#get harrowed idiot

[corvidcrowned]

Something wrong w these thangs …

John supporting gay people edition :)

[owlapprentice]

Gideon is a unreliable narrator in that she has know idea what’s going on for like 85% of her book necromancy wise but knows that’s if she asks Harrow the only answer she’d get is “none of your business Griddle”

[justsomeguycore]

one of my favorite things about tlt is how many characters just… like each other. people just become friends, become closer, even while at interstellar war and navigating intersystem politics and literal death and the afterlife they’re just like. i just like you lol

[caelestis-kid]

trying to write dialogue is like. nav wouldn't say that. that's the mid 30s femme lesbian looking concerningly at you drunk out of your mind at a bar. that's me talking to my overcommitted friend at midnight about straight boycrush situationship that he should not be encouraging. not gideon fucking nav.

[sonny-my-woman]

tumblr users shut the fuck up challenge IMPOSSIBLE!!!

[technicolorxsn]

I dont quite know what wakes whole deal is yet but I am honestly obsessed with her anger and hate

[lovebugism]

              —   BEFORE YOU BREAK MY HEART   !

summary: a pretty stranger comes to your rescue when you get stood up at a sandwich shop.

pairing: carmy berzatto / f!reader

contents: meet ugly, hurt/comfort, fluff, swearing, carmy has a crush, richie is a menace

( best listened with headphones, full playlist link here )

Carmy’s been wiping down the front counter for the past five minutes. At least. He’s more distracted by your figure across the room, sitting at the table in front of the large window, staring through the glass like you’re waiting to see something on the other side. You’ve been in the same spot for half an hour now, and that something hasn’t come yet.

Something about it is impossible to look away from. Like a car crash or something equally as harrowing. There’s something heartbreaking about your lonely form that breaks his own heart right back.

“You gonna tell her to get the hell outta here, cousin, or are you gonna keep ogling like a creep?” Richie wonders suddenly, leaning over Carmy’s shoulder to whisper obnoxiously close to his ear.

Carmy flinches. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks with his face screwed, lifting his elbow to nudge the taller man away.

“I said, are you gonna—”

“No, I— I heard you, Richie.”

“Then why’d you say ���what?’”

“‘Cause you’re a fucking asshole, that’s why,” Carmy snaps and turns away. He tosses his dry rag over his shoulder and ducks past Richie to chuck the wet one in the sink. The older man follows behind him, hardly bothering to spare more than an inch of personal space between them.

“She’s taking up space here, cousin.”

“What are you even talking about? There’s nobody else in here.”

He steps to the side. Richie’s quick to block his path. His icy gaze hardens into a more serious look as he points a stern finger at the boy’s chest. Carmy’s eyes flit back and forth between his hand and his face, hardly intimidated. 

“Tell her to leave,” the man instructs in a strangely even voice. “Or I’m gonna make a fuckin’ scene.”

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I mean it, cousin,” Richie continues, faltering when he realizes Carmy isn’t taking his authority seriously — and hasn’t since he was thirteen. He pokes the younger boy hard in the chest to prove a point. “I mean it,” the man echoes, all dramatic, before turning on his sneakers to head back into the kitchen.

Carmy rubs at his aching sternum with a tattooed hand and watches Richie leave — jostling the heavy mixer, the napkin tins, and the stainless steel cups as he goes. Creating as much noise as humanly possible. Making an entire fucking scene.

Carmy huffs when the silence finds him again, filled only by the radio Tina’s got playing. An unfamiliar song croons faintly overhead, soft and folksy. “I’m coming to the brink of a great disaster, the end just has to be near—” 

The quiet is deafening still.

The urge to say something to you weighs heavily upon him, and he isn’t quite sure why. He’s never felt quite so compelled to talk to anyone, much less a pretty stranger sitting by herself in his restaurant. But there’s something about you and your loneliness that threatens to drag the words out of him. 

He’s walking to your table before he realizes his feet are moving. He finds himself looming awkwardly at your table until he finds the courage to speak. Even then, all he can manage is a mumbled, “Hey,” as he twists the rag in his anxious hands.

You whip your head to face him and blink hard, like his presence has knocked you from the depths of your own mind. 

“Oh. Hi…” you waver, face screwed with something short of worry. You don’t realize until then how long you’ve been sitting alone in this restaurant — or how big of an idiot you are for waiting on someone who was never going to come. 

“Sorry to, uh, to bother you,” Carmy mumbles, with his gaze pointed everywhere but at you. “But I— I noticed you’ve been here for a while and—”

“I’m sorry,” you squeak before he’s finished. “I’m waiting for someone— was waiting for someone, but… I’m pretty sure they aren’t gonna show, so…” 

You laugh awkwardly at yourself in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure in your chest, then cower under the stranger’s sympathetic, ocean-eyed stare.

Carmy nods slowly with understanding, chestnut curls wild on his head. He forgets to show the emotion on his face, though. He just crosses his golden, tattooed arms over his chest and wonders bluntly, “Do you wanna order something?” 

He doesn’t realize how curt he sounds until you flinch at his words, like they’ve hit you physically somehow. “No, it’s okay,” you decline with a pretty smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’ll just— I can just go— Sorry for wasting your time—”

You collect your belongings with panicked hands, your phone on the table and your tote bag propped on the chair beside you. You swing the strap over your shoulder and rise to full height, standing before the tall stranger. He towers over you still, and from the proximity, you can smell the cigarette and nicotine mixed on his breath. There’s musky cologne spritzed on his neck and something savory stained on his apron that makes you hungry.

Carmy holds his hands between you in surrender, light eyes going wide in a similar panic. “No, it’s— it’s okay, just— Let me get you some water before you go,” he offers kindly, remembering to smile this time, even though it wavers at the edges. “It’s fuckin’ hot out there, you know?” he chuckles awkwardly.

You hesitate for a moment, feeling too much like a burden to say yes.

“C’mon,” the stranger presses gently, with something pretty glittering in his crystalline eyes. “It’s free. And it’ll take me, like, two seconds tops. You’ll be outta here in no time.”

You take in a deep, trembling breath, then nod with a smile despite yourself. “Okay,” you murmur and sit down again.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Carmy promises as he walks backwards towards the kitchen. “Don’t go anywhere—”

Hidden in the depths of the kitchen, he works with fast and practiced hands. He attempts to make you a sandwich in the time it’d take him to bring you water — an impossible feat, even for the best chef this side of Chicago has ever seen. He works on autopilot and tries to remember the recipe off the top of his head, something Mikey had made a thousand lightyears ago that’s plagued him ever since.

He races for the ciabatta, passing Richie without realizing. “She finally order?” the man calls across the station.

Carmy barely hears him. “Mhm,” he mumbles vaguely, reaching frantically for the needed ingredients — salami, provolone, tomatoes, peppers, the whole nine. He packs them into the sandwich and glances at the clock every other second, praying you haven’t left yet.

“Good,” Richie nods, arms crossed as he leans against the counter. He feigns an air of authority and says, “Soliciting’s illegal, cousin. We need to put a sign on the door or some shit.”

“Loitering,” Carmy corrects distantly, slicing the sandwich into halves.

“What?”

“It’s loitering. Soliciting’s something completely different, fuck-o.”

“Same difference,” Richie laughs. “Who gives a shit?”

Carmy shakes his head and plates the sandwich into a to-go tray, resting one half over the other for a little extra flair. “Idiot,” the boy mumbles to Richie as he walks by him and out of the kitchen. The song follows him as he goes. “—Can you save her? Now she’s in the air, radical and free...”

He exhales a sigh of relief when he finds you sitting in the same spot he left you in, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. It’s his first good breath in several minutes. “Sorry it took me so long,” he pants as the double doors swing shut behind him. “Ice machine’s fucking up.”

“It’s okay,” you assure with a polite smile that ebbs slightly when he sets the plate of food in front of you — a sandwich, but not the kind you’re used to making, all lifeless with the cheapest ingredients you can muster. This one looks good, gourmet even, like he put a lot of care into such a simple thing. 

Your eyes widen briefly in surprise as you peer at the boy from beneath your lashes. “You didn’t have to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carmy shrugs, pretending to be casual about the whole thing despite his racing heart. He crosses his arms over his chest like it’ll slow his pulse. “On the house.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” Carmy nods with a breathy laugh. “C’mon. Try it. Before you break my heart.”

He smiles down at you, all shy and lopsided and half-hidden behind the hand he rubs over his chin. Something funny swirls in your stomach accordingly, which you’ll blame on the hunger instead, as you take the halved sandwich in hesitant hands. 

You bite gingerly in the corner, prepared to hate it and compliment it anyway. Then it melts effortlessly into your mouth, a symphony of differing tastes that somehow work perfectly together. You deflate with a contented sigh, making a concerted effort not to moan when it hits your grumbling stomach.

Carmy watches with wide, attentive eyes and tries to gauge your reaction. “Good?” he wonders anxiously.

You nod slowly with the bite still wadded in your cheek. “Really good,” you correct with your hand over your mouth. 

He exhales a relieved sigh, nodding to himself with his hands on his hips. “Good… I’ve been wanting to put it on the menu so… That makes me feel better.”

“Seriously?” you blurt.

“Seriously,” Carmy echoes. “I just thought that, you know, you could use somethin’ a little special, all things considered…”

He watches his attempt to comfort you crash and burn right in front of him. Your small smile fades at the reminder of being stood up. You swallow hard and deflate with a heavy breath. Carmy stumbles over himself as he rushes to apologize. 

“Shit. Sorry. I was— I was trying to make you feel better, and I… I just totally fucked it up, didn’t I? Shit...”

He gets all regretful in a way that makes his face twist like a puppy. Something about his tenderness quells the tight feeling in your chest. 

“It’s okay. Really. I usually hate dates anyway, but, uh…” you trail off, grimacing when you decide to be honest. “My entire paycheck went to bills, and I thought I could score some free food out of it.”

The brunette boy smiles all over again. “Guess it still worked out for you, huh?”

“Guess so…” you hum and smile at his smiling, cheeks burning under his gaze. “It didn’t hurt my feelings or anything, you know, getting stood up. Not really— Well, it kinda did, but… I’ll get over it… Probably.”

“Well, whoever left you at this shithole’s an idiot,” Carmy tells you, only partly joking when he says, “Matter of fact, give me a name, and I’ll ban ‘em for life.”

He means every word, but it makes you laugh anyway. The light and airy, sunshine-incarnate sound makes his chest go fuzzy. “I’m serious,” Carmy insists with his own laugh. “Fuck that guy.”

You feel oddly comforted by this stranger and the kindness in his words. Maybe because he’s far kinder than the idiot you were planning on seeing today — and far prettier, too, but that goes without saying.

“Well, thanks for the gesture. And the free sandwich— which should definitely be on the menu, by the way.”

Carmy scoffs a faint laugh. “Yeah, well, tell my cousin that,” he jokes and tosses a brief glance over his shoulder. He does a double-take when he catches Richie peeking through the window behind the double doors, trying to be inconspicuous and failing. “What the hell are you doing?” Carmy calls to him.

Richie falters, realizing he’d been caught. “You wanna stop makin’ moves on our customers and do your job, cousin?” he calls back, half-muffled in the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ,” Carmy huffs, then turns back around to you, softening with a heavy sigh. “Sorry— I’m sorry about him. He’s… an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” you grin. “He seems nice.”

“He isn’t,” he deadpans.

You laugh again. “I should probably go, anyway,” you murmur and rise to collect your things. You swing your tote bag over your shoulder with one hand and balance the to-go tray in the other. “Thanks for the food. And for being so nice.”

Carmy ducks away from your tender gaze. His chestnut curls fall over his forehead as his golden skin glows red. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbles politely and walks with you towards the entrance. The door dings over his head when he opens it for you. “Come back, alright?” he tells you plainly, though it feels more like a plea.

“Only if you get this sandwich on the menu,” you quip.

Carmy nods once. “On it.”

You part from him with a pretty smile. Carmy stands in the open door and watches you stroll down the worn sidewalk. He cranes his head when you threaten to disappear in the bustling crowd, praying silently that you’ll turn around to look at him again.

He barely realizes when Richie appears at his side. “What are you so goddamn weepy about over here?” the man laughs, following his gaze down the road. Richie catches you nearing the corner and tilts his head with a slow nod. “Damn. I’d cry about an ass like that, too, cousin.”

Carmy nudges him away with his elbow. “Get— Get the fuck off of me, Richie,” he snaps.

Richie only laughs harder. “What?!” he exclaims, taking an obvious pleasure in annoying the younger boy.

That’s when you look back — right before you turn the corner, right when Carmy’s shoving Richie away like a child. 

There’s something magnetic in your gaze that pulls Carmy’s eyes right towards you. He falters under the glimmer in your eye and the wide smile you cage between your teeth. It makes his stomach do a backflip and the rest of the world slow around him. He isn’t sure if he deserves to be looked at so tenderly, but he warms under your gaze nonetheless.

He blinks, and you’re gone again. He feels your absence like a punch to the stomach, or a missed meal that’s left him achingly empty. He isn’t sure why. He only knows that there is something unavoidably special about you.

But now you’re gone. And Carmy’s doomed.

[royalinkblot]

Top Gun: The Gay Agenda (A Goose’s Lament)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

1986, Miramar, California.

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw was a patient man. A devoted husband. A loving father. A steady RIO. A rock. But as he sat in the locker room, towel around his neck, while Pete "Maverick" Mitchell ranted in full, barely-repressed-gay-glory about one Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Goose realized something truly chilling:

He was going to die surrounded by idiots.

"—and he's got these stupid, pretty blue eyes, Goose. Like—like oceans. Judgy, Arctic oceans. And his jaw? What the hell? It's like Michelangelo carved it himself. It's infuriating. He’s got these annoyingly capable hands and this silky, mocking voice like a villainous opera ghost, and he—he thinks he’s better than me just because he’s tall and broad and slim and hot! And don’t get me started on that beauty mark—I wanna punch his stupid angel face and kiss it at the same time and that’s messed up, right?!"

Goose stared at his best friend for a long, harrowed moment. “Mav.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart. You're in love with Iceman.”

Maverick blinked at him.

Goose turned, stood, and walked directly out of the locker room to call his wife.

That night, at the Bradshaw’s house, Carole, radiant queen of his universe, cackled like a banshee as Goose paced.

“I’m telling you, babe,” Goose moaned, massaging his temples. “It’s mutual. I overheard Iceman call him a ‘stupid green-eyed cutie.’ That’s not combat language, Carole, that’s foreplay!”

Carole nearly dropped the baby.

“I have spent weeks, WEEKS, keeping those two from killing each other or accidentally making out on the flight deck! And now? Now I have to make sure I knock before entering the locker room or I’ll walk in on Maverick’s legs around Iceman’s waist again! There were noises, Carole. Noises. I need hazard pay.”

But for all his complaints and grumblings, Goose was happy for his friends. And for himself, because, at last, he could put an end to the saga of emotionally repressed gay pilots.

He must have suspected this wasn't the case.

Goose never thought he’d be grateful for witnessing one emotionally-repressed Navy homoerotic slow burn resolve into a marriage, but the peace that settled after Ice and Mav tied the knot was glorious. Until…

The Phone Call.

“Hey, Dad?” Bradley’s voice, now grown and inflected with slight frustration, echoed through the line.

Goose smiled warmly. “Hey, kiddo. How’s flight school?”

“Fine. Mostly. Except this one guy—Jake Seresin. Ugh. He’s got these stupid pretty green eyes and this smug beautiful smile and he talks in this Texas drawl like he’s hot or something—he’s got dimples, Dad. Dimples. I swear, I wanna punch his annoyingly handsome face right in the—"

Goose froze. The coffee cup slipped from his hand in slow motion.

“Carole,” he whispered, handing over the phone like it was a live grenade. “Talk to your son about his OBVIOUS crush for Seresin. I—I can’t go through this again.”

On the other end: “WHAT?! It’s not a crush! I don’t even like him! He thinks he’s so slick just because he—he flies like he was born in a cockpit and he’s always—NO, MOM, STOP LAUGHING—this is serious!”

Goose was already on the other line, calling Iceman and Maverick.

“You DID this to him!”

Goose’s furious screech could probably be heard from orbit.

Maverick’s laughter came in unholy wheezing bursts, while he tried to say: “Technically, Goose, we never corrupted him. He’s just… following in our flightpath.”

“YOU TAUGHT HIM TO CRASH INTO GAY FEELINGS AT MACH THREE!”

Maverick wheezed, “I’m so proud of the kid. He’s even ranting like me!”

Iceman took the phone. “Hi, Goose.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Goose’ me, Ice Prince of Gay Pining! This is your fault too!”

Iceman reply, calm and dry. “We accept full responsibility for corrupting your son. We’ll send a fruit basket. And tissues.”

“You cursed my bloodline with emotionally constipated, pilot-loving disaster men! You infected my son with your drama! Now he's as emotionally constipated as you two assholes”

Maverick gasped. “Goose. Goose. Did you just say that out loud?! Honey!”

“DON’T 'HONEY' ME, DEAR. I HATE YOU BOTH. I WANT NEW FRIENDS.”

“You’ll never do better,” Ice said serenely.

Carole could be heard in the background, howling.

Goose thought it couldn't get worse.

Until it did. Until it happened.

The Closet Incident

A week later, Goose received a call from Admiral Ron "Slider" Kerner. Current CO of NAS Pensacola. Goose braced for a tragedy.

“Hey, Goose. Slider here.”

Goose immediately felt dread.

“You're not going to like this, but—well—I just found Bradley and….”

Silence.

And then…

Goose isn't sure he heard correctly, but he swears something sounded like a dog choking on a bone. Was Slider choking?

“Bradshaw!” Slider chortled. “You’re not gonna believe this—I just caught your Gosling and Seresin in a storage closet. Doing things. Noises, Nick. NOISES”

Goose blue screen. He must have misheard Slider. He prayed he did.

“Say again?”. Please, PLEASE, tell me I heard wrong. Goose was at his wits' end, and he was sure this was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Trauma response. A form of PTSD. That must be it.

Instead: “Bradley and Jake. Storage closet. Caught them mid-thrust. Jake saluted me while still having your son inside him. Just thought you’d want the full picture, Admiral Dad.”

Goose screamed into a pillow for eleven minutes and then started therapy.

He was absolutely billing Iceman and Maverick.

After Slider's call (which the entire Top Gun '86 class knew about, thanks to Slider and Maverick), Goose was confident nothing worse could happen. Sure, the call he had with Bradley where they discussed guidelines for proper conduct regarding storage closets use in the Navy was awkward, but now everything was back to normal...sort of.

And then it happened again. On an ordinary day, a bomb landed on Admiral Nick "Goose" Bradshaw's desk.

In the form of a letter.

Dear Admiral Bradshaw,

Please accept my formal apology for the incident in the supply closet. While our timing was… unprofessional, my feelings for Bradley are entirely sincere.

I'd like to take this opportunity to officially ask for your blessing to have a relationship with your son (even though we've already had sex—again, sorry for the inconvenience—and we've done other things).

I really care about Bradley; he's perfect. I want you to know that I will always treat Bradley like the prince he is, because I'm sure your son is becoming my world.

I promise to always be the best version of myself for your son, because that's what he deserves. He makes me want to be better. To fly better. He's my wingman. And I will always take care of his wing.

Also, Bradley told me that you're close to Admiral Kerner (and I must confess that you and your friends intimidate me), so could you ask him to stop making faces and sounds every time he sees me? I'm worried he'll die of suffocation from laughing so much.

Respectfully,

Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

Goose practically ran the entire way home. Read the letter to Carole. Then together, they called Maverick and Iceman and read it again.

As Carole read the letter (and cried with laughter) Goose stared off into space like a man haunted by the ghosts of his past and Maverick could practically be heard on the floor laughing (gasping for air) Iceman, always composed and serene, said: “I like him. He asked permission. Good manners.”

Goose, finally out of his trance, said, "Iceman, you're paying for my therapy forever, man. This is worse than when I had to listen to you read poetry to Maverick while we were on the USS Enterprise.”

Iceman: “Fair.”

And so Admiral Goose Bradshaw carried on, wiser, wearier, and only mildly traumatized. He had survived the IceMav saga, and now the BradleyJake operation was well underway.

Sometimes, he looked up at the stars, wondering if future Bradshaws would continue this glittering, chaotic legacy of falling for their cocky flyboy nemesis.

He prayed not.

But just in case?

He increased the Navy’s mental health budget.

And added “Emotional Disaster Preparedness” to flight school training.

[koalaflower]

bllk boys !

when their s/o can’t swim ⋆｡°✩

— itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi.

itoshi sae ☆

it wasn’t often that sae was granted week-long vacations off work, being a professional athlete and all. so when the opportunity arrived, he snagged tickets for you and him to enjoy a luxury resort get-away in the himalayas.

“you can’t swim..?” how? did your parents not care about you? he blinks owlishly, as if you’d kept something from him that should’ve been obvious. how had he not known, in all of your time together? “why didn’t you tell me?” his expression remains aloof, but there’s a slight hint of mirth in his eyes at the way you cling to the edge of the poolside.

he shakes his head fondly, hand settling on the crook of your arm. your feet barely touched the ground, flailing around like a passenger adrift at sea. “you’ll sink if you keep doing that,” he comments rather matter-of-factly, straightening your legs out to correct your posture. “i’ll teach you.” no partner of his will die drowning in a shallow-ended pool. how half-baked would that be?

your vacation turns into a three course lecture, but at least you can somewhat doggy paddle by the end of it!

shidou ryusei ☆

you told him. way before you even started packing, you told him you couldn’t swim. and he was surprisingly understanding about it, albeit sneaking in a couple teases here and there. now, you understand why.

you’re knee-deep in wet sand, breathing in the fresh, salty breeze of the sea when you feel a deathly, harrowing presence creep up behind you. “yoo-hoo~! y/n!” next thing you know, you’re being hoisted up into the air, and he’s running with you in his arms into the ocean. you scream of bloody murder, hands looped around his neck with your face buried into his sun-tanned chest. “ryu, what the fuck—“

he dips you into the water, giving you a mouthful of salt before scooping you back up. you sputter, wiping the ocean from your burning eyes and spewing profanities into his face. shidou only grins, steadying you against him as his hands cupped your cheeks—far too tender after narrowly committing homicide. “oh, so you weren’t lying. you really can’t swim!”

you give him three seconds before you’re dunking his head in, clambering onto his back with the full intent of drowning him. he laughs, dragging you both under with his hands on your waist—just in case you really do manage to float away. “sorry, babe. can’t expect to go the beach and not swim.”

he slept on the couch that night.

itoshi rin ☆

“are you stupid?” he looks at you with pure disdain, watching your feet kick pitifully against the nonexistent current. honestly, you never fail to amaze him more everyday. a part of him hoped the water would carry you away, just to show you how idiotic you must’ve been to suggest swimming when you couldn’t swim. “…aren’t you too old for this?”

you try to tell him you picked this spot for him, because he’d mentioned swimming a couple weeks ago and today was perfect. he lets out an exasperated sigh, letting you grip onto his arm like a lifeline. “just hold onto me.”

behind you, a little kid sails past with perfect breaststrokes, making your cheeks tint red in embarrassment. “show off,” you murmur to yourself, earning a slight huff of amusement from rin. you weren’t even in the deep end. “embarrassing,” he teases, paddling to the shallow ledge of the poolside with you in tow.

you make a side note to never go swimming with him again.

isagi yoichi ☆

the smile on his face dropped so quick when you told him you couldn’t swim while standing in line at the water park’s most extensive slide. he had no issue with it. in fact, he thought it was cute. but did you have to tell him after he’d purchased tickets and planned a day-long trip here?! now he had to worry about whether or not his date would make it to dinner.

“i-it’s fine..! we can go on a shallower one. maybe the—“ his heart nearly sunk when the attendant sealed you both off, gesturing for you to step up onto the platform. oh, he’s fucked. you’re gonna drown in front of him, and all he could do is watch. “e-excuse me! is the water deep?” he asks the man managing the booth, who only gives him a casual shrug in reply.

isagi looks to you with wide eyes, laughing nervously as he grips your hand tight. “just close your eyes, alright? i’ve got you.” though he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you. you survive, fortunately, but he spent the entire ride making sure your head was above water.

“next time, tell me before we go, yeah?” he gives you a weary smile, but when you tell him it was fun, he sighs in relief. maybe this date was salvageable after all.

[dammit-tazmuir]

TLT Theory: Pyrrha was the Necromancer

No get back here, hear me out. I'm not saying Gideon didn't become one as a Lyctor. But I've been noticing a lot of things adding up weird here...

In Ch6 of HtN, when preparing for the first trip through the River, they call it Pyrrha's trial.

Much later, when Pyrrha is mad at Palamedes for the soul fuckery he and Camilla are doing, she refers to it as one they designed together, but that doesn't negate Mercy calling it Pyrrha's first and foremost. And...

She's worried about Camilla's brain, and okay, sure, they only have Camilla's body. But with Cris and Mercy, it was Cris getting cracked open. With Harrow and Gideon 2, it was always Gideon in danger, not Harrow. And with Gideon 1 and Pyrrha, it was Gideon's skull, Gideon's brain, getting the testing done. No mention of the same kind of testing or Mercy or Pyrrha. The principle of it is the necromancer's consciousness being overlaid onto the cavalier's brain, right?

But okay, maybe Pyrrha just doesn't mention herself, and Gideon's "a control variable" to compare herself to? But there's more.

Pyrrha fights with guns, prefers them. Gideon fought with not just a sword but a whole ass massive spear for an offhand, and has easily more physical prowess than any other necromancer we've ever seen. His stomach is still desiccated in typical necromancer fashion, he's dehydrated and not a scrap of fair fat on him, but he's a wall of muscle and sinew. Yes he looks "like an idiot's construct", probably because John regrew him from an arm when he was still getting the hang of using that level of power, but he's distinctly not built like other necromancers. If he wasn't a necromancer prior to being a Lyctor, his build might make more sense. Moreover, we've seen other cavaliers turned into sort-of-constructs, with both Protesilaus and Kiriona.

I also want you to look at the Saint of Duty and tell me that man isn't the walking essence of what it means to be a Cavalier.

And he rarely uses necromancy. He can travel in the River, and he drains thanergy, but he never really uses theorems or sets up wards. His necromancy is used pretty exclusively in passive ways or to remove obstacles between himself and his weapons. But Pyrrha is extremely knowledgeable about all kinds of necromancy. She tells Harrow fresh thalergy is harder to drain. She sees Ianthe's brilliantly inventive combination of wards creatively mimicking the effect of Mercy's trial and can accurately tell what they're going to do, as well as how to break them. Among other things. She also says she walked the Eightfold. Maybe that means being led willingly as a cav, but what if she was in control of the process?

With Harrow, Gideon was constantly in and out of awareness, watching from Harrow's subconscious, things that Harrow was fully conscious for. Palamedes doesn't have that with Camilla, and both of them being conscious is rare and dangerous, as detailed above. Pal and Pyrrha are frequently compared with their situations. How did Cam and Pal work out how to do the switcheroo, especially while Pal had extremely limited ability to move or perceive? How did they work out a safe time limit before too much irreparable damage was done? Could they have had guidance from someone who's done it? Done it with a necromancer's knowledge, letting him know where he can safely go under in the brain, how to come out at will, what to watch out for?

On a separate note:

Lyctor names are sacred, but the Houses were founded before Lyctorhood was achieved. Anastasia did not become a Lyctor, so her name was not removed from history, and became common in her House. Judith and Marta are part of the Dve Territorials, and while that doesn't prove anything or could even be evidence against, I feel like it would make sense to have named prestigious military groups after the House's "main" Founder, before there were Saints and the decision to erase the Saints' names.

On a more meta level, I think it would be weird to have "their names were meant to be forgotten", history knowing jack shit about the cavaliers of old, and even emphasis on the Lyctors forgetting each others' House names, only to have a cavalier's House name in active use somewhere, if that information wasn't supposed to be serving a narrative purpose. If we weren't meant to question why.

"But they call her his cavalier. She calls him her necromancer."

Sure. And maybe that's straightforward; this is a theory, I could be wrong. But switching titles after Lyctorhood doesn't sound too out of the question to me. What's a bit of revisionist history in TLT? John knows where memory lives in the brain, and on Pyrrha's end, at least after Lyctorhood Gideon was the necromancer, after all.

(Edit to add: Augustine calls attention to how astonishing it is that Pyrrha never divided opinions, that not one of them has ever had a single bad thing to say about her. She's great but we've met her. We've seen John rant about her calling out his bullshit, in the dream. Not one bit of annoyance or criticism, from anyone? I'm just saying, if Something Happened that led to John needing to tweak memories, making everyone remember her nothing but fondly feels plausible.)

"So why can't she do necromancy when she's in control?"

"He took more from me than got taken from you" feels like explanation enough to me. He got her aptitude and more. She's a partial soul. If anything, she could even still has an ounce of it, to retain the body's healing capabilities. If Gideon was fully giddy-gone and the soul that was left had zero aptitude, what would the furnace be burning? But if Gideon's consciousness is dead and what's left of his soul is in the furnace with a (partial) necromancer at the helm, well, that's not far off from Lyctorhood working as intended.

"Why though?"

And there's the part that gets really tricky but interesting. My best guess short answer is, one of them was dying, and it was an act of desperation.

Maybe Pyrrha was dying and so brutalized her body wouldn't have healed right even becoming a Lyctor, but given what they're like and the Cam/Pal parallels, I feel like an even more likely answer was that Gideon was dying. Cris and Alfred had already put Mercy and Augustine in that position, and they took their souls to preserve something, but Pyrrha would have seen how well that worked, assuming the third ascension wasn't immediately after the first two. So perhaps in her own desperation, with endless adoration for the man so willing to burn for what he believed, she said no. You don't get to throw your life away. If you're going to keep throwing yourself on things, I will make sure you can survive it and keep surviving it, even if it kills me instead. And then walked the path in reverse, pinning her own soul to his instead of pulling his into her.

I've seen a post around here pointing out how when Pyrrha tells Nona about her first tantrum, she's laughing with her mouth but not her eyes, and it looks like it reminds her of something her brain doesn't want to bring back, and the post proposes maybe Alecto killed Pyrrha. And I do think there's a solid possibility it was Alecto's tantrum that mortally wounded whichever (or maybe even both!) of them and prompted them to ascend. If Pyrrha didn't blame Varun for Gideon recently, I doubt she'd hold it against Alecto either.

Either way, wouldn't something like that more than earn the title of Duty? Wouldn't it be beautiful that they both fit the title if both had in ways been the cavalier? Wouldn't it be fitting to allow the name Dve to stand in the military as a monument to such a woman?

I know this might still be a long shot, but I definitely think there's enough little things sprinkled around to at least to warrant some solid suspicion. And it honestly would explain a lot.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

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

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

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung @bkell2929

Part 19: To carry

Part 20: To suffer

The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of damp earth and vegetation as you crouched beside one of the large growing containers outside the outpost. The artificial sunlight panels above hummed softly, casting a warm glow over the rows of Pandoran plants that had been carefully cultivated in controlled conditions.

Kate was kneeling beside you, fingers gently brushing the bioluminescent leaves of a newly sprouted specimen, her datapad balanced on one knee. Brian stood nearby, arms crossed as he squinted at another batch of samples, muttering under his breath.

“These are growing way faster than I expected,” you mused, running a gloved hand along the delicate fronds of one plant. “We adjusted the nutrient mix last week, right?”

Kate nodded, clicking the end of her stylus against the glass of her mask. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it would have this much of an effect. Look at the root system—completely different from the control group inside.”

Brian snorted, nudging the edge of a container with his boot. “Probably because they like it out here better. I mean, who wouldn’t? Stuck inside that sterile lab or out here in fresh air, under actual sunlight.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Brian, they’re plants. They don’t have personal preferences.”

Brian shrugged. “You say that, but I’ve seen enough weird shit on Pandora to believe these things have opinions.” He gestured at a vine creeping up the side of one container. “Like that one. It was barely a sprout last week, and now it’s trying to escape.”

You snickered, tapping a few notes into your datapad. “Maybe it heard you talking and decided to make a run for it.”

Kate laughed. “Yeah, that checks out. Brian does have that effect on people.”

Brian gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. Betrayed by my own team.”

You grinned, leaning back on your heels. “If it helps, I think the plants tolerate you.”

Brian sighed. “I’ll take what I can get.”

For a while, the three of you fell into an easy rhythm—checking growth rates, documenting leaf pigmentation changes, and comparing data with previous readings. The work was familiar, grounding, a welcome distraction from the weight of everything else in your life. Until Kate casually dropped, “So. Last night was fun.”

You hummed in agreement, not looking up from your datapad. “Yeah, these samples are doing great.”

Kate snorted. “Oh, no, I wasn’t talking about the plants.”

You glanced up, catching the glint in her eye, and immediately felt a sense of impending doom. Brian crossed his arms, shaking his head with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, she doesn’t know,” he said, voice dripping with exaggerated tragedy. “Poor thing. Completely oblivious.”

You frowned. “Don’t know what?”

Kate placed a hand over her heart. “While you were off frolicking in the village with a certain warrior—”

Brian cut in, voice grave. “—we were fighting for our lives.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Kate sighed heavily, as if recounting a harrowing tale of survival. “The power grid had a massive failure. Outpost systems glitched so hard that the air filtration went down for an hour. An hour, where we had to wear exo-masks inside. Inside, like a bunch of stranded idiots in a tin can.”

Brian groaned. “Do you know how stuffy it gets in there when the ventilation cuts out even with masks? It was like slow suffocation.”

Kate clutched Brian’s arm dramatically. “We barely made it.”

Brian nodded solemnly. “Norm had to manually override half the systems to get them back online. Max looked like he was five seconds from a nervous breakdown. People were panicking.”

You stared at them, your brain slowly catching up. “Wait, seriously? The air system actually failed?”

Brian threw his hands up. “YES.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at you. “And where were you while we were suffering, hmm?”

The pieces clicked together, and warmth immediately crawled up your neck. “Oh, come on—”

“Oh, no, no,” Kate interrupted, pointing an accusing finger. “Don’t you dare try to act innocent.”

Brian scoffed. “She wasn’t just ‘in the village.’” He made air quotes, giving you a pointed look. “She was in Neteyam’s kelku. The brand new one he built with his own two hands. Probably wrapped up in some stupidly romantic nonsense while we were gasping for air like dying fish.”

Kate groaned. “God, it’s so unfair. We were in full-on survival mode, and she was—”

Brian cut in, raising his voice. “Oh, Neteyam, take me in your strong warrior arms!” He clutched his own chest in mock swoon.

Kate joined in with an exaggerated breathy voice. “Oh, ma yawntutsyìp, I’ll keep you safe in my big, muscular Na’vi embrace!”

Brian fake-gasped. “Oh, mighty warrior, you’re just so big—”

You wheezed with laughter, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck you two.”

Kate wasn’t done. “Meanwhile, we were actively perishing, and she was probably getting dicked down into the next plane of existence.”

Brian nodded sagely. “It’s true. We were barely hanging on, and she was experiencing spiritual ascension through alien dick.”

“Okay, okay! I get it.” You trying to catch your breath.

Kate smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So… you admit it?”

You gave them both an exasperated look behind your glinting exo-mask, but the smirk pulling at your lips gave you away. “I’m not denying anything.”

Brian groaned. “Unbelievable. We suffered. Suffered. And you—”

Kate gasped suddenly, grabbing Brian’s arm. “Brian, what if she was the reason the outpost almost died?”

Brian’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Of course! It all makes sense now!” He turned to you, shaking his head. “You must have broken some kind of Eywa rule. She was like, ‘oh, you wanna spend the night with the olo’eyktan’s son? Boom. Power outage. Choke on CO₂, humans.’”

Kate nodded solemnly. “It was divine punishment.”

You threw your hands up, still laughing. “Alright, that’s it. You both deserve to suffer.”

Brian placed a hand on his chest. “The betrayal. After everything we’ve been through.”

Kate wiped a fake tear as she swiped the glass of her mask. “We risked our lives, and she doesn’t even care.”

You snorted. “Norm let me stay in the village! It’s not my fault the outpost almost killed you all while I was gone!”

Brian huffed. “I’m just saying. Suspicious timing.”

Kate smirked. “Very suspicious.”

You shook your head, still grinning as you turned back to the plant samples. “You two are the worst.”

The morning sun was rising higher now, casting soft golden light over the outpost’s growing containers. The three of you had settled into a comfortable rhythm again, carefully checking the plant samples and logging observations, though the teasing hadn’t completely died down.

Brian was frowning at a particularly stubborn vine that had wrapped itself around the edge of a container, pulling at it like it had personally wronged him. “This thing’s got a death grip,” he muttered, wrestling with it. “I swear, everything on Pandora either wants to kill you or claim territory.”

Kate smirked. “Well, that’s nature for you. Survival of the fittest.”

Brian shot her a look. “Yeah? Then why is this thing trying to fight me? I’m clearly superior.”

Kate snorted. “Debatable.”

You chuckled, setting down your datapad as you inspected a leaf sample. “It’s probably reacting to environmental changes. The humidity’s been fluctuating more than usual. Maybe it’s compensating by clinging to something solid.”

Kate hummed thoughtfully. “That does sound like a logical explanation…” Then, she gave you a sly look. “Or, maybe it’s just possessive. Like a certain warrior we all know.”

You froze for a split second before sighing. “Kate.”

Brian perked up instantly. “Ohh, we’re back to that conversation, huh?” He tossed the stubborn vine aside, suddenly much more invested in what Kate had to say.

Kate grinned. “I mean, it’s only fair. She got to spend the night in the newest, most talked-about kelku in the entire village.” She elbowed you playfully. “Soooo… how is the place?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

Brian grinned, leaning against one of the larger growing containers. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what we’re talking about.”

Kate smirked. “Neteyam’s kelku.”

Your stomach did a little flip—whether from nerves or excitement, you weren’t sure. You should have known this was coming. Of course they were going to ask.

Kate rested her chin in her palm, watching you with amusement. “Sooo? How was it?”

You focused very hard on documenting one of the plant readings, pretending like your face wasn’t getting warmer. “It’s nice,” you said casually.

Brian scoffed. “Oh, come on. That’s it? ‘It’s nice’?” He gestured wildly. “The man spent weeks building the damn thing, and all you’ve got is ‘it’s nice’?”

Kate sighed dramatically. “Disappointing. Truly.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want me to say?”

Kate grinned. “Uh, everything? Details, woman!”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “Fine. It’s… beautiful.” Your voice softened slightly as you thought about it, the image of Neteyam’s home still fresh in your mind. “It’s in the upper levels of the trees, close enough to the village but still secluded. The main structure is woven from thick branches and vines, reinforced with thatched roofing—sturdy but open, so there’s plenty of light. And at night, the bioluminescent plants make it look like it’s glowing from the inside.”

Kate let out a dreamy sigh. “That sounds so much better than this metal shoebox we live in.”

Brian nodded. “Honestly, jealous. Dude really built himself a whole nature penthouse.”

You laughed as you started to revive the last night. “Yeah, pretty much. He even made sure there was a spot for his ikran to land nearby if he needed.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “A private ikran parking spot? Fancy.”

You exhaled, coming back to the present, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh and he was definitely nervous,” you admitted. “Kept watching me like he was waiting for me to say something bad.”

Brian snorted. “As if that’s even possible. What, were you gonna be like, ‘ugh, Neteyam, what an ugly handcrafted home you built with your bare hands’?”

Kate laughed. “Exactly. Like, what was he expecting? A bad Yelp review?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “I don’t know. But when I told him it was beautiful, you should’ve seen the way his ears perked up. He looked so relieved.”

Brian snickered. “Man was literally on edge waiting for approval from his tiny human girlfriend.”

Kate waggled her eyebrows. “Aww, our big strong warrior just wants your approval.”

You shrugged, feeling a fond warmth spread through your chest. “I guess.” You smiled, shifting slightly. “And, uh… he also made some adjustments to certain areas. You know… for me.”

There was a brief silence before both Kate and Brian snapped their attention to you, eyes wide with instant realization.

“Oh my God,” Kate gasped.

Brian’s mouth dropped open. “Are you saying…?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, he made sure some of the ledges weren’t too high, added extra footholds on the climb up, and even adjusted the hammock ties so I wouldn’t have to jump to reach them.” You tilted your head. “I didn’t really notice at first, but… yeah. He definitely considered my height when building it.”

Kate let out a high-pitched sound that could only be described as pure delight. “You adorable, stupid little human.”

Brian pointed at you like he’d just cracked a major conspiracy. “He built his house with you in mind. You.”

Kate threw her hands up. “That’s, like, peak mate behavior!”

Your stomach twisted at that, though you weren’t sure if it was panic or something softer, something that made your chest feel too full. Because, really, they weren’t wrong. Na’vi didn’t build separate homes unless they were preparing for the next stage of life. Neteyam had never had his own kelku before, not even after passing his rites. He had stayed with his family, partly because of his siblings and partly because of duty. But after his argument with Jake one month ago, he had decided to step away. And in the Omatikaya’s world, that decision meant one thing:

He was ready to choose his mate.

Your throat tightened. No one in the clan knew about the two of you, save for his siblings. And yet, when he had woven his new home together, he had instinctively accounted for you. Your size. Your comfort. Like it had been second nature to him.

Kate must have caught the look on your face because she groaned loudly. “Oh no. I see that overthinking expression. I see it.”

Brian sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “God, here we go. She’s spiraling.”

Kate mimicked your voice, making an exaggerated face of deep contemplation. “‘But what does it mean? Does he actually want to be with me? Or is this just, like, a coincidence? Does he even like me—’”

“Kate,” you hissed, smacking her arm as she burst into laughter.

Brian joined in, shaking his head as looking at Kate. “I bet she spent half the night just staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if this was a symbolic gesture or not.”

You opened your mouth to argue—then immediately closed it because, well… they weren’t wrong.

Kate clapped her hands together. “See? I knew it!”

You sighed in defeat, rubbing a hand over your face. “Look, I know I’m overthinking it, okay? It’s just… it’s a big deal. And I don’t want to assume—”

Brian cut you off, deadpan. “Oh my god, just assume.”

Kate nodded. “Right? The man built a house. For himself, yes, but also for you. I mean, who do you think he imagined living there with him? His ikran?”

Kate grabbed Brian’s arm. “Brian, I’m going to scream.”

Brian put a hand over his heart. “I—Kate, I’m actually feeling a little emotional.”

Kate whirled on you, her eyes wide. “He customized his kelku for you.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Brian exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn. Imagine a guy literally restructuring his home to fit you. Couldn’t be me.”

Kate smacked his arm. “Because no one wants to live with you, Brian.”

You peeked at them through your fingers, laughing despite yourself. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Kate gasped. “Not that big of a—oh, my Eywa, this girl.” She turned to Brian. “She’s too far gone.”

Brian nodded solemnly. “Hopeless.”

Kate groaned. “He’s literally nesting for you, and you’re just sitting here like, ‘oh, no big deal, just my giant blue alien boyfriend building us a love nest in the sky.’”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

Kate squinted at you. “What else?”

You hesitated again, the warmth in your chest spreading. “He… picked the softest pelts for the bed. For me—so I wouldn’t get cold at night.”

Kate grabbed Brian’s shoulder and shook him. “I’m going feral.”

Brian rubbed his temple. “Yeah, okay, even I gotta admit—that’s some husband behavior.”

Kate pointed at you. “Girl, you are so married already.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “We aren’t married.”

Kate scoffed. “Yet.”

Brian grinned. “This man’s literally out here setting up your future home while the whole clan still thinks he’s single.”

Kate crossed her arms. “Honestly? Power move.”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “I knew you two would be like this.”

Kate smirked. “Oh, don’t act all exasperated—you love it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not as much as I love watching you two overreact to everything.”

Brian grinned. “Hey, it’s not overreacting when it’s true.”

Kate sighed dramatically. “Our little human is being courted and still refuses to admit how insanely cute it is.”

You shook your head, but warmth still lingered in your chest. Because, deep down, you knew they were right. Neteyam had built his kelku for himself. But, in so many ways, he had built it for you, too. Kate nudged you again, grinning. “So. When’s the housewarming party?”

Brian laughed. “Yeah, when do we get a tour?”

You snorted. “Never. You two would never leave.”

Kate gasped. “How dare you?”

Brian shook his head. “Unbelievable. We cheer you on, support your forbidden intergalactic romance, and this is the thanks we get?”

Kate crossed her arms. “See if we ever cover for you again.”

The conversation was still brimming with teasing laughter when Brian suddenly perked up, as if a thought had just struck him. “Oh! Speaking of big, important things happening—did you hear about a new Venture Star that just arrived?”

Kate’s eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yes I did.” She turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. “We’ve got a fresh shipment in orbit, baby! New supplies, new equipment, maybe—” she wiggled her eyebrows dramatically “—some actual food that doesn’t taste like chalk.”

Brian groaned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Finally. I am so sick of those flavorless ration packs. One year of waiting for a resupply, and if I have to eat one more ‘nutrient-dense, efficiency-optimized’ protein bar, I’m gonna lose it.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. You’re acting like it’s Christmas. It’s just a supply ship.”

Kate shot him a look. “Are you kidding? It’s been six years since this shipment left Earth. That means everything on board is practically ancient history, but it’s new to us.”

You smirked, amused by their enthusiasm. The Venture Star was a marvel of human engineering—a massive interstellar vehicle that ran supply loops between Earth and Pandora, ensuring Pandora remained connected to the homeworld. The trip took six years one way, meaning that whatever had been packed on board had been sealed away for just as long. It wasn’t the first time a Venture Star had arrived since you’d been here, but it never failed to cause a stir among the humans.

Kate grinned. “I swear, if we get actual coffee this time, I might cry.”

Brian laughed. “Please, real coffee? In this economy? We’ll be lucky if we get the same freeze-dried sludge they sent last time.”

Kate groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. That stuff tastes like someone ground up despair and disappointment and stuck it in a tin.”

He smirked. “Oh, and you drank it anyway.”

“Damn right I did,” Kate admitted. “Because I have no choice.”

Brian crossed his arms. “And if we’re lucky, a Valkyrie will actually land at Hell’s Gate sometime this week with our shipment.”

You snorted softly, amused at how quickly their focus had shifted. “You two are way too excited about this.”

Kate crossed her arms, looking thoughtful. “Oh! And I swear, if there’s no real chocolate in this shipment, I will riot. Also, if they actually sent new datapads, I’m replacing mine.” She held up her current one and wiggled it in emphasis. “This thing is basically being held together by sheer willpower.”

Brian snorted. “Good luck with that. If they sent any, the higher-ups probably hoarded it already.”

Kate groaned. “Ugh, corporate greed.”

Eventually, Brian turned to you, still fired up. “Okay, and you? What are you hoping for?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d want. When you first arrived on Pandora, you’d clung to anything that reminded you of Earth—real coffee, small comforts that made the transition easier. But now? The idea of waiting eagerly for six-year-old supplies didn’t hold the same appeal.

Kate, of course, immediately picked up on your hesitation. Her grin turned downright wicked.

You shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

Both Kate and Brian stared at you. “…Nothing?” Brian repeated, like he had just misheard.

Kate squinted. “Not even a small request?”

You shook your head. “I mean… I can’t really think of anything I need.”

Kate gasped. “Oh, Eywa, it’s worse than I thought.”

Brian shook his head, looking at you with exaggerated disappointment. “You’ve gone native.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

Kate grinned. “No, no, Brian’s right. Look at you, all humble and self-sufficient. You’re basically Na’vi now. She doesn’t have to suffer with powdered eggs and freeze-dried meat. No, no. She gets fresh yovo fruit and grilled yerik meat, probably hand-fed to her by her mighty warrior.”

Brian smirked. “Neteyam probably makes sure you don’t have to eat those god-awful ration meals.”

You snorted. “First of all, I still live at the outpost. I eat here just like I always have. It’s not like I’ve completely abandoned human food.”

Kate shrugged. “Yeah, but do you have to? Or is Neteyam just keeping you so well-fed you could live off whatever he brings you?”

You felt heat creep up your neck.

Brian’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god.” He pointed at you. “He does.”

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Kate smirked. “I mean, it makes sense. A Na’vi mate would never let their partner go hungry.”

Brian shook his head in mock amazement. “Woman, you are set for life.”

You shrugged, glancing up at the sky again. “I guess I’m just more interested in the people than the supplies.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “The new recruits?”

You nodded. “Right now, there are people waking up on that ship, coming out of cryo-sleep after six years. They’re getting ready to come down here, just like we did.”

That thought stuck with you—the idea that, right now, there were dozens of people groggily adjusting to consciousness, their bodies still stiff from the long journey. You had been in their shoes once, stepping out of cryo and onto a planet you had only seen through data reports and holovideo feeds. It had been overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

Kate considered that for a moment. “Huh. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that.”

Brian, however, just sighed. “Well, don’t get too excited. We probably won’t even meet them.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Brian gave you a look. “Come on, you know they’re sending them to Bridgehead. We’re just a tiny science outpost in the middle of nowhere. Hell’s Gate is just a landing site now—it’s not like we have room for new people.”

You hated that he was right. Bridgehead was where the real human operations were now. A massive city, heavily fortified, brimming with RDA forces and corporate infrastructure. It was where all the major personnel transfers happened, where the actual newcomers would be processed.

Here, at the outpost? There were only twenty of you. And you were already at full capacity.

Kate made a face. “Ugh. I hate that he’s right.”

Brian smirked. “I usually am.”

Kate smacked his arm. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Still, it’s kind of surreal, isn’t it? Knowing that, right now, there are people on that ship experiencing Pandora for the first time?”

Kate nodded. “Yeah… I remember what that was like. It’s weird to think we were in cryo for six years before even getting here.”

Brian groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was the worst nap of my life.”

Kate snorted. “Same. Woke up feeling like I got hit by a space truck.”

You smiled faintly, staring up at the sky one more time. Six years of travel. Six years away from everything familiar. And now, a new batch of humans was about to step foot on this moon, just like you once had. They had no idea what was waiting for them.

The storage room was a mess of crates, inventory lists, and half-packed supplies. The air was thick with the scent of old metal and sterilized packaging as you moved between the shelves, reorganizing to make enough space for tomorrow’s delivery.

Kate and Brian were working alongside you—sort of. Kate was more focused on making sarcastic comments about the state of the supply room, while Brian had taken it upon himself to dramatically announce every box he moved, as if he were performing some heroic feat.

“And here we have the last-known ration packs of the Dark Age,” Brian declared, holding up a box labeled Emergency Protein Supplies. “Careful! If you breathe near them wrong, they might turn to dust.”

Kate snorted. “Please. Those things have more preservatives than actual food.”

You smirked, adjusting a stack of storage bins. “Yeah, and yet, you two are still excited for whatever garbage food the Venture Star brings us this week.”

Brian pointed at you. “Hey, those garbage snacks are a taste of home.”

Kate huffed as she shoved a heavy container into place. “You know, for a science outpost, we sure do a lot of heavy lifting.”

Brian grunted as he hauled another crate onto a shelf. “Welcome to Pandora. Where even the nerds have to do manual labor.”

You snorted, wiping the sweat from your brow as you double-checked the inventory list. “Come on, it’s not that bad. We’ll be done soon enough.”

Kate shot you a look. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got an extra incentive to work fast—someone is probably waiting for you in the village.”

Brian smirked. “Yeah, shouldn’t you be out there enjoying your Na’vi luxury lifestyle instead of sweating with us lowly humans?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Before they could tease you further, the sound of the airlock opening made all three of you glance up. The familiar, heavy steps of someone much taller than you echoed through the hall, and your heart skipped a beat before you even turned around.

Neteyam.

He walked toward you with that easy, confident stride of his, his golden eyes scanning the storage room before settling on you. His face softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he approached. Without hesitation, he crouched down in front of you, one knee on the floor, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

When Neteyam pulled back, golden eyes flickering with quiet affection, he gave you a small, knowing smile. “Oel ngati kameie, ma’yawne.”

The warmth of it spread through you instantly, but before you could react, he pulled back slightly and murmured, “I brought you something.”

Curious, you watched as he reached into the small satchel strapped to his side and carefully placed a few delicacies on the crate beside you—fruits, nuts and some meat, things he must have gone out of his way to gather. Before you could even form a response, Kate and Brian burst into laughter.

“Oh my Eywa,” Kate wheezed, clutching her stomach. “We called it! The prophecy has been fulfilled!”

Brian grinned. “What did I say? She doesn’t even need Earth supplies—her big blue boyfriend is out here delivering fresh jungle snacks like some kind of Na’vi Uber Eats.”

You groaned, feeling your face heat up. “Would you two shut up?”

Brian pointed at Neteyam. “Dude, you literally just proved our argument from this morning. We said she doesn’t need rations because you keep her fed, and here you are, hand-delivering gourmet meals!”

Kate wiped a fake tear. “It’s beautiful, really.”

Neteyam’s ears flicked in amusement as he glanced between them, then back at you. And then, because he was a menace, he casually said, “She does not ask for these things, but…” He tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “I take care of what is mine.”

Kate choked.

Brian gawked. “Wait. What?”

You turned your head so fast you nearly pulled a muscle. “Neteyam!”

He blinked at you, innocent as ever. “What?”

Kate’s jaw dropped. “Did he just—? Did you just claim her in front of us?!”

Brian looked torn between horror and awe. “I don’t even know how to process this.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “He’s joking.”

Neteyam smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Am I?”

Kate swatted your arm. “Woman. If I were you, I’d be panicking right now.”

You shot Neteyam a glare, but he only looked amused, his tail flicking happily behind him. He totally did that on purpose. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head and focused on your actual job. “Alright, you two, enough. We have work to do.”

Kate still looked like she wanted to dissect Neteyam’s statement under a microscope, but thankfully, she let it go—at least for now. Neteyam chuckled softly, clearly entertained, before nudging the bundle toward you again. “Eat,” he said simply.

And damn it, you couldn’t resist. The first bite of fruit was so sweet it nearly made you groan, and Kate’s knowing look only made the moment worse. You ignored them both, focusing instead on Neteyam, who was watching you with quiet amusement. You huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, you turned to Neteyam. “What brings you here, besides bribing me with food?”

His ears flicked slightly. “I was hoping you’d come to the village tonight.”

The question made your heart skip a beat. And oh, how badly you wanted to say yes. You hesitated, fingers still curled around a piece of fruit.

Eywa, you wanted to. The thought of returning to his kelku, curling up beside him, letting the rest of the world fade away—it was tempting in a way that made your chest ache.

But…

You sighed, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

Neteyam frowned slightly, his ears twitching. “Why?”

You gestured around the outpost. “We need to clear space before the supply drop. It’s going to be chaos this week when the Valkyrie finally lands at Hell’s Gate.”

His ears twitched, and his gaze flicked toward the stacked crates before returning to you. “You work too much.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Says the warrior who never takes a break.”

His lips quirked, but then he asked, “More humans are coming?”

You hesitated. “Probably.”

Neteyam’s expression didn’t shift, but you could feel his unease. And you understood why. More humans meant more problems. The Omatikaya were already wary of the few remaining humans allowed on Pandora. The only reason this outpost still existed was because of Jake Sully’s leadership—because he had allowed it. Beyond this, for a few hundred miles in every direction, no other human settlements remained.

This outpost was the last true sanctuary for humans anywhere near this part of Pandora. If it weren’t for Jake, they wouldn’t even be allowed to stay here. Neteyam’s tail flicked in irritation. “Father has spoken of this before. He says the Sky People do not stop coming.”

You sighed. “They don’t.”

Neteyam exhaled, clearly mulling over your words. He had grown up knowing the tension between his people and the humans, and he understood better than most how precarious that balance was. The Na’vi only human allies was this outpost with a few selected people. Before he could respond, a familiar voice chimed in from behind him. Norm.

You turned as he approached, arms crossed. “They’ll be sent to Bridgehead. That’s where the real operations are. Hell’s Gate is just a landing site now.”

Neteyam’s expression didn’t change, but you knew he wasn’t surprised. He had heard about Bridgehead from his father before. A human stronghold built near the ocean, far enough from the Omatikaya to not be an immediate issue. But even so, as the humans continued to come back to Pandora after the Great War, it was unsettling.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. You exhaled, rubbing your arms as you glanced at Neteyam. “I know,” you murmured. “I know it’s not… ideal.”

Neteyam studied you for a moment, then shook his head slightly, as if brushing the thought away. “It does not matter,” he said simply. “Bridgehead is far.”

It was true. Bridgehead was far.

But…

It was still growing.

You could see it on his face, the same thing that had gnawed at you ever since you heard about the Venture Star’s arrival.

The humans weren’t leaving. They were coming back. More than ever. And what would that mean for the Na’vi? For this outpost? For you?

You swallowed, pushing the thoughts away before they could spiral. Because the thing was, despite everything, when you were with Neteyam—when he looked at you the way he did, touched you like you belonged at his side—he never let you feel different. Never let you feel like an outsider. Even now, as his golden eyes settled on you, there was no hesitation. No doubt. Only that quiet, unshakable certainty. That you were his.

The steady hum of the outpost filled the air as you continued working, shifting crates and clearing space for the incoming supplies. Neteyam had stayed beside you, helping where he could—though helping was a generous word for what he was actually doing.

At first, it was simple. He handed you items when you needed them, moved heavier equipment with ease, and brushed his fingers against yours every chance he got. But then, he started making it difficult. Lingering touches. His large hands resting against your lower back as he leaned over you to pass your datapad. The warmth of his body as he crouched beside you to lift a crate, his tail flicking idly against your thigh.

You had tried so hard to ignore it, but Kate and Brian had definitely noticed. “I can’t watch this anymore,” Kate muttered under her breath, nudging Brian. “Come on, let’s go clear the storage bay before I start gagging.”

Brian smirked. “You’re just mad no one’s being this soft with you.”

Kate scoffed. “I’d rather die than deal with whatever this is.”

You shot them both a glare. “Goodbye.”

Kate grinned. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

And then they were gone, leaving you alone with Neteyam in the quiet hum of the outpost. You sighed, standing up and brushing dust off your hands. “You should go back to the village.”

Neteyam hummed, clearly not taking you seriously as he crouched casually next to the crate beside you. “I am fine here.”

“You have work to do.”

He tilted his head, golden eyes flicking over your face. “So do you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I mean actual work. Na’vi things. Not hanging around here distracting me.”

He gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I am distracting you?”

You leveled him with a flat look. “Obviously.”

His tail flicked behind him, his amusement only growing. “Maybe you are distracting me.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your work. “I’m serious, Neteyam.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he took the datapad from your hands before you could protest and placed it on the crate behind you. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached out, his large hand brushing your waist as he crawled closer. You inhaled sharply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Neteyam—this only will take a few days.”

“Alright. I will leave,” he murmured, dipping his head slightly, not quiet please by the few days fact, “but you are not making it easy.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I’m not making it easy?”

He smirked, the corner of his lips lifting in that infuriatingly charming way. “No.”

You exhaled, shaking your head fondly. “I swear...”

He only smiled, waiting. You bit your lip, considering your options. Fine. If he wanted to play this game, you would win.

Stepping forward, you tilted up onto your toes, your hands gliding up his arms—over the hard muscle of his biceps, past the strong curve of his shoulders—until they reached his neck. His breath hitched as your fingers trailed slowly along his skin, finally circling behind his head, pulling him just a little closer. His ears flicked forward, curious. You leaned in, your lips brushing just beneath one of them as you whispered, “If you leave now, I’ll stay with you in your kelku next time for a whole day.”

His entire body went still. You smirked, pressing the softest kiss just under his ear, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingertips. His tail twitched, curling slightly at the tip. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale, his voice low and full of something unreadable. “You fight dirty, yawne.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, smiling innocently. “Is it working?”

He studied you, golden gaze smoldering, before he sighed—reluctant, defeated. “…Fine.”  His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Kanu hì'i vrrtep.”[Smart little demon]

You grinned but your face heated up from his words. “Good.”

He brushed his nose against yours—a soft, fleeting touch—before stepping back. “But next time,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “I am keeping you for much longer.”

You shivered, heat curling in your stomach at the way he said it. Before you could respond, he turned, heading toward the exit. But just as he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder, his smirk returning. “Try not to miss me too much.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a laugh. “Get out of here, mighty warrior.”

His chuckle echoed through the hall as he disappeared, leaving you standing there, heart still racing, already counting down the hours until tomorrow night.

The late afternoon air was thick with the scent of damp earth as Neteyam adjusted the strap of his bow, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the dense Pandoran jungle. He had spent the past few hours hunting alongside the young warriors of the clan, guiding them through the thickets, teaching them patience, precision. Neteyam’s movements were swift, precise—his arrows flew true, finding their mark with practiced ease. The hunt was over quickly, their kills clean—six yeriks taken down.

As the others began the process of field dressing the animals, Neteyam wiped a small trickle of blood from a shallow cut on his arm. Nothing serious, but he knew it would need salve. He sighed, already knowing where he would need to go next before returning to his kelku.

Even as he congratulated the others, even as he carried his share of the game back to the communal storage, his mind was elsewhere.

It was foolish to let himself be so distracted. But Eywa help him—he could not stop.

The scent of burning herbs and medicinal paste filled the air as Neteyam stepped inside the Tsahik’s tent. Mo’at sat in her usual place, grinding some fresh herbs in a small clay bowl. The soft glow of bioluminescent fungi illuminated the space, casting her sharp features in a warm light.

She did not look up as he entered, but she did not need to. “You are hurt,” she said simply, her tone carrying that knowing edge that always made Neteyam feel like a child again.

“Only small wounds, grandmother,” he assured her.

Despite the gentle flickering of the flames, the space felt cool, shaded from the late afternoon heat. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“You walk as though your mind is elsewhere, ma ‘itan.”

Neteyam hesitated mid-step. He had hoped to be in and out quickly, but of course, nothing got past his grandmother.

“I am just tired,” he said smoothly, moving closer. “Long day.”

Mo’at finally lifted her gaze, studying him as if she could see right through the words. She motioned for him to sit. “Come.”

Neteyam obeyed, kneeling before her as she reached for a clay jar, her movements slow and deliberate. She scooped out a bit of the salve with practiced fingers and began to apply it to his wound. The cool, earthy scent of the paste settled over him as she worked.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neteyam focused on the way Mo’at’s hands moved with steady precision, her touch familiar and grounding. But then she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You are troubled.”

Neteyam let out a slow breath. “I am fine, grandmother.”

Mo’at made a quiet sound—half amusement, half disbelief. “I may be old, ma ‘itan, but I am not blind.” She wrapped a strip of cloth over his arm, tying it off neatly before fixing him with a look. “Your body is here, but your spirit is not. Where does your heart wander, Neteyam?”

His throat tightened. He forced himself to keep his expression calm. “Nowhere. I only think of my duties.”

“It is good that you take your duties seriously,” she said. “But you have avoided this conversation for long enough, ma’itan,” she said, her voice calm but resolute.

Neteyam stiffened slightly, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. “…What conversation?”

Mo’at gave him a look—one that told him she was not in the mood for games. “Do not play foolish with me, child. You know of what I speak.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, already knowing where this was going. He had heard it many times before, always managing to sidestep it, to push it away with excuses. But this time, he could feel it in his bones—there would be no avoiding it.

Mo’at continued as she spread the salve over a long scrape on his shoulder. “The time has come. You are no longer a boy. You have built your own kelku.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them. “It is time to choose a mate.”

Neteyam clenched his jaw, his hands instinctively curling into fists against his thighs. He lowered his gaze, focusing on the woven mat beneath them rather than the knowing look in her eyes.

"I am still learning," he had said when he was sixteen. "I must focus on my duties," he had said at eighteen. "I will know when the time is right," he had said at twenty.

“I am not ready,” he murmured, the excuse feeling weaker than it ever had before.

Mo’at clicked her tongue, her fingers stilling against his skin. “Neteyam.” Her voice softened, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “You have been saying this for years.”

Because it was easier to say he was not ready. Easier to pretend that his path was still unclear. That his heart had not already found its home in the arms of someone the clan would never accept.

Mo’at continued, dipping her fingers back into the salve and continue to apply the ointment on his other small injury. “The elders have chosen a few fine young women—strong, skilled, and wise. Any of them would make a good Tsahik to stand at your side. Any one of them would make a fine mate for you.”

Neteyam swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He knew this was coming, had always known. Ever since he completed his Uniltaron at fourteen, the women of the clan had waited, watching, hoping. Over the years, many had tried to get close to him, to make themselves worthy of his attention. Some had been gentle in their affections, others more persistent. But he had never chosen. Never wanted to.

Back then, he had resisted simply because he did not want to choose. He had never felt the pull toward any of the women around him, despite their attempts to get close. And over the years, as his father, his mother, even the elders had tried to push him toward a match, he had always refused.

Not then. And now… now, his heart was no longer his own to give.

Mo’at pressed the last bit of salve to his skin, but her gaze was no longer on his arm. She was watching him now, her sharp golden eyes studying his face, searching deeper than he was comfortable with.

“You hesitate,” she noted.

Neteyam exhaled slowly. “I have not yet decided.”

Mo’at’s lips pursed slightly. “Strange. A warrior who is ready to lead, yet cannot make a choice.”

He had no answer to that.

She watched him for a long moment, and then, something shifted in her expression. Her gaze softened, just slightly, her keen eyes seeing something even he had not realized was visible.

“You remind me of your mother,” she murmured.

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Mo’at sat back, folding her hands in her lap. “Neytiri was meant to be Tsu’tey’s mate,” she said, voice calm, measured. “It was decided by the elders after your aunt’s passing. He was to be Olo’eyktan, and she, Tsahik. It was the future the clan saw for her.” She tilted her head. “But her heart did not belong to him.”

Neteyam swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry.

Mo’at nodded. “She chose a man who was not of her people. A dream-walker. A man who, at the time, was not even truly Na’vi.” Her gaze did not waver from his. “And despite all expectations, despite all tradition, she chose him anyway.”

The air between them was thick now, charged with something unspoken. Neteyam looked away. “That was different.”

“Was it?” Mo’at’s voice was patient, but there was a knowing edge to it. “She followed her heart, even when it was difficult. Even when others did not approve. And now, you sit before me, looking very much like your mother once did when she, too, was being told to choose.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. He knew that she was beginning to see the truth—one he had tried to keep hidden. Neteyam forced himself to breathe evenly, but his mind was racing. Did she know? Could she see it in him?

Mo’at wiped her hands clean, tilting her head slightly. “You are your mother’s son, Neteyam. I see it in you.” She studied him, eyes sharp with quiet understanding. “Your heart is not hesitant because you do not want to choose.” She reached forward then, placing a gentle but firm hand over his chest, right where his heart pounded against his ribs. “It is hesitant because it already has.”

His breath caught.

Mo’at exhaled softly, nodding to herself as if she had just confirmed something. “I see now.”

Neteyam’s throat tightened. “See what?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Your heart belongs to someone already.”

He felt his entire body go still. His mouth opened, but no words came.

Mo’at merely raised a knowing brow. “And yet, I do not see you walking among the young women chosen for you. I do not see you speaking of them, or seeking their company.” Her gaze softened, just slightly. “No. Your heart is not here.”

Neteyam swallowed hard. His pulse was a steady drumbeat against his ribs, his hands curling slightly against his thighs.

Mo’at reached out, her aged fingers briefly brushing against his cheek in a rare moment of tenderness. “Tell me, ma ‘itan. Who is she?”

His lips parted, but no words came out. Because what could he say? How could he admit it? That the one who had claimed his heart was not Na’vi, not one of the women the elders had chosen for him, but a small, stubborn, brilliant creature of the sky?

Neteyam inhaled sharply, his mind a whirlwind. For so long, he had kept this hidden, had carefully shielded it from everyone but his siblings. But now, sitting here under the weight of Mo’at’s gaze, he knew there was no use in lying.

She already knew.

But before he could say anything—before he could even begin to form the words—Mo’at chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Ah,” she murmured, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You need not say it. I already know. It is not the way of our People to give their hearts lightly. The Great Mother chooses for us.” She tilted her head. “You have always been an obedient son,” she mused, her voice thoughtful. “Always followed the path set before you.” She paused, then added, “But the heart… does not always listen to duty, does it?”

Mo’at’s smile was small but understanding. “You have your mother’s heart,” she whispered. “Stubborn, loyal… and foolishly in love with a human.”

Neteyam’s stomach twisted in anticipation of judgment, of reprimand. But none came.

Instead, Mo’at simply sighed, her eyes distant, as if remembering something from long ago. “Fate has a strange way of repeating itself.”

His throat tightened. He had feared this moment for so long. He had imagined the disappointment, the anger, the judgment.

But it did not come.

Instead, Mo’at’s gaze softened, a knowing warmth in her expression. “It is a heavy thing, to love beyond what is expected. But I have seen this before.”

Neteyam swallowed hard. “And you do not judge me?”

Mo’at let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. “What is there to judge? Love is not something to be chosen from a list. It is not something that can be forced.” Her hand, still resting over his chest, pressed gently. “If your heart has chosen, then it is not my place to tell it otherwise.”

Neteyam exhaled shakily, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying suddenly lifting from his shoulders. “I…”

Mo’at pulled back, her sharp gaze returning. “But you must be sure,” she warned. “A choice like this is not without difficulty. You know this.”

Neteyam nodded slowly. “I do.”

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Then I will not ask again.” A small smirk tugged at her lips. “But do not think the others will stop.”

Neteyam huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I would expect nothing less.”

Mo’at chuckled softly. Then, with a final pat to his arm, she rose to her feet. “Go, ma ‘itan.” Her eyes twinkled with something unreadable. “You have much to think about.”

Neteyam stepped out of the Tsahik’s tent, the warm afternoon air wrapping around him as he inhaled deeply. The weight that had been pressing against his chest all morning had lightened, replaced with something unfamiliar yet welcome. Relief.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was hiding. Mo’at knew—really knew—and she had not scolded him, had not judged him. Instead, she had simply understood.

It was more than he had dared to hope for.

He had barely taken a few steps toward the village before he spotted Lo’ak leaning lazily against a thick tree root nearby, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. Neteyam knew that look.

It meant trouble.

Lo’ak pushed off the root, strolling toward him with an easy swagger. “Damn, bro,” he drawled. “That was a long talk with Grandmother. Thought she was gonna keep you in there all night.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the small smirk tugging at his lips. “She had… a lot to say.”

Lo’ak’s sharp golden eyes flickered over him, his smirk widening. “Yeah, no shit. You looked like you were carrying the weight of the whole clan when you went in there. But now?” He tilted his head, inspecting him. “You seem… different.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched. “Different?”

Lo’ak’s grin turned positively wicked. “Yeah. Like a guy who finally woke up with his woman next to him.”

Neteyam stiffened for half a second before schooling his expression. “Lo’ak—”

“Oh, don’t even try it,” Lo’ak cut in, waving a hand. “I know she was with you last night.”

Neteyam exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Keep your voice down.”

Lo’ak snorted. “Relax, bro. No one else is listening.” He grinned, nudging Neteyam’s arm. “But c’mon, you gotta admit, this is huge. First night in your own kelku, and you actually let yourself have what you want for once.” He let out a low whistle. “Bet that felt good.”

Neteyam sighed, shaking his head. “It did,” he admitted, quieter now. His voice softened, a small, unguarded smile playing at his lips. “I… I like having her there. Waking up and knowing she’s next to me.”

Lo’ak groaned dramatically. “Ew, bro, keep it in your head, I don’t need details.”

Neteyam huffed out a laugh, shoving his brother lightly. “Shut up, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak smirked but then took a step back, his teasing expression shifting into something a little more serious. “Listen, I’m happy for you. Really, I am.” His tail flicked, ears twitching slightly. “But… you do realize you’re not exactly subtle, right?”

Neteyam tensed. “What do you mean?”

Lo’ak raised an eyebrow. “I mean, if I can tell just by looking at you, then Grandmother sure as hell picked up on it, too.”

Neteyam’s stomach twisted. He had barely said anything to Mo’at, and yet, she had known. Had Lo’ak really seen it that easily, too?

Lo’ak crossed his arms. “I don’t think she’ll say anything to Mom and Dad… but if you don’t want an argument with them, you should be more careful.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched. He knew Lo’ak was right. He knew that if their parents found out, it wouldn’t be as simple as it had been with Mo’at. Jake, especially, would have a lot to say.

But…

His mind drifted back to last night—to the way she had looked in the soft glow of the bioluminescent plants that lit his kelku. The way she had curled up beside him, her warmth seeping into him as she slept. The peaceful rise and fall of her breathing, the delicate weight of her resting against him.

How could something that felt so right be so wrong in the clan’s eyes?

Neteyam shook his head. “I don’t want to hide, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak’s expression flickered with something unreadable. “I get that,” he admitted. “But you know how they are.”

Neteyam exhaled heavily. “I do.” His gaze flicked up to meet Lo’ak’s. “But I also know that I want this.”

Lo’ak sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Yeah, no kidding. You’ve wanted this for ages.”

Neteyam smirked. “And now I have it.”

Lo’ak grinned, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Just… don’t get caught yet, bro. ‘Cause if it were me sneaking around with a human girl, I’d already be getting the lecture of a lifetime.”

Neteyam snorted. “That’s because you make terrible choices.”

Lo’ak gasped dramatically. “Wow. Betrayed by my own brother.”

Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head as he started walking toward the village paths. Lo’ak fell into step beside him, still grinning.

As they walked, Lo’ak glanced at him sideways. “So… you really like waking up with her, huh?”

Neteyam’s ears flicked. His lips curled slightly, gaze distant but warm. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, but his smirk never wavered. “Damn. You’ve got it bad, bro.”

Neteyam didn’t even deny it.

The steady thrum of the SA-2 Samson’s rotors vibrated through your seat as you peered out the open side door, the thick Pandoran air rushing past you in a humid blur. Below, the jungle stretched endlessly, the deep green canopy occasionally broken by winding rivers and towering rock formations. But up ahead, the dense wilderness gave way to something different—something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Hell’s Gate.

Or what was left of it.

As the Samson approached, you leaned forward, eyes widening as the ruins of the old RDA compound came into view. Once a sprawling fortress of metal and concrete, the years of neglect had turned it into something else entirely. Rust and vegetation fought for dominance, creeping vines twisting around steel beams, shattered windows glinting in the midday sun. The towering security fences that once stood impenetrable were now collapsed in places, swallowed by the relentless jungle.

But for the first time in years, it looked alive.

Your Samson swooped in low, circling the outskirts of the landing zone before finally descending toward an old clearing, the last functioning helipad still intact.

You barely felt the impact as the landing skids met the ground. As soon as the side doors slid open, you stepped out onto the platform, the rush of fresh air carrying the distinct scent of damp earth and old metal even through the filtration system of your mask.

The scene before you was almost surreal—dozens of people moving in hurried yet precise motions, some in exo-masks, others already adjusted to Pandora’s atmosphere. Avatar drivers hauled heavy crates with ease, towering over the human workers who worked in sync beside them.

Norm was already there, standing near a group of Avatar pilots who were manually sorting cargo. He looked up as you and your team approached, lifting his datapad with a nod.

“Finally,” he called, glancing at the crates still being unloaded. “We need all hands on deck if we want to get this inventory logged before nightfall.”

Kate snorted beside you. “Yeah, yeah, Norm, we’re here. Keep your socks on. Blame our ancient Samson,” Kate quipped, shouldering her bag. “I think it lost a few screws on the way here.”

Norm snorted. “I’ll put in a maintenance request. Maybe we’ll get it fixed in, oh… never.”

You chuckled, then glanced at the towering stacks of crates being unloaded from the Valkyrie. “How much are we looking at?”

Norm rubbed the back of his neck. “A lot. More than we expected.” He handed you a datapad loaded with inventory logs. “We’ve got rations, medical supplies, field equipment… looks like they even threw in some updated research terminals.”

Kate let out a low whistle as she skimmed her own datapad. “Shit. This is actually good stuff.”

“Yeah,” Norm said, then grinned. “And before you ask—yes, there’s coffee.”

Kate gasped, looking up at the sky. “Eywa bless.”

You know Brian, who had stayed back at the outpost, was going to be so mad he missed this.

The group quickly split up, working alongside the others to catalog the shipment. The Valkyrie’s cargo bay was a maze of metal crates, each marked with serial codes that had to be logged before transport. You moved between them, checking your datapad as you double-checked the manifests.

Not far away, a few Avatar drivers were hauling heavier supplies to the storage area, their movements fluid and efficient. One of them—James, a former RDA scientist who had defected—grinned as he carried two massive crates like they weighed nothing.

“Need a hand, shorty?” he teased, nodding at the much smaller box you were lifting.

You rolled your eyes. “You offering, or just showing off?”

“A little of both.” He smirked, easily placing his crates down before taking yours and stacking it on top. “There. Now you won’t throw your back out.”

“Appreciate it,” you said dryly, making a note on your datapad.

Norm rolled his eyes but smirked as he waved you over. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. We’ve got a ton of stuff to go through, and the last thing we need is for this crap to get mixed up with Bridgehead’s shipment.”

You jogged to his side, eyes flicking to the mountain of supplies being sorted. “Damn,” you muttered. “Did we really order this much?”

Norm handed you another datapad. “Six years’ worth of backlog finally catching up with us. We’re getting stuff that was meant to be here ages ago.”

Kate whistled as she skimmed her own list. “That explains why half this shit looks like it was packed by someone who thought we still had the old lab running.”

You flicked through your datapad, quickly calculating the loads. “Okay, we’ll need to prioritize the perishables first. Anything with medical supplies gets packed separately—Max is going to want a full inventory on that.”

“Got it,” Kate said, already typing.

A sharp whistle cut through the air as one of the Avatar drivers—Liam, you thought—waved from a hover cart. “We’re loading the heavier crates onto the western platform. Give me a list of what needs to go first.”

You nodded and tapped quickly on your screen. “Sending it now.”

The next hour passed in a blur of movement—checking manifests, hauling supplies, redirecting mispacked items that were supposed to go to Bridgehead instead. The noise of machinery and voices blended together, the work fast-paced but efficient.

Norm handed you a datapad. “Start checking crate IDs and matching them with the manifest. We’ve got to separate what’s going back to the outpost from what’s staying here.”

Kate took one look at the endless list on her own datapad and groaned. “God, why did I come here?”

You smirked. “Because you wanted to see if there was chocolate.”

Kate pointed at you. “And if there isn’t, I’m burning this place down.”

Shaking your head, you scanned the first set of crates. The work wasn’t hard, just tedious—checking serial numbers, cross-referencing supply lists, making sure nothing was missing. As you moved through the organized chaos, you couldn’t help but marvel at how much life had returned to this place.

Later the storage bay was a war zone.

Stacks of crates towered like haphazard city blocks, lining the walls and filling every available inch of floor space. The entire outpost was a hive of movement—scientists, technicians, and Avatar drivers —now without their Avatars— hauling supplies back and forth, checking lists, arguing over mislabeled shipments, and generally cursing the logistical nightmare that was the latest supply drop.

You sat cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, back hunched over a datapad as you furiously logged inventory. The harsh glow of the overhead lights reflected off the screen, numbers blurring together as you tried to make sense of the mess.

Kate flopped onto a nearby crate with a dramatic groan, swiping her sleeve over her sweaty forehead. “I swear to Eywa, if I have to log one more serial number, I’m going to throw myself into the sterilization unit.”

Brian, hunched over a different stack of boxes, let out a dry laugh. “Make sure you put that in the inventory log before you go.” He tapped his screen. “One human researcher, fully incinerated. No refunds.”

Kate groaned, tilting her head back. “We’ve been at this for three days. Three days.”

You sighed, flicking through the latest shipment manifest. “Yeah, and we’re still not done. There’s at least a dozen more crates in the eastern bay that haven’t even been opened yet.”

Brian dropped his datapad onto his lap. “Whose brilliant idea was it to send this much crap all at once?”

“Blame Earth,” Kate muttered. “Apparently, six years of backlog means we get everything dumped on us at once.” She sat up, rubbing her temples. “And you know what the worst part is?”

Brian gave her a flat look. “Please, enlighten me.”

Kate pointed at the crate beside her. “This entire box? Expired protein bars.”

You winced. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” She patted the crate like it was an old friend. “Some poor soul packed these six years ago thinking they’d be useful. Now they’re basically astronaut-flavored cardboard.”

Brian snorted. “Honestly, that describes half of our rations anyway.”

Kate leaned forward, smirking. “And don’t even get me started on the medical supplies. We found a crate of syringes that expired before we even left Earth.”

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “That’s just great. Max is going to love that.”

Brian clicked his tongue. “Yeah, we should probably tell him before he tries using one and gives someone a eight-year-old infection.”

Kate sighed, flopping back again. “At this point, we might as well just let the Na’vi take over. They have better medicine anyway.”

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tightening around your datapad. The mention of the Na’vi sent your thoughts spiraling back to something—someone—who had been on your mind for days now.

Three days.

Three days since Neteyam last visited.

He had never gone this long without stopping by—not since you’d started spending more time together. He was always there, whether it was dropping by with fresh food, teasing you in that quiet, knowing way of his, or just sitting with you in comfortable silence. Even when he was busy, even when his duties kept him occupied, he always managed to find time.

But now? Nothing. No visits, no messages relayed through Norm or Max. Just… silence.

You tried not to let it get to you. You tried. But you were failing. Kate nudged you suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”

You blinked. “What look?”

Kate waggled her eyebrows. “That look that says, ‘Where is my tall, blue boyfriend? Why hasn’t he visited me? Does he not love me anymore?’”

Brian smirked, leaning against a crate. “Damn. She went straight for the throat.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “I’m just wondering why he hasn’t been around, that’s all.”

Kate gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Oh my Eywa, you miss him.”

Brian clicked his tongue. “Tragic. The great warrior has abandoned his tiny human.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I hate both of you.”

Kate grinned. “No, you don’t. Now, be honest. Have you been staring at the sky every night through the windows like some lovesick idiot, waiting for him to swoop in on his ikran?”

Brian cupped his hands around his mouth, mimicking a desperate call. “Oh mighty Neteyam, please return to me! My heart cannot bear the distance!”

You threw a rag at his head. “Shut up.”

Brian dodged it, laughing. “Come on, admit it. You’re on edge because he’s been gone for three days.”

You exhaled through your nose, turning your attention back to your datapad. “I’m not on edge.”

Kate snorted. “Oh yeah? Then why did you just re-log that same crate three times?”

You glanced down at your screen. Shit.

Kate cackled. “Busted.”

You groaned, setting your datapad down and rubbing your face. “Fine. Maybe I am a little restless.”

Brian smirked. “A little?”

You shot him a glare.

Kate leaned closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You know, if you really wanted to see him, you could just hop on the Samson and make a quick trip to the village.”

You scoffed. “Oh yeah, let me just abandon my post and fly straight into the arms of the Olo’eyktan’s son. That won’t cause any issues at all.”

Brian snickered. “Honestly? I’d pay good money to see that.”

Kate sighed dramatically. “Tragic. Separated by duty.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “How will she ever survive?”

You groaned again, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Still, you couldn’t shake the growing knot in your stomach. Because the truth was, you did miss him. And you were on edge.

Not just because you hadn’t seen him, but because there was no way to find out what was going on. You were stuck here, buried in supply crates and datapads, unable to sneak away even if you wanted to. So you waited. And you hated it.

Kate must have sensed the shift in your mood, because she nudged your foot lightly. “Hey,” she said, her voice a little softer. “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just busy with clan stuff. You know how it is.”

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

Brian stretched, cracking his back. “Besides, if something was wrong, Lo’ak or Kiri would’ve sent word by now.”

That was true. If something had happened, you would’ve heard about it. But that didn’t stop the nagging feeling in your gut. Kate smirked, back to her usual self. “So, until your warrior comes to sweep you off your feet, I suggest you distract yourself with more back-breaking labor.”

Brian groaned. “Ugh. Do we have to?”

You smirked, grabbing your datapad. “Yes, we do.”

Kate sighed, hopping off the crate. “Fine. But if Neteyam does show up, I’m taking full credit.”

Brian grinned. “And I’m charging him for emotional damages.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you got back to work. Still, as you scanned the next crate, you found yourself glancing toward the small window.

Waiting.

The fourth night was the hardest.

You lay on your cot, staring at the ceiling of your cramped quarters, listening to the steady hum of the outpost’s ventilation system. The small room was dimly lit by the faint blue glow of your datapad, which lay abandoned on your stomach, the screen dark. You had tried to focus on some research notes, something—anything—to keep your mind busy, but it was useless.

Your thoughts had drifted again.

To him.

To golden eyes that watched you like you were the only thing in the world. To the way his ears twitched whenever you teased him, how his tail flicked when he was amused. To the quiet strength in his voice, the warmth in his touch.

It had been four days. Four whole days since you had last seen Neteyam. Since you had last felt his presence, his steady, grounding warmth.

It wasn’t that long, really. You had spent longer apart before. Before you were a thing. Sometimes he was out on long hunting trips, or busy with the clan, or helping his father patrol the surrounding forests. You had spent entire weeks apart when you first came to the outpost, when your presence in the village was still something new, still uncertain.

But it was different now.

Because for months now—almost every day—he had found you.

Even when his schedule was tight, even when the village kept him busy, even when you were stuck here, drowning in work, he had always found time to come to you. Even if it was just for a few stolen moments, a brief visit, a lingering touch before he had to go again.

And now?

Nothing.

You inhaled sharply, shifting onto your side, gripping the edge of your blanket as frustration curled hot and tight in your chest. You hated how much you missed him. Hated how restless you felt. What the hell is wrong with me?

You scoffed, running a hand over your face. A few days ago, you were the one shooing him away, telling him he was a distraction. And now? Now you were lying here like some lovesick idiot, staring at the ceiling, waiting—hoping—that he would walk through the airlock doors and find you.

But he hadn’t. And what if he didn’t want to?

The thought sent a sharp, unwelcome pang through your chest. No, that’s ridiculous. Neteyam wouldn’t just ignore you. Right?

He was probably just busy. His responsibilities were endless—hunting, patrolling, training the younger warriors, helping his father maintain order in the village. You had always known that. You had always respected that.

But… what if there was another reason?

What if he had chosen not to come?

The thought lingered, sinking its claws into your brain, no matter how much you tried to push it away.

You exhaled, rolling onto your back again, staring at the tiny cracks in the metal ceiling panels.

Ache coiled tight in your chest, heavy and suffocating.

You missed him.

You missed him so much it made you angry.

This was his fault. He had made you need him. He had spoiled you, coming to you whenever he could, making himself a constant presence in your life. And now, after four days of silence, you felt like something was missing.

You groaned into your pillow, hating yourself just a little bit. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But it did. And you didn’t know what to do about it.

The morning started like the ones before it—filled with work.

The outpost was still buzzing from the chaos of the supply shipment. The last of the crates were being moved into storage, equipment was being set up, and everyone was running on whatever caffeine substitute they could get their hands on.

You were running on nothing.

You hadn't slept well, mind tangled in frustration and thoughts of him. The weight of it sat heavily on your shoulders as you worked alongside Kate, sorting through the new field kits. The two of you were in the middle of debating whether one particular box had been mislabeled when a familiar voice rang through the outpost’s main hall.

“Norm! Max!”

Your hands froze.

Kate perked up. “Was that—?”

Before she could finish, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the metal corridors. A second later, Kiri burst into the outpost, her braid swinging over her shoulder, a wide grin lighting up her face.

Norm and Max were already rushing toward her, their expressions shifting from surprise to pure joy.

“Kiri!” Norm beamed. “Eywa, look at you! You’ve been avoiding us, huh?”

Max grinned, stepping forward. “Two months. You disappeared on us, kid.”

Kiri laughed, looking down enough to give them both an exasperated look. “Oh, come on, it hasn’t been that long.”

“It has,” Max deadpanned. “We were starting to think you forgot about us.”

Norm chuckled. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

Kate nudged you playfully. “Well, look at that. The jungle princess returns.”

You should have laughed. Should have stepped forward and greeted her. But you couldn’t move. Because you were frozen—your breath caught in your throat, heart thudding in your chest. Kiri was here. And suddenly, all you could hear was Brian’s voice in your head from days ago: "Lo’ak or Kiri would tell us if something happened to Neteyam."

Your stomach dropped.

No.

Your hands went clammy.

No, no, no, no.

Your heart started pounding, a horrible, suffocating weight pressing against your ribs. Kiri was here for you.

Not just stopping by, not just visiting the outpost. She had come for you specifically.

Your fingers clenched into fists. You barely registered Kate pulling you forward, her voice light and teasing as she called out, “Alright, don’t just hog her for yourselves! Let us say hi too!”

You followed, but your feet felt like lead. As you stepped closer, Kiri’s sharp eyes flicked toward you—her smile faltering slightly the moment she got a good look at your face.

And then—

Flick!

A sharp tap against your forehead snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You blinked, eyes refocusing just in time to see Kiri grinning at you, arm still raised from where she had flicked you.

“Breathe,” she said simply.

You stared at her.

Kiri smirked, tilting her head. “I’m here for you.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Kiri let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Eywa. You really thought something happened to him?”

Your throat was so tight it hurt.

“…Didn’t it?” you croaked.

Kiri blinked at you, then let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, Eywa, no! He’s fine!”

You didn’t believe her. You couldn’t believe her. Because if he was fine, then where the hell had he been for the last four days? Kiri must have seen the doubt on your face, because she shook her head with an amused huff before crossing her arms. “My brother is insufferable.”

That caught you off guard. “…What?”

Kiri smirked. “That’s why I’m here.” She shot you a pointed look. “We figured it out—he needs to see you.”

Your brain struggled to keep up. “What does that even mean?”

Kiri rolled her eyes. “It means he’s been moping for days. Walking around like a storm cloud. Snapping at people. Being dramatic.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “…What?”

Kate snickered beside you.

Kiri turned fully to you, hands on her hips, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “My dear, hopeless brother has been miserable.”

You stared.

Kiri grinned. “It took all of us about two days to figure it out.” She crossed her arms. “It’s you. You’re the problem.”

You blinked. “I—excuse me?”

Kate snorted, barely holding back her laughter.

Kiri rolled her eyes. “Not in a bad way. I mean, you are the reason he’s like this.”

Your heart stuttered. “But… but I thought—”

Kiri waved a hand. “He’s been gone because my father dumped a ridiculous amount of duties on him. Patrolling, escorting, hunting—basically keeping the warriors busy after the Valkyrie landed, just to make sure that every humans left the forest.” She huffed. “He’s been running around nonstop, keeping the borders secure, making sure none of the new Sky People wandered anywhere they shouldn’t.”

You inhaled sharply.

Oh. That made… sense. More sense than the ridiculous idea you’d convinced yourself of—that Neteyam hadn’t wanted to see you.

Kate was grinning. “So what I’m hearing is… he’s been sulking because he hasn’t seen her?”

Kiri smirked. “Bingo.”

You were still processing. Still trying to make sense of it. Kiri rolled her eyes and flicked your forehead again. “Ow—!”

“Stop overthinking!” she scolded, looking way too entertained. “He’s been suffering, and you’ve been suffering, and honestly, I’m sick of it.”

Kate snorted. “Wow. True sibling energy.”

You barely heard them. Because Eywa, the past four days had been hell, and the entire time, you had thought— You had thought he didn’t care. But he did. And now?

Now, you needed to see him.

The journey to the village was a blur of rushing air and Kiri’s constant, relentless teasing.

She had barely given you a moment to react after her “I’m sick of it” declaration before practically hauling you onto her ikran. There had been no time to argue, no time to second-guess. You had barely managed to settle yourself before her, because Kiri immediately took off, the jungle whipping past in a blur of green and gold.

“You better appreciate this,” Kiri had shouted over the wind. “I don’t just escort humans for free, you know.”

You had rolled your eyes but held onto the tiny saddle’s edge anyway, heart pounding—not from the flight, but from the knowledge that you were finally heading back. Back to the village. Back to him.

By the time you landed, the sun was high, casting dappled patterns through the thick canopy. The village bustled with midday activity—hunters returning with the morning’s catch, children darting between woven huts, voices rising and falling in easy conversation. It smelled like roasting meat, woodsmoke, and the faint, fresh scent of the flowering vines that clung to the high tree trunks.

And the second your feet hit the ground, something inside you settled. The tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying for the past five days melted as you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with the humid air of the Omatikaya’s home.

Kiri must have noticed, because she smirked. “Huh. You already look better.”

You huffed. “Shut up.”

Kiri just snickered and grabbed your wrist, pulling you along. “Come on. Neteyam’s not back yet, which means you stick with me. I don’t need people getting the wrong idea.”

You frowned, glancing at her. “The wrong idea about what?”

Kiri shot you a pointed look. “About why you’re here.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, heat creeping up your neck. “I—I’m here to visit. To see everyone.”

Kiri’s smirk deepened. “Sure, sure.” She gave you a slow once-over, her tail flicking in amusement. “You know, if I were a random villager, I’d probably think you were some love-drunk human girl flying in for her Na’vi warrior boyfriend.”

Your face burned. “Kiri!”

“What?” she laughed, her sharp golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just saying. You’re kinda radiating desperation right now.”

You gasped, scandalized. “I am not!”

Kiri cackled, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, you so are.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Eywa, why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m great.” She grinned, giving your arm a tug. “Now, let’s go see Grandmother. She’s been experimenting with new salves, and I wanna show you the ones I made.”

You let yourself be dragged through the village, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

The scent of burning herbs and dried flowers greeted you as you stepped into Mo’at’s tent. The cool shade inside was a welcome contrast to the heat outside, the air thick with the rich aroma of medicinal pastes and freshly ground plants.

Mo’at sat near the center, a bowl resting in her lap, her sharp eyes flicking up as Kiri led you in. “You return,” Mo’at mused, voice steady as she ground a handful of dried roots into a fine powder.

You dipped your head in greeting. “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik.”

Mo’at made a small sound of acknowledgment but said nothing more, her gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before returning to her work.

Kiri, oblivious to her grandmother’s quiet scrutiny, flopped down beside her and pulled a bundle from her satchel. “I made new salves,” she announced proudly, unwrapping the cloth to reveal several small jars of smooth, dark-colored paste. “I tested them on Lo’ak, and he didn’t die, so that’s a good sign.”

You snorted. “That’s your quality check?”

Kiri grinned. “Obviously.”

Mo’at hummed, setting aside her own mixture as she took one of Kiri’s jars. She removed the lid, bringing it to her nose and inhaling deeply. “Mm.” Her sharp eyes flicked to Kiri. “What did you use?”

Kiri straightened, tail curling slightly in anticipation. “Crushed yutrel leaves mixed with tsah bark and a little bit of kali’weya poison. I wanted something stronger for deep wounds, something that would speed up clotting without causing irritation.”

You listened intently, stepping closer. “That’s smart,” you murmured, already thinking through the ingredients in your head. “But won’t the tsah bark make it too astringent? That stuff stings like hell on open wounds.”

Kiri’s ears perked. “Yeah, it would, normally. That’s why I balanced it with yutrel—it neutralizes the sting without messing with the clotting effect.”

You let out a thoughtful hum, intrigued. “Huh. I never thought of that.”

Mo’at watched the exchange in silence, her fingers still idly swirling the paste inside the jar.

You hardly noticed. You were already reaching for another one of Kiri’s jars, your curiosity getting the better of you. “And this one? It smells different.”

Kiri grinned. “That one’s for burns. I used a yovo fruit base to keep it hydrating, but I infused it with dried hìrumwll petals to speed up healing.”

You leaned in, fascinated. “Hìrumwll? Isn’t that could be toxic if used raw?”

Kiri nodded. “Yup. But once it’s dried and ground, it’s perfectly safe. It’s actually got insane healing properties—I tested it on my own arm after I burned myself on hot coals.”

You gasped. “When did you do that?”

“Last week.” Kiri shrugged. “I barely have a scar now, though, so I’m calling it a win.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so reckless.”

Kiri grinned. “And yet, I’m still here.”

Mo’at let out a soft hmm of amusement but said nothing, her gaze flicking between the two of you as you continued your discussion.

Her aged golden eyes followed the way you moved, the way your fingers traced over different herbs with familiarity. The way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your lips moved as you and Kiri debated the differences in Pandoran medicinal properties versus human antiseptics.

Mo’at had met you many times before. Had seen you in this tent on multiple occasions.

But today… Today, she saw you differently. She saw what Neteyam saw.

A human girl, small and fragile by Na’vi standards, but with a mind that absorbed knowledge like a sponge. A girl who had no true place among them—yet had spent years trying to carve one out for herself anyway.

She had always tolerated your presence, had even respected your curiosity. But after her conversation with Neteyam just days ago… Now, she looked at you through his eyes.

She saw how you eagerly leaned in when Kiri spoke, how your fingers twitched like you were mentally cataloging each new piece of information. How you wanted to learn.

And suddenly, Mo’at understood. Understood why Neteyam had chosen. Understood why his heart had strayed outside the boundaries of their world.

Because you sitting before her now—the one who spoke of Pandoran plants as if they were as familiar to you as the sky—were not just a human.

You were something more. And for the first time, Mo’at truly saw you.

The sky was deepening into twilight, Pandora’s bioluminescent flora beginning to glow with soft pulses of light as the village settled into the evening. The faint hum of conversation and laughter drifted through the air from the communal fire, where the Omatikaya were gathering for their meal.

You had no intention of joining them. Not after last time. Not after the way Neytiri had looked at you.

Kiri nudged you with her elbow. “Come on. You’ve been working yourself to death for days. You should eat something.”

You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Kiri raised an eyebrow. “What, why?”

You exhaled, glancing toward the gathered Na’vi. “Your mother wasn’t exactly thrilled the last time I was here.”

Kiri scoffed. “Please. That was weeks ago. She doesn’t hate you.”

You shot her a flat look.

Kiri winced. “Okay, maybe she strongly dislikes your presence sometimes, but she’ll survive.”

Kiri must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she groaned loudly. “I swear, you’re impossible. I brought you all the way here to see Neteyam, not to have you freak out and run back to your lab.”

You frowned. “I’m not freaking out.”

Kiri scoffed. “Then prove it. Wait for him.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the paths leading out of the village. “I don’t know…”

Kiri rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you won’t come eat with me, then at least go wait for him in his kelku.”

You blinked. “What?”

Kiri shrugged. “He’ll go there eventually, and you’ll already be waiting. Perfect solution.”

Your stomach twisted at the idea. Being alone in Neteyam’s kelku, waiting for him? That felt… different.

More intimate.

More real. “I don’t know if I should—”

Kiri groaned. “For Eywa’s sake, just go.”

You exhaled, shifting your weight. “What if—”

Kiri’s sharp golden eyes pinned you in place. “Nope. No ‘what ifs.’ No more excuses. You’re staying.” She gave you a little shove. “Go.”

You swallowed hard but finally nodded. “Fine.”

Kiri smirked. “That’s more like it.”

With one last glance toward the glowing fire in the distance—where the rest of the village was gathered—you turned away, heart pounding as you made your way toward Neteyam’s kelku.

By the time you reached the large tree where Neteyam’s home was perched, the village around you had grown quiet. The laughter and chatter from the communal fire were distant now, muffled by the thick foliage. This side of the village, where many of the warriors had built their homes, was mostly empty at this hour—everyone had gone to eat.

Your heart pounded as you approached the base of the tree, craning your neck to look up. It was exactly as you remembered it. The woven structure sat high above, the bioluminescent flora casting a soft, ghostly glow against the thatched walls. A thick branch jutted out just beside the main entrance—a space for his ikran to land when needed. The climbing path up was built into the tree, reinforced with strong vines and footholds.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for the first one. Climbing was easier this time. The first time you had done it, Neteyam had been behind you, guiding your steps, making sure you didn’t slip. Now, you moved with careful ease, finding your footing quickly.

When you finally hoisted yourself onto the platform, you paused, catching your breath. The kelku was silent. Tentatively, you stepped inside.

The interior was just as you remembered—crafted with careful hands, strong yet open enough to allowing the night air to move freely through the space. Woven mats covered the floor, and the central fire pit was unlit, leaving only the glow of the surrounding plants to illuminate the space.

Your gaze drifted to the far side of the room. The bed. A soft nest of woven fibers, layered with thick pelts. Your stomach twisted at the sight of it.

Memories of that night came flooding back—the way his arm had been draped over your waist, the warmth of his breath against your hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand.

You swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away. Slowly, you walked further inside, taking in the small details. The way the space still smelled like him—woodsmoke, earth, something distinctly Neteyam. The way everything seemed lived in now, as though he had finally settled into this place as his home.

A quiet sigh left your lips as you sat down near the edge of the bed. Now all that was left to do was wait.

The night air carried the distant murmur of the village, a rhythmic hum of laughter and conversation from the communal fire. But here, high above the forest floor in the quiet sanctuary of Neteyam’s kelku, you were alone.

And you had been alone for the past hour. You had told yourself you would wait for him. That you would stay until he returned, just as Kiri had said. But now, as the time stretched on, doubt crept in.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you shouldn’t have come at all.

You sat curled up on the thick pelts in the farthest corner of the room, your legs tucked beneath you, fingers absently fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. You had tried to be patient. But the longer you sat there, the more ridiculous you felt.

What if he wasn’t coming back tonight?

The thought made your chest tighten. You had spent the last few days convincing yourself that Neteyam was simply busy, that his absence wasn’t something to worry about. But now, sitting here in his home—his space—you felt like an intruder.

With a quiet sigh, you braced your hands against the bedding and pushed yourself up.

You should leave.

Even though your heart ached to see him, even though you had spent every night longing for the warmth of his arms around you, this… this was foolish. You had come here uninvited, desperate to catch even a glimpse of him after nearly five days apart. But what if—

The soft rustling of movement outside made you freeze.

Your breath hitched as a shadow moved across the entrance and you ploped down back to the pelts. And then, he stepped inside.

Neteyam.

He hadn’t seen you yet. His tall frame filled the doorway, his broad shoulders tense with exhaustion. His usually neat braids were slightly disheveled, a fine layer of dust coating his skin. He moved with the careful precision of a warrior returning from a long patrol, his every muscle taut from hours of vigilance.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him.

He was so tired. Neteyam exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders as he stepped fully into the kelku, his movements slow and weary. He had been pushed hard these last few days—you could see it in the stiffness of his body, in the way he moved like every step carried a weight unseen.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, he finally turned. His body went completely still. Golden eyes locked onto yours.

He froze, lips parted slightly, his breath caught in his throat. For a long moment, he simply stared at you, his expression unreadable—like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if exhaustion had finally broken him.

Your chest tightened. And Eywa, you had missed him. A slow, hesitant smile pulled at your lips. “Hey.”

The moment the word left your mouth, something shifted in him. His entire body seemed to release all the tension he had been holding for days, his shoulders dropping, his ears flicking forward. Relief flooded his golden gaze, his exhale unsteady as if he had been holding his breath for too long.

“You’re here,” he murmured, his voice rough from fatigue.

You nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah.”

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. You just looked at each other, drinking in the sight of the other like you were afraid to blink and lose this moment. Then, without thinking, he closed the distance between you and quickly crouching down before your sitting form, your hands reaching up to cup his jaw.

Neteyam sucked in a sharp breath. And then, he melted. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling up into an almost awkward standing pose, crushing you against him as he buried his face in your hair. His hands splayed across your back, holding you like he needed to anchor himself to something solid. His entire body trembled slightly, his exhale warm against your temple.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” you murmured.

Neteyam let out a quiet chuckle, but there was something raw underneath it. “I think I do,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unreadable.

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in his warmth, breathing him in. The steady, strong rhythm of his heart beneath your palm was soothing, grounding you in the reality that he was here, that he was safe.

Eventually, Neteyam leaned back just enough to meet your gaze. A smirk ghosted across his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “So… you were waiting for me, hmm?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

His smirk widened. “No, no. I like this.” His tail flicked playfully behind him, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “I come home after a long day of being away, and what do I find? My little human, waiting for me in our kelku.”

Your stomach flipped.

Our kelku.

You swallowed hard, your face heating at the way he said it—so casual, like it was obvious, like there had never been a question in his mind that this place belonged to both of you. Neteyam’s ears twitched, his smirk deepening as he took in your flustered expression.

You tilted your head with a slight blush, studying him. “Are you okay?”

He let out a deep exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “Now? Yes.” His sharp gaze softened, tail flicking. “I needed to see you.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, warm and steady. He needed to see you. Eywa, you had needed to see him too. Every part of you ached with it.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, at the tired lines around his eyes, at the way his shoulders had finally relaxed now that you were here. You wanted to ease the tension from his body, to erase the exhaustion written in every inch of him.

And so, without thinking, you took a deep breath, fingers reaching for the seal of your exo-mask.

Neteyam’s eyes widened slightly, his body stiffening as he realized what you were about to do. His lips parted as if to speak, to protest— But then you pulled the mask off.

The rush of Pandora’s air hit your face instantly, cool against your skin and then, before he could say a word, before he could stop you—

You kissed him.

It was immediate, desperate. The moment your lips met his, Neteyam inhaled sharply, his hands tightening on your waist like he was grounding himself in the reality of you. And then, he kissed you back.

A low sound rumbled from his chest, something between a sigh and a growl, and it made your knees weak. His hands slid up your back, pulling you impossibly closer as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. He was starving for you, drinking you in like he had been deprived of you for too long—because he had.

His lips were soft but urgent, moving against yours with a kind of longing that made your heart clench. His sharp fangs grazed your bottom lip, and you shivered, fingers curling into his braids as you let yourself sink into him completely.

Gods, you had missed this. Missed him.

His lips moved against yours with a quiet urgency, warm and firm, drinking in every second of this stolen moment. His grip tightened as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, tilting his head just right so he could claim you fully, completely.

Your lungs burned, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the way he felt—the press of his lips, the warmth of his body, the quiet, shaky exhale he let out when you ran your fingers through his braids.

But then, as if sensing the growing need for air, Neteyam gently broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was a whisper, breathless and soft against your lips.

“Put it back.”

His words were tender but firm, and you barely managed to nod before you quickly secured your mask back in place. The first inhale of filtered air filled your lungs, but your chest still felt tight—for a different reason entirely.

When your gaze met his again, Neteyam’s expression was soft, full of something deep and unspoken. His hand came up, his fingers grazing your jaw, then trailing down to rest against your collarbone, like he needed to feel that you were here, that you were real.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice low.

You gave him a small smile. “I wanted to.”

His ears flicked at that, something warm flickering across his features. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, wrapped in the quiet of his kelku, in the space between heartbeats.

Then, his fingers brushed along your waist, his voice quieter now. “Stay with me tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his golden gaze searched yours, waiting. A slow smile curled at your lips. “I will,” you said, voice soft. “I promised.”

Something in his expression melted at that. And as Neteyam pulled you against him once more, tucking you beneath his chin, his arms wrapping around you in a way that left no space between your bodies, you knew. No matter how many days apart, no matter how long the wait—

You would always find your way back to each other.

I still don't understand why I'm making the whole story sooooo slow burn.

Part 21: To expect

[melrodrigo]

tranquil

Wednesday Addams x G!N Reader

Summary: Wednesday gets a bad case of the late night feels.

Word Count: 600+

A/N: A short one simply for the vibes. Ty @wesstars n @mindyswhore for helping me out 🫶🏻 also i’m gonna mention @bingwriterxo simply cuz i miss her. Hope u enjoy!

It’s been a harrowing day.

After getting a presentation you’d been dreading for weeks done- which had effectively taken all your strength and social battery, you’d been hit with homework for every single class.

Which is how you ended up in your dorm, on a Friday night, sitting and stirring in a mix of damning pride and self-loath.

A knock on the door has your head shifting up and has you turning down the volume of your blasting classical music.

Classical music you’ve never cared for till you met Wednesday Addams.

Most popular loner to live. The infamous young detective. Psycho freak girl. A living black-and-white comic. All the names you can think of, but your favorite thing to call her is your girlfriend.

She’d played something on her cello one night while you were hanging out, and the music had flown through you so easily, lifting you and rattling you to the bone. It had been so magical you had to ask her what she was playing.

You saunter over to the door, somewhat unwillingly, believing you’ve had enough social interaction for one day, but speed up when another knock sounds- this time louder and more hurried.

“What.” You growl, before even looking at your personal space intruder.

“Are you playing tricks on me?” Wednesday, your girlfriend of two years, asks the moment you open your door. Her expression is stoic, as always, but a quiver in her lip tells you better.

The sight of her has the opposite effect on you as it would others.

You feel that little jump like you do every time you see her.

You cock an eyebrow at her, mouth upturned slightly on one side. “Well hello to you too.”

She ignores your comment, favoring instead to walk briskly into your dorm room, one that belonged to you and only you- perks of being the headmaster's kid.

You watch her as she breathes in deep, a display of immense emotion for the Addams, and sags her shoulders.

Contrary to popular belief, Wednesday did have emotions, and not to toot your own horn, but you were well versed in all her different moods by now.

But right now, there’s a different feeling in the air you can’t quite place. She seems…unguarded, unnaturally open.

You shut the door and lean back into the wall in time to see her turn around and walk up to you. She stops just centimeters away from you.

“What’s this about me playing tricks on you?” You question, a little hesitant, distracted by the glint in your girlfriend’s eyes. They barely show through her bangs nowadays, but today they shine brighter, demanding your attention.

She’s blinking slowly, gaze flitting between your lips and your eyes.

This was a look you were quite familiar with.

“Does someone want a kiss?” You tease, placing your hands on her waist gently. You break out in a grin when she sighs at the soft touch.

“Do you enjoy knowing you have control over me?” She asks, tilting her head up to stare into your eyes properly. You look for a joke in her eyes, but her expression stays the same.

Your heart soars at her words. You, out of everyone, would know how much depth her words contain.

Wednesday Addams never says anything lightly.

“Control?” You prod, wanting to make the most out of whatever this mood of hers is.

She nods, looking so relaxed and adoring it makes your heart ache.

“Control.” She whispers, very much staring at you like she wants to grab you by the face and kiss you.

“Yeah? Like what?” You tease further, ready for her to take back her former comment and call you an idiot.

What she does instead, surprises you. She turns her back and talks.

“Why are you turned the other way?” You inquire softly, so as to not ruin the moment.

Wednesday takes another breath that has your heart beating faster.

“It…helps me express my feelings.” She says. You see her hesitate before speaking once again.

“I want you to control me. Or something very close to that. I don’t know what this peculiar feeling is, but it’s dreadful. I’d do anything you asked.” She says, turning around to meet your gaze.

You soften, reach up to brush her face gently. As much as you’re enjoying the vulnerability, you’re a bit worried about what came over her to be so open.

“What’s happened? Are you okay?” You ask her quietly, concern seeping through your voice.

All she does is laugh lowly, shaking her head and bringing a hand up to cup yours.

“I am well, Y/N. I’ve just missed you.” She says, leaning further until she’s pressed up against you, not leaving any space between the two of you.

“We saw each other today.” You say, somewhat meekly, blushing furiously due to your girlfriend’s unexpected antics.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Your absence leaves a hole in my heart.” She tells you, adverting her gaze like she’s suddenly overcome with doubt.

You take her chin in your hands and tilt her face back to you, wanting to get rid of any uncertainty she has about expressing her feelings. It took ages for her to even open up to you, and you never want her to go back to feeling guarded again.

“I missed you too.” You tell her, as sincerely as you can.

Wednesday’s eyes soften even more like she doesn’t believe you said it back.

Eyes all misty and cheeks tinted red, she looks good.

You lean forward and nip her lips, then pull her in harder when you feel her shiver underneath you.

She responds immediately, grabbing tight at your pjs.

You affirm your prior statements with the most tender kiss you can muster, and you know by the way she grips you even tighter that she understands.

[saddest-girl-in-the-whole-world]

Gideon at the end of Nona The Ninth strikes me as.. really odd. I know some people thought she's out of character because she's kinda mean - which I don't agree with - but honestly every time I get to that part I think: She's smarter than that.

I know fanon Gideon usually portrays her as a huge idiot and a goofball (fair enough for the most part) but she's also one hell of a skeptic and stubborn character that does NOT bend to authority easily. And let's remember The Unwanted Guest: We know that just by the nature of the Lyctor process Gideon must have picked up some stuff from Harrow as well, we even see it happen when she starts discussing basic necromancy at the end of Nona.

So, Gideon is now being sent to the ninth to kill Alecto, John's Cavalier, and take his place going forward, or at least this is what she says.

You see what I'm going at? She's smarter than that.

I am NOT saying she is acting out character by the way! But I think we don't give her motivations enough credit beyond being reckless because of grief. Gideon Nav who all her life has done nothing but hatch escape plans and NEARLY succeeded? Gideon Nav who is carrying part of Harrows soul? Gideon Nav WHO WATCHED THE EVENTS OF HARROW THE NINTH UNFOLD WITH HARROWS EYES?

I guess what I'm wondering is: What's her plan?

[splishsplashsploshing]

Found this in my drafts:

Season 9 but Castiel didn't lose his grace, he's just damaged it, and instead Dean asks him to heal Sam but Cas is too weak and needs someone to protect him as well so posession is still the decided upon course of action.

Cas is all "no, I need real consent!" And forces Dean to explain to Sam what he wants to do and Sam actually agrees with all the information and him and Cas draw up an agreement.

I'm thinking Sam pulling out his lawboy skills and writing up a contract with clauses like "I get to fucking sleep. I don't care that you're an angel, I want my 8 hours." And "When I'm in the shower/naked/doing something sensitive, don't look."

Then you have Castiel getting confused about when Sam should be having his 8 hours and what a "sensitive" activity is. This leads to them bickering but it just looks like Sam is arguing both sides of an argument at the same time.

Dean is sick of it. Sure it's amusing sometimes but now he doesn't have someone to complain to about the other because they're the same person.

Castiel and Sam getting to know each other better because they're around the other 24/7. Castiel using Sam's hands to braid Sam's hair and realising that Sam enjoys the feeling. Sam learning that Cas's wings hurt if he doesn't stretch them from time to time. Them realising that they enjoy spending time with each other.

Castiel enjoys the physicality of Sam's runs once he's able to go on them again, it reminds him of when he was in the garrisons of heaven training, a bittersweet memory.

Sam finds that he feels comforted by Castiel's constant presence, it chases away the harrowing loneliness he has felt intermittently throughout his life.

Once they separate once more (Cas back into his body, they kept it lying around preserved under a spell), Sam and Castiel are much closer than before. They have regular walks together, little tea times, Dean-is-being-an-idiot support sessions.

This develops in the later seasons with their parenting unit with Jack. They have a cohesive and fluid approach and regularly discuss how they want to raise Jack once things calm down. At the height of the tensions Sam and Cas comfort each other, hands clasped on shoulders and soothing hands ran down each other's backs.

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

☆ A Clueless Child & An Even More Clueless DJD

scenario: a group of psychopaths unwittingly become parents to an abandoned newly built found under mysterious circumstance

note: i also wanted to add that this fic not only centers around reader but also the DJD as a crew, like their dynamics and stuff. mostly because there's such little content about them as a crew and the DJD are my favourite Decepticon sub-faction.

prev: part one next: -----

PARENTS MENTORS IN DENIAL 02

summary: breaking the news to their already stressed out medic, in short, how they decide to adopt you

“They'll be awake within an arc, tops.” Nickel sighs out as she exits the medbay to see the team and they're waiting right outside— Vos sits down on the floor as Kaon, Tesarus and Helex lean on the wall; Tarn stands straight, looking somewhat impatient but it's hard to tell with the mask. It looks like The Pet noticed the commotion and decided to join in from whatever demonic activities that spawn of Mortilius was busy with when everyone else was minding their own business… laying down right by Kaon as he pets it gently. Thankfully, it seems to be very docile right now, tired maybe; its optics looked heavy as if it were going into recharge from Kaon’s gentle ministrations. Maybe Kaon hadn't fuelled the thing yet… They didn't take The Pet with them to Clemency, purely because they did not want The Pet to be anywhere near corpses and that place was basically a graveyard.

Nickel has to stop herself from gagging (she didn't even know she could) at the thought of how she had to get rid of a nasty rust infection the last time that happened with The Pet. Regardless, right now there were more pressing matters than that monstrosity.

The expert medic is done with her world class repairs (rated by Tarn himself), dusting off her servos as all five now wait outside the medbay. She feels somewhat… disturbed if anything. Odd considering she's been with the DJD for a long time now, long enough for such feelings to be usual but… From her examination, she could tell the sparkling was merely a few human months or so old. The wiring within its chassis was not worn or torn in the slightest, the interior of its frame was in relatively pristine condition, especially compared to some of her teammates.

And from the damage on the poor thing’s frame, she could tell that it had been on Clemency for a couple of months. The rust flakes and dried up energon solidified in the crevices of their frame's exterior, the result of a filthy environment. They were absolutely dirty, no wonder why Tarn hesitated to hold the little one himself. She ran a system diagnostic just in case for any chances of a virus affecting its programming only to find out they never had its firewall updated, ever. That… concerned her deeply.

It meant that someone had quite literally dumped this sorry sparkling into Clemency right after it was made. All by itself. All alone. New life left without guidance or resources in a planet ridden with Decepticon corpses. It was a harrowing thought. How did it survive? Who would do that? Why would they do that? What sort of sick frag does something like that?

Maybe they should run the little one’s serial number in their systems to check. Then they'd have some sort of information regarding this mystery, she makes a mental note to ask Tarn but knowing him, there's a high chance he already did so.

The situation of the sparkling is rather mysterious and dire, Nickel couldn't help but wonder what they had to go through to end up so battered… so young and frail. She knocks the thought out of her helm as soon as it enters, she has a couple of idiots to address right now.

“Now, there’s a few good things but there's bad news with it.” Nickel cranes her helm to look up at the five behemoths before her. The minibot is used to the pain in her neck supports at this point, craning her way to see their faceplates. All of their EM fields radiate curiosity and a strange sense of worry, anxiousness almost. It's not the typical aura but again, this situation was far from typical on The Peaceful Tyranny.

“Go on with the good news first.” Tarn commanded, he convinced himself that he cares little to nothing about the sparkling, he only cared because it was one of them. The anticipation from them all builds up tension at the moment.

“Okay, so the newly-built is fine, physically. Their motor systems are intact. At best, their stabilizers might feel sore. They can move fine. The large dent in their chassis from the compression is fixed. Vents are all cleared.” Nickel announces, there's an odd sense of relief in the faces of the DJD. A few sighs escaping some of them. Though, Tarn remains ambiguous, solely due to the mask.

“...what about the bad news?” Helex asks, not as relieved as the rest yet. Though his faceplates do not betray him, upholding up that ideal Decepticon stoicism his position required him to display. Tarn leans down a bit to relieve Nickel, considerate to the minibot and the others were leaning on the wall quickly follow suit but it merely serves to piss Nickel off, it felt somewhat insulting. She grimaces with annoyance but pushes aside her feelings for now as she continues with the sparkling. Her neck supports do feel a little better now that she doesn't have to crane half as much to the crouched down mechs so she's somewhat grateful. Not like she's going to comment on it.

“Well, the kids got a few firewall breaches. I've updated their programming for the most part so it shouldn't have too much of an impact. But most importantly, their vocalizer is glitched out. It'll take a while for them to talk.” Nickel huffs out in layman's terms, conveniently leaving out the fact that there's a solid chance the sparkling didn't know how to talk. If her hunches about the little thing being all alone for most, maybe even all their miserable life was true then it's most likely that their speech-development process was stagnant. Isolation at such delicate stages of life can repress speech protocols, it isn't unheard of. Cybertronian systems did throw out unused code. Unless the kid was talking to corpses and if that was the case, at least they'll get along well with the DJD.

“...so we can't interrogate.” Kaon mutters, inconsiderate to whatever sufferings the sparkling may have suffered. Looks like he and Vos will have to muse themselves with nothing more than their wild theories. So many unanswered questions about their mysterious little house guest.

“Like Pit you can, I suggest you don't speak of Clemency to them, at all.” Nickel mutters, whatever they endured on Clemency had to have been nothing short of traumatic. It would be best to not mention it at all, for a while at least. Kaon nods begrudgingly in compliance, though it's Vos’ compliance that Nickel truly sought. That little aft was as cavalier as they came.

"Ś̸͙̺̥̰̯͙̭͆̏͂ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅk̵̘̺̦͉͖̪̪͖͉͊̆̔́̈́̍̃̈́͒̂̑̀̚͜͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ǎ̴̯̀͠ s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅt̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠?"

Vos asks, helm slightly tilted to the side in curiosity as he remains seated on the floor. Even then, he's taller than Nickel.

"Somewhat." She mutters. The newly built will without a doubt have some sort of issue, though it's a little too early to tell. But now, she could finally ask what she'd been thinking the whole time she had been working on the little one as none of the others seemed to have any questions.

“More importantly, what are you planning on doing with ‘em?” Nickel questions their course of action, raising an optical ridge, her tiny servos on her hipstruts as she waits for an answer.

All of them are looking right at Tarn, of course Tarn has to be the one to say this to Nickel but a part of him wishes he didn't have to. But in the end, he's their leader and he can't disappoint their hopeful faces. As their leader, he has to be the one to hear a mouthful from Nickel. With a heavy sigh, he decides to break the news to her, she won't take it too badly… Hopefully.

“We are going to keep… it.” Tarn says, his velvety voice lacking its usual confidence, as if he himself isn't sure about it. Nickel’s azure optics widen into dinner plates. The servos on her hipstruts immediately falling to her sides.

“...come at me again?” She asks, there's no fragging way. The minibot had to make sure what she heard was right, she had to make sure her audios didn't just glitch out or something. Tarn just grunts a little, somewhat annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“I said, we are going to keep the sparkling.” Tarn repeats himself, his voice with a more aggressive and stern edge though Nickel remains somewhat unfazed by it purely because of how utterly shocking that declaration was. He hadn't used ‘The Voice’, perhaps that's why it lacked the usual immediate response.

“So then… we're… going to fraggin'… co-parent? All six of us? Adopt? Or like… is it just your own?” Nickel speaks up what she felt it was like, astonishment on her faceplates and her usually aggressive tone somewhat softer. The following immediate aversion to the term ‘parent’ was almost comical and would've gotten a good laugh out of anyone watching; Vos looked down at the floor almost immediately, Helex just gave out a tired heavy ex-vent, Tesarus’ derma pursed into a thin line as one of his servos rests on the back of his neck supports, Kaon clenched his jaw hinges a bit from cringing as if he was trying not to recoil away and Tarn… Tarn just leaned back for a moment, baffled beneath his mask. Vos mutters something incoherent in Primal Vernacular.

Parenting or well, mentoring as it is usually called is not a very open-discussion subject, sensitive if anything. It wasn't exactly something mechs like them would ever partake in or even see themselves take part in. Not to mention, most of them likely didn't have the luxury of tender parenting back on Pre-War Cybertron. It isn't very common to raise sparklings; whether it was before the war given the economic situation or now, given there is currently a fragging planet tearing, genocidal war waging on in full force.

It sort of… did sound like parenting now that Tarn thought about it but as much as he wanted to deny it… It was literally what they were doing. They were basically adopting. The leader of the DJD quickly recomposed himself, clearing his vocalizer. Embarrassingly enough, Tarn realizes the sheer improvidence of his decision. He couldn't be blamed either, this wasn't the sort of thing he's dealt with. He’s done heists with Orion Pax, lived as a fugitive in the Jhaxian Academy, worked as a warden in one of the worst prison camps on Cybertron… none of the aforementioned activities had ever brought him near something even remotely close to parenting. He would never take in a sparkling then or now, mostly because he didn't know the first thing on what to do with one but he would never admit that. He'd be damned if he had to take care of one by himself.

“No… No, no, no, no! Dear Nickel, that is not what we intend to do-” Tarn gives out a wry chuckle, a thin veil for his clear uncertainty only to be interrupted by the understandably skeptical minibot. From his tone, it's evident he intended this to be a group project which makes Vos mutter even more incoherent curses in Primal Vernacular.

“Then what the frag are we going to do with ‘em?” Nickel questions, tone as confused as ever. Tarn can feel the weight of everyone's optics locked on him and for the first time, he genuinely finds it suffocating.

“We are merely going to… guide the sparkling in its… Decepticon heritage. A future soldier.” He struggles to word it properly, to word it in a manner where it doesn't make it look like anything parenting related but fails in his desperation. In short; bullshitting his way through this. Tarn is more than well aware that's basically a part of parenting but he sincerely hopes by the name of Megatron that for once, his team is stupid enough to just leave it at that. Tarn is not a parent. His fearsome team are not parents either. Parenting is soft. He is anything but soft and The same goes for his team.

“...isn't that basically-” Helex hushes Tesarus with a glare before he could mumble the rest out, more than well aware that their leader is not exactly in a very good state of mind. Helex was quiet and so it paid him well. The signs of Tarn’s annoyance was something the crew had learnt; navigating through his outbursts and tantrums. The daggers Tarn stares at Tesarus is enough to make the walking talking shredder realise he would be making a mistake if he went on, going mum as he looks away in obvious fear of his Commanding Officer.

“I expect everyone to cooperate.” Tarn adds on to their dismay and from the painfully fake cheeriness in his tone, they could all tell he was not going to allow anyone to back off from this. The atmosphere is suddenly gloomy now.

So basically, they were going to be caretakers. Whether they liked it or not.

…yay.

The room is eerily silent now. Nickel feels it's unfair that she's roped into this. Vos is less than pleased for more than obvious reasons, Tesarus is not sure on what to feel, Kaon is conflicted, Helex continues to pretend to be nonchalant and quiet though he’s also pretty skeptical about this. Even Tarn himself is uncertain despite how he makes it seem. All of their EM fields are a fix of confusion, uncertainty, bitterness and trepidation however, they manage to keep it to themselves.

“Okay… but does any of you even know how to manage one?” Nickel asks, carefully picking her words. Anything that showcases softness might only rile Tarn up even more, avoiding the specific phrase ‘taking care of’ for her own sake.

Tarn again goes silent, looking at Nickel. Finally, a question he actually saw coming. A slight sheepishness behind his mask, concealed skilfully from his team who fails to see this as they surmise Tarn is in a terrible mood which he honestly somewhat was beginning to get there with this whole sparkling thing…

“Well, I-... We were wondering if you would have some pointers.”

They're all looking down at the minibot with hope, except maybe Vos who still partially feels like they should just throw the little thing away into a landfill or something. A lot more economically feasible during wartime in his humble opinion. Tarn has a rather smug smile behind his mask though his body language tries to make it look like he's pleading.

"You guys think just because I'm a medic, I know a slaggin' thing about sparklings!?!?!?"

There's the expected outburst Tarn also saw coming a mile away. Vos continues to merely sit there, taking slight sadistic amusement in Nickel's frustration as he lets out a quiet dry chuckle, trying to be discreet in his attempt to mock the medic; he did not want to be her subject of tirade. Vos almost immediately stops when he sees Nickel glaring at him with a stare that could burn through ununtrium, pretending to clear his vocalizer as if he wasn't secretly getting a good laugh out of this.

"...Yes." So simple, straightforward, direct and eloquent; Tarn did hesitate but truly, what else could he have said? Nickel's helm immediately snaps back to Tarn's direction, she looks like how an Autobot would look like if Megatron got the Matrix of Leadership. As if she were about to explode from frustration and shock. The entire team prepares themselves to hear an explosive rant from Nickel, coloured with crass vocabulary and insecurity inducing takes. But to their pleasant surprise, she just... let's out a very deep ex-vent, a genuinely frustrated sigh. Of course she has to be the one to handle this mess… she always has to clean their messes… why do they burden her like this??? Inconsiderate slagging pieces of- She just looks down for a moment to calm herself and back at the DJD.

“...unbelievable. All of you.”

[musicallisto]

Could I please please please ask for a lil thing about Lewis comforting his partner when they’re feeling insecure 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻

· · · · ♡ PRE-SEASON JITTERS (lh44)

… starring lewis hamilton x gn!reader (and roscoe !!)

... 1.4k words

... in which the bleak pre-season period has you feeling all sorts of anxious, but a homemade meal and affection from your favorite person (and dog!) could be just the thing you need.

... i love this request and I think we could all use a little bit of lewis reassurance every now and then 🥹 let's all forget this horrendous weekend for him btw

The pitter-patter of Roscoe's claws on the linoleum floors is what reveals your presence first. Slumbering in the kitchen amidst the fumes from the extractor hood, the bulldog suddenly straightens up, stares at the front door, ears pricked up for no apparent reason, and disappears into the hallway with a snort. That's when Lewis knows he has to set the table, add pepper to the risotto. He's not the best cook, and usually the private chef would be in charge of dinner... but in the week preceding each new season, the British driver prefers to keep his evenings and his hands busy.

Your steps are heavy, keys turning in the door laboriously—"Hi Roscoe, oh, you're a sleepy boy, aren't you?" faint between huffs and puffs. Lewis can read you like an open book after so many years: it's not just the bleak mid-February evening weighing you down.

You've had a shit day.

"Hi, Lew," you sigh as you step into the kitchen to wash your hands, something like weary relief peeking from your tone.

"Hi, love." In the cozy penthouse lights, your tense figure and slumped shoulders look out of place, too harrowed to belong in this neat space that the London night outside can't traverse. "I made dinner, nothing too fancy, sorry, but..."

"It's perfect," you cut him off gently, with those shiny eyes he adores so much, eyes that only ever seem to catch his light and nothing else's. A quick peck to his cheek unravels your twisted face a little more. "Wish it were pre-season jitters every week."

"I don't," he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your shoulder like a gentle caress. "Poor Bono's going to have a heart attack any day now... you'd think we haven't done this ten times over already."

Dinner is a ritual, almost a sacralized place for Lewis and you—and Roscoe, wagging his tail back and forth between your legs to see what he can puppy-look his humans into slipping him underneath the table. And it works, Lewis never having been one to resist him for long; Roscoe licks his chops with each mushroom he eagerly steals from the driver's fingers. Easy conversation turns into soft jokes and his latest media duty drama, your favorite to dissect after a long day... but he notices the spark in your smile doesn't reach your eyes, and your mouth contorts into a downtrodden pout when he leans over to scratch the top of Roscoe's big head.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks in earnest, and as long as you don't meet those big, soulful brown eyes, you know you can get through the conversation without crumbling.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired-"

"No," he shakes his head, smiling ever so slightly, as his hand reaches out to cradle your fingers on the table. "Come on, I know you by heart. I know you're upset. You know you can tell me everything that's on your mind, right?"

Moonlight filters through the large glass windows, mixing with the ceiling light's warm glow and casting a hundred different hues on your cheeks—fractals of white and gold softening the blacks of your eye bags. Lewis aches to see you so—gorgeous and exhausted, yet unwaveringly surrendered to him, willing to crash headfirst into his safe haven. His hand clasps yours at the same time as Roscoe rests a warm, heavy head on your lap.

"It's just... this stupid thing at work. I'm so... behind on everything, and there's this new guy who's always being passive-aggressive towards me in front of our boss, and he's a fucking idiot but—everyone loves him and his ideas, and I feel like no one... appreciates anything I do or even just values my presence, and..." Quivers in your voice you barely control anymore. "And also, you're gonna be leaving next week and I hate it so much when you're gone because then I feel sad but being sad makes me feel like a big burden to you because you're supposed to be focusing on racing and not... not babysitting me or listening to me drag you down, and then I—"

"Hey," he interrupts before your tirade degenerates, and you almost don't notice him getting up from his chair, shapes moving beyond the blurry veil of your eyelashes.

You rush to wipe them; in the blink of an eye he's there, with a gentle hand on your shoulder; its weight grounds you, much like Roscoe's chin pressing a little deeper against your thigh. As if sensing your distress.

"I think you may be getting into your own head a little. Don't you think?"

He speaks softly, but nothing paternalistic; a conciliatory hum that echoes the steady purring of the washing machine, and down below, all these cars full of people headed back to their own little warm huts. Words don't come to your tongue, blocked by the acerbic shame that bubbles in the pit of your throat—how many times must you fall to pieces over nothing in front of him like this? Instead, you shake your head, and that's good enough for him.

"You're not a burden, love."

You've heard it before, from unremarkable social media influencers and good-natured friends, but it's only when Lewis says it, with the perfect balance of pragmatism and warmth, that you truly let the meaning seep in.

"Not now, and not ever. I listen to you because I choose to listen to you, because I want to be there for you. And about work—look at it this way. Do you really think they'd keep you around if you contributed nothing? I know I'd get axed."

You laugh despite yourself, which Roscoe takes as a sign that the sudden sour mood is gone and everyone's attention will soon return to the food if the content little yelp he lets out is any indication.

"No one would ever axe you, Lew, you can't be bothered to do media day like every other week and have never been told anything. But I'm not a seven-time world champion of anything."

"You don't need to!" he chuckles too, raising his hands in mock innocence. "I'm just being realistic here. You're valued. You really do matter. Who do you trust more, some pathetic high school bully or a seven-time world champion?"

"You just want me to stroke your ego," you retort, rolling your eyes, though a small smile creeps on you lips when Lewis leans even closer, eye to eye with you.

"Well you brought it up first, and I can't exactly help being the greatest at what I do."

"Shut up," more giggles escape through your pursed lips.

Lewis' eyes crinkle a little brighter with each of your chuckles, but his grin fades into tenderness when he kisses your forehead. As he pulls back, his features are more relaxed, more quiet, but no less expressive for all that.

"Whenever I start beating myself up after a particularly shit weekend, you always tell me you wish I could see myself through your eyes, right? How admirable it is that I always give it my all, and that I always strive to be the best I possibly can? Well, that goes both ways. You get all caught up in your own head and don't realize how people see you... but I love you, and I do. From outside your head," he ends with a playful tap to the tip of your nose, where a few gleaming tears have dug a bed.

Your fingers intertwine with his out of habit, without really thinking about it, and you lean into his side just as his arms close around your frame, one hand cradling the back of your head. It's indescribable, the tranquility that overwhelms you whenever you're in Lewis' arms, like his strong heart is enough to numb all your aching nerves and wounds.

Time can't pass slow enough in his comforting embrace... much to Roscoe's dismay.

"Oh, sorry, big boy, you must be starving," Lewis laughs at the bulldog's disgruntled bark, "it's been at least ten minutes since you last ate anything..."

You ruffle Roscoe's thick neck as he nonchalantly trots behind Lewis and the treats he always smells on his clothes; though the dog's attention is too captivated by the prospect of food to pay you much attention now, you swear he rubs up against your leg like an approximative hug. Blinking away the last tears, you take in the domestic scene, Lewis mumbling sweet nothings to his waddling companion, the familiar sound of his food bowl scraping against the floor.

At least you do hold some significance in your small corner of London, you think. In between these walls, in the depths of their hearts—hearts that have, somewhat and somehow, chosen you. And it won't be easy to understand just yet... but at least, for now, it will be enough to treasure.

... f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)