right hand were both prosthetics, a sign they at least knew their craft intimately. But the most prominent aspect of the Herald was an articulated claw-like welding tool, reminiscent of a thin third arm, that sprung from a bulky shoulder pad.

The Herald worked on a prosthetic leg. Sat beside him, on the same table he worked on, was a middle-aged man whose leg was missing. It wasn't hard to guess he was the owner of the metal limb currently being welded.

Ralph cleared his throat. “I brought her.”

The Herald stopped what he was doing, turning around to face them. Yellow glowing orbs met them through the slits of a metal mask.

“Ah, impeccable timing.” The Herald spoke in a thick accented voice, seemingly modulated by the mask, giving him a robotic lilt. His tone was mechanical, plain - the flexion between each syllable almost non-existent. “Come forth, aid me.”

She glanced at Ralph, who in turn simply nodded. Gathering courage, she stepped forward, towards the table and into the Herald's space.

The metal man proceeded to attach the prosthetic leg to the patient's body, who in turn groaned in pain as the nerves connected to the machinery. The metallurgist then moved to the side and waited, observing the girl in silence.

She turned to the patient. “Sir, I'll perform some quick first-aid. Is that OK?”

The man nodded in response, his breathing still a bit labored from the procedure. She brought the marbled arm up to the man's leg, placing her palm right at the seam between metal and flesh. Closing her eyes, she began the maneuver. In the dim light of the basement, the glow of her veins bathed her surroundings in golden light as she channeled her magic. The patient's eye widened at the sight, but quickly fell shut as a long sigh of relief escaped his lips.

Once the glow died down, she shuddered. “There,” she breathed out, taking a step back. “It's done.”

“Mr. Castro, experiment walking with the prosthetic.” The Herald instructed.

The man - Mr. Castro - hesitated at the request. He brought his hands to his new leg, rolling his foot around, seemingly just trying to get a feel of it. He then slid the leg off of the table, sitting at the edge without touching the floor. With a resolute exhale, he dropped down.

He blinked a few times, a knot in his brow. Once he felt secure enough, he took a tentative step with the prosthetic, putting his full weight on it.

His eyes widened.

Then he took another step.

And another.

He was soon walking around normally, like he had never lost a limb in the first place.

“Fascinating.” She heard the modulated robotic voice of The Herald say. But she paid no mind as she watched Mr. Castro taking a stroll around the workshop. There was a swell inside her chest, a giddiness she hadn't felt in forever.

It was hope.

“I wish to speak with her in private.” The Herald spoke again, breaking the spell she was in. “Take Mr. Castro and tell the guardI won't be seeing anyone else today.”

“What? Why?” She argued, but Ralph quickly cut her off.

“Sure.”

She blinked a few times at him, her brows knit together. An unspoken interjection in her open mouth. Ralph just patted her on the shoulder, the corners of his mouth turned up in a reassuring smile. She held his gaze, but quickly let her shoulders drop with an exhale. If Ralph trusted the Herald, she'd give him a chance.

She watched Ralph and Mr. Castro as they left the workshop until they disappeared into the staircase. Nor her or the Herald spoke, but there was a growing tension in the pit of her stomach. She caressed the wrist of her marbled arm, acutely aware of the metallurgist's movements through the corner of her eyes.

Once the telltale sound of the door closing rang out, the Herald spoke again.

“I was going to offer you a new arm,” he said, the same modulated monotone voice. “But it seems that this is no longer necessary.”

She snapped her head to his direction and watched as he brought his hands to the back of his head, gently unclasping the mask.

As he lowered it down, the world froze.

A chill swiftly ran down her spine, slotting itself in her chest. It felt tight, compressed, ready to burst. She needed to run, but was unsure if away from here or aggressively towards the Herald. Fight or flight.

Because she was seeing ghosts.

Honey-glazed eyes sat atop sharp cheekbones on the pale face that both haunted her dreams and guided her path. But it couldn't be him, could it? This Herald Must be playing tricks on her. He was dead. There was no cure for death.

“Hello, Woodpecker.”

And yet...

She threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his torso. The metal plates felt cold pressed against her cheeks, highly contrasting with the warm tears running down her face. She tried speaking his name, but only sobs came out.

Relief.

Months of unrelenting sorrow washed away in an instant. With every wail escaping her lips she felt another amount of weight being lifted off of her shoulders. He was alive. Gods, her Owl was alive!

Once the initial shock ebbed, with her breathing still ragged, she tilted her head up to face him. He stared down at her, his face neutral, saved for a slight arch of one of his eyebrows.

His reaction - or lack thereof - gave her pause.

“I- I'm sorry.” She took a step back, letting her arms fall to her sides.

“Don't be, it was an expected reaction.” The Herald, no, Viktor. Her Viktor. Her fiancé Viktor spoke. “I have something for that.”

The mechanical third arm that sprung from his shoulder moved, the claw-like extremity of it reaching for a nearby shelf. It grabbed a small transparent glass vial, the pearlescent liquid sloshing from side to side as the arm moved back towards the girl, offering her the item.

She hesitated for a second, but took the vial nonetheless.

“Drink it.”

She turned the unlabeled vial in her hands.

“It will make you feel better.” Viktor encouraged again.

Wiping the tears off of her face, she uncorked the bottle with a pop. She glanced up at Viktor again, looking for something - anything -, but he kept quiet, waiting for her next actions. With a low exhale, she brought the vial to her lips and drank up its contents. Her face instinctively scrunched up at the bitterness of the liquid, as she felt it burn down her gullet, reminiscent of a distilled spirit.

The burning died down, leaving a warm and fuzzy feeling in its wake. Like the cozy warmth of a hearth. Her ragged breathing subsided, the tears stopped and she felt her eyelids a bit heavier. Whatever turmoil the shock of seeing him sparked within her vanished, leaving a warm numbness in its stead.

On the other hand, her mind felt impossibly sharp.

“What did I drink?”

“A concoction I developed. I give it to patients when they are not being particularly cooperative.”

With this new presence of mind, she carefully analyzed Viktor, taking note of every little detail she failed to capture before. First of all, he was bigger. Not taller, bigger. As if someone had scaled him up proportionally - although still thin and lanky, he was at least half a foot taller, but his whole torso was also wider. His irises were still golden, but his sclera was very dark, almost black. He was still the same, but different.

Just like her.

“How are you alive?” She asked, tilting her head slightly. “Jayce said you were dead. He had a statue in your honor!”

“Did he, now,” he muttered. “And how, pray tell, did he say I died?”

A pause. She furrowed her brows, eyes flickering to the floor as she mentally recounted her conversations with Jayce.

“He didn't say.”

Viktor hummed. “He was never good at lying.”

There was something off with the way Viktor spoke, she noticed. Although the words he used and the phrases he constructed were full of mirth, the way in which he delivered them were dull, monotonous. Like he didn't believe in the sentiment behind them.

Or worse, he was hiding something from her.

It didn't deter her though.

“Then tell me the truth, how are you alive? Why would Jayce omit this from me?”

“I was supposed to die. No doctor in Piltover had the knowledge necessary to cure me.” He started, turning his attention to the tools on the table. “So Jayce breached the barriers between Piltover and Zaun to bring me to an old acquaintance. An alchemist.”

“The doctor?” She asked. Viktor had told her once about an old mentor of his, an hermit-like man whose laboratory was set inside a cave in the upper levels of the Fissures.

“Precisely,” he noted. “He theorized he could use a combination of his own research with the Hexcore for a solution. So Jayce retrieved it for him.”

“And his theory was correct.”

“Indeed,” he continued. “But it exposed Jayce to new knowledge regarding the Hexcore.”

He looked at his prosthetic hand, opening and closing his fingers.

“He learned about how I experimented altering my own physiology with it,” he said. “And about Sky…”

Her chest tightened. She still remembered how Sky’s accidental death had impacted Viktor. How they vowed to keep it a secret. How they held a funeral for her, just the two of them, and scattered her ashes around the place she and Viktor used to play as kids.

If Jayce had learned all that…

“He reported you,” she concluded. “And you were banished.”

“The Hexcore is still part of Hextech,” Viktor responded.”If the Council knew of its use for human experimentation and the subsequent death of a person, right under Jayce’s supervision, it would sully our work forever. No, he didn't report on me.”

She frowned again. “So he just… fabricated that you died to protect HexTech?”

He turned towards her. “You and I both know HexTech would continue being used while it was profitable to Piltover, ethos or no ethos.”

She studied his features, contemplating his words. “Then why…?”

“Jayce wished to protect our legacies.”

She paused. Viktor fought all his life to make a name for himself. To climb from the pits of Zaun all the way to the top of Piltover, using both his intellect and unrelenting force of will to do so. He defied every expectation set upon him, took a major risk when he decided to bet on Jayce and his research, succeeded with HexTech and had so much more to give to the world.

Only to be forced to face his own mortality.

And when he decided to use the technology he created to defy his fate, an unfortunate casualty took place. There was no ill-intention behind his actions, it was a misfortune. And for that Piltover could snatch all his accomplishments from him, erasing his name from the impact HexTech created.

“It was an accident,” she murmured, looking down. “The very nature of HexTech is risky, we are dealing with magic!”

She huffed, crossing her arms over her torso.

“And the only reason you were experimenting with your body was for desperation, not ambition,” the grip she had on her biceps grew tighter. Whatever the concoction she drank was, it damped her feelings but didn't mute them. “To cure a condition imposed on you by Piltover, when they decided to prioritize progress and profit over the lives of the people responsible for that.”

“You fail to consider I'm a Zaunite,” Viktor spoke, unfazed by her reaction. “The accident with Sky, the human transmutation, none of it would sully a Piltovan’s name. My crime is being born on the wrong side of the bridge.”

She looked him in the eyes, brows knitted together.

“And you are fine with that? Having to be dead to uphold your legacy?”

“It was the only solution, my feelings regarding that are irrelevant.” Viktor responded. “It's better to die as one of HexTech's creators than to live as the banished trencher, is it not?”

She took a step forward. “No! It's better to live as one of HexTech creators, despite everything that happened,” she spat back at him.”And the trencher part should be irrelevant to begin with!”

He searched her eyes, his own gaze still neutral. He pressed his lips together in a thin line before speaking.

“Is it better to understand the logical choice of a loved one,” he spoke, his tone still flattened, but with a tinge of softness. “Or to spiral in sorrow at her betrayal?”

Her eyes widened. Viktor's words tore her insides like a knife slicing through her sternum. This conversation was bound to happen sooner or later. She took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Not enough words exist… For me to properly convey how sorry I am for leaving you.”

She felt a lump already forming on her throat. Her eyes searched his features for possible ill-reactions to her words. But he simply stared blankly at her. “I can't imagine the pain you must have felt, being betrayed and abandoned at such a delicate time,” she dropped her gaze to the floor. “And you were cured without my help, my actions served only to bring you pain.”

Tears formed between her lids. No concoction could deter the weight of her remorse it seemed.

The sound of metal hitting the ground foretold his approach. She felt his hand cupping her chin and tilting her head upward to meet his eyes.

“You misunderstand,” he spoked, his tone unchanged. “I believe you made the right choice.”

“What?” She whispered back. “But I betrayed your trust, I left you to die alone.”

“What made more sense? Going after a possible solution based on information, or staying put waiting for the inevitable outcome?” He let go of her. “I saw your research, you had a strong foundation.”

She grasped his hand with both of hers.

“But you asked me to stay,” she cried. “And I left, even after promising to not do so!”

He straightened his back, looking down at her.

“I was simply emotional, clouded by my plight. I don't blame you, quite the contrary. Your choices made the most logical sense.”

She watched with knitted brows as he made his way back to his workbench. Something about his response just didn't sit right with her. This aloofness felt… Uncanny. As if he behaved as a mere caricature of his former self. But before she could dive more into it, he spoke again.

“I have a proposal to offer you.”

She blinked. “A proposal?”

He turned around to face her again. “Yes, I would like to propose a partnership. To collaborate in aiding those in need, like we did today. My prosthetics and your healing.”

“Oh! Ah, I- yes!” The whole rollercoaster of a conversation made the ordeal from earlier feel like it had happened a century ago. The shift astonished her.

“Is that so? I am glad to hear it.” But his tone didn't convey that. He turned around again, sorting tools on the bench before continuing. “Let me know how you would prefer to coordinate this endeavor, what days and times would you be available to come over.”

She blinked a few times. “I thought… I was going to move in with you?”

“Ah,” he said, halting his movements for a second. Without looking back at her, he continued. “Yes, that could be arranged.”

—-------------------

It was well into the late hours of the night when she came back to the Workshop.

After their reunion, she bid Viktor farewell and went back to the Firelight’s Hideout with Ralph. She notified Ekko of her decision, telling him to send those in need her way at the Entresol Workshop, assuring him she'd tend to all of them. She grabbed her bag, bid everyone good-bye and made her way back.

Along the way, a million synapses were firing simultaneously inside her head, creating an almost overwhelming cacophony of thought. Viktor being alive still felt surreal, so much that there was a part of her which suspected the whole ordeal up until now was but an elaborate ruse orchestrated by the Celestials in Targon. Worse yet - that she was still suspended in time and everything was just a dream, or some sort of purgatory.

She thought of Jayce, how he'd lied about Viktor's fate, adding it to the list of wrongs he caused her since she came back. But also about the circumstances he was put through to reach those decisions. She left him all by himself to tend to the HexTech lab, a city on the brink of civil war, and his dying partner. It was easy to point fingers at him now from her safe distance, easier yet to scapegoat her frustrations on him.

There was also something about Viktor’s behavior. She always admired his intellect, his capacity to solve a myriad of complex problems with astonishing ease. Yet it was in his fiery disposition, paired with his genius, that lied who he was at his core: a witty, passionate, snarky, and sometimes insufferable man. To see him act as coldly as he had felt almost offensive - like the personification of a vague idea of him. A pale imitation of the Zaunite inventor.

And yet, she couldn’t hold it against him. Not only because of the guilt she felt, even if he seemed fine with it. He still went through so much - from the days he'd slave away to find a cure for his ailment while he could feel his time running out, to the betrayal she'd bestowed upon him, to his unofficial banishment to Zaun by someone he held dear. He was collecting life-altering events like postcards, wearing traumas as badges. Of course he'd be different.

She just hoped there was a chance for her to bridge that rift between them.

Finally, she arrived at the workshop. Once inside, she made her way down the basement, spotting Viktor still at his bench, tinkering away at a prosthetic arm.

“I'm back.”

He turned around at the sound of her voice, and she was met with his maskless face.

“I will show you to your bed.”

He made quick work to put away his tools, grabbing his cane and taking the lead up the staircase afterwards. She followed behind with a low ‘ok’. They climbed another set of stairs, stopping at a floor above the entrance.

She observed his movements with quiet amusement. Although he still needed aid to walk, his stride felt much firmer than before. It was almost like his body regained the vigor it had at the time they first met. Something akin to warmth bloomed inside her at the sight.

Viktor led her to a room at the end of the corridor. He opens the door and she is met with a simple bedroom; worn-out wallpaper adorns all walls, there's a small wardrobe next to the entrance, leaning against the wall adjacent to the door. Journals, tools and rolled-up parchment papers are scattered around the room as well, but in smaller numbers than in the rest of the workshop. Finally, two beds are located on each side of a window, one by each remaining wall of the room, parallel to each other. The one near the door had clear signs of having been slept on, the other was neatly made.

“You may use that bed,” Viktor said, pointing to the latter. “Feel free to store your belongings in the wardrobe, or as you seem fit.”

She murmured an “OK” and made her way to the bed, taking the bag off of her shoulder in the process. Placing it on the floor next to the bed, she began to unpack quietly, but a question kept tugging at her mind, trying to overtake the forefront.

What was even their relationship anymore?

To be allowed to share a bedroom with Viktor once again, but in an ill-imitation of what they once had felt like a bad joke. It served only to emphasize the distance between them, to dangle what she desired right in front of her, but just out of reach.

Did he plan this? Was this him punishing her for her transgressions? Or was this him also being unsure on where they were as a couple? Were they even a couple anymore? Maybe she should try to talk to him about it…

Does she even deserve to discuss this with him?

The sound of fabric shuffling and the clanging of metal snapped her out of her thoughts. Instinctively, she turned her head to the source and took a sharp breath at the sight. Viktor was in the middle of shedding all layers of both clothes and armor off of him, facing away from her.

She was stunned, torn between turning around and giving him some privacy, or allowing herself a glance at the body she once knew so intimately. But the second it took for her mind to process what she was seeing solidified her decision on the latter.

He was more different than she anticipated.

Now with the outer parts of the armor off from his torso, she could see his back bare - or as bare as it could be. His whole spine seemed to be metallic, its outline protruding out from his skin. The brace he used to wear was substituted by a series of rubbery cylinders around his ribcage, connecting the new spine to his sternum, now also metallic and protruding in a similar fashion. The whole contraption felt like an exoskeleton. Where his alabaster skin was visible - his pectorals and abdomen -, bright purple veins shone from underneath.

She fought back a sigh, as to not alert him. In this candid moment, the only word that came to mind was beautiful. Still so, so beautiful. Warmth blossomed on her face as the urge to touch him emerged, to trace the seams between metal and flesh with her fingers. To embrace him from behind and learn what his scent was like, if it changed at all. But she shoved it all down with as much force as she could muster.

He was not her fianceé anymore.

This was as good of a time as any to turn around and resume unpacking. But a last glance at him made her audibly gasp as she saw him in the middle of dropping the lower half of his armor, his underwear in full display.

That's when he noticed her staring.

She turned around as quickly as possible, getting back to her bag in a feeble attempt to cover for her perverted misdeeds. But it was futile, the sound of footsteps - alternating between metallic and soft ones -, alerted her of his approach. His hand touches her shoulder and she flinches.

She turned around crestfallen, meeting two pools of molten gold swimming in dark sclera staring back at her. The same dull, indecipherable look on them.

“You're agitated,” he declared, rather than asked. “I can provide you with more of the calming serum, the effects of the one you took earlier already wore off.”

“I, ah-... No,” she blabbered, more than responded. His naked torso so close wasn't helping either. “No, that is not necessary. Thank you, though.”

“Are you certain? You're clearly troubled.”

She sighed, taking a deep inhale right after. She turned around completely, her whole body facing him. “I'm sorry, I was watching you undress. The sight of you bare took me back, is all.”

It was a subtle change, but something sparked behind Viktor’s eyes. The gears turning in his head almost made a sound.

“We were a couple. I understand now, you are in need of intimacy.”

Viktor shrunk the gap between them in an instant, his hands dropping directly to the hem of her shirt. He pulled it, the fabric riding up her torso, getting caught under her armpits. She was stunned, his sudden initiation took a few seconds to register, but she allowed him when it did, putting her arms in the air to let him remove her shirt all the way. This was more than she had hoped for.

Without a moment to spare, his hands go around her, reaching for the clasp on her bra. His finger swiftly unhooks it, and he removes it all the way, leaving her chest bare. A shudder escapes her as the sensitive skin comes into contact with the frigid air.

Viktor doesn't react, opting instead to carry on with the task, dropping his hands to the clasp of her pants. His movements were quick, but not desperate. They were swift and precise like an assembly line.

Her pulse drummed inside her ears, making her dizzy. Instinctively, she brought her hands to his chest to steady herself. And through the soft touch of her palm to his skin she felt the thumping of his heart. The steady thumping of his heart.

Her eyes shot open, searching his face. His eyes were focused on the task at hand, his mouth closed, his lips relaxed against each other, and his breath coming in steady intervals.

He was unbothered.

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away from her. He drops his hands, searching her face in confusion.

“Do you want this?”

She muttered, her gaze piercing his. It takes a second for the question to register.

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like you're not here,” she says, her brows arching in a pinch. “You're just going through the motions.”

He blinks twice, his brow furrowed.“Is this not to your liking?”

“That 's not…,” she looks down, taking a second to gather her thoughts. When her face turns back up, there's resignation in her eyes. “Look, time might not have passed for me, but it had for you. And I left you on such a sour note…, “ she trailed off, unsure if she really wanted to say her next words out loud.

But she had to.

“You had two years to let those feelings fester. It'd make sense for you not to want this.” Her eyes drop to a corner of the room, avoiding his gaze. She exhales. “Or me.”

The silence that lingered next felt like an eternity. She wanted nothing more than for him to dismiss her worries, to say he wanted her the same way he did before. That nothing that transpired negatively affected how he saw her, that he missed her every day since she left. That he is as happy to see her, to hold her again, that she is about him. But deep down she knows that such a naive scenario is completely unreasonable.

Yet nothing prepares her for the words that leave his mouth next.

“I might have failed to disclose,” he says, tone unchanged. “That I do not possess the ability to feel any longer.”

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (In Progress) Also on AO3

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #mischie writing #arcane x reader #viktor lol #viktor my beloved

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nynyhaha · 4 months ago

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Spider Themes: Phantom Troupe and fate (plus Chrollo character song analysis)

THIS is the moment that lead tons of fans to believe that Chrollo is a determinist,or at least a fatalist,believing that certain things cannot be avoided and that people lack the free will to act otherwise.

I haven’t seen any other proof of Chrollo being a determinist and I think it’s not that relevant to his character so this idea being so popular annoys me,and yet,there are lots of time where Chrollo is confronted with the idea of fate.

Why doesn’t he blame Judas?

There are multiple ideas

-his betrayal was bound to happen and he had no free will

-regardless of will,his actions were justified because it resulted in the greater goal being achieved(and Chrollo sees Jesus’ death as as important as his own death in a scenario where the Spiders have to chose.Chrollo would want them to sacrifice him for the Spider,and this scene hints at that)

-anyone willing to betray the organisation for money or fame was never a true member

-Chrollo doesn’t take anything personally and he doesn’t judge other people for their actions because he expects very little of them (we know this isn’t true for his Spiders,but it seems to be that way with Hisoka. He doesn’t blame Hisoka for being what he is)

This point is also illustrated in the flashback chapters where young Chrollo doesn’t get angry at his bullies even once. He’s not mad at Uvo,Phinks or Feitan,he outsmarts them or outruns them,but still sees them as part of his circle and never acts aggressively.

He doesn’t even appear to hate Kurapika or care much for his motives,since he accepted the fact that people will come after him for a multitude of reasons. He doesn’t care how good those reasons are.

The prophecy

Neon’s prophetic ability is meant to help people see the potential future,it’s not presented as being self fulfilling,in which case it would be a scam. The idea is that you can gain knowledge of your potential fate,and chose the course of action accordingly.

Chrollo trusts the ability since he uses it to make important decisions,like whether to stay in yorknew.

If he can use it to his advantage and cheat fate,how could he be a fatalist??

Our will above all else

The phantom troupe is incredibly strong as a group,yet they retain qualities of underdogs. They were born in the most marginalised community possible,in a place that doesn’t officially exist,and yet they’re now feared and infamous.

They won’t allow the world to take from them

They will impose their will on others.

Uvo’s requiem

I will never shut up about it.

It perfectly represents the nature of the Phantom Troupe and Chrollo’s philosophy.

We know Chrollo believes in souls,but does a man who sits in a broken Church and wears upside down crosses believe in any just god? There’s no way Chrollo isn’t a nihilist when it comes to ultimate justice. He expressed those doubts even as a child,and it seems that while he now thinks souls exist,he doesn’t rely on any afterlife.

He never relied on justice from above,he always took matters in his own hands. Believing in souls may mean that he sees death as a change of state,and sees murder as more forgivable since “everyone ends up in the same place anyways”but this is just speculation.

Only he can improve Uvo’s situation.

Uvogin’s soul soon will be gone,who knows where. Chrollo can’t change that,he doesn’t even know if Uvo hears him. But he will fulfil his wish. He will send other souls off in Uvo’s honour. He will show that his life and death mattered. It’s an attempt to reclaim agency,however futile it may be,it seems Chrollo wants to prove something to the universe.

People are the ones who sever ties

Doesn’t this run contrary to his ideas about traitors? It sounds here like he expects loyalty from those close to him. Or does he mean that he himself won’t forget things unless he cuts them off?

He can’t feel less responsible for the deaths of his friends and he can’t forget his place in the world,can’t detach himself from it.

Hi identity is still tied to external things. And it means all of the things he has lost,all of the humanity he has shed were deliberate sacrifices. Like he resigned himself to give up his life for his goals.

It’s very much a show of will.

The coin

It’s a practical way to resolve conflicts. While it’s thrown by a person,and the outcome can be random, therefore unbiased,it could also be them calling to fate to decide who gets his way.

“May happen what is meant to happen”

This leads to no conclusion,but it’s absolutely related to fate so I’ll mention it here.

1/13 analysis

I have no idea how canon this song is,but it’s a great interpretation of the information we have in canon. It touches on many themes crucial to Chrollo and his Troupe. I’m using the translation from the wiki,I don’t know Japanese and honestly I prefer the translation from the YouTube lyric video

youtube

This song mentions almost everything I’ve talked about in this post,and even more.

“..From the beginning”

They were doomed from the beginning. Even if they wanted something innocent and simple as dubbing anime,finding purpose in entertaining the masses.

First Chrollo rejects the notion of life,then he goes on to deny fate.

But he also approves them. “As if” The Troupe doesn’t act in accordance with reality and what it has in store for them,they act as if none of those things were real.

Life not existing means it’s meaningless and because of the horrible conditions Chrollo grew up in,he and the others were never given a chance of any life worth living. Life is real,but not for them. It’s something they deny themselves,something they abandon in favour of their duty and goal.

Fate might refer to both,inaction,staying anonymous nobodies,and doing something,surpassing themselves,and then dying a horrible death.

If there is a fate,can they know what it is?

Is Chrollo following his destiny,or acting in spite of it? If only he knew,haha. Maybe it’s not his choice to become a murder,maybe it was meant to be from the beginning. Or maybe he was meant to do nothing and be nothing,yet he refused.

”When we’ve obtained everything,we will disappear without a trace”

Went from actors to phantoms,got it? ;) This line brings in a sense of finality,of inevitability. So he knows they won’t live forever,that there is a limit. Sure,it could be referring to them being impossible to track,but I chose to believe there is more,since Chrollo touches on the possibility of them actually dying.

In that case,should they “separate and face eternity” the Spider’s Soul will live on. Or it must live on! Pretty spiritual, huh.

I love that while everything hints at his views being nihilistic,Chrollo’s spirituality is almost hopeful.

So is his song.It talks both to the enemy (you can’t run from us) and his fellow Spiders. He tells them to just steal,to consult the coin if needed,to trust that the Spider will live on and everything will be fine.

“What is there to fear?” I’m gonna cry,I swear.

This song also has this notion that whatever happens,happens.

“Que sera,sera” and shit. It shows acceptance of things that shouldn’t be accepted. Even his own feelings at the loss of his friends Chrollo acknowledges,and then ignores.

“Can’t be blamed.” He can’t blame himself for still feeling those things,but he just dismisses them. “You will want to sneeze at dust,it’s normal,but hold it in.” = “You will cry at deaths,feel grief and anger. Those reactions are normal,but don’t let it affect you”🗿🧍

What has pride to do with this? I’m genuinely confused. If this mf telling us to be humble? Is it prideful to expect no one to die? Or is this the typical “detach yourself from your feelings”?

Conclusion: Chrollo is seen as a fatalist because of his stoic attitude. The only way (according to HxH fans) to deal with what he goes through,is to tell himself it’s meant to be. I propose that no,he doesn’t think so. He thinks that regardless of fate,he can outsmart it and come out on top. Even if he loses people in the process,in the end it will be worth it. And even if he feels grief at their deaths,that’s just what happens. It didn’t stop him until now. All that just to steal? No,Ofc not. He just doesn’t know how to express his motives.

DO YOU EVEN HAVE CLEAR MOTIVES,CHROLLO? Your journey leads you to nowhere,and we don’t even know where it all went wrong

#chrollo lucilfer #phantom troupe #hxh #hxh headcanons #meteor city #chrollo #character analysis

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discardead · 1 month ago

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··· ··· ··· ✧✦✧ ··· ··· ···　Scenemo themed Names & Pronouns

﹒﹒﹒　Requested by anonymous!

Neo. Neon. Rex. Roxy. Roxie. Roxanne. Melancholy. Requiem. Zim. Kandi. Ash. Axton. Luna. Zane. Zyra. Rave. Axl. River. Toxic. Madi. Maddie. Mandi. Maxi. Bat. Procyon. Rat. Gloom. Gloomy. Kit. Kits. Acid. Mayhem. Chaos. Zoe. Craze. Dax. Marcy. Jae. Willow. Emery. Spirit. Ghost. Maven. Grimm.

sh!!/h!!r. h!!/h!!m. th!!y/th!!m. shx/hxr. hx/hxm. thxy/thxm. kan/kandi. hy/hyp. hy/hype. XD/XDs. :3/:3s. >_</>_<s. x3/x3s. >w</>w<s. ne/neon. aci/acid. zo/zomb. zom/zombs. zi/zim. ki/kit. glo/gloom raw/rawr. ra/rawr. ske/skel. ba/bat. rac/racs. rac/raccoon. grr/grrs. purr/purrs. claw/clawz.

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inkabelledesigns · 1 year ago

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Belladonna Nightshade - Halloween Dark Fairy

Base Doll: G3 Twyla from Monster High Clothing Pattern: Dollightful's Asymmetrical Dress (read to the end, I have notes about this)

Happy Halloween everyone! Since becoming a doll customizer, my Halloween dolls are usually related to my favorite indie horror game, Bendy and the Ink Machine. However, seeing as I've completed two Bendy dolls already this year, I felt it was time to give myself a break and try something a bit different. My friends over in DollyAnna's Discord server wanted to do a collaboration, so we decided to all make some Dark Fairies for Halloween!

Belladonna Nightshade is a mischievous fae that loves to play tricks and tempt mortals. That said, she's easily bribed with a sweet treat or two, and will usually let you be if you have a little candy or pastry to give her. I haven't decided what I want to do with her yet in terms of a story, but there is a part of me that would love to have her in my Equinox story.

When you consider the fact that most of my other Halloween dolls are black and yellow, it's no surprise she ended up super colorful. XD Would you believe this is my first doll with rainbow hair? Yeah neither did I, but she is! Part of my style is having really colorful and vibrant dolls, it surprises a lot of people that I've never done a rainbow before, but honestly? I'm glad to have finally tackled one! I'm also glad to have worked with another G3. Twyla is very near and dear to my heart, and I was so psyched to work with her mold! You can't see it in any of these photos, but I used glow in the dark varnish on her eyes and neon markings, so that her eyes still glow like the original. I will say, this doll has a lot more acrylic paint than my others, just by the nature of I don't have any pencils in neon colors. It was nice to get the practice in, I feel more confident than I did before in my brush skills. It was also nice to have a doll with dark scleras for a change! I haven't done that since I made Dreamer, it's surprisingly fun to draw on!

I was inspired by a LOT of different things with this one, and I went back and forth on my concepts a lot. Black light skeleton make-up, butterflies, fairies with non-traditional wings, candy, jesters, these were all sources of inspiration, and I think most obviously of all, Dollightful herself. This wasn't intentional, but I ended up using a doll of one of her favorite characters, with a lot of saturated colors which we know she loves, and even her dress pattern! I've been wanting to make this garment for ages, and finally I had a reason to try it!

So those of you who know how this pattern works are probably asking "Kat, how did you make this fit a G3? This dress is supposed to fit a G1 Monster High doll!" Believe it or not, Requiem Arts has a method for easily adjusting G1 patterns to fit G3 bodies. It's as simple as scaling a pattern up to 104% and printing it that way. It's meant for her garments, but I don't see any reason why it wouldn't work for other doll patterns. So I tried it with Katherine's dress, and I'm happy to say it worked out just fine! I think I probably should have adjusted a bit more on the skirt though. This outfit is essentially two pieces, and the skirt with all the ruffles is a little tight around the booty, it could have used a little more sizing up. So if you own this pattern and want to try this yourself, do keep that in mind!

Do let me know what you think! I had so much fun working on Belladonna, she's so vibrant and fun, I wanna try more fairies like her someday. I also need to try using props more. I got these pumpkins and hay bales on sale, and it was fun using them to craft a little temporary set for photos.

#dollblr #doll customization #doll repaint #ooak doll #halloween doll #doll custom #custom doll #monster high g3 #monster high g3 twyla #monster high custom #monster high g3 custom #monster high repaint #doll photos #doll photoshoot #doll photography #ooak #monster high ooak #longpost

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tenyrasims · 10 months ago

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「 ✦ Neon Requiem ✦ 」

❤ » —— ╫ ❲ ❤ ❳ ╫ —— « ❤ Jace - Zayne - Jesse - Kyle - Evan

"Can you save me? Save me from this ghost inside of me? That’s pulling me into the deep Cause I’m always sinking down into this misery Don’t give up on me."

❤ » —— ╫ ❲ ❤ ❳ ╫ —— « ❤

Here are all 5 boys together I made the last weeks - My new Metalcore band "Neon Requiem". Im planing to do a lot of cool stuff with the boys in the future. This also might include videos and other things on my Youtube Channel im very excited about ~

Feel free to share and follow me anywhere for more guys. Also im animating Sims Storys on Youtube. My actual story is "Dare To Love Me". Check the Story out -> HERE.

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kuehmiyue · 7 months ago

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neon requiem.

#hws hong kong #aph hong kong #hetalia #hws east asia

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sunofpandora · 1 year ago

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𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓾s

Part 2.

Spider is 19, Y/n and Lo’ak are 18, Neteyam is 19, Kiri is 19, Tuk is still 7-8.

‘Kxa’ran’ is a random na’vi name I made up. He is 18.

Disclaimers:

Mentions of uncomfortableness, trying to steal neteyams girl, lo’ak and spider being the y/n protector squad once again, Jake giving fatherly advice, Lo’ak swinging (it's called a punch, bitch) Neteyam and Y/n riding off into the sunset 💙👏😫

Not rlly smut but gets a lil steamy at the end.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

Y/n was a shadow.

She hid herself within the corridors of a raincloud, gentle touches of droplets caressing her skin.

She hides in the whispers, gently singing through the flowers that stitched up the bark of a tree.

Her vision warped into a blur of sounds and colors. I suppose that's why she yearned for nightfall.

On occasion, the sun looms over us like a scolding parent. Fervid gazes and persecuting streaks of heat. A torrid spotlight refusing surrender.

But oh, how she loved the night…

A veil of sounds, shapes, sporadically neon shaded by the incandescent bioluminescence of Pandora.

Secrets and stories scattered among a sea of stars. The moon, a searchlight for souls.

Alluring sirens of the dusk, dragging us to delirium.

If dark, if dreary, if dangerous, if endlessly indefinite, why so amorous?

She spoke to the stars, stole secrets from the sky, and wore moonlight as if a veil.

Sobs and sorrows for the forgotten stories. Requiems for rain clouds and silent storms.

Perhaps that's why she loved the night.

When the world became a shadow, she didn't feel so alone…

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

Gathering in groups was a normality for the omaticaya.

Today, a group of na’vi was sent to forage herbs, pick fruit, wash away the dirt and grime embedded over time in things like bowls and objects for eating.

They left high camp a bit after morning, departing themselves from the clan’s rocky stronghold and descending below to the jungle.

Y/n sat perched under a tree,

She gently traced her fingertips up the lines of a small white flower, curiosity and soft wonder embedded within the universe of her eyes.

Observation is a powerful thing. Hearing, sensing, seeing things past others grasp of understanding.

It's a binding freedom

“Y/n?”

Shaken from her fortress of solitude, Y/n is met with another shadow.

This one looms. It stalks over what little light Y/n allowed in her small dwelling of dusk within the shade of the tree.

It's raining, but it's not the kind that nurtures.

Plants fall to their knees under the man’s thunder of a laugh, mercilessly triumphant, yet accompanied by no accomplishment.

Kxa’ran.

Y/n peers up in recognition.

Kxa’nan earned himself a place in the flock of warriors Jake trained, Neteyam included. Neteyam and him were commoners of the same stability. Both warriors, neck and neck. Where the Golden Child stood, Kxa’nan rising behind him. One compared to the other. The silent rivalry of two warriors.

Kxa’nan was a shadow. Not a shadow like Y/n. He was a void, it repels vulnerability and authenticity.

Kxa’nan’s movements were rehearsed, not-so subtly flexing himself for Y/n's uncomfortable gaze.

You hate it when he flirts with you because he flirts with everyone. It's a cruel joke, really. Disguising something as binding as affection, to cradle someone's heart within the palms of your hands, to build it a home out of glass and shatter it.

“Kxa’nan.”

You greet politely.

You didn't like him. But you weren't an asshole.

He laughs.

What was even funny?

“Whatcha doing here all alone, huh? I'd thought you'd be with your little friends?”

You assume he's talking about Spider and Lo’ak.

Y/n shrugs, avoiding eye contact as best as one can. Trying to focus on the intertwining pattern within the sky, the dim golden halo that laid itself on the tree, leaking through the canopy-quilted and stitched with shades of green.

Kxa’nan dips his gaze down to Y/n's hands. Nimble, soft things. Drawing lines of tranquility in their wake.

His touch invades streaks of silent panic through your body when he reaches down to touch your hands, and the flower cradled within.

“Is that a flower? It's very beautiful..where did you find it?”

His voice is

You felt exposed.

Choppy, unfinished breaths tumbling from your lips.

His mere presence overbeared you, yet, Kxa'nan was nothing but a hollow shell.

His figure was made of pesky shadows and illusions of whispers that taunted you, like the laugh of a viperwolf.

He was a thief of trust.

He saw something, an interchangeable force the at spread like the roots to each person, tying us to this shape of vulnerability that appeared as a plaything that held no value to him.

Trust, to him, was a game. A continuance of an arousing match of case and capture, where you find yourself caged.

It's like a scythe when it hits, I panic.

Jake calls it anxiety.

Jake dragged his knowledge of it with him when he came to Pandora.

Jake taught you how to breathe.

Funny enough from the man that once needed a mask.

Taught you how to count your breaths from 10 to 1. How to count the leaves on a branch and wait for your chest to not feel so instantaneously heavy.

For a moment the stars fall. The shadow that once deemed itself an attendant of comfort is now a shallow pool of a storm. The ground feels cold, heat rushes to your wrists.

The words bombard your brain.

Leave me alone.

Leave me alo-

“Hey! Back off. I thought I told you not to bother her.”

A familiar five fingered hand finds its home onto Kxa’nan’s shoulder, yanking him back and standing in front of you.

A tall na’vi with the sides of his head shaved and lazily tied off braids barricades you.

“Can you not fucking count? The 8th time this week I've found you bothering her. Don't you have something better to do?”

Lo’am shoved the boy backwards, his voice a low hiss of annoyance.

Lo’ak was an anarchist of his own recklessness. His gaze grazed with fire unapologetically unable to sit still.

Sometimes the smoke and ash becomes a haze of intangible adrenaline. preservations for one’s safety wither away under the charred sky. Lo’ak’s anger was a shallow thing, much like his mother.

That's where people fail to truly see, Lo’ak

He was just as protective as Neteyam, if not more. Lo’ak and Neteyam were simply two sides of one stick, one sharp, one blunt. One can be applied as a knife, the other in aid as a crutch or to lean on.

Kxa’nan scoffed.

“I can't count? Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Kxa’nan taunted Lo’ak by jabbing at his “demon blood hands”.

A smaller, pale figure appeared next to you, grabbing your arm, pulling me to your feet,

In the unwelcoming sequence of three na’vi, spider remains unwavering.

His gaze stern, annoyed.

“Get lost, idiot.”

Spider glares.

Your wrists don't feel so hot. The ground doesn't sink, the shadows aren't so loud.

Always count on Lo’ak and Spider. As stupid as the two can be.

They were your boys. Your brothers. A type of love that was stitched together out of mismatched pieces.

They fit if you place them in the right position.

“Touch her again and i’ll punch your ass so far into the future you’ll meet the next generation.”

Lo’ak stands, fangs bared, chest almost touching.

Kxa’nan laughs.

It's thin

it's fake

it's forced.

“Y/n, yawne, did you forget to leash your companions before leaving?”

He smirks at you, and you facepalm at the storm approacching

There's a silence. Worth 6 beats.

“The fuck did he just say?”

Lo’am rhetorically asks the jungle air, before turning to spider.

“Spider. What did he just say?”

“I think he called us animals, Lo’ak.”

“Should we let that slide?”

“Me personally? I would never.”

Spider sighs disapprovingly. Like a parent gently urging a child to make the right decision, clean up their act.

That's the beauty of Lo’ak and spider.

They fail to see the true weight of any situation when the two face it together.

Everything dark and dreary dusts away under a bad joke and some back-and-forth

“Guys. C’mon.”

You reach for Lo’ak, tugging him by his armband away from this quandary he's planted himself in.

Lo’ak follows reluctantly, sparing a lingering glare at Kxa’nan.

“Try that shit again, I dare you!”

Lo’ak calls over his shoulder.

“He dares you!”

Spider fans the fire.

You groan, not expecting to be babysitting two idiots today.

“For the love of Eywa you two-”

Your boys. You loved them anyways.

If you were a shadow, Lo’ak and spider were your clouds. Protecting you from looming notions that threatened to tear the darkness.

Neteyam watched from afar.

Neteyam wasn't normally a very angry person.

Inconspicuous glares and silent mumbles. Flicks of his tail subtly revealing his brewing emotions.

Other than that, Neteyam wore a mask.

Accustomed to pleasantries, never daring to chase beyond the notion of familiarity. Having an audience, the constant need to entertain those even he swore to eywa he couldn't tolerate, was a burdening thing.

Eye contact. Smile. Sit up straight. Don't laugh too loudly.

Some swore if they turned neteyam over and searched the right corners, you'd find puppet strings.

His mask grew with the years, cracking only in small fragments wear vulnerability leaked through the crevices, small silent outbursts of leashless emotions.

It's a rare sight.

But at this moment, Neteyam swore Lo’aks fire was spreading.

Loneliness came as a luxury for neteyam. It was the only time he allowed himself to truly become hers.

Some nights, all he dreamed of was her.

Her. Her. Her. Her. Her.

Oh, how he longs for her.

If he kissed her, if he even so much as grazed her skin, he'd fear shed disappear back to the shadows.

Coaxing hesitance was a second-nature concept.

Yet, he's haunted by an insatiable compulsion to protect her.

Ghosts of daydreams, husks of lingering touches and reincarnations of longing gazes. Rain carries ghosts that cherish the fragments of their lives within the darkness of the clouds, because the vexatious luminescent antagonist we claim to be sunlight, provides no sanctuary to a ghost.

Perhaps that's why his daydreams abandon him.

Perhaps the dissipate to his own negligence.

He was always yours. He didn't want you in the way Kxa’nan did. Your heart wasn't a game or an object to be used, then discarded.

You were a story. He would treat you like one of your flowers unless you wished otherwise.

He would do anything for you.

He would steal every happy ending for you.

You preferred small corners in which he couldn't fit. You preferred night to day.

Neteyam was in sunlight.

You were a shadow.

And sunlight and shadow cannot touch.

Neteyams attempts to dim himself always became futile. Dreams of touching you became glimpses. It lingers in a flurry of color, his palms longing for your warmth.

Vexation was silent.

It never screamed.

Until this moment.

Kiri, whom was rambling about the river crystals she planned on collecting, thanking neteyam for letting him use his basket as she waded in the shin deep Creek,

Neteyam’s lne of focus scrutinized the sight a few trees ahead of him.

Kxa’Nan grabbing your hands, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.

He couldn't hear, but neteyam could see your agape mouth, he sensed inaudible shallow breaths.

He was touching you.

Aggression stirred beneath his skin.

How he watched Kxa’nan skip off like nothing happened, after Spider and Lo’ak made their grand entrance and not-so-swift escape.

“Pandora to Neteyam!”

Kiri chucked a yovo fruit at his head.

The man had been staring into space for the last 6 minutes.

Kiri personally didn’t spare something as precious as brain cells on something as meager as the two unbearable creatures she called her brothers, but the occasional pestering that accompanied their relationship has become a necessity.

Kiri had found some feathers near the river on her hunt for crystals.

She was offering them to neteyam for his knife sheath (she’s been begging him for weeks. His sheath is just ‘too boring’ for her taste.)

when she found her brother mindlessly wandering his gaze ahead.

“Ow-

What the hell-

Kiri!”

He glared at his sister.

Kiri huffed.

“Sxkwang. You’ve been zoned away for minutes now! Are you loosing your hearing?”

Neteyam rolls his eyes, his mood suddenly deflated.

“No. I’m fine…”

Kiri’s playfulness withers for a moment.

Kiri was a lot of things.

Kiri was modest, compassionate, candid and capable.

She spoke to the forest the same way Y/n spoke to the stars.

Kiri perched herself next to her brother, nudging him with her tail.

“You okay?”

He shook his head.

Something flickers past Neteyam’s features.

It’s soft, light, a thin layer but its presence isn’t going unnoticed.

Something that can almost be mistaken as regret contorts his features. His confidence has fallen. Not completely, only slightly. A somber shade of gray dances past his face.

There’s a few beats of silence.

It’s not uncomfortable. It’s understanding. The two siblings find a common ground between this void of conflict.

“Do you think mom was ever afraid of Dad?”

Kiri stayed quiet for a moment, the question stilling her.

“Mom? Our mom? Neytiri Tskaha Mo’at’ite?? Afraid of our father?

You humor me, brother.

If anything, dad should be afraid of mom.”

Kiri chuckles, leaning back against the tree.

Neteyam chuckles as well, but it sobers itself in a flash of memory.

When they were small, Neteyam and his siblings would curl around the fire In their families marui, neteyam would sit next to y/n, while Lo’ak laid his head on her shoulder, obnoxiously snoring into like the 6 year old he was.

Kiri sat on the other side, looking up in awe at her father as Jake spoke.

Jake told his children stories of a time that was before the marine learned to see.

He grasped the essence of life: the immunology of pandora. The power, the secret to growth, a true appreciation for the relative importance of things, order, and balance.

He told his children of the corpse of a life now forgotten, where the fallen hometree remains but memories rots.

Jake prayed to eywa his memories could rot with it.

He told stories of earth, as well.

Comparing his wife to Cupid, fond of arrows. How she stopped his heart without even grazing it.

Neteyam was an idiot for love stories. Especially as a child.

Particularly his parents’ love story.

How two people, worlds part find themselves together under the sky of pandora. The day they met. The day the stars aligned and two hearts disregarded the burdens of a cruel reality, and found a home within a war. Found intimacy through the most painful of grieving.

If Jake and Neytiri, a former human and a na’vi,

Why not Neteyam and Y/n?

Why not the sun and a shadow?

Kiri stilled for a moment.

“I guess..maybe there was fear of mom’s loyalties being internally tested?

Maybe she thought she would have been betraying her people if she mated with dad.

Remember the Cupid story?”

Neteyam contemplates it for a moment.

“But mom didn’t mate with dad till after his iknimaya? He was already one of the people. He claimed his ikran, and through dreamhunt.”

Kiri shrugged.

“True. But he kinda got his na’vi card revoked when hometree fell. Don’t you think?

Are you suggesting you want a woman to shoot you with an arrow?”

Kiri chuckled.

Neteyam can’t help but snicker.

A somber stillness comes over him once again, his voice is quiet. Fragile.

“Do you think at one point they thought that..

That maybe they just couldn’t be together because dad was a human?

Because two people are so different, it’s never even a possibility?

That our insecurities fester into doubt?”

Kiri stares with tints of concern for her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He seemed to be getting a bit too worked up for a light conversation.

There was something about embedded underneath. Hidden.

“What if-“

“They loved eachother.”

Kiri interrupts Neteyam’s maddening anxiety for a moment.

“They loved one another.

It’s almost impossible to neglect when your so deeply in love with someone. Even if you convince yourself conditional, unbinding. They were in love.

She held him even out of his avatar when he was dying in that shack.

They were always meant to be, Neteyam…what is this really about?”

Neteyam swallows thickly.

His deep, accented voice grazing the edges of a sharp concept, dripping with denial.

“Do you think the sun and a shadow can fall in love?”

Kiri is quiet for a moment.

She’s not confused.

For once, her brother's mask cracks.

For once; the warrior needs protecting.

There's Something unguarded and raw behind his gaze. There’s something fragile.

And most protect fragile things.

“This is about Y/n, isn’t it. What happened, Neteyam?”

Neteyam sighed.

“Kxa’nan.”

Kiri’s eyes thinned at the mention of his name.

He once ‘accidentally’ tripped her while she was walking, and refused to come clean when neteyam confronted him.

Jake didn’t even like him.

And Jake was the chief of fucks sake.

“What did he do?”

Kiri suddenly felt her own wall go up.

She thought of Y/n as much as a sister as she would Tuk. Memories of giggling and gossiping after the brothers and tuk were asleep and Jake and neytiri went on dates. Telling eachother stories and braiding each others hair.

You were a shadow, and Kiri was your Venus.

“He touched her hands. Just like-

Grabbed them.

And then she had one of her-“

Neteyam makes a motion with his hands to indicate erratic breathing but ends up just deeming himself laughable.

“She had an…asthma attack?”

Kiri made her first guess.

“No-

She had like-“

Neteyam struggles to articulate himself.

“You know when her breath gets kinda shallow? And she just-“

Kiri spares him the embarrassment.

And herself a headache.

“Yes yes. I know-“

She freezes.

“Wait. You saw this happen?”

“..yes I thought I made that clear-“

“And you didn’t go and protect her?”

“….”

Kiri smacked neteyam upside the head.

“Ow! Kiri! That’s the second time you’ve hit me!”

“You skxawng! You fool! You dumbass!

You didn’t go to her aid!?

Eywa help us all. You’re right. You suck at this.”

Neteyam’s ears pin back and he winced.

“I was going to-“

“Bullshit!”

“Kiri I swear!”

“She’s afraid of me!”

The two are still at the brusk's confession.

“Neteyam. Y/n may not be…the most comfortable with everyone but she’s not afraid of you-“

“Yes she is.��

Neteyam cuts her off.

His tone is defeated and blank.

Acceptance is an essential part of grief.

“Neteyam….”

“Doesn’t she know I would do anything for her?

I would steal the night sky for her. I’d make the whole world become a shadow so she doesn’t feel so alone-

It shut myself away so that she has nothing to fear. I’d never draw another breath again if it meant she’d smile.

It’s beyond precious. It’s beyond anything I can describe, sister-“

Kiri’s mind struggled to keep pace with the maddening reality of Neteyam’s violently clashing sentiments.

It hits Kiri.

“You love her.”

“Sister, I worship her.

There must be something wrong with me.

I swear the stars envy her.”

Kiri and him sit for a moment.

“You asked me if the sun and a shadow can fall in love?

Do you remember what norm told us?

Moonlight doesn’t exist. Moonlight is reflected by the sun.

When the world becomes a shadow, the sun provides what little light it can to the darkness so it doesn’t fall pitch black.

She dwells in the dark? Give to her what you already provide.”

“And what is that?”

“Light.”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

“Should have just let me fuck him up.”

You groan at Lo’ak’s words.

You, Lo’ak, and spider were weaving a chain of leaves and branches for a hunt festival later that night.

Y/n didn’t like large crowds. She fared better with her two idiots, much to the dismay of other na’vi in the clan.

Spider snickers.

“Maybe if your little boyfriend showed up, he could have swept you off your feet and protected you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Neteyam was probably busy helping Kiri. He probably didn’t hear his maiden’s cry for help.”

Lo’ak and Spider both cackle.

“You two think you're funny? I don’t need neteyam to come defend me.

And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Lo’ak gasps dramatically.

Then he chuckles.

“Listen sis. Our existence is the height of hilarity.

You're just mad that neteyam didn’t come and tell Kxa’nan off.

By the way, Can we get a thank you?

We saved your ass back there.”

It’s roll your eyes, shoving Lo’ak, with a small mumbled ‘thank you’.

“Y/n? Can I get some help?”

Jake comes into view, tapping you on the shoulder.

You stand, following him back to the family marui.

You find yourself helping Jake repair a human object called a ‘radio’.

It played music and could record things as well.

Jake and Neytiri have a tradition. They’d dance the human way at a festival, out of sight from others.

You found it beautiful, really.

You didn’t have parents of your own to witness a growing relationship between. But watching Jake and Neytiri was far more interesting.

Jake seemed to notice how quiet you were.

And not as quiet as usual.

To the surprise of many, you cling to Jake more than you did Neytiri as a child.

Not to say neytiri wasn’t able to take care of Y/n.

Neytiri adored Y/n. Considered her a 3rd daughter.

And well, she was the closest thing to a mom y/n would have after her own mothers death.

It was different with Jake.

Y/n has some flashes of memory with her biological mother.

With Tsu’tey? She had none.

Neytiri found herself in a place that once already held a shadow.

Meanwhile, Hake had to make his own shadow.

Reflections and reality, gentle whispers and ruffling her hair, Jake was gentle as he could be.

He considered Y/n and Lo’ak like twins solely because of their separation anxiety as children.

y/ns shadow and Lo’ak’s fire was a constant contrast in Jake’s life.

Jake would pick her up, rest her in the crook of his elbow; whisper small, gentle things.

Jake was much more protective and diligent over Y/n.

He always thought she saw the world much larger than his other children did.

Jake realized Y/n liked flowers and plants because they were easily satisfied with company.

They aren’t people. She didn’t have to raise her voice or embed herself in a state of stillness.

Jake heard the whispers.

“Does she even speak?”

“She’s a bit old to be hiding like that.”

“Maybe she’d like to play with my child-“

Rueful pesky whispers. That’s all he heard.

Jake didn’t speak. He didn’t raise his voice or even make a sound.

He places his hand on her shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down her back like that day all those years ago under the shade.

Jake would always be your shade.

Your sanctuary for your shadow.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

The festival raged on below.

You were currently a bundle of nerves as it is.

You had lost Spider and Lo’ak in the crowd and retreated to one of the higher hills to search for them.

You'd think plucking them out of a sea of faces would be second nature, but no, your boys fancied the self of one-sided hide-and-go-seek.

Spider and Lo’ak were your clouds. The radical rebellion within a rain storm. And as you tried to dish out a shimmering reflection off of spiders mask that protected him from the unwelcoming atmosphere of the jungle, the sky grew darker and darker. Laughter run through the air, the fire accentuating features of those who danced with the flames and sang with the embers.

You didn’t hate people. That was a common misconception about you.

You preferred plants to people, because one didn’t talk nearly as much as the other, and the stories within the roots and water, droplets weren’t as near as overbearing as the burdening shrills of overbearing questions. I’m nights like these were the clan gathered in large groups you would sit alone in a tree with Spider and Lo’ak. You talked about everything you were going to do the secret and stars were going to steal for one another.

On occasion, you talked to Spider about Neteyam.

How do you fear this barricaded wall you’ve built around yourself was going to turn into something he could never climb. That may be this archer you dreamed of was simply out of your grasp. You dreamed of him as the sky struck midnight in the colors in the clouds, concealing the world of a shadow you dwelled in.

Spider and Lo’ak made hesitance and patience deem itself as something worth only for baiting you into good behavior. That he would slip from your grass, that your life with slip away in a blink if you didn’t go and kiss him as the mere second.

Nights were filled of him.

His eyes, a paradox of the golden hour. His strong figures sculpted like mountains, his words that painted the sky in the sea.

He wondered if he tasted like sunlight and wind, if his lips were as gently roughed-edged and honed as his voice.

Or if when you touched him, the last salvageable stretches of the sunset would disappear under your lips. And you would return to recycled versions of his lingering touches..

You loved him. You truly, truly loved him.

And what would the sullys think? His parents? His siblings?

You owed everything to them.

They didn’t have to take you in after your mother passed.

Lo’ak was your fire. Neteyam was your sun. Kiri was your Venus. Tuk was your star. Jake was your wind. Neytiri was your mountain. Spider was your cloud.

But you? You were a shadow.

Finding your voice became more difficult as a child.

This shyness, this shadow, this ‘anxiety’ as Jake called it.

This thing. This monster.

Made out of shadows and secrets and pesky loud whispers.

It’s tall with limbs like sticks.

It’s chained to your wrist like an unwanted prisoner.

It sends strokes of dread down your back.

And it haunted you.

When you longed for Neteyam, but this chain around your wrist kept its barricade of darkness.

Even as a child.

You were a little voice who others assumed only cried for help.

When you tugged on Neytiri’s waistband, gently signaling you were uncomfortable, when you hid behind Jake’s leg from prying eyes.

How a small Lo’ak followed you around, looked at you like you held the universe in your hands, you were his big sister. How you chewed on your lower lip, nervously holding Jake’s hand while Lo’ak clung to your arm.

How his fire and your shadow caused a collision within the Sully family, beautifully inharmonious chaos.

You loved Lo’ak. But Lo’ak was your brother.

The closest thing you would have to a brother in this lifetime.

You longed for Neteyams sunlight.

You were a shadow.

Shadows didn’t belong in the light.

Much less to fall in love with it.

To lay beneath his soul, to feel the connection. It’ll always be there. Casting a shadow.

A starless night.

Oh how you longed for moonlight.

You peered down below, your gaze tugged away from your mission to find your two idiots.

You're lost in the beauty of the Omaticaya, people danced in their traditional garb, the drums ruminate through the thick air, and you swore it was the heartbeats of your people.

The fire and the night sky was a beautiful collision dancing off of azure skin.

Then. The rain returns.

“Y/n? Whatcha doing here all alone?”

No. No no no no no.

You whip around to see Kxa’nan.

Your breath leaves you in a soft surge of panic.

“You're always alone. I barely ever hear you talk, yawne. Need some company?”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

Neteyam was helping his dad cook the fish he hunted earlier over the fire, Neytiri and Kiri assisting with the spices and herbs.

Lo’ak was missing from the picture, nowhere to be seen the whole night since the celebration started.

“Where is your brother?

Neytiri asked, letting Tuk perch herself in her former spot next to Jake.

“You haven’t seen him?”

Neteyams eyebrows raise.

“Was he with Y/n and spider?”

Tuk lifts her head over Jake’s shoulder.

Neytiri, more than displeased at the mention of the human boy, but concern for Lo’ak and protectiveness over Y/m arose.

“Was she with the sky boy and Lo’ak earlier? They went with the foraging group today-

Tuktirey. Stop poking at the dead fish.”

“Sorry mama.”

As if on cue, Lo’ak and spider entered the small tent.

“Lo’ak!”

Neytiri placed her hand on her son’s shoulder.

He was out of breath, looked like he just ran around the entire forest.

“Where’s Y/n?”

He asked in a short gasp.

Jake, now concerned stood to his feet.

“Y/n? Where did you come from, Lo’ak?”

“The festival? I dunno-

I can’t find her. And she hates big crowds like these. Spider had to go back to the lab to get a new mask on short notice, there’s no one with her.”

Tuk giggles.

“Lo’ak was probably too busy dancing with a girl…”

Jake’s eyebrows crinkled.

Neteyam stood at his feet as well.

He left the tent and set off to find you.

He searched the celebration, pushed past the embers and smoke, the thick air of peoples dancing and the sounds of laughter.

On a hill, a little ways off. Two shadows come into view.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

“Kxa’nan..I wish to be alone.”

Kxa’nan groaned at your words.

“Your’e always alone, or you’re hanging out with those two freaks.”

Your shadow dissipates for a moment, anger simmered beneath your skin.

“Lo’ak and Spider aren’t freaks-

don’t talk about them like that.”

Kxa’nan scoffs and your left unhooded with no shadow at all for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. You’re the one always having a pissing race with Neteyam.

Maybe if you aimed your arrow as good as you flexed your non-existent muscles, there’d be nothing to say.”

He hissed at you and grabbed your arm. Being compared to Neteyam was a jab.

A small wince contorted your features, you gasped.

A flash of lights invades both your visions, and a strong arm is wrapped around your waist, a familiar touch, a circle of safety.

A familiar azure skinned archer appears beside you, a protective shield of a glare at Kxa’nan.

“Don’t touch her. Ever. Again.”

Kxa’nan scoffs, but a fortification of fear embeds itself In his eyes. Clearly intimidated by Neteyam’s presence.

Kxa’nan glares at you, unhappy with your savior and his impeccable timing.

His eyes flare yellow. Not a soft golden hour like Neteyam’s. No, and even in a clan where all your eyes share the same tint. At the moment this is a sickening shade of yellow. It flares so brightly you thin your eyes to look away. Your breath hitches in your throat and your voice hides behind the threat of thought.

Neteyam takes a step forward and pushes him away, shielding you from his gaze.

His deep voice honed itself as a rougher edge.

“Don’t look at her.

Look at me.

Don’t come near her again. Got it?”

Lo’ak and spider come into view from behind a few trees.

“Hey! Get away from them. Back it up!”

Spider’s small figure appears much less intimidating then the Sully brothers. But he remains grounded to protect you.

“What the fuck did I tell you?”

Lo’ak grab’s Kxa’nan by his bicep roughly.

“Don’t bother her. And what did you do?”

Kxa’nan glares at you and your four tyrants.

“Y/n, did you really have to bring this whole freak show family with you?”

He bites.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then, Lo’aks fist collides with Kxa’nan’s jaw, hot, red liquid pools from his mouth.

“It’s called a punch, Bitch! Don’t ever touch my sister again.”

Kxa’nan tackles Lo’ak, and Spider body slams the Na’vi.

Tapping his elbow before placing his other hand on his bicep and flinging himself, jabbing Kxa’nan in the ribs with his elbow.

Jake emerged from a few trees away, groaning and trying to grab his son before shit actually got heavy.

Jake places a lingering touch on your arm to make sure you were safe,

Jake drags Lo’ak up by his arm, grabbing spider by his waist.

Spider explains the predicament, and Jake angrily drags Kxa’nan away to be dealt with.

No one messes with his kids.

Lo’ak wiggles his eyebrows at Neteyam, who’s held you close to him this whole time.

And then.

You’re alone.

Neteyam turns to you, his fingers dragging down your cheeks gently.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Talk to me, please..”

Gently cradling your face in the cup of his palms.

A fire alights beneath your skin.

“I’m fine, Nete…he just made me…uncomfortable..”

There’s silence. 7 beats worth.

“How long has he been bothering you?”

Your voice peaks from behind your barricade.

“Awhile…”

“You never came to me, you never told me. Y/n I will always protect you. Why didn’t you come to me?”

His voice was a labyrinth of desperation clinging to hope.

“I’m sorry..”

It’s a small fragile whisper.

And most protect fragile things.

Neteyam gently drags his hands down your neck, another hand gently tracing your rib cage.

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to know that I care for you. So deeply, Y/n.”

Is there another universe out there where I can spare you the pain of love?

Longing for someone so desperately you fear they’ll become aflame under your touch.

Does he taste like fire?

Is the plush of your skin sculpted from shadows?

This love was a painting you never had the courage to count the colors, in fear they would flurry away.

In this fortress of his arms, in this circle of sunlight, in this last surviving stretch of a sunset, there’s a flare.

Neteyam gives to others only to deny himself.

You reach for something made of glass only to see it shatter again.

But not here.

Not now.

You whisper hoarsely as his hands cradle your face.

“I don’t like big crowds.”

He smiles and kisses your nose.

“Then neither do I.”

The two of you sit there, under the canopy of the trees, watching the stars.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

Your head laid on his chest, the only music you two needed was the sound of your intertwining heartbeats.

You traced the lines on his palms, and he kissed your cheek.

Soft whispers and lingering gazes.

“What’s your favorite star?”

You ask him.

You.

He wants to say, but he holds his tounge. Eyes scanning the sky for the perfect star to satisfy your curiosity.

“That one.”

He points to one, it’s in the midst of a cluster of scattered flurries of white specks.

You leaned into his shoulder, his hand gently cupping the back of your head.

“What would happen if they started falling?”

“I’d catch them for you.”

You chuckled at his answer.

He closes his eyes and basks in the aubade of your laughter.

Your soul, gentle semblances of beauty in the space behind the sun.

Love is a sacrificial abstraction. He sees you in signposts and circles, and parallel lines.

Another beat of silence passes.

“Y/n.”

He breaths your name, dragging his finger along your pulse point.

You hear music in the distance.

Not the drums of the Omaticaya, or the flutes of your people.

You peer down over the hill and see two figures slow dancing to a radio in the family Marui.

Neytiris giggles are gently heard as the silhouette of her and Jake dancing comes into view.

You sighed in contentment. Sometimes, you, Neteyam, Kiri and Lo’ak would spy on them behind the tent flap. Observing them dance, Jake teaching her the way people dance on earth.

Neteyam smiles as well.

“I love it when they do that…”

You lean into his shoulder, and he finds himself lost in your eyes once again.

He wishes he could give you the whole world. A place where you can disregard burdens of reality, be tangled with her pages and plants, gardens made of clouds, and laughter, where you can trace the in patterns of her favorite flower, where you can touch the consolation within isolation. It is not loneliness you desire, you don't want the fixation of the introspection within your shadow.

Neteyam stands you both to your feet, Jake’s music dwells in the night air, the stars seem to twinkle in perfect rhythm.

“Neteyam, what are we doing?”

You laugh.

“Dancing, come yawne.

Put your hands here, and my hand goes-“

He pauses before placing his hand on your lower waist, just like he saw his father do.

“May I?”

You nod.

Before you can blink, he sways you with the music, you laugh and avoid stepping on his toes

For a moment, the shadows disappear. The sun burns out. It’s no longer so bright you are forced to shy away to the dark.

Custom, reason, temptation, it all fades behind the stars.

The moonlight traces his figure as you dance, the stars reminisce in your eyes.

You were composed of stories.

Captivating, euphonious stories.

The same stories that you cradled in your pals when you held your plants.

Your souls dance but your gazes remain still.

He gently cups your face in his hands, lifting your chin.

“I see you, Y/n. I have never seen anyone but you, beautiful…”

Your breath hitches.

“I see you, Neteyam. I’ve always seen you..”

When you kiss him, the shadows and the sunlight collide, and soft gasps and and tangible emotions are torn.

There is no barricade.

The distance was only ever created because distance was safe.

But you don’t want distance.

Neither does he.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

He lays you down on the soft bed of grass, he yearns to kiss every inch of you from your hairline to your ankles.

“Y/n, oh my Y/n…my beautiful, beautiful y/n.”

He whispers your name like a mantra, as if you would wither away into the shadows again if he didn’t pray your name.

Your gasps serenaded him.

Your hands tugged on his braids as he kissed your neck,

“What do you wish for me to do, yawne? Speak for me, my good girl..”

Your leg wrapped around his hip. You couldn’t help but buck into him.

Love like this only haunts you with light that once existed behind the shadow, the one that surfaced behind the sun.

Eclipse is near.

He unraveled you like the universe was beneath your top and loincloth, stroking you with gentle drags of his thumb, his strong arm hooked under your thigh.

“Neteyam-

Eywa please…”

You begged for him to soothe the aching heat

“Shhh. It’s okay, my sweet girl. I’m right here…just keep looking up at those pretty stars. The stars are yours, my love,

Fuck-

Everything, the sky, the sun, the oceans, the shadows they’re all yours, my love. So am I.”

He reached around for his braid and you followed suit.

You both stared into eachothers eyes. The pools of honeyed golden hour beneath the moon.

The sweet nectar dripping down your thighs, your curves traced by his touch,

“Tsaheylu, Neteyam..please.”

Who was he to deny you?

And as you connected the stars fell.

A flurry of colors, a blur of ecstasy, straddled, kissed, caressed, explored.

The drapes of the moonlight bathing you.

Every coherent thought withered into a static of white,

This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t one body entering another for pleasure. This was a soul finding it’s flame.

He begged the deity to never take his shadow away.

“Do you feel it y/n, it’s always been there..I’ve always been here..don’t hide from me again.”

His rough accent voice honed your ears, his nose dragging along your pulse point, you whined in response.

The heat faded away, tranquility returned.

He kissed you, your chin, your lips, your hair, thank you’s and praises whispered as his string arms encircled you.

You laid on his chest, and you faintly hear him whisper

“I think it’s finally eclipse…”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

-Sunofpandora

2023

“Diaphanous”

Tag list:

@neteyamsoare

@yeosxxx

@lianna75

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

Im SCREAMING right now.

Im super insecure in writing smut but i kinda wanted to try it? It's not really smut tbh just like…really intimate?

Idk.

But I struggled with this fr. Writers block ate me up.

So idk how good this is. Sorry 😭

I hope everyone enjoyed. That request box is gonna be open in the next few weeks but I might be a bit busy so there might be a bit of a wait.

I wanted to include some parallels from the movie, and some references to Jake and Neytiri through Neteyam and Y/n, so I hope everyone caught those.

I hoped you enjoyed “diaphanous” 🌀🪐

#avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #jake avatar #neytiri #avatar fanfiction #kiri sully #neteyam x you #lo’ak x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam

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