#face touch cultural misunderstanding

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you���re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

[astheforcewillsit]

In which the Kaminoans provide a miseducated version of what and who the Jedi are, and the clones realize that at their core, the Jedi are religious monks.

Cultural misunderstands are bound to ensue due to this.

(based of the scene where Obi-wan and Anakin bow to Echo and Fives after they join the 501st)

(original ao3 link)

The first time Obi-Wan bows to Cody, he does so low and Infront of the men. All of the men. It is not a simple incline of his head. It is a slow, low dip.

Ancient practiced movements, just as Qui-Gon had taught him.

They had had saved his life. Again And he is truly grateful. He is still unused to a war like this. His very essence as a Jedi protests his involvement in it.

But he moves only by the will of the Force, and it has brought him to such a moment like this.

Before he completes his gratitude, he is stunned by a collective gasp amongst the men and an arm on his shoulder. The Force tells him it is one of the younger men.

There's a sharp reprimand from Cody, and the arm is off, though the Force is still disturbed

(The touch had not bothered Obi-Wan, in between droids and separatist leaders, it has been the kindest touch he's had all week.

It doesn't bother him, the touch of the clones. He enjoys their presence. Though he can feel the fear palatable through the Force. He hopes that one day they'll be less terrified of him. That they will know him for the human he is. Force knows the damage the Kaminoans have done to the reputation of the Jedi Order.)

Cody steps up as Obi-Wan rises--clearly the action disturbed the peace.

"Sir, I-"

"Clearly I have done something to offend you." He straightens himself, "I apologize."

Cody looks scandalized. This is not going well.

He hesitates. His Commander is still a Labyrinth. He looks at the face of Jango Fett everyday, though he sees none of the darkness clouded in those eyes. With Cody, it's almost fear.

"Sir, there is no need to apologize to us. it's just..."

"it's a sign that we've done wrong and have to ask for forgiveness, usually done by subordinates--cadets to the Kaminoans or the bounty hunters that trained us. When you did that, well...it looked like you thought you did something wrong, that maybe you were asking for forgiveness or was ashamed," another clone (Boil, Obi-Wan reminds himself, the "shiny" who touched him) supplies with some distaste, "doesn't mean the same for you sir?"

Obi-Wan could confuse them, because technically Jedi do bow for forgiveness too. But not in shame, never. He decides to keep it beginner level friendly today.

"I am expressing gratitude. You saved my life," Obi-Wan responds as if it is the most obvious thing, "Though If I have done anything wrong, it has simply been confusing you all. I will not bow if it makes you all comfortable."

His culture is important to him. It his his blood and his soul, but these men are not here with him of their own accord. These men are making sacrifices just by being alive, Obi-Wan could stand to be more like them. Though his heart pulls at the thought of abandoning something so natural to him.

"No sir, that is not necessary," Cody seems to relax in front of him. His anxiety has dissolved into gentle waves in the Force, and instead Obi-Wan senses a small bit of curiosity.

It reverberates through the company.

"Should we..."

"Oh Force no, if bowing has been negative to you please do not do it on my account. And I will alter it," he makes an example, inclining his head just slightly and putting a hand to his chest, praying he doesn't offend, "I am grateful to you all, and I endeavor to show it."

"Only what you're comfortable with, your culture is sacred to you, I know this," he adds, "and if you never tell me anything, I will be okay with that."

"Can you...can we learn more. The kaminoans didn't tell us you did that, they didn't tell us you were...priest--"

"Monks," Obi-wan corrects and smiles at the clone who asked, Waxer the Force tells him, "And I will till you all you want to know about the Jedi, if you feel comfortable telling me about who you are."

There's reluctance in the Force. They may not be Mandalorians, but they carry the secrecy of their beliefs with them. He doesn't blame them. They have so little that belongs to them, the clones. Why give what scarcity they own away to the man who they were handed to on a silver platter.

The Force radiates skepticism, but also trust.

Good, the gap is slowly bridging.

[arting-block]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war. 

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were. 

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship. 

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison. 

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off. 

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply. 

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further. 

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. 

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks. 

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric. 

Tell him, tell him everything. 

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more. 

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above. 

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice—that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” 

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before. 

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room. 

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns. 

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words. 

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response. 

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: “How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair. 

He doesn’t love you. 

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing. 

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen. 

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry? 

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview. 

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing. 

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care. 

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord. 

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door. 

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place. 

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry. 

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to. 

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt. 

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it. 

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out. 

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory. 

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes. 

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything. 

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. 

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide. 

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face. 

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory. 

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart. 

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before���”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face. 

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave. 

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him. 

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you. 

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids. 

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever. 

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response. 

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. 

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile. 

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Black Celebration (Jaghatai Khan, Mortarion)

Summary: Mortarion befriends Khan's lover and realizes that he has feelings for her… and that she must be saved.

Jaghatai Khan/fem!Reader, Mortarion/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, manipulation, angst

Word count: 1371

Song: Depeche Mode - Black Celebration

I decided to try something new. Jaghatai is a soft yandere, but the focus is not on him, but on Mortarion. Of course, he can also be called a yandere (he is a primarch, they are all a little wierd there), but his fears are still justified.

Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars was a special person. Strange culture, strange manners and isolation from others. He, like Mortarion, was forced to serve the Emperor, but not because of an agreement, but because of the desire to protect his world. But they were not friendly. The only person with whom Warhawk was able to strike up a friendship was Magnus the Red. A witch, no less.

It is not surprising that when Jaghatai became attached to a small mortal woman, no one paid attention to it. And it was so difficult to understand what was on his mind. So why waste time on you when there are much more important things to do.

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone else would be here. You are Mortarion, aren't you? Jaghatai has told so little about you.”

Mortarion takes his eyes off the ivy and turns around. He’s not used to seeing you without your patron. On the other hand, it’s unlikely that anything could threaten you in the Terran greenhouse.

You smile brightly and talk non-stop about how you wanted to see the greenhouse. After all, so many wonders from all worlds are collected here. The Primarch of the Death Guard continues to sit on one knee with an impassive gaze, looking at your words. During all this time, he never changed his face or said a word. Simply put, he did not show his passion in the conversation.

“I see you liked this plant. Can you please tell me more about it? Everything is so interesting here.”

You press your hands to your chin and look pointedly at the primarch. Mortarion can do nothing but frown. Something was erroneous here. Something is wrong. In you. You were wrong. Strange. You acted differently.

“Aren't you afraid of me?”

You almost recoil at his words and raise an eyebrow. Not out of disgust. But surprises. Misunderstandings. The primarch watches carefully as your eyes scan the man from head to toe. Your lips curl up and your face takes on a funny look.

"No."

Perhaps now you should be scared. Mortarion is sure that if he didn’t hurt your feelings before, now... you should have run away as fast as you could. A primarch, but he cannot control his own body, what a shame. The eyes widened, the nostrils inhaled deeply. He looked like an enraged monster, ready to rush forward and tear his victim to pieces. Only it wasn't rage.

He had never heard pleasant words.

And didn’t know how to react. But you continue to stand, embarrassedly fiddling with your hands. Waiting for the Pale King to deign to tell you about all the different types of plants in the greenhouse. Mortarion opens his mouth several times, gulping air like a fish. Until he gathers his strength and begins to talk.

***

You started meeting more often. The greenhouse was your secret place. You hardly saw each other in different parts of the Imperial Palace. Or pretended not to notice each other. But you and the primarch didn’t even discuss why you kept your friendship a secret. It just happened that way.

But Mortarion looked forward to all these meetings. Couldn’t calm down his feelings or control his thoughts. He longed to meet again, to hear your laughter. And when these meetings came, he waited with bated breath for their completion. Hoped to the last that the wonderful dream would last as long as possible.

He told you about Barbarus. About the Crusade. Not the most pleasant stories, full of pain and suffering. But you listened to them carefully. You wanted to support him. And when you touched his hand one time during the story about his “adoptive father”... The Pale King was relieved. You didn't mock him. Wasn't afraid.

You were a true ray of light. Mortarion loved listening to your stories about your home planet, customs and traditions. What are your favorite holidays, how is your family doing. Your distant home among the stars seemed like a real paradise. While Mortarion's homeworld rotted alive.

“You know, I really appreciate that you listen so eagerly about my culture.” - you get embarrassed and fidget with your dress while sitting on the floor. - “Jaghatai is also interested. But he has a lot to do and besides, I have to integrate more into the culture of Chogoris. So there is little time for me.”

You say this so calmly. You accept your fate and position like a slave. Mortarion frowns. He doesn't like you being neglected. You were mortal. Small and fragile. You need to be taken care of, not terrorized.

“What is your relationship with my brother?”

You open your mouth and blink your eyes. Until you squeak in embarrassment and hide your face in your hands. Mortarion wants, desperately wants to smile at this sight. Show you at least a little bit of goodness. But he doesn't know how to smile. Besides, he simply cannot calm down until he understands that you are safe.

“Jaghatai... he annexed our world to the Imperium too quickly. We couldn't fight back anyway, peaceful planet. I... we met at one of the holidays, and then we began to meet more and more often. And so unexpectedly! It’s as if fate was favoring us.”

Mortarion hears your heart begin to beat with greater intensity. Or was it his?

“I-I know how it sounds, but I love him. And... and he loves me. Of course I had to leave my home, but nothing could be done. Jaghatai said that he will take care of my family, they will not need anything. Of course, he forbids me to go to a lot of places and my social circle is narrow... but this is all for my safety. Sometimes his care is a little suffocating... but he said that he has never fallen in love and does not know how to show his feelings... He writes me poems, laughs at my jokes. And he also gives me rides on his bike!”

Naivety. Pure and simple-minded naivety. Which his brother brazenly took advantage of and turned a wonderful girl into a slave. And she doesn’t even realize it, greedily accepting what he gives. This is not freedom. Mortarion should have saved you, you deserve better, you need...

Him?

No, Mortarion is not worthy of your care and affection. How can such a beautiful and pure girl desire such a disgusting man like him. He looked terrible, but compared to the Primarch of the White Scars, he must have caused momentary disgust.

Khan was handsome and dressed more flamboyantly than Fulgrim. He looked after you, behaved perfectly and so normally. Mortarion looked simply ridiculous compared to him. He may be a primarch, he may be called the Pale King. But he was pathetic in front of you.

And he doesn't say anything.

***

The next day he doesn't see you in the greenhouse. And in subsequent ones. In truth, it seems as if you have disappeared from the Imperial Palace. Your trace is gone, the scent has cooled and he can’t hear the beat of your heart. You are absent. You're far away.

Mortarion thinks he is going crazy and he doesn't know what to do. Have you decided to leave him? Have you decided to run away? He couldn’t blame you, but resentment and sadness gnawed at his soul. He really wanted to spend time with you again. Feel needed. Beloved.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Khan.

“I am grateful to you for brightening the days of my nightingale.” -White Hawk doesn't look grateful. - “My moon is already tired. She shouldn't talk to other primarchs so often. Besides, we were delayed on Terra. If you have something to say, then say it. I’ll pass on the words to my beauty.”

Mortarion wants to scream. You have a name. Jaghatai has no right to treat you like this. You deserve better... The Pale King is terrible and disgusting. He's a monster in the flesh. But it seems that your soul makes it better. Mortarion wants to see you again among the flowers, cheerful and alive. Happy. Free.

“Tell her that we will meet again.”

Whatever happens.

[mask131]

How do you feel about shipping greek gods? (for lack of a better word to describe two or more people being together in a relationship I just used shipping)

Well... It depends? I don't know? Xp

The thing is that the Greek gods are horny gods, that cannot be denied, so you know, they already almost all slept with each other at some point so there's a lot of "shippng" material that's for sure.

What I would say is... it depends on why the shipping is happening, for which purpose? It is for a purely fictional storytelling, or just for personal enjoyment? And I would point out two precise things that are important to show you're not just making stuff up randomly (though I will say making stuff up randomly is allowed, and can sometimes be bloody genius - but that will be for my point B, the person who is making stuff up should know themselves and be clear that they're making stuff up)

A) Always be aware of the characterization, traits and features of the Greek gods before "shipping" them so that you don't end up making some sort of HUGE misunderstanding or misinformation thingy going on. I'm going to take an obvious example, but for example shipping Poseidon and Athena, or Athena and Ares will require it to be with full understanding of their rivalry and/or hatred for each other (so you know, perfect for "rivals to lovers" fic) - though again, with Athena there's also the need to understand she is this virgin goddess that is like a huge asexuality symbol, so you can slide romance in there but none of "Venus' craft" if you know what I mean. And for you it might seem obvious but for example there was this deleted scene of the Clash of Titans remake which was talked about a lot because Athena appeared in there and she was like this very sensual and sexy goddess that tried to basically seduce another god, so you know, the basics of mythology are not always there.

(I'm speaking here mostly in terms of you know, fic and personal artwork and whatnot to bring my example, but you know it can also apply to if you want to, I don't know, publish a book or make a cartoon or whatever)

B) But the most important thing to maintain there, and what is ALWAYS important when dealing with ANY mythology of any kind: be conscious of the differences.

The thing is that, as a creator facing myths and legends, you can basically do almost anything. ("Almost" because there's still stuff that you can't do unless you just want to look like someone who doesn't know shit about the source material). Myths and legends are here to be exploited, interpreted, reused and reshaped and redrawn. I'll go on a side-rent here but there was this post criticizing "modern retelling" of Greek myths in video games, novels and comics, and it concluded with "Just don't touch the myths again, let them as they are". And while I did understand why the person would dislike these modern works (though I do not agree with the entire selection), this conclusion is just wrong. If medieval scholars and Renaissance artists and World War playwrights had not constantly reinvented the Greek myths, it wouldn't be part of common culture as it is today. Heck, Greek mythology itself relies on a bunch of authors from various countries (because they were city-states you know) and from various centuries making WILD reinterpretations of "canon lore" and "previous takes" on gods and legends (remember that a lot of things people claim is part of "Greek mythology" come from stuff like theater plays and philosophy essays... Not really as sacred as the Bible). So to demand mythology to stop being represented and depicted is just... you know, wishing for its death and the stop of its cultural richness.

On the other hand here's where the problem lies: there is so much misinformation and popular misconceptons and erroneous cliches due to how it was all handled carelessly or without any knowledge of actual material (there's especially this whole wave of bringing in Christian ideals into the Ancient Greek world, from Disney's Hercules to Netflix's Blood of Zeus - at least season 1 I didn't watch season 2), that people need to be literaly taught again the simple basic. I know it sounds stupid but the whole "Medusa is a monster, not a girl turned into one" I literaly knew as a kid just because I read guides and books about the Greek myths - not fictional books, just, you know, manuals and encyclopedias and stuff. Yet, this thing found in any basic "101 to Greek mythology" absolutely baffled a lot of people... It shows how, again, people are somehow willing to take more from, I don't know, Internet posts (*cough cough* yes I'm doing Internet posts *cough cough*), cartoon series and novels than from just actual books presenting Greek mythology, not in a fictionized way.

Anyway sorry for the rant X) But my point is: one is allowed to do anything and reinvent all things however they want, as long as they have enough knowledge and understanding of the source material. It is my personal logic but, if someone can defend their choices in a way that shows they actually do know their stuff, are conscious about what they changed and recognize that they modified things, then I'm fully okay with it. To still go the shipping route, if someone says something like "Oh yeah, Aphrodite and Hephaistos are in love and the best couple ever", I can accept this if the same person does, you know, recognize how in the myths Aphrodite cheats on Hephaistos and/or Hephaistos divorces from her. "Yes I am aware of that, but for X reason or X purpose I decided to change it". Then I'm fine, you know. But if the person starts saying stuff like "I didn't know that" or "I don't care, it's not like it's important anyway", then I'll have a problem.

On a final note for the "shipping" - again I don't know for which purpose or on which level this all takes place so I am doing a BROAD answer I hope is vague and general enough - there's a little something very important to remember: the relationships of the gods are all very important. As in, on a symbolical level, there's always a sort of meaning down there you must get, you know? I talked about it before but the relationships of PosEidon, Demeter and Zeus are reflection of more primal Earth-Sea-Sky relationships. Why did Hermes and Aphrodite had "Hermaphrodite"? Because while Aphrodite is the symbol of feminity and womanhood by excellence, Hermes was originally a symbol of the phallic power (see the penis-by-the-side-of-the-road thing), so it makes sense they would create a being uniting male and female genders.

And there's a distinct evolution when it comes to the "incest" of the gods. I need to talk about it because the Greek gods thrive on incest, you know, but it is something people tend to not realize - that Greek mythology has a sort of "chronological evolution in-universe" of how the incest works. The most brutal, raw and obvious forms of incests (daughter-father, brother-sister) actually belong to older and more primordial generations of gods, reflecting how they come from an earlier time of more chaos, less civilization, and also less people: Ouranos and Gaia, the Titans, the first Olympians... But when you move by the second-generation Olympians for example, you realize a step is taken forward and the incest is not direct anymore. They still sleep with each other, but it is more "uncle-niece" and "half-sister, half-brother" or "cousin" relationships. You won't see Apollo smooching his twin sister. You don't see Ares sleeping with any of his two sisters either. And that's because, under the rule of Zeus, by the age of the Olympians, a new form of civilization and order starts encuring, one which starts to remove the most brutal and violent primal pulsions of the gods, one which moves towards the very present day and human civilization where incest is not allowed. It's a little detail people can miss, but as with everything it is very important. (And if you start telling me about "how Zeus slept with Persephone", correct me if I'm wrong but I think that's an Orphic belief, or at least comes from some Orphic fragment, and people should also start realizing that the Orphic people were weird - even by typical Ancient Greek standard - and were doing their own thing on the aside. Though, it still works with another thing prevalent throughout Greek mythology as a whole - this very interesting, ambivalent role of the first Olympians like Zeus or Poseidon, who are the rulers of this new, orderly, civilized world, and yet still end up bringing over habits and elements from the older, more brutal and chaotic past, much to everybody's problem. You know, that's when Zeus and Poseidon tend to cause trouble for everybody - if the gods had a psychology, you could write a whole thing about "generational trauma" and how despite building a new world free of the chaos and disorder of the primal gods and "bad" Titans, the older Olympians are still reproducing the same habits and patterns as their previous generations, which is the very reason there's some of the conflicts in Greek myths. But we're getting too far ahead Xp)

All of that to say - you can ship, but know that in Greek mythology, shipping will have consequences.

[eruden-writes]

Would you like an advanced reader copy of The Unexpected Human Problem ebook?

Please go to the link and input your information there!

More info about the book is below the cut.

Genre / Tropes / Highlights

Science Fiction Romance  Alien Romance  Time Travel  LGBTQ+ Elements  Forced Proximity Multiple Extremely Spicy Scenes

SUMMARY

Rayelle didn't think her life could get any worse after she was kidnapped and then abducted by aliens. When her alien abductors are slaughtered by a black-armored enemy, she believes her luck has soured even further. That doesn't mean she's going to go down without a fight, though. Tai'dqei never anticipated finding a human when he agreed to tracking and subduing a small group of smugglers. After he completes his mission, he notices another heat signature nearby. Following signature, he finds a human caged in the cargo hold. Too bad when Tai'dqei frees Rayelle, she flings a cup at his face and runs, which triggers his most carnal of instincts. When sense cleaves through his brain, Tai'dqei realizes something is off with this human and he soon finds out she is not only physically displaced, but temporally misplaced. The two struggle with misunderstandings, being pursued by enemy aliens, and more in this tale of one woman getting back to her home to her own planet and her own time.

CONTENT WARNINGS

- Discussions and later depictions of domestic abuse. - Discussions of contentious divorce proceedings. - Kidnapping and alien abduction. - Off-screen body modification without victim’s consent. - Non-consensual touching (no penetration) due to language and cultural barriers. - Dubious consent scene. - Physical altercations, blood, and gore. - Sexually explicit scenarios. - Transphobia, including deadnaming.

While a review would be highly appreciated on any and all platforms, ARC readers are not obligated to leave a review.

Although I'd really appreciate it. (◕‿◕ )

[hanaybuns]

I feel like karamatsu deserves an enemies to lovers kinda romance with an actually cool biker girl. Like, she actually does wear leather jackets with cool belts and sunglasses, but the difference is that she actually has that lone-wolf attitude that karamatsu tries his hardest to put on. She sees his “free hugs” sign and tells him that he looks like the only free hugs he’s getting are from his mom. They bump into each other repeatedly while he’s posing in different locations and she tells him in various ways that she thinks he’s really lame and is trying too hard. Kara ofc has a suave exterior (this is a beautiful woman who is choosing to speak with him repeatedly, she must be one of his karamatsu girls!), but is secretly annoyed that she doesn’t see his charm and makes fun of him relentlessly. It gets to a point where he’s basically seething internally, but bit by bit he accidentally slips and reveals his true feelings (imagine the gross cocktails he made when he was a bartender).

He says something kind of rude to her after she calls him painful/lame for the 1000th time, and worries that she won’t find him cool anymore (she never did). He’s genuinely surprised when she laughs and is kind of into it. Eventually, they actually start having full conversations and walking around together occasionally. He openly (though still within karamatsus rudeness limits) vents about his brothers and she talks about how obnoxious biker culture is sometimes and the jerks at her job (I can see her being a mechanic or some kind of freelancer). She opens up to him about how most male bikers try to play up their “coolness and machismo” by owning a flashy bike and don’t actually care about the roots of biker and punk culture. What she hates the most is how they treat her like she’s some kind of princess who couldn’t possibly understand what they’re talking about. They actually enjoy each others presence, each of them providing a breath of fresh air compared to their usually crowd.

so anyways this all culminates to a night where she gets in trouble with a biker gang and is in actual danger. Maybe she gets hit in the head or stabbed in some way and karamatsu (with tears and snot dribbling down his face in fear) rushes in to save her in the lamest way imaginable. I can see him punching them in a momentary feat of coolness, but then poking them in the eyes and kicking them in the crotch like a 10 year old. He picks her up and sprints home while screaming like an idiot, probably accidentally making her injuries worse.

They get to his house and karamatsu kicks his brothers off the futon and lays her down. He yells at his brothers (who are all groggy and pissy because they were forcefully awakened) to get BANDAGES COLD WATER AND DISINFECTANT NOW NOW NOW- They’re all super confused because WHO is this random girl who is suddenly laying on their futon??? Next day, she wakes up wondering where she is and what happened to the guys she was fighting. Misunderstanding the situation, she immediately starts yelling at karamatsu. “So what, you decide to use me as your damsel in distress so you could fuel your cool guy fantasy?! Newsflash, I don’t need your help and I’m perfectly capable of defending myself! This is why your brothers think you’re painful!!” Karamatsu tries explaining the situation, but becomes increasingly frustrated and eventually starts raising his voice. “You think I went to search for you in the middle of the night and put myself in danger so I could look COOL?! I was WORRIED about you, but of course I’m the bad guy here because you just can’t bring yourself to ask for help!! Maybe you’re the one with a coolness fantasy-” SLAP

at this point everyone is awake and just staring at the scene unfolding in front of them. The room is dead silent, you could hear a pin drop. no one is breathing besides the girl, who is almost panting in frustration. Karamatsu touches his cheek and gives her a cold, almost unimpressed look. She looks infuriated. The tension between them is palpable, the other sextuplets are watching in horror.

and that’s it for now, I’ll finish this when I’m in the mood.

[alexanderlightweight]

I am loving the thread of "cultural misunderstandings" between Magnus and Alec in your fics/canon. Can we get some resolution of one of them, either for dragon!Alec series where he realizes that Magnus doesn't feel appreciated (or Magnus learns more about dragon culture), or for any other series really! Tldr idiots in love realizing that they have been missing some major signs~

magnus is about to be *shocked pikachu face* and alec is just: why are you acting so surprised?

and i'm glad you're enjoying them! i enjoy non-super angsty miscommunication rn so i have quite a bit of fun with both parties misunderstanding while working to the same goal with different efforts and etc

i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

*canon typical violence and alec has to be bribed not to eat someones remains because he's very angry and digesting them would make him feel better

—

Alec doesn’t care one way or another that Magnus enjoys Pandemonium. Especially now that he knows his warlock no longer allows others to touch him as intimately as he once did.

It also means that Alec continues to prefer joining Magnus by wrapping around his neck or shoulders, unwilling to risk getting a stranger’s strench on himself.

There’s a presence that joins them and Alec lazily blinks open a single eye, watching curiously to see what is new. He figures it out immediately, recognizing the tang of pheromones and the winding, sleek magic that steeps around the figure.

Aesthetically, he’s probably pleasing to some standards but Alec gives the man a disdainful once-over. He can hardly compare to Alec’s precious hoard and while his incubus attributes clearly give him a boost, Alec simply rolls his eyes and settles back down under Magnus’ jacket for a longer nap.

Or at least, that’s his plan until Magnus straightens and welcomes the incubus with a purr of power, magic brushing but not tangling with the seelie’s power. 

“Bryn, well met.” Magnus says in greeting and Alec begrudgingly allows it, tail curling around the chains of Magnus’ necklaces possessively.

“Well met, Bane.” Is returned and then Bryn gives a deeper, lingering look over Magnus and smirks. “I heard you’d picked up some kind of magical reptile.” The look he casts at Alec is one of casual interest, not true intrigue and Alec gives a warning hiss, wings pressing against the back of Magnus’ neck.

He will not be a prop used to get close to Magnus and if this one tries it, then the queen shall find herself lacking an ambassador.

“You’ve heard.” Magnus says and it’s not a pleasant tone to anyone but Alec who snuggles more closely to Magnus’ skin, enjoying the warmth of him as anger heats his body. “I did not realize that the gossip of my personal deeds were so important to your people, Bryn. Do you have actual news for me, as an ambassador of your people? Or shall I inform your queen that you no longer have the intelligence to convey pertinent information between the realms?”

The incubus flounders for a moment and Alec can smell the way he’s pushing down his irritation and then true arousal taints his anger.  He’s drawing on his attraction to Magnus to manipulate his own body and when he steps close he even goes so far as to kneel.

“Forgive me, Magnus. I overstepped.”

“And in the same breath you ask for clemency, you take a privilege not granted you. There is no reason for my name to leave your lips.”

—

Magnus isn’t sure what Bryn thinks he’s doing and if this is his own personal mistake or one that was assigned to him. It only matters because one is easy to deal with while the other will involve politics and Magnus hopes that it’s just Bryn’s arrogance rather than true maneuvering.

“My apologies, my king.”

Magnus lets his glamor drop, keeping his gaze firmly on Bryn even as he wonders just what Bryn is playing at.  For him to be able to call Magnus ‘my’ king is either a sign that he’s switched allegiances, or that he thinks he owns some part of Magnus. That some piece of Magnus might belong to Bryn, when Bryn had merely been a part of a conduit in a mildly entertaining orgy that had been used for a ritual.

Magnus doesn’t even notice the hand reaching out to press against his thigh until a heavy weight is in his lap.

Alexander is draped over his thighs, naked and unashamed and with rippling scales that role down his bare skin in tantalizing designs.  When Magnus finally stops staring at Alexander’s skin, he looks over his treasure’s shoulder and finds Bryn on the floor.

The metal and gems of his clothes have twisted around him and he lies in shock even as the metal tightens cruelly around him. The softly seductive aura of his power flares as heat rushes down Magnus’ spine and arousal forcibly floods his system and those around them.

Alexander makes a startled noise, turning to give Magnus a sour, unhappy glare even as he shifts back — as if pressing his naked, muscled body against Magnus’ erection is doing anything to help the situation.

Then, his darling little treasure gives a furious scoff and inhaling first with a grimace, exhales.

Frost tints the air and a cool gust of air devours the aura, forcing the power away. The crowd around them shudders, the twist of Bryn’s forced arousal being cleared from their systems.

There is a moment of silence and then Alexander leans forward and Magnus nearly grabs him by his nape to keep him in Magnus’ lap. Instead, his dragon balances against the laws of physics, somehow staying in Magnus’ lap even as his spine twists and pops. The usual chime of his voice is gone and the harsh rasp that comes from his throat makes them all wince.

Even Magnus.

It sounds like metal cleaving metal and then Alexander’s tongue flicks out, black and forked before it flicks.

Magnus knows Alexander has a great many natural abilities and it doesn’t surprise him that Alexander can taste the very magic in the air. It only makes sense with how carefully he curates his palette.

“Even if he were your king, he would not be yours to touch.” Alexander speaks with a low solemnity that Magnus has never heard from him. “A mere ambassador of the seelies dares to try and steal from me?”

Magnus blinks and lets his hands settle on the scaled curve of Alexander’s hips.

“I stole nothing.” Bryn begs, voice a begging whisper that Alexander’s growl silences.

“To try and touch a dragons hoard is to court death.” Alexander murmurs in a vicious murmur that echoes around the large room. “I will reward you with what you seek, for your bravery.”

The mockery in his tone is nearly physical and then he flicks his tongue and Magnus sees a single, shimmering drop of venom fall to Bryn’s bare arm. 

There is a moment of nothing and then an agonized, screeching plea as Bryn gasps out the last noise he’ll ever make. His body freezes so quickly and so powerfully that he looks like a corpse that has been lost to the elements for years, not mere seconds.

Alexander snorts and then — still somehow staying in Magnus’ lap — reaches out and taps the frozen skin of the seelie with a single touch of his nail.  Bryn’s body breaks apart into hundreds of small pieces, nothing of him spilling as even his organs are now crystal ice.

It’s impressive, but Magnus is still surprised by the cause of it all.

“I know you love these pants, treasure.” Magnus murmurs, because Alexander adores the current outfit he’s wearing. “But I didn’t realize they were a part of your hoard.”

“You’re wearing them, anything you wear becomes a part of my hoard.” Alexander returns evenly, looking completely nonplussed by the frozen chunks of seelie shattered across the club floor. His tongue flicks out and Magnus recognizes the gleam in his eyes and immediately summons a gem that he holds up to Alexander’s mouth.

“Treasure, you cannot eat him. Any of him.” Magnus is both ordering with his words and coaxing with his tone. “He’s nothing but poison.”

Alexander seems to consider that for a minute and Magnus hopes they can end this casually. Without Alexander further desecrating the corpse that Magnus will have to send in pieces back to the queen… Magnus wants it to remain recognizable by magic at the very least.

“True.” Alexander sniffs, “and if his queen liked him so much that she was willing to overlook his stupidity, then we should let her piece him back together. A cracked statue of failure for her to look upon and recognize her own incompetence.”

Magnus chuckles, unable to help himself and Alexander accepts the gem with a pleased trill. It’s a relief to hear the gentle song of it and Magnus relaxes, finally letting go of the magic he subconsciously summoned. It twines around Alexander with a covetous pulse, still full of the rage Magnus had felt at the idea of Alexander’s mouth anywhere near another, even if it were a corpse.

The seelie remains vanish through an easily called portal.  The queen will recognize the lingering magic of her own subject easily enough and while she is a queen, she is a queen in her own realm alone and not a king of dominion as well.

“Why does everything I wear become a part of your hoard?” Magnus asks as casually as he can. Dragons covet their hoards and as much as Alexander adores him, it wasn’t a topic Magnus has been willing to broach without a good opportunity.

Alexander turns and twists himself to straddle Magnus and — remembering the people still around them — Magnus summons a robe that he wraps around his treasure. Alexander seems confused, looking at Magnus with dark eyes that seem to piece his soul.

“Because anything my hoard claims, becomes mine as well.”

[mama-qwerty]

Gone to Ground

Couldn't help myself.

“Don’t you give me that look!”

The furrow in Knuckles’ brow deepened and he uttered a soft growl as he peeked at Callie from his hole in the dirt. He blew out a little puff of air from his nose, sending a small cloud of dust floating away from his snout.

“And don’t you growl at me, either. Get your butt outta that dirt and talk to me like a man.”

“NO!”

He disappeared underground again, a small mound appearing in a line as he dug to a different area. Old Looney Tunes shorts came to mind, of Bugs Bunny burrowing through the soil and leaving a trail of displaced earth behind him.

Callie uttered a frustrated grunt. She hated when he did this. Whenever he was mad at her, he went to ground. She normally didn’t mind when he dug—he was an echidna, after all, and that’s what they do. Well, Earth echidnas, anyway. Knuckles seemed to sport many instincts and behaviors of the Earth creatures that bear his species name, but she was always surprised when a new one popped up.

But this time it wasn’t for enrichment or entertainment. He was doing it to piss her off.

And it was working.

“Damnit, echidna,” she muttered, fast-walking to the hole he’d just disappeared down. She went to her knees, and peered down into the crater. “Knuckles MacPherson! You get out of there, right now!”

“NO!” The refusal was muffled, the dirt absorbing his deep baritone. “You come in here and face me!”

An angry grunt. “You think I won’t?! I’ll go get the shovel right now and dig you up like a rotten potato! How would you like that?”

“Do it!”

Another grunt, and Callie pushed herself to her feet, stomping heavily around the yard. She had no idea where he was, and truly no intention of actually digging for him and he knew it. And the fact that he knew it pissed her off worse.

“Look, I’m sorry I threw away your little stick dolls!” she called out, crossing her arms as her brow furrowed. “I didn’t know they were important to you.”

The ground trembled to her right and a red-quilled head poked up again.

“They were not dolls!” he growled, his lip curled in a snarl. “They were totems of protection! To keep you safe when I’m not here!”

She turned, throwing her arms wide. “I didn’t know that! I never would have touched them if I knew they were an important part of your culture! You need to tell me these things, kid!”

He blinked, the snarl fading into a look of confusion.

“My culture? Echidna do not need protection totems. We are mighty warriors, such things are unnecessary.”

Callie blinked back, reflecting his confused expression. “Then why were you making them?”

“Because he said you would like them.”

“He?” Her face cleared as realization hit. “Sonic.”

Knuckles nodded. “He said they were a sacred Earth custom. Especially if you use very old sticks, and make them look as unpleasant as possible. Then you place them in locations that allow them to watch over the one to be protected. Usually in shadowy corners, inside closets, or on the back of shelves.”

She let out a long sigh, massaging her forehead with a hand. Of course Sonic told him that.

“Knux, hon . . .”

She sighed again, and curled a finger in a ‘come here’ motion. The boy cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as if expecting a trick, but climbed out of his hole and came forward anyway, shaking off the bits of dirt that had stuck to his fur and quills.

“Did I misunderstand?”

“No, sweetie,” Callie said, sitting on the deck steps and patting the spot next to her. Knuckles sat, giving her a slight look of confusion. “It’s so sweet of you to want to make sure I’m protected. I’m really touched.”

He nodded slightly, the furrow in his brow deepening. “But?”

She pulled her lips tight. “But, what Sonic told you wasn’t true. While I’m sure some cultures do indeed have some sort of protection totem, it’s not exactly a custom known all over the planet. And it’s certainly not one I follow.”

The furrow deepened further. “He lied.”

“He lied,” she said with a nod.

“I will destroy him,” he said with a growl, fists clenched. “I will feed him his own quills. I will break his legs, then his arms, then punch him in the face so hard he’ll—”

“Hold on,” Callie said, placing a hand on the boy’s arm. “I’m sure he was just having some fun. No need to go all sparky throw down.”

“But he—”

“He played a trick on you. Not exactly a ‘beat him to a pulp’ offense. Besides, that would have Maddie here ripping me a new one, and I do not want to be on her bad side.”

He seemed to think about this before giving a small nod. “Fair. So I should simply be the bigger person and let it go?”

A little smile tugged at Callie’s lips. “I didn’t say that. He wants to play, we can play. Maybe he’s the one who needs some protection totems. As ugly and disturbing and creepy as we can make them.”

Knuckles blinked at her for a moment, before a little smile curled his lips. “Agreed.”

[kirk-spock-fics]

All Time Fandom Favourites

Looking for popular spirk fics? Here are some fandom classics:

a sequence that you never learned by annataylor ★

explicit TW: implied childhood sexual abuse aos, kirk/spock kid fic, fake marriage, getting together, first time words: 64,624 'When Jim gets it in his head to adopt an eight year old Vulcan, Spock presents a logical solution to the issue of Jim's humanity: marriage to a Vulcan citizen.'

Sha Ka Ree by ThereBeWhalesHere ★

explicit tos, kirk/spock, au canon divergence slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, falling in love words: 180,505 'The year is 2258. Jim Kirk is a Lieutenant on the U.S.S. Farragut, Spock the science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. When the ships come together for a priority landing party, these two strangers find themselves fighting against the odds for a chance at life in an alien world, and the only way they'll make it through is by relying on each other.'

Warm Thoughts by lettered ★

teen tos, kirk/spock mind melds, hurt/comfort, episode: amok time words: 22,296 'Kirk contracts a condition that makes him feel perpetually cold. Spock has to perform mind melds to convince Kirk he’s warm.'

Bitter Dregs by kinklock ★

explicit tos, kirk/spock angst with a happy ending, mind melds, episode: plato's stepchildren 'When they had first met, Jim had known not to touch his hand.'

this is what happens when you save earth, apparently by WerewolvesAreReal ★

teen tos, kirk/spock, post-canon getting together, fluff, humour, post-five year mission, starfleet academy words: 5,454 '“So, why haven't you settled down with some lucky lady yet?” the interviewer asks. Maybe it's the blinding set-lights, or the fact that he hasn't slept in thirty-five hours. But for some reason Kirk blurts, “Honestly, they all end up getting jealous of Spock.”'

You Could Call It Love by lurikko ★

mature tos, kirk/spock, post-canon getting together, fake/pretend marriage, slow burn, unresolved sexual tension words: 45,791 'If marrying Spock is what it’s going to take to get them both back on Enterprise for another five-year mission, then Jim Kirk damn well is going to marry Spock.'

Spice by eimeo ★

explicit tos, tos movies, kirk/spock, kirk/others post-series, TMP, post-TMP, slow burn, realllly slow burn, angst with a happy ending, getting together, getting back together, mutual pining words: 276,553 'It’s a question of biology. Vulcan biology. The problem with falling in love with a member of an insanely private species is that it just might take you the best part of a five year mission to work out that the feelings are requited. And then you might discover that he’s already decided that the two of you can never be together. And what are you supposed to do if he won’t tell you why?'

An Excercise In Setting Oneself On Fire by alestairwrites ★

teen tos, kirk/spock fluff, getting together, accidental ashayam, misunderstandings words: 5,017 '“Ashayam, I must disagree.” There’s silence for a moment, and it takes Spock less than a second to realise the mistake he’s made. He allows himself a single moment to close his eyes, before opening them to face his fate.'

Unspoken by williamspockspeare ★

teen CW: mild descriptions of violence tos, kirk/spock t'hy'la, tarsus iv, drunkeness, fluff, angst with a happy ending, 5+1 '“If even in dreams, Jim lacked the courage to say the words, when would he ever say it?” Or 5 times Jim Kirk stopped himself from saying I love you + 1 time he didn’t.'

Desert Rose by Borealisblue ★

mature tos, kirk/spock, au spock didn't join starfleet slow burn, soulmates, bonding, mutual pining, vulcan culture, vulcan kisses, mind melds, first kiss, falling in love, slash words: 135,649 'The Captain of the USS Enterprise is sent to Vulcan on behalf of the Federation to assist in the discovery of some ancient ruins. The ruins' very existence may be a threat to Vulcanian Society because they hint at a mythical bond long ago lost. But before their select team is able to seek them out, they must first study up on the old culture within the ancient libraries of ShiKahr city, accompanied under the supervision and tutelage of a professor from the local Vulcan Science Academy, a Mr. Spock.'

[tellmeallaboutit]

Well, I have to ask you: how would you describe your writing style? And what was something you worried about when you first started that seems inconsequential now?

☺️

Oh, thank you for the ask so much! Since I analyse this a lot, in myself and others, this is going to be a long post. Please note that there are explicit excerpts from my writing (incl. ref. to non-con) later in text.

WRITING STYLE

Linguistically, I try to keep the language very simple and avoid purple prose at all costs (unless purple prose is the point). I use a lot of stylistic gimmicks like stream of consciousness:

And you licked her wound, and you sucked her blood and it poured over your face and it was divine and it hit you hard and you were in heaven finally finally you could have as much as you wanted so much blood and she cut her skin open some more, clean, delicious cuts, and it was oh so good

Or personification of feelings here:

You were left with nothing but the echoes of your own thoughts, which was a far worse confinement than the cell. Guilt, patiently biding its time after being so mercilessly pushed aside, now decided to pay you a visit, whispering that... "It's all your fault, of course," it said. "From the beginning to the bitter end. From entering the House of Hope to ending up in this wretched place." A small, choked sob escaped you as bitter tears made their way down your cheeks. "And the people of Baldur's Gate will perish because you weren't there for them," the guilt continued. "Karlach, Wyll, Gale and all the others, they'll meet their end too, thanks to you being rotten beyond redemption. Don't forget the children - they won't be spared either. Tiny little Illithids."

Or intrusive thoughts here:

He continued to fuck you, and made a point of not touching you anywhere that might be remotely pleasurable. (But you're still soaking wet, aren't you? That's what you were baiting him for. You just wanted to save yourself the shame of actually asking. Yes, you wanted the big bad, you wanted to fuck the devil, but not the responsibility, did you?) Perhaps if you gave in to his obscene talk, he would finally spill inside you. (Oh yes, admit it. Tell him what you truly are).

As far as genres go, it's always a mixture of humour and horror/thriller, just the proportions of that mixture vary work by work.

In terms of smut, I always include moments that are intentionally uncomfortable / unsettling for the reader; either too much, or too realistic, or a weird kink, or a misunderstanding, or something else that doesn't go smoothly between the characters. If the sex went perfectly, that's certainly a creepy element in itself.

The other thing is that I always try to create this page-turner, extremely fast-paced, extremely high tension and suspenseful narrative. There are very few moments where the characters get a break. It creates a bit of ADHD, erratic, "slow-the-fuck-down" feeling in my prose.

In terms of recurring themes, they are sex, power, politics, abuse and the nature of evil.

THINGS I USED TO WORRY ABOUT NOW I NO LONGER DO

Being a "good" writer and having my work have some artistic/cultural value and not just a porno thrill. As soon as I let go of that and was happy to be who I am: a smut writer with a focus on dark themes (so porno thrills in my book), my writing dropped a lot in terms of pretentiousness and trying to pretend it's something it's not. If I ever want to write something deeper than that, I will, but I found it very liberating to decide for myself that I didn't have to.

My earlier pre-AO3 writing had a lot of that ooooh look how well-read I am pretentiousness

[monpalace]

QUEEN SONIA

insufferable (no pronouns)— or when you're helping sonia prepare for a date she doesn't want to go on.

FIERCE DIETY

undeserving (no pronouns)— or when you feel less than stellar, fierce deity finds himself wanting to make it better.

well-fed (no pronouns)— or when fierce deity has a lover that feeds him well, and the fruits of that labor.

FIRST

ever after (no pronouns)— or when first is freed by you, and how he feels following.

TIME

language (no pronouns)— or when time struggles to understand what the group says. he's thankful you're there for advice.

well-fed (no pronouns)— or when link has a lover that feeds him well, and the fruits of that labor.

still the same (she/her pronouns)— or when time meets twilight's other half. he's not surprised you kept all your best features.

still the same (she/her pronouns, written by 🧚🏽‍♀️ anon).

the supposed "beauty and the beast"-esque fic.

of monsters and spirits (she/her pronouns)— or when the lost woods gain two more inhabitants.

too tall (no pronouns)— or the consequences that come with being taller than the links.

TWILIGHT

romance (no pronouns)— or when twilight is your boyfriend and how he acts in a relationship.

we're just friends (no pronouns)— or how he responds when his (strictly platonic) relationship is misinterpreted.

to protect (no pronouns)— or when someone asks majesty to share their thoughts on a protective/possessive twilight.

still the same (she/her pronouns)— or when twilight has to go through the same things time did, only romantically.

still the same (she/her pronouns, written by 🧚🏽‍♀️ anon).

SKY

rupees (no pronouns)— or when sky accidentally makes his crush drop their rupees. he has his moments when it comes to romance, he thinks.

feather (no pronouns)— or when sky upholds the traditional skyloftian culture by offering his love interest a feather from his skyloft.

misunderstanding (no pronouns)— or skyloft's culture surrounding romance and sky's relationship with someone not from it.

WARRIORS

old dog, old habits— or warriors and wind are separated from the rest of the chain. they have to find some way to get by.

too tall (no pronouns)— or the consequences that come with being taller than the chain.

FOUR

Hey, the note on the shelf starts, this is the owner/s of the sword on the shelf.

Your eyes flicker to the sword in question before returning to the letter.

Under no— the word is stressed by slants and underlines— circumstance should you touch that sword. You'll be split into four and that's an entire situation.

Or do; it's not as though we can help you if you decide to, another note reads.

VIO, you can hear the shout in this one. SHUT UP.

WILD

This shelf is a mess.

Incomprehensible is easily the word you'd use to describe it if asked.

There's raw ingredients, ores, full-scale weapons, shed hairs, hair ties, clothes and armor sloppily put in a pile, and sludges of something put on plates.

You think you'll be sick.

WIND

You're not touching that box no matter how curious you are. Curiosity killed the cat and you don't think the satisfaction will bring it back.

Grabbing one of the many rocks amongst stones and pebbles, you toss it at the box and take several steps backs, waiting for something to happen.

Second guesses begin to cloud your mind when nothing happens for a few moments, stepping back in front of the shelf only to be met with a face-worth of paste and feathers.

The sound of laughter runs by you, exiting the library.

HYRULE

This shelf was a fairy haven. There were beds, cushions, plants, and snacks that were scaled so they would fit whatever fairy that may come across it.

If you could, you'd crawl your way inside and make yourself comfortable.

LEGEND

we're just friends (no pronouns)— or how he responds when his (strictly platonic) relationship is misinterpreted.

[ankidel]

Bringing Back the Laughs: Nostalgic Quotes from 'Mind Your Language'

Hey there, fellow nostalgia enthusiasts and comedy lovers! Today, we're taking a trip down memory lane to revisit one of the most iconic sitcoms that graced our screens – "Mind Your Language."

If you're like me, you probably spent many evenings chuckling along with the misadventures of Mr. Brown and his diverse group of language students.

So, let's dust off those old DVDs (or stream it online, because it's the future!) and relive some of the timeless quotes that made this show an absolute gem.

"I'm the new teacher, not Miss Courtney. And I'm teaching English."

Ah, the classic line that introduced us to our beloved protagonist, Mr. Jeremy Brown. This line perfectly sets the tone for the cultural misunderstandings and comedic chaos that ensue in each episode.

"I trust you will all give Mr. Brown the same respect you gave me."

Who can forget the stern yet hopeful words of the school principal, Miss Courtney? Her optimism in the face of Mr. Brown's unconventional teaching methods always brought a smile to our faces.

"I know your grammar may be bad, but it's not that bad!"

Poor Mr. Brown, forever exasperated by the linguistic blunders of his students. This line captures the essence of his struggle to impart the finer points of the English language to a motley crew from all corners of the globe.

"I'm trying to learn English, not gynecology!"

Leave it to Ali Nadeem to inject a dose of unexpected humor with his quick wit and knack for inadvertently inappropriate remarks. This quote is just one example of the hilarity that ensues when language barriers collide with cultural differences.

"I'm not the Queen's English, I'm the King's Hindi!"

Ranjeet Singh's playful quips never failed to amuse us, and this particular line showcases his charm and charisma. His character added a delightful touch of Indian culture to the show, enriching the tapestry of linguistic diversity.

"I talk English, I talk English good!"

Juan Cervantes, the lovable Spanish bartender turned English student, endeared himself to audiences with his earnest attempts to master the English language. This quote captures his determination and infectious enthusiasm.

"If you are interested in football, there is a game between Arsenal and Manchester United tonight."

The ever-practical Giovanni Cupello often stole the scene with his deadpan delivery and no-nonsense attitude. This quote perfectly encapsulates his straightforward approach to language learning, peppered with his passion for football.

"Miss Courtney, I have to be teaching 'em, not nursing 'em!"

Ah, Mr. Brown's perpetual struggle to maintain order in his unruly classroom never failed to entertain. This line, delivered with a mix of frustration and resignation, is a testament to his dedication despite the chaos.

So, there you have it – a trip down memory lane with some of the most memorable quotes from "Mind Your Language." Whether you're revisiting the series or discovering it for the first time, these timeless lines are sure to bring a smile to your face and a chuckle to your lips.

[mephinomaly]

[TL] This Voice to You/Chapter 2

Location: The beach

Adonis: Oh, you’re here, Anzu. I’ve only just arrived too. It seems that Kanzaki arrived a little early in order to take in the view.

Souma: Umu. Everything seems to be in order, which is good.

Right. Shinkai-dono will be at ease if he can see the condition of the beach as it is now. I will take a photograph with my smartphone.

I believe one has to press here to take a photo…um, why is it showing my face? I don’t want to take a Selfie, I want a picture of the sea.

Waa!? Why has the screen changed?!

Adonis: Calm down, Kanzaki. Please show me your phone.

It seems you pressed “video” instead of “photo”. If you press here…

…? Oh, where has it gone?

Souma: Adonis-dono? It seems to have changed from the previous screen, so can I take a photo now?

Adonis: Wait a moment. I’m not very good with phones either, so I’m a little perplexed.

Souma: I see! I deeply apologise for rushing you!

Oh, is it fixed now?

Adonis: No, it’s not…Look, Anzu is taking pictures of us.

Souma: Really?...Anzu-dono came here in order to decide which photos suit your pamphlet. I apologise for being noisy.

It’s not a problem? If I’m here, perhaps Adonis-dono will make a different facial expression? If that is so, I am happy to help.

Adonis: Right. Kanzaki, you should be able to take pictures now. Give it a try.

Souma: Ah, my thanks.

…Umu, the sea looks beautiful like this ♪

Adonis: Come to think of it, Anzu and I have seen the beach at the same time before.

Albeit that was the sea in a foreign country, a different place and a different atmosphere… Yet the ocean is just as beautiful.

Souma: I agree. The weather is clear today so the sun is reflecting off the waves and sparkling.

The atmosphere of the ocean changes depending on the weather and the currents - that's the charm of it all.

Especially now, in winter, it’s gorgeous to look at as the early morning sky lightens. If only it was snowing as well. It reminds me of the phrase “early in the winter morn is the best.”[1]

Adonis: I’ve heard that before. Is that a quote from an ancient Japanese text?

Souma: Impressive, Adonis-dono. You’ve been studying. How remarkable ♪

Adonis: No, that is also something I’ve remembered from your teachings.

Kanzaki is always teaching me various things about the culture of this country that I know so little of. Of course, Oogami and Anzu also help me.

The limit of the ocean. You accepted me with open arms even though I come from a distant land. I have a lot of good friends. That makes me very happy.

…Sorry. Looking at the sea somehow reminds me of my birthplace.

Souma: Do not worry yourself about that. Many people find themselves reflecting when they come here. May the sea help us clear our minds.

Furthermore, if you can get a better idea as to what you’d like your Feature Live to be like, then coming here was worth it.

Adonis: Thank you. Both you and Anzu…I hope this helps.

(Along with my friends, I continue working as an idol in this foreign country. I think I now know more than when I first came here…)

(Am I, closer to my dream?)

Hm…?

Souma: Is something the matter, Adonis-dono?

Adonis: No, there’s something moving in the sand under my foot…

…! Kanzaki, a tiny creature has come out from the sand!?

Souma: Remain calm… Fumu, it is a hermit crab. It’s unusual for it to be in a place like this.

Adonis: It’s unusual for a hermit crab to be at the beach?

Souma: You misunderstand me. For this time of the year, hermit crabs and crabs are usually found on rocky beaches - that’s what Shinkai-dono taught me. That’s why it’s rather curious to find it in the sand.

Adonis: Is it then perhaps dangerous for this little guy to be here?

Souma: I don’t believe so but it would be better amongst the rocks… Umu, over there would be good. Then it can be with its friends.

Adonis-dono. Let’s take it over there.

Adonis: But, is it okay if I do it…? If I touch it, won’t I hurt it?

Souma: Do not be afraid. You are a gentle, tender person deserving of respect. The hermit crab is in good hands. If you act how you always do, you will be okay.

Adonis: Are you okay with me doing it too, Anzu?... Okay, I’ll give it a go.

Oh… It’s moving around in the palm of my hand.

Look, Anzu. It’s very cute… I feel like I could keep staring at it forever.

Souma: You picked it up with skill. Then, let’s move it over there. Is it wiggling around?

Adonis: Yes, but do not worry. I won’t drop it.

Hn, the sea breeze is strong. At this rate, it might get blown away…!?

…The wind has slowed. Is the crab okay still?

It looks protected in its shell… Good, that will keep it safe. Let’s get a move on before the wind gets stronger.

I apologise if I frightened you. Go back to your family now.

Sigh. …Anzu? You noticed the hermit crab too?

You could see the sand moving unnaturally, that’s how you knew.

Thank you, Kanzaki. I would have spotted the crab on my own, but I wouldn’t have known to move it to the rocks.

Souma: I didn’t do much. I only knew that piece of knowledge.

I can’t say for sure what happened to the crab to end up here, but it most likely got washed up onto the beach by the waves.

Then made a desperate escape to try to find a rockpool.

To think someone found it on such a wide beach. As it didn’t give up, it allowed Adonis-dono to find it.

That hermit crab must be grateful.

Adonis: Struggling, waiting for someone to find it…

Souma: What did you say?

Adonis: No, it’s just… that hermit crab and I have something in common.

I’ve always been singing. Song is how I express my thoughts and feelings.

This is what it means to be Adonis Otogari of UNDEAD. I hope my voice can bring a moment of peace to someone even if it’s just for a moment.

I want to continue to sing, to continue to show the world my voice. And I want everyone to know that… I’m here by your side.

All this time I have been continuing to put effort into my dream. And that’s what I want my Feature Live to be about.

And not just through singing and dancing. I struggle to convey what it means to be me in various manners. I don’t want to give up after everything I’ve done.

That’s the reason I thought that my pamphlet couldn’t just be that.

It would make me happy if many people could get to know me as an idol.

I’m sorry if that didn’t make any sense. I’m still bad at talking.

That’s how I should be thinking about the pamphlet? That’s how I make it good… Thank you, Anzu.

Souma: Show the world your voice, huh… Fufu. That’s very in character for you, Adonis-dono. It’s a wonderful thought. I can’t wait to see how your pamphlet turns out.

Adonis: I see. I will try my very best to meet the expectations of those waiting for my live.

No matter where I am in this world, I shall deliver my song across the waves.

Chapter 1

Souma quotes from “The Pillow Book”, a book written in Heian Japan by a court lady. She remarks that winter is the best, especially when it's snowing and you’re inside, watching as the servants carry charcoal for the fire.

[artwithoutblood]

he tried hurting me is all.

Oh no… Sorry Aeron. The wording was so ambiguous. The betrayal of Ephah (towards Aeron) vs the betrayal of Ephah (by Aeron). 

When puzzling I leaned too hard on the context clues of the yandere/yangire deal seen in Limerence and came to the wrong conclusion that Aeron had been the aggressor.

It has definitely been a thing in many cultures to try and consume another’s powers, from outright cannibalism to people taking relics from the bodies of saints.

this is basically what happened. it's randomized, it's rare, but that's it. that is why the faces all turn blank but the eyes look the same of those around whoever enters "the spiral", as dubbed by aeron and genesis in the demo.

Woo! Wild speculation got one thing right!

anything that has eyes represented

Uh oh. Suddenly glad of not having any posters on the wall.

Damn. When doing that computer lesson meme I should have made Aeron stare directly out of the screen (like those paintings where the eyes follow you). Genesis kind of is looking at the viewer though.

i repair paintings that are affected in the spirals because i feel it is my duty. no one is going to do it as well as i will!

I take it Aeron has seen Ecce Homo, or the oil paintings given ‘90s style eyebrows.

aeron otherwise "preserves" dead lovers by taking pieces from them and keeping them in a collection.

Lock of hair, fairly traditional mourning custom… Body parts, serial killer territory… Completely confused and a little concerned about the tiny mermaid in that jar.

yes. erebus was a case. a very, very mild case touched by the manifestation.

Ah. So Eri was affected but not deliberately by Aeron. The street fight part is now confusing as the hallucinations started after the knock to the head affected his eyes. Unless those were separate things? Or he was attacked by someone affected and shoved back, or was in the very early stage before the hallucinations but had just begun spiralling.

aeron very explicitly states that he is willing to relinquish control from erebus. he already has.

[Eri screaming off screen about being bathed] /j

their relationship is built on misunderstandings on both sides. there is a happy ending for them. 

*chants softly* Aerebus. Aerebus.

ripped everything out of their body, leaving them hollow

Did Lucia die completely? Or did they get sewn up with a Y incision and begin a new unlife as Scarlett? It contradicts all logic but I want them to have. And then they kill Silas, stopping his rampage.

i wouldn't say you exactly die with it every time. sometimes you just become something different. you know what i think the only solution is?

Sweet, a new and improved form. You will all regret this >:)

i am an aggressor. i always have been. but that doesn't mean i always am...well, i usually am, but i wasn't in this case. for once. though, perhaps, what i did to him led to this.

for clarification, the street fight, which caused erebus head and eye trauma, are the same event. this was a brush while walking home, where a spiraling aggressor attacked him.

don't worry, i'm unfortunately aware of ecce homo.

aeron thinks the people he loved are important. they are, of course. they know no one else will remember the people he loved. so, in addition to writing obituaries for every person that fall into their hands, they have a personal, private exhibit, just for their gaze.

the player will find those items. depending on how many they collect over their playthrough, they'll be able to access the main room of them.

lucia was killed completely. there was only a few eyes in her skin. her organs were taken. probably eaten by silas. a horrible way to go.

[eruden-writes]

If you're new to me or to The Unexpected Human Problem the genres, tropes, summary, and content warnings will be under the cut.

Essentially, I'm considering using a Google form to collect the emails of people who want an ARC copy.

I would email the ePub and/or PDF version of TUHP to the people who sign up.

There'd be no obligation to review, although any and all reviews would be super appreciated.

Genre / Tropes / Highlights

Science Fiction Romance  Alien Romance  Time Travel  LGBTQ+ Elements  Forced Proximity Multiple Somewhat Spicy to Spicy Scenes

SUMMARY

Rayelle didn't think her life could get any worse after she was kidnapped and then abducted by aliens. When her alien abductors are slaughtered by a black-armored enemy, She believes her luck has soured even further. That doesn't mean she's going to go down without a fight, though. Tai'dqei never anticipated finding a human when he agreed to tracking and subduing a small group of smugglers. After he completes his mission, he notices another heat signature nearby. Following signature, he finds a human caged in the cargo hold. Too bad when Tai'dqei frees Rayelle, she flings a cup at his face and runs, which triggers his most carnal of instincts. When sense cleaves through his brain, Tai'dqei realizes something is off with this human and he soon finds out she is not only physically displaced, but temporally misplaced. The two struggle with misunderstandings, being pursued by enemy aliens, and more in this tale of one woman getting back to her home to her own planet and her own time.

CONTENT WARNINGS

Discussions and later depictions of domestic abuse. Discussions of contentious divorce proceedings. Kidnapping and alien abduction. Off-screen body modification without victim’s consent. Non-consensual touching (no penetration) due to language and cultural barriers. Dubious consent scene. Physical altercations, blood, and gore. Sexually explicit scenarios. Transphobia, including deadnaming.

While a review would be highly appreciated on any and all platforms, ARC readers are not obligated to leave a review.

Although I'd really appreciate it. (◕‿◕ )