#i had more to say about this than expected i guess

[vettelsvee]

letting oscar take your virginity to celebrate his win

(if this makes you uncomfortable please to deny or only write fluffy before/after!) love ur work sm

V CARDS GOODBYES | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Oscar arrives home after winning his first ever Formula 1 race, so you think it’s the perfect time for you to celebrate and, also, to say goodbye to your v card ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Hope you like it anon! And sorry it's taken me almost a year I'm a mess 😭

WORD COUNT: 3958

WARNINGS: Smut (virginity loss, female receiving oral sex, fingering, p in v, protected sex, little bit of praising kink), curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Came to the conclusion after the latests Oscar fics I’ve posted that he's the most popular driver on my Tumblr page, so this is for all my Osc people out there! I'm always ashamed of posting smut (but still want to keep writing it) so I hope this is good enough for you to enjoy! Remember that your comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! Thanks for reading <3 (Also, thoughts on the new layout?) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The door of the apartment you shared in Monaco opened, and before Oscar could step inside, he heard excited screams that made it clear someone was more than happy about his arrival.  

Not only did your cat start rubbing against his leg while purring, but also you, his girlfriend, were hopping towards him, barefoot and wrapped in one of his McLaren hoodies, which turned out to be even bigger on you than you had expected when you decided it would be a great idea to steal it from your boyfriend.  

"You did it, Osc!” you squealed as you threw your arms around his neck. "Osc, oh my God, you won a race! Do you know what that means?"  

Oscar felt his cheeks turn red. Of course, he knew exactly what winning a Grand Prix meant, especially during his second season in Formula 1. However, all he did was shrug, as if his achievement wasn’t that important.  

"Yeah," was all he could say.  

"I’m so, so proud of you," you said in a trembling voice, standing on your tiptoes to cup his face in your hands.  

"I couldn’t have done it without you, even though you were here," Oscar replied sincerely, a hint of regret in his tone. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that you hadn’t been there with him throughout the whole process of stepping onto the podium.  

"I know you would have liked me to be there, and I would’ve loved that too," you replied, making a sad but funny face. "But it’s okay! I screamed at the TV a lot, so I guess I helped in some way… And I’m sure you’ll win more races and I’ll be there to see them all, so it’s not the end of the world!"

Oscar chuckled and pulled you close until there was no space between you. He allowed himself a few moments to hold onto you, gently running his fingers through your hair while you clung tightly to his shirt, pressing your face into his chest as if he might disappear at any second.  

"Hey… I have something for you."

Even though you whispered it, Oscar heard you perfectly. You bit your lip,. a telltale sign of nervousness he knew well, as you pulled away from him. Then, you quickly headed towards the living room, with the Australian following you, and grabbed a small book he had never seen before.  

Carefully, as if it were fragile, you handed it to your boyfriend.  

"Open it… I hope you like it!"

Oscar did as you asked. Gently, he opened what he soon realized was a photo album. It wasn’t just a collection of pictures of you from the past two years since you started dating. It was beautifully decorated. There were messages, and even reflections from your perspective about each memory you had built together.  

"I know it’s not a big deal, but since I was so bored with studying, I have to admit I procrastinated a bit and felt like doing some crafts, so… well, this was the result," you said hesitantly, as if you were confessing a crime, though a small smile crept onto your lips. "Maybe you were expecting something else, I don’t know, but I hope you like it. You could even take it with you whenever you have to travel, so you remember me and also add something else if you feel in the mood," you added softly.  

Oscar felt a lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. Although he was used to you being thoughtful, and he always tried to reciprocate, you somehow kept outdoing yourself.  

"Y/N, this is…" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. More accurately, he didn’t know how to express them. "It’s incredible. Thank you so much."

You smiled and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, which, as you both expected, quickly turned into something more desperate, fueled by your hunger for each other.  

Oscar’s hands found your waist beneath the hoodie, his fingers tracing invisible lines along your skin, moving up and down, even toying with the clasp of your bra. The only thing you could do was keep kissing him, tugging at his hair lightly and pressing yourself against his thigh, seeking friction to ease the growing ache within you.  

Then, you suddenly pulled away, more abruptly than Oscar had expected. Your pupils were completely dilated, your lips swollen, and your hair a complete mess.  

"Oscar…" 

"Y/N…"

"I want to do it."

Your voice was barely a whisper. Oscar’s eyes widened, surprised because, even though he perfectly understood what you meant, hearing you say it out loud was an entirely different feeling.  

"Bebe…" 

"I really, really want to do it, Osc," you repeated, more as a confirmation to yourself than to him. "Yesterday, you lost your v-card in Formula 1 with your victory, so… I was thinking maybe I could lose mine too."  

Oscar had known from the very beginning of your relationship that you had never been physically involved with anyone beyond a couple of kisses and teasing. At first, you had been insecure about telling him, worried about feeling ashamed, but Oscar had always made sure you felt safe and comfortable, promising you would only take steps forward when you were truly ready.  

Today, your words made clear that you finally felt like that moment arrived, and that filled Oscar with happiness not because you were about to have sex, but because it meant you were finally comfortable enough with yourself to take that step.  

"Are you… sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "You know we don’t have to rush anything… I don’t want you to feel like we have to do this just because, you know…" 

"I know, Osc, and I promise I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I weren’t sure," you reassured him, looking into his eyes as you ran your fingers over his hands. "I love you, and most importantly, I trust you. I’ve thought about this for a long time, and well… yeah."

"It’s just… I don’t want to mess anything up, Y/N. This is really important, and it should be perfect,” he confessed with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.  

You smiled, cupping his face and bringing him closer for a kiss.  

"It doesn’t have to be perfect as long as it’s with you, Osc.”

"Okay, but… if you change your mind at any point, you tell me," Oscar insisted. You laughed, rolling your eyes.  

"I promise, really."

Your lips met again, but this time much slower. Oscar took his time kissing you carefully, wanting to do everything right. He cradled your cheek with one hand to deepen the kiss, while the other wrapped around your back, guiding you gently toward the bedroom you shared.  

Once inside, he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath to avoid panicking, even though there was no reason to.  

You stood in front of him, looking at him with a mix of shyness and adoration that reminded him of your early days, when you just used to go out for coffee or to the movies back in high school.  

Oscar couldn’t help but look at you with an equally shy, yet utterly endearing, expression.  

"Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?"

"I will, yeah."  

You didn’t need to say anything else since kissing spoke for you. You took your time, enough for Oscar to make sure you felt completely comfortable, enough for you to overthink just a little more before deciding if you really wanted to continue…  

*"I love you, Oscar…" you murmured between kisses. You tugged at his shirt, helping him pull it off, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were seeing him for the first time.  

"I love you too, Y/N…" 

With nerves and hands shakier than he would have liked, almost as if he were the inexperienced one, he took hold of the hem of your hoodie and slowly lifted it over your head, leaving you in just your underwear.  

Oscar was surprised to see you in black lace lingerie instead of the usual shorts you wore around the house. He was about to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You closed the distance between you, pressing your foreheads together before kissing him once again.  

Neither knew how long you were like this, but you both agreed that it had been long enough to discover that you needed more of each other.

Oscar ended up forcing himself to pull away from you and take a breath. A smile curved between his lips, which caused you, somewhat nervously, to giggle at the situation and hug him around the waist, pulling him closer to you while trying not to shove him away.

“Really, we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Y/N,” the McLaren driver insisted once again.

“I've been looking forward to doing this for a long time, and I've been mentally preparing for it for a while,” she told him, trying not to sound uneasy. “I trust you, Osc, and there's nothing for you to worry about.”

“So...?”

“I want you to make me yours, Oscar. Today, tomorrow or whenever and wherever you want,” you whispered in his ear as sensually as you could.

“Y/N…”

“Oscar: I just want you to fuck me.”

You felt your boyfriend tense up after those words that had caught even you off guard. Instinctively, you brought your hand to the noticeable bulge under Oscar's pants, but when you tried to reach for the button to unbutton them, he pushed your hands away lovingly.

“No, honey, none of that for now. Today is your day, so let me do the work and just enjoy yourself.”

Oscar, without another word, took you by the chin and kissed you again for the umpteenth time that day. Now, your lips moved at a slower speed. You guessed it was because you noticed how one of Oscar's hands began to massage one of your breasts, giving special attention to the nipple. With the other, he lightly brushed your pussy, making you gasp when he decided to play with your clit.

“Do you like it, babe?” he asked in a tone of voice that showed too much excitement.

His fingers now delved a little deeper into your intimacy, those enveloping movements becoming a little faster.

“Yes, Osc...” you barely managed to answer.

That answer was enough for the Australian to stop immediately. You didn't even look him in the face. Oscar pulled away from you, leaving a quick kiss on your lips and starting a trail of kisses all over your body, stopping once he reached your lower stomach area.

“Y/N…”

His hands stood delicately on your thighs, which he was now kissing, closer and closer to your pussy. Your hair stood on end. Your breath was completely held, unable to breathe in case that put an end to it all, as if that would be enough for Oscar to finish whatever he was doing with you. 

“If anything we do tonight makes you uncomfortable and you want to stop, just tell me please,” the Australian declared. “And, before your little head starts thinking nonsense: no, I'm not going to get mad at you because you don't want to have sex, okay? If you don't want to…”

“Oscar, look at me,” you cut him off, and the boy immediately listened to you: “it's you, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable with you and with anything you do to me.”

“Do you promise me, love?”

“I swear.”

Oscar nodded, grabbing your thighs again and dragging you to the edge of the bed so that his face was in front of your pussy, perfectly aligned with your entrance.

Without warning, he slid his tongue, flat, all over it with a slowness that was completely unbearable and that seemed that, rather than pleasing you, he wanted to kill you little by little. His movements were frantic; constant changes of speed, from faster to slower, and vice versa, that made his nose rub against your clit while his tongue seemed to do wonders with that dance.

When Oscar's tongue began to explore inside you, and his index finger, the one he used to show on camera every time he got a first position just like Sebastian Vettel did in his golden age, started a tortuous tour of your labia majora, you curled up shyly but instinctively. Your hands ended up tangled in his hair, forcing him closer to you at the same time your hips did the same.

“I think you're liking it, aren't you my little girl?” Piastri said, ending his oral contact with you and replacing it with his finger. His gaze was fixed on her, and you thought about why he hadn't done this to you before.

“Don't stop, Osc. For the sake of God, don't even think about stopping...” you gasped, becoming increasingly unable to articulate a word.

He didn't have to say anything else. After those words, Oscar slipped a second finger inside you. You let out a small gasp of surprise and he, without taking his eyes off you, laughed, your cheeks turning red almost instantly. Despite this, he kissed your thighs as he continued the back and forth with his index finger, adding his heart almost soon after while increasing even more the speed.

You felt that everything was going too fast, and the waves of pleasure that were flooding you were making you lose, more and more, the notion of time. You didn't know at what point, but when he decided to add his tongue back into the equation, without leaving the movements of his fingers inside you going straight to that spot that gave you the most pleasure, a strange sensation gripped the lower part of your stomach.

It was getting harder and harder for you to hold back your orgasm. You felt how your eyes were closing little by little, and your leg, too, to which Oscar put a little pressure on them to prevent them from closing.

“Come for me, love,” Oscar let you know. “Come on, Y/N, you've got it babe. Come on…”

And so you did.

Your back curved in such a way that your body, completely sweaty, could hardly keep on writhing as it was doing. You were moaning like you had never moaned before, and your boyfriend seemed to notice. A smirk of satisfaction and success began to break from his lips as he licked at your fluids, his mouth moving slowly now, over-stimulating your clit and making you incessantly.

The Australian rose and carefully positioned himself on top of you.

“I love you, Y/N, you don't know how much,” he said between kisses, making you taste yourself for the first time, but hopefully not the last one. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world... And the best girl in the world. Don't ever doubt it.”

“Oscar, don't…”

“Yes you are, Y/N, and I will not allow you to speak so negatively about yourself.”

After those last words, the driver pulled away from you slightly, trying yo give you some time to recover. Then, you looked at him taking what seemed to be a condom from the bedside table, which he carefully put on and immediately positioned at your entrance. 

You swallowed, while Oscar tried not to think about whether he was really going too fast.

·I don't want to sound weird, but... please, if you want me to stop, just tell me,” Oscar spoke as best he could, trying not to succumb to the nerves he felt about taking this important step with you. “I want you to be pretty sure about this since… Well, since there’s not going back…”

You said nothing. Instead, you gave him a slight nod with your head, still looking at him, which was enough for Oscar to enter you carefully, but without a previous warning.

He decided to stand for a while so you could get used to his length. You felt a little pain. You held back a scream, bit your lips and closed your eyes to do your best to make that feeling go away as soon as possible.

“Y/N…”

“Go on, Oscar. It's all right…”

The boy nodded, and finished entering you with the same care. Little by little, his movements gained speed. You arched your back, moaning incessantly as she started feeling more comfortable with the depth of penetration, and Oscar hitting her in a spot that made her feel a pleasure that you feel in a way you didn’t know how to describe, but that felt good enough to make you never want that sex session to end.

“Does it feel good, honey? Are you enjoying my... cock... for the first time?” Oscar moaned, biting her neck. “Look at you… so desperate for me to keep fucking you…”

“Fuck, Oscar... this is a fantasy,” you gasped. “And you talking so... like… like this... God... Don't stop, please…”

“Never for you, sweetheart.”

Your moans became one, a melody that your neighbors were probably listening to but you didnt give a fuck. Your gazes could hardly be averted, and your words, getting dirtier and dirtier as much as your were embarrassed at first, were sounding louder and louder, as were your pleas.

“Oscar!” you shrieked as you felt Oscar's fingers press against you nervous bundle.”

“Love...” he moaned through his teeth. ”Don't stop moaning my name, please. You don't know how you're making me feel right now.

·And of course I'm going to make you feel so much better when we do this again,” you replied, choking with pleasure. As best you could, you sat up a little and wrapped you arms around you boyfriend's neck. “I want to do it again, Osc,” you made it clear. “I want us to do this every time we get the chance....”

You kept moaning his name, giving him promises you knew he would never break. He kept reassuring you and how good you were doing, speeding up his movements as he couldn’t stop playing with your clit, all of that while he kept telling you that you were his.

You couldn't contain it anymore for the second time that day.

“Fuck, Osc,” he stammered. “I think I'm gonna…”

“Let yourself go, honey,” the brown-haired said. “You can do it, love. Cum for me.”

Your orgasm came before you could say anything else. Oscar came within seconds of you, and as soon as he did he ended, he gave you a short kiss on the lips as he carefully pulled out of heyour and collapsed beside you. 

Oscar's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to regain your composure with increasingly slower breaths. 

“You ok babe?” Oscar murmured after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding your head with a smile peeking out. “Better than ever, actually.”

It was then that it dawned on Oscar. Quickly, he sat up a little and saw what was under where you were still positioned. His heart began to race, and a pressure settled in his chest as he realized the light blue bed sheets were stained slightly with blood as was his condom, still on him and which he hadn't paid attention to because he just wanted to be with you cuddling after he'd made you lose your virginity.

“Hey, listen, love…” he started to say in a calm, but concerned tone.

You followed his gaze, and couldn't help but blush and die of embarrassment inside.

“Oh...” you spoke quietly, instinctively covering yourself with the sheets. “This... is normal. Well, I guess so…”

“Does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, denying it, though the look on your face seemed to say otherwise.

“Well… It's just a little... just a little sore. But it's fine, really. It happens when you have sex for the first time with someone.”

Oscar studied your face, and he knew you wanted to stop this conversation. You wanted to let it go and pretend everything was fine so you wouldn't give him any sign that you hadn't liked it, even though your moans and pleas seemed to say otherwise.

“Still, you shouldn't let it go.”

The Australian approached you and gave you a shy kiss on the forehead. Then he got out of bed, still naked.

·Where are you going?” you asked in a voice mixed with curiosity and nervousness.

“I'm going to get a towel with hot water to clean you up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already heading towards the bathroom while taking off his condom. As you heard the faucet turn on, and your boyfriend getting everything ready, you couldn't help but feel bad because, maybe, Oscar deserved better, and your behavior, what was happening to you now, was not what he deserved.

You forced yourself to stop overthinking because if there’s one thing you knew for sure is that Oscar loved you, more than sometimes you were conscious of.

Your boyfriend came back a few minutes later, and found you sitting on the bed, curled up on yourself and clinging to the sheets while still covering with them, as if you were afraid.

“You don't have to…”

“I know,” Oscar cut you off, offering you a small smile, “but I want to. So, please, just let me take care of you.”

Your eyes softened at his proposal, and you forced yourself to calm down as Oscar, with his gaze and his hands coyly on your thighs, asked your permission to spread your legs. You nodded, and he carefully ran the wet towel and hot water over your pussy, giving it little touches because he didn't want to risk it stinging or hurting any more because he really didn't know exactly how the female body worked after losing your virginity.

When he finished, he kissed her knee and sat down next to her again, also covering himself with the sheets so he could hug her and, more than anything else, try to reassure her and make her feel as good as possible.

“There, that's it, all settled. Now, let's stay here and rest.”

“Was it good?”

Oscar let out a small laugh from his mouth at your sudden question as he leaned over to you and snuggled into your shoulder. 

”You've been amazing, love,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Now you were both lying on your bed, looking at each other. “Are you okay now that… Did I hurt you? I need you to be honest with me... I should have asked you if you liked the pace I decided to take because, well, I’m not going to lie to you, I think I could have gone a little slower...”

You shook your head and didn't give him a chance to keep talking. Instead, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his.

“You don't have to worry about anything, Osc. It was far from perfect. So, from now on, I hope you win more races because from today on, winning sex has become a tradition that I hope we keep for a long time.”

Oscar laughed, knowing you were completely serious.

“We can make a tradition of this and anything else you want, love,” he buried his face in yours, and began to tickle your waist gently. “We can even have several rounds if you want, so… thoughts on that? Should we keep ready for a second round today?”

[dandylovesturtles]

oh yeah so Yes pretty overwhelmingly won the poll so you guys only have yourselves to blame for seeing this nonsense I will probably not do much more with lol

anyway I've been mentally calling it the Draxum's Kids AU or Step-brothers AU because I didn't come up with anything creative

high level premise is that, due to ~mystic shenanigans~, Draxum from the OU (post-movie) gets pulled through a portal to another dimension, about a year behind the OU dimension, where he kept the turtles and accomplished a lot of his human eradication goals but was also a terrible father. Draxum sees the writing on the wall that his AU self's foolish actions have led to an impending apocalypse and finds the AU's Mikey (who is only called Boxshell) to help him get back to the original dimension. But as soon as he meets back up with Boxshell his Dad Instincts kick in and he realizes he can't just leave "his" kids here to die, so he decides to kidnap all four of them back to the original dimension.

this is complicated a bit by all of them hating each other

under the cut is about 3000 words of Draxum getting abducted

Draxum would really appreciate it if they could make it six months without a potentially world ending threat.

This one seems particularly suspicious. Giant black swirling vortexes giving off massive mystic energy signatures don’t simply <i>appear</i>, not for no reason. The fact that Michelangelo had been the first to notice it, cocking his head to the side like a bloodhound hearing a rabbit, was not putting him at ease, either.

“Soooo,” says Leonardo, swords already drawn and held loose at his sides, “what is it, Draxy?”

That is not his name, but because the situation is serious, he answers anyway. “You expect me to know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Come on, you’re our mystic guru! So get with the guruing!”

Draxum just gives him the look that the kids are coming to call his “not mad, just disappointed” face. He doesn’t have any more answers than he did two seconds ago. On the plus side, it doesn’t seem like anything is coming <i>out</i> of the dark swirly vortex, nor is anything getting sucked in. It’s just hanging there, in the sky over the Hidden City, menacingly.

“Doesn’t it feel familiar?” asks Michelangelo. Unlike Leonardo, he still hasn’t drawn any weapon. He’s just watching it, curious.

“I don’t remember the Krang portal looking like that,” says Donatello. “We could see the Prison Dimension on the other side. That’s just… an indistinct vortex of doom.”

“Not like the Krang,” says Michelangelo, but he doesn’t offer any further guesses. He just watches it with big eyes.

“But we gotta do somethin’ about it, right?” asks Raphael. “We can’t just leave it up there.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone,” says Leonardo slowly.

“Just because it is not doing anything in this instant does not mean it will stay that way,” says Draxum.

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonardo slices through the air, a blue and less chaotic looking portal opening up. “Let’s check it out, Dee. Get some energy readings and all that nerd jazz. The rest of you, stay here in case it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it’s me,” says Donatello, but he steps up to the portal anyway. 

Draxum feels uneasy, because he doesn’t know what that thing is or what it will do, and because he doesn’t want the two of them going alone. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and when the kids give him a look, he quickly adds, “I may notice something that Donatello would miss.”

“I don’t <i>miss</i> things,” Donatello snaps back, but that’s factually untrue, so Draxum just grunts in response to it. 

“Sure, goatman cometh,” says Leonardo airily. “Let’s just go!”

Just to be sure nothing bad will happen, Draxum steps through first. The twins follow him.

They’re on a rooftop now, just under the vortex. Draxum had been expecting… something, but there are no threats, no signs of anything amiss. It’s a bit windy, and the vortex is making an ominous buzzing noise, but that’s all.

“Can you tell anything from here?” asks Leonardo, looking between the two of them. Donatello has his goggles down and a holoscreen up, incomprehensible numbers scrolling by at a fast pace. For his part, it seems the same to Draxum here as it did across town.

Donatello’s readings slow, and he raises the goggles again. 

“It’s… definitely massive, but I can’t tell much more than that. Though… I think Mikey was right. That it feels familiar.” He looks at his brother, something complicated in his expression. “Like we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” says Leonardo, before turning his attention to Draxum. “How easy is it to make an interdimensional portal, anyway?”

Draxum snorts at this question. “For a pocket dimension, relatively simple. For an actual, separate world… Theoretically, it could be done, but it would take a massive amount of mystic energy and decades of experience. Especially if one does not have a mystical object to channel a portal through, like the key that was used for the Krang’s prison dimension.”

“But Mikey was able to do it,” Leonardo points out.

“Yes. And need I remind you it almost killed him.”

“You needn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m just saying… <i>if</i> it can be done, it really seems like someone’s trying it right now.” He still has his swords out, watching the vortex warily. “And what’re the odds that they’re coming here for a friendly visit?”

Draxum doesn’t argue there; he’s already treating whatever this is as hostile. Better to assume wrong and apologize later than to let down his guard and let one of his kids get hurt.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind them, and the three of them turn at once, startled. “Well, there’s Mikey,” Leonardo is already saying in a resigned sort of way, like he knew Michelangelo would join them before he gave the command.

“Sorry, Leo,” says Raphael, landing with heavier tread on the rooftop just behind Michelangelo. “He gave me the slip.”

“Guys, it’s fine!” Michelangelo argues, in that tone he uses when he feels like he’s being babied. “I’m telling you, whatever’s making that portal isn’t here to hurt us.”

“And you know this based on what evidence?” asks Donatello.

“It’s a feeling!”

“Ah yes, feelings, how quantifiable.”

“Well <i>you</i> don’t have any evidence it’s evil either, Donald!” Michelangelo retorts.

Draxum is about to step into the middle of this quarrel when Leonardo stops it for him.

“Guess we’re about to find out who’s right,” he says, eyes locked on something above them, and Draxum looks up just in time to see that there’s <i>movement</i> coming from the vortex now. “Dee, take Raph; Miguel, you’re with me.”

“Wait, guys, we should just-” Michelangelo tries again, but a shimmering blue portal under his feet stops him. Leonardo and Michelangelo reappear in the sky above, Leonardo using his portals to stay airborne while Michelangelo catches himself with his mystic powers. There’s the roar of a jet, and then Donnie is after them, his shimmering mystic tech carrying himself with Raphael dangling underneath.

And of course they’ve left him on the roof. Draxum sighs. <i>Children</i>.

He pops several vines on the roof and uses them to propel himself skyward, eyes searching for what has come through the portal, if that’s what it is. It’s difficult to see against the black coloration, but the boys seem to have gathered under a figure in a dark cloak, who emerges slowly from the middle of the vortex. It seems to cling to them like dark, black ink, the mystic energy drawing out behind them in long, gooey ropes. 

Draxum knows he is still many meters away, but even still, he doesn’t think the figure is very large. It’s a surprise, given that the vortex itself is at least fifteen or more meters across, but the figure coming out is short and slight, not even as big as Michelangelo. Of course, that doesn’t mean much; plenty of yokai are small statured naturally, as are some humans. Even Lou Jitsu is small, now, but still mighty. He can’t let the size of the person put him off guard, especially when they have summoned such massive mystic energy.

“Hey!” cries out Michelangelo. “Can we talk to you!?”

The figure in the cloak seems to startle at being addressed. For a moment, they hang in the air, the ropey energy of the vortex growing thicker on their arms and legs. Almost like it’s trying to pull them back.

The figure seems to realize this, too, because they jerk forward and raise their arms in a panicked arc.

Fire comes out - dark flames with incandescent blue cores that Draxum knows are hotter than any normal flame. If the boys are struck, the damage will be severe. Thankfully, Michelangelo yelps and whirls aside before he can be burned.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking!” calls Donatello.

“That’s alright,” yells Raphael, his ninpo lighting his body red, “because <i>I’m</i> interested in smashing!”

The midair fight begins in earnest now, the boys darting around the figure with their weapons drawn, even Michelangelo. The cloaked figure fights back with the flames, dark and so hot that as Draxum’s vines carry him closer, he can feel the heat coming off of them. Yet, despite the intensity of the attacks, Draxum notices that they are unwieldy and unpracticed, like the wielder has no real experience in fighting, and certainly not midair against so many opponents. Add to that, the strange, inklike properties of the still-spinning vortex seem to be actively trying to pull the figure back; each time they make progress, the moment their attention is drawn by one of the boys, they’re yanked back another few feet.

Draxum sprouts a few more vines off his main one, so that he can move more freely. Aerial combat has never been his forte, but he can make it work. So long as none of those desperate fire attacks burn through his vines and send him tumbling to the ground (he can only hope, in that event, that one of the twins notices him). 

The cloaked figure is still attacking wildly, and the boys have to move fast to keep out of the way. It’s easier for Michelangelo and Donatello, who can stay airborne indefinitely; Leonardo, meanwhile, has to use his portals to catch himself and Raphael periodically, portalling them back to the sky or giving them a portal to ground to launch off of. This leaves them open to attack.

Draxum couldn’t have made it in time if he’d wanted to, but in the moment he isn’t thinking he has to.

One of the unfocused black flames strikes Raphael; his ninpo projection protects him from being harmed, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise as it burns rapidly through the ninpo itself, leaving him exposed. Donatello swoops in to catch him before he can fall, and all the boys hang back for a moment, stunned by this development.

“What was <i>that</i>!?” Leonardo calls out, portaling above Donatello and landing on his constructed battleshell (Donatello says, “Oof!” loudly, but doesn’t throw him off). “It just burned through Raph’s shield like it was tissue paper!”

“Augh… that felt… weird.” Raphael is rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “Raph did not like that.”

“Alright, clearly this guy is dangerous.” Leonardo is tense, eyes focused as he watches the cloaked figure yank free of the stringy ropes of magic from the vortex, coming closer. “But see how the portal’s trying to pull them back in? We just gotta get them close enough and send ‘em back where they came from.”

He glances over at Michelangelo. Draxum looks, too. The boy’s brow is creased, like he isn’t happy with this outcome, but his eyes are focused on Raphael.

“...Yeah,” he says finally, and gives his nunchucks a swing. They light up with his orange ninpo, the bright fire a stark contrast to their enemy’s dark flames. “Let’s send ‘em back!”

The boys spring back into action, and Draxum follows suit, his vines carrying him up, closer to the vortex. Now he can feel more of the thing’s power directly, a great gusting wind that pulls rather than pushes. He hangs back from the direct fighting and instead watches the boys closely, should he need to intervene the way he hadn’t for Raphael. If the fire can eat through their ninpo, then any of them being struck would be disastrous - especially if one of the others could not catch them in time.

The kids are succeeding in their gambit to push the figure back towards the vortex, but that means they are also increasingly putting themselves in range of its dangerous reach. The ropey strands of dark mystic energy reach out like hungry tendrils, latching onto scales before being cut or shaken off. Leonardo has all but abandoned the fight against the figure and instead puts his efforts into slicing the strands apart any time they touch one of his brothers, either directly with his katana or with a well placed portal. He leaves the strands that attach themselves to the mysterious person, and they wrap more firmly around the legs, arms, and neck of the one in the cloak.

And that’s when they finally speak.

“No!” they cry out, in a voice unmistakably juvenile. “No, please! I just want to escape - don’t make me go back!”

Michelangelo stops short, bobbing uncertainly only a few meters from the screaming figure (a boy, Draxum thinks, but cannot be sure). “Guys,” he says hesitantly, lowering his weapons. “I really think we should-”

Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a burst of flames from the cloaked boy’s hands, spiraling directly towards him.

“MIKEY!” shout several voices at once; Draxum only realizes a beat later that one of them is his. He’s the closest, and he moves fast, putting himself and a wall of vines between the flames and his son.

The flames make such short work of the vines, it’s almost comical. Draxum watches as the fire races down the towering stalk he’s made, eating them away and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. The vine Draxum was standing on is, of course, completely obliterated, and he feels the swoop in his stomach as gravity starts its relentless pull.

“Dad!” he hears Michelangelo call out. The boy reaches a hand toward them, and in his panic Draxum reaches back. They are only a few meters from each other, and then less and then less, fingers almost touching-

But it is something else that grabs him first.

The vortex’s dark energy feels disgusting and slimy where it touches Draxum’s fur, like a leech pulled from some noxious bog. Its tug is ferociously strong, and he realizes that if Leonardo had not been quick, if the magic had wrapped around any of his brothers’ limbs the way it’s wrapped around Draxum’s arm, disentangling them would have taken massive effort. As it’s going to take to free him now.

There’s a yank, and he’s ripped away from Michelangelo and towards the vortex.

“No!” screeches the cloaked boy, and sputtering flames spill out around him, forcing the turtles back before they can move in to rescue him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!”

“Gladly!” Draxum shouts back, ripping and yanking to try and free his arm. “Just close this foolish portal and go back where you came from!”

“I <i>can’t</i>!” the boy screams, and he sounds so wretched, Draxum almost feels some sympathy for him. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“You must!” Draxum argues, because he can tell. The energy has wrapped too securely around the cloaked boy now; there will be no freeing him. The portal he made is impressive, <i>especially</i> as young as he sounds, but it is not complete. He could not be severed from it, even if they tried to help. In fact, if they fully pulled him from the vortex, it would likely kill the child.

No; he must go back. But… is there still time for Draxum?

“Barry!” he hears the boys call out. They try to get close, but another burst of searing heat from the panicked boy in the vortex keeps them from advancing. More of the stringy ropes of magic are wrapping around Draxum now, on his arms, his torso, his legs. His neck. They yank him back, hard, and he gasps as the air leaves his lungs. The mystic energy slithers over him like a living creature, wrapping him up more and more securely in its snare.

It seems… there is not.

“<i>NO</i>!” screams the cloaked boy, one last panicked, desperate cry, but then his voice is abruptly silenced. There’s a roaring noise, incomprehensibly loud, and Draxum faintly wonders if this is how it sounds when a star collapses in on itself.

The last thing he sees as the portal closes around him is Michelangelo’s face, eyes wide and afraid, mouth open in a shout, hand outstretched as far as it can go.

And then all is dark.

…

When Draxum wakes, he’s laying on the ground in an alley in the Hidden City.

He feels a flash of <i>something</i> markedly unpleasant when he realizes he’s alone: sadness, betrayal, perhaps even, Titan forbid, <i>loneliness</i>. It seems the boys have left him to his fate and gone home.

Then he remembers the portal, and Donatello and Michelangelo’s guess that it was interdimensional. It’s likely the boys don’t know where he is. It’s possible he’s not even in the same time.

Or the same world at all.

Disturbing as that thought is, the part of the Hidden City he can see from his vantage point seems familiar enough. He recognizes this as a part of the old downtown, not far from where he and the kids had been fighting the cloaked boy. Even if this isn’t his time, at least he should still be able to navigate - that makes things easier.

He gets to his feet, shaking the soreness out of his limbs. He hears something pop, and is suddenly immensely glad the boys aren’t here after all. He’d rather not endure another round of teasing for being “old”.

The Hidden City he travels through seems largely the same as the one he left, to a degree that he starts to wonder if it wasn’t an interdimensional portal after all. If it was, the dimension he’s in now seems to have only slight variations.

Or that’s what he thinks, until he makes it to the nearest portal back to New York City.

There’s a checkpoint set up in front of it, one that didn’t exist here before. There are guards standing sentinel, ushering through a line of yokai and occasionally asking questions. They don’t seem hostile to the yokai, but it does seem like precautions need to be taken for… some reason.

More startling to Draxum are the crests that adorn banners hung around the checkpoint, matching emblems blazed on the uniforms of the officers.

His family’s crest.

It seems this dimension is quite different after all.

[valenteal]

The story of Anakin Skywalker is about how anyone can break under enough pressure. It isn’t a tragedy about an inevitable doom, it isn’t about how power corrupts or about how caring is dangerous. It’s about how no matter how good and kind and selfless and seemingly invincible someone is they still have needs and they can still be hurt.

Maybe this is because Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie and so I have rewatched it a million times, but for me Anakin is the most genuinely caring and selfless character in Star Wars. He wasn’t just an innocent kid (kids can be cruel and selfish and they’re usually better when they grow up not worse) he was compassionate and kind and despite growing up surrounded by some of the worst scum in the galaxy he knew nothing of greed. That says so much about his character.

Anakin’s fall to the dark side took over a decade of carful manipulation that culminated in cascade of tragedy and loss. It wasn’t an accident. Every bit of the emotional trauma, physical trauma, and mental trauma from the moment Anakin met Palpatine and on ward was planned. We don’t see the decade he spent between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones but immediately in the second movie we see how much Anakin has changed. Where he used to be confident he’s insecure, where he used to bold and fearless he is now arrogant, where he was once inquisitive he is now cautiously enthusiastic, where he used to build he now destroys. Every change in his behavior and outlook is the result of either the teachings of the Jedi Order which are pretty much the antithesis of his entire personality, the result of Sidious’s manipulation, or the result of the toxic attitudes of many Jedi towards him.

Now I know a lot of people have… misconceptions about what the Jedi Order is and what they stand for. It’s understandable, since I guess a lot of people think of Luke as an everything a Jedi is supposed to be but he is NOT, he wasn’t even taught their philosophy! Yoda and Windu and Luminara are everything a Jedi is meant to be. They take an impersonal approach to justice, they treat others coldly, they believe themselves to be above petty things like emotion and pain and human connection. There are Jedi who take a more progressive stance like Obi-Wan and Quinlan and Qui-Gon but you have to understand that they are not model Jedi and have their own struggles with the Order and its teachings. The Jedi code literally says “There is no emotion.” That is what Jedi strive for. And that isn’t even getting into the genocide or the politics. Focusing on how this affected Anakin. That’s what I’m doing.

Anyway, Anakin is a deeply emotional person. This is not a bad thing. It’s the source of his conviction and his empathy (which a surprising amount of Jedi lack). Anakin feels deeply, so he feels love and anger and sadness more keenly than Jedi who have worked their whole lives to shut off emotion. And he was never taught how to deal with it. The most the Jedi did was tell him to meditate, release his emotions into the Force, focus on the present or other platitudes that do not help! I would know. I’m also a deeply emotional person who feels things very keenly to the point where I had a full psychological evaluation when I was 6 years old. When a person deals with this it NEEDS to be addressed. I have wonderful parents who did everything in their power to help me from a young age and I still ended up suicidal! Anakin did not get help and was instead shamed for feeling so strongly and he ended up bottling it up. People complain about how he was “whiny” and I (a person who has also been called whiny) just go what the fuck do you expect?? Expressing his frustration verbally is literally the healthiest option he has! And we know what it looks like when he chooses other forms of venting! Anakin vented to Padmé almost immediately after reconnecting with her because she is literally the only person in his life who will listen to him (other than Sidious but he makes things worse on purpose).

So yeah. Sensitive people need to be taught how to deal with their emotions in healthy ways. Really everyone does but especially people with strong emotions.

But when Anakin isn’t overwhelmed by emotions he doesn’t have the tools to deal with, or surrounded by toxic people, or being actively manipulated by an evil dictator, that’s when you see who he really is. Which means pretty much all of Phantom Menace, a good chunk of the time he’s alone with Padmé, and… nothing else really. (I’m just going to say here that I am not including Clone Wars Anakin due to the purposeful butchering of his character. I still consider the show canon in everything but Anakin’s characterization in a lot of specific instances.)

Anakin has never been a selfish person. The things people perceive as selfish are his needs. He needs unconditional love. He needs Padmé because she is the only person who gives him that. Even without getting into his psychology and bpd and what a splitting episode is, it isn’t hard to recognize that when he places Padmé’s safety above other people’s it’s an act of self preservation more than self interest. He knows that he would literally go crazy without her. After years of being systematically isolated and traumatized she is the only thing keeping him together. In his desperation to save her and consequently his own sanity he lost both those things. But it’s important to note that he tried to do things right, that he went to Yoda for help, that he told Padmé so she could take her own steps to ensure her health. He did everything he could think of before getting desperate enough to go to Sidious. Not to mention he did everything right after discovering Sidious’s identity. It wasn’t until he was presented with a false dichotomy that boiled down to choosing his mentor and confidant of over a decade and his wife’s life or the man who has scored and distrusted him since he was child that he made the objectively wrong choice. And that was after not sleeping for weeks and having a traumatizing realization that triggered a splitting episode so he wasn’t in a head space to understand what was going on in an objective way.

So yeah. That’s my rant about Anakin Skywalker. If you want to comment or debate know that I will reply with an explanation of my thoughts that could be just as long as this post and that I will not stop until you do. You will not get the last word. I feel very strongly about this and if you’ve gotten this far you have to know that I have thought very deeply about this as well. I have heard every argument. You will not change my mind. I have done research. Engaging with this post to disagree will only lead to me expanding on this even more because this is really a brief summary of all my thoughts and feelings on the matter. If you’re just curious about the rest of my thoughts and feelings just ask.

Don’t try to attack my own morals and character because of this, I am NOT condoning Anakin’s actions or behavior, I am completely aware that he is a deeply damaged and unstable person. The point of this is not to deny that but to explain why Anakin is not naturally like that. The scariest thing about Anakin’s fall is that it happened to Anakin, a paragon of compassion and selflessness. Anyone put under the amount of pressure he was would go crazy. I doubt many people would last as long as Anakin did. He was insanely strong to resist for as long as he did.

[princessmaeee]

All for Us Part VI _ Final Part Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Hello Sweeties ! So as I saw in the votes, you asked for this L A S T par of this story, so there it is ! It's not that long cause I didn't had much to say. I just wanted to do a beautiful and simple end cause I think both deserve it. It wasn't a long Story, but it was long compare to everything I wrote in the last years and I'm proud of myself ! I realised later than the title is kinda bad cause I just made a bad translation from the french but the good title should be '' Everything for Us '' but I will let it like it is cause, Why not. My first Fanfiction in years, my first fanfiction I finishied since my highschool years ( 11 years at least ) and my first published Smut in Years too. Overall I'm proud of myself and I wish I will do more other stories and I hope to be able to finish them all. Thanks to everyone who followed and Love this story. I hope to see you again for other ones !

Tags : @private-vampire - @rafesbunniebby - @ultracoolnobody @chxrrybomb22

You didn't remember what happened after you voted to go home. It was the majority of you. You remembered Thanos voting X too, but after the light off, everything was fuggy. When you opened your eyes, you were on the dirty ground where you were picked when you joined the game. You had a blindfold, well you guessed it was it, who had felt it on your neck. Your feets and wrists were tied up and you could feel the cold breeze of the night. Those bastards let you in underwear in the middle of a street. Luckily for you, You noticed your clothes close to you and after a moment, trying to untie your wrist, you quickly do the same for your legs before putting on your clothes. 

Your phone was in the pocket of your sweater and of course, it ran out of energy. Your apartment keys were still in your jean’s pocket. 

You felt tired and durty. A good bath and 24h hours of sleep is going to be well deserved, but first, you need to check on something.

You go to the nearest convenient store and put your card in the ATM to take a look at your account. Your heart was racing in your chest. What if it was just a dream ? What if they lied ? 

Even if you didn't felt right to be happy, you couldn't stop smiling when you noticed the big amount of money you had in your account. Tears of joy appeared in your eyes, slowly cascading on your cheeks. Finally, The suffering and anxiety will be over. A hand on your stomach, you smiled at it.

«-I promise, You gonna have a beautiful Life…»

Once you got home, as you expected, the door locks were smashed. The guys who were chasing you for money probably entered the apartment while you weren't there.

Stressed, you opened the door and you felt sad to notice how everything was destroyed. This didn't look nice anymore, but you still have to stay there, at least until you could join Thanos or even that guy who messed up your apartment to give him the money. 

Plugging your phone to the charger, you start to clean around as much as you can. 

After a moment, when your house was clean enough for the energy you had, you go back to your phone and noticed a lot of unread messages from the guy who landed you money. Unsure, you text him back a simple ; I have your money. Let meet up Tomorrow.

You also get a Message, well, many, from Thanos. He seemed anxious about you and the baby.

“-Had you made it home yet ? “ -23h07 “-You can come to my place if you want “ 23h12 “-Or I can come over “ -23h13 “-Princess Are you all right ?” -23h20 “-I Got the money from the game. I can send you some if you want. “ -23h22 “-I know your debts are all my fault anyway…”-23h22 “-Seniorita Please answer me. Are you alright ? Is the baby’s fine ??!! ”-23h25 “-If I don't get an answer I'm going to show up at your place ! “-23h33 “-Okey I'm coming !! ” -23h45

You looked at the time : 23h55.  You smiled and answered him 

“-I'm fine, my phone Ran out of power. No need to come over. Go at your place and rest “ - 23h56 “-I want to rest with You. Gonna bring snack. What do you want ? Ice Cream and Pinault butter ?”-23h58 “-Im Fine!! And of course Not, I don't have  any weird pregnancy cravings. “-00h00 “-Not Yet ;) Anyway, still on my way…with snacks”-00h08

Your smile never left your face. Thanos was always really caring with you but somehow you feel like it was different this time, like he really made an effort and it made you happy.

When he arrived, he opened the door as you were still cleaning up the apartment. He looked around, visibly confused by all the mess around.

«-What happened here ? »

You explained to him the problems you got cause of your debts who’s also his or cause of him. Thanos felt bad you had to go traught all this cause of his addiction and helped you to clean as much as possible. Once everything was less messy, you both enjoyed some Snacks he bring and that’s when you realised how hungry you were. He bought you some of your favorite Ramen, chips and little cake. 

He also gave you an envelope with money. It was the exact amount you need to give to the guy you will meet tomorrow. He apologized and insisted you keep it. You felt touched by this and accepted his money.

«-I really want you to keep the money you get from the game for our child. And for Yourself, of course.  -What about your own debts ? -I will figure it out. And I still have some left so don’t worry about me. I want to go back to music and earn money of my own. I want to make you and our child proud. And for something else… -Something else ? Like what ? A home ? It's pretty expensive. -Well, not for a home, but it could be a plan for later. The other thing dépend more on your decision. -which is ? »

You both were sitting on your bed and Thanos got up  to kneel in front of you, gently taking your hand in his. You looked at him, breathtaking. Your heart stops beating for a second before it starts to beat faster. You could feel your eyes feeling with water.

«- Y/N would you accept to be my wife ? »

You were too shocked to answer. Tears flowing from your eyes as you just quickly nod  your head. It wasn't the romantic scene you always dream of, but coming from Su Bong it was the most romantic thing he ever did. Even if you were both exhausted, still in debts and even if you didn’t have a Ring for you, yet, this moment felt the happiest of your life. You throw yourself in his arms, still crying as you repeat ‘’ Yes ! ‘’ Again and again. Su Bong smiled and held you close, gently caressing your hair.

«-My dear and Beautifull Wife, He said before kissing you. »

This relationship with him was a total rollercoaster of emotion, but your love for each other was just too strong to let you away from each other. Faith does good things, sometimes.

The next day goes well, you got rid of your debts, Thanos started to go to therapy to avoid touching drugs again, so did you.

You moved In together, he worked on new music, new songs, starting to slowly go back on stage while you went back to school. You dropped one year ago but you chose an option you really like. It wasn’t easy with the pregnancy and Had to do a lot of school classes and take more time.

Life with your Now, fiancé wasn’t alway easy. When he felt the side effect of always being sober you fighted a lot, but at the end He apologies and you were understanding considering all the efforts he did for you, the baby and your relationship. Sometime, you fucked to avoid fighting or when Su bon needed a big high. He said you were his new addiction and even dedicated you to a song where He talks about how much He loves you and how you changed his life.

Eventually, you gave birth to a beautiful Daughter. Su bon said once he really would like to have a boy, but when He hold his little baby daughter in his arms for the first time, he almost cried and didn't let go of her. He quickly became over protective with her. He also wrote a song about her and it became a great hit. That’s how He were able to afford your engagement ring.

Your life goes back on track and you feel happy despite what you had been taught with the game. You and Su Bong got a matching tattoo with the number you were during the game as a sort of memorial for the ones who died in there but also as a reminder to yourself to be careful with your money and every decision you will take, cause you never want to live an experience like that ever again.

[skzthelomlhehe]

Telling Changbin you want a baby~

And guess who's back agaaaaaiiiinnnnn!! Yup that's meeeeeee hahahahaha I just got heartbroken 😃 so I write smut!!! Why cry over men when I can dream about skz amirite? So hiya! Back to this lmaooo

Author from future: I'm still heartbroken while I finished this. And I'm still day dreaming about getting headlocked by changbin. (Live, laugh, love changbin 💪)

Warning: mentions of pregnancy, p in v, unprotective sex, Oral (f receiving), mentions of bruising {apologies if I missed anything.}

Changbin x F!reader // established relationships // MDNI

Masterlist Total masterlist Tag Reqs:@arestoucries @diabolicalkitkat @capricorn-girl0112 @daysofskz-ateez @neginktn

This is gonna be such a drabble omg

Smut under cut // Minors Do Not Interact

Changbin has been out for a few weeks now. Back to back business trips, work projects, a few side hustles. He wanted nothing more than to see the love of his life after all this hassle. He came back home, his phone brightened up. A picture of you and him proudly shining on his lock screen. The time was 11:07 pm.

He gently unlocked the door wanting to surprise you. Upon reaching further into the house, his face melted in an adoring smile. His heart swelling at the sight of you laying on the couch sleeping peacefully. Your chest heaving up and down in slow rhythms.

He placed his bag down as slowly as he could. His face practically the pleading emoji. He crouched down, tugging a few strands of your hair behind your ear before placing a soft peck on your forehead.

"Mm..." You groaned, awakening from your slumber. Your eyes fell on the beautiful man beside you and your face lit up immediately. "Hey binnie..." you giggled, seeing his peculiar expression. "Hello, bun. Did I wake you up?" He whispered. You shook your head, still smiling like a child. "Not at all! I do hope our baby didn't wake u-" you looked down to your belly, panic setting in.

"wa-wait! Where's my baby??" You jolted up, changbin looking at you with utter confusion. You held on to changbin, panic and desperation painting all your face. "B-binnie where.... Where's our baby???" You cried out. Tears started streaming down your face.

Changbin held on to your face, cupping your cheeks gently. "Babe! Calm down!" Concerned, he pulled you in to a tight hug, "calm down, love. What baby are you even talking about?" Having being pulled into that embrace, you finally calmed down. Reality settling in. It was all just a dream.

You let go, looking into his eyes still sniffling, "I... I had a dream where... We... We had a baby... So I was scared I lost my little one... Sorry if I scared you, binnie..." You looked down. Cheeks flushed red. You were so embarrassed.

Don't know how you expected him to react, but what you didn't expect was that Changbin would be cackling at your actions. He pulled you in to a hug again, placing soft kisses all over your face. "Honeeyyy~ you're so adorable!!" He squealed. You buried your face in his firm chest, groaning, "no I'm not." You mumbled. You peeked up from his chest, your eyes sparkling, "Can... Can you make a baby with me?" your lips puckered up in a pout, eyes pleading like a child asking for candy. Changbin chuckled, gently kissing your lips.

"If my lovely wife wants it, who am I to say no?" He picked you up, making you wrap your legs around him as he carried you to your bedroom. (Again, I have a strange obsession with carrying to the bed and I will NEVER stop writing about it.) He let you down softly, placing gentle loving kisses on your neck. You tilted your head to let him get more skin to kiss. He looked up at you, taking your hands in his and kissing the knuckles of your hand. "You're sure about this, right?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with a loving gaze.

You lifted your head to kiss his forehead, a pretty smile curling your lips, "of course, love. It's your child that'll be inside me... That's such a wonderful thing!" You giggled. He gave you another soft peck on your lips before getting up and throwing his shirt off.

You shuddered at the view, your left hand running down his well built torso. "Love the view, don't you?" He placed his hand on yours. "I'd be crazy not to... There's no way I'll never worship you." "Same goes for me." He bent down, kissing your collar bone, sliding his hand under your velvety pajama shirt.

you whimpered under his touch, your fingers threading in his hair as he unbuttoned your shirt, not leaving a single inch of your skin unkissed. Your skin burned wherever his lips met, heart thumped. It suddenly felt like this was your first time having sex even though you've had it countless times.

The very thought of being able to carry his baby made you even more eager. You flinched as you felt him kiss your lower abdome while pulling your pants down. "B-binniiee..." You whined. "Yes, honey?" His voice was deep and heavy, his lips busy kissing your thighs. Your core was now for show to him.

You mewled at him licking your clit, your desperate pussy throbbing for more. He chuckled, his voice rolling in that perfect wave. You could feel your ears burning. (Me rn) He gave you a couple more licks, teasing you knowing damn well how on edge you get because of it. "Binnie..!" You whined again, a bit louder this time. "Hehe sorry babyyy~" he laughed.

He let himself delve deep into your cunt. Licking, biting and absolutely devouring you. You let out a breathy moan as he covered the entirety of your folds with his mouth. It was warm already but now you felt like it was gonna melt.

He didn't even need to use his fingers. All he needed was his mouth. Penetrating your hole with his tongue and sucking you up. You could tell he was pussy drunk by the sloppy licks and bites. You pushed his head in knowing how much he likes it when you do that. He let out a pretty highpitched whine. (sorta like the last clip here lol just watch the video, get a good laugh, come back and get horny again lmao) it was a sign he liked it.

You found your climax nearing. You tried closing your legs around him only to be forced open by those sexy arms (i shit you not I started day dreaming) you couldn't hold it in. The stimulation was too much. He was way too good.

Before you knew it, you let loose all over him. Your body stiffening as you came and soon relaxed into a putty. Your chest heaved up and down as you struggled to catch your breath.

He got up, your essence dripping down his chin. Wiping himself clean, he used the remaining wetness as a lubricant. Slipping down his pants, his cock sprung out. He rubbed his length as he leaned down to kiss you. Tasting yourself on your tongue was something you considered would be disgusting before but after you got a taste of changbin? You would drink poison from this man's hands. He slowly rubbed the tip of his member on your entrace, looking at you with curious eyes one last time.

You nodded softly before pulling him into a kiss again. That was the approval he needed. Without another second wasted, he dived in. The stretch of your hole delicious. You moaned out, your nails digging into his back making him groan. "So tight... So pretty... Just for me..." He whispered in your ear, peppering you with soft kisses as he moved.

You wrapped your legs around him, eyes shut, back arched, head thrown back from the sensation. He bit your collarbone, then your breast, down to your tummy, leaving beautiful bite marks and hickeys.

He looked up at you, awe and love overflowing from his gaze. "You're so beautiful, bunny." He mumbled, making you blush harder. "St-stop.." you protested. Barely having the strength to form words further than that.

He chuckled at the sight, loving every moan, every touch, every protest and struggle. And he knew you loved it too. He got up, holding your hips and pulling you close, making you squeak. You could've sworn the way he held you would bruise you. And yet, amidst all that, there was tenderness. There was love. You didn't care if you had marks or bruises. You knew, in the end of the day, he loved you. And he would never hurt you.

You felt yourself coming close again. And the way changbin had his eyes shut and the way he groaned, it was clear he was too. Your hands that were clenching on the sheets now made their way to your lover. "B-binnie... M'gonna... Gonna cum..." You mustered up the strength to warn him.

"just a little longer, bunny. Im close too..." He groaned. A few more thrusts in, he was close. So very close. And so were you. "Go ahead, bun. Cum with me. Let's let loose together, yeah?" He huffed, leaning down again, pulling you into an embrace as both of you came undone. He painted your walls white while you held onto him tightly.

He fell limp on you, his weight ever so comforting. Both of you panting from the stimulation. He flopped down on the bed next to you. His member still inside making sure to seal his cum inside you.

You melted in his comfortable arms as he spooned you, snuggling closer to him. His arms were wrapped around your belly. You rubbed the back of his hand, a soft smile curving your lips. "Do you think I'll be a good mother?" You asked softly. "The best mom to ever exist." He nuzzled into your neck. "I hope I can be as good of a mom as yours." You chuckled. "And I'll make sure our little one will love you just as much as I love my mom if not more."

Both of you shared a laugh before finding solace in each other's embrace. Soon drifting off to sleep before you could realise.

{Fin}

Im writing this during my hiatus cuz I've been stressed out and needed some comforting smut Lolol hope you guys liked it! (Back to hiatus I go!)

Note: to get tagged, interact with this post.

[syndrossi]

Hello! I feel like I’ve been away for so long. I just got a big project, and it’s been so busy that I barely have time to chat with anyone. I’m still busy, but I miss everyone, so I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I hope you’re doing well!

Also, I have a little request—could you write me a short piece about Maegor’s son or Aemon’s son? Lol. Thank you so much! ❤️

I know the busy/big project struggle. Fingers crossed you're not stuck in that hell for too long!

Here's a little Maegor's sons AU (which I have officially named the Regicide AU).

x~x~x

“I shall have him rent limb from limb and tossed to the pigs!”

Maegor’s spells of fury were a near nightly occurrence, and Rhaena’s fear for her own safety had subsided over time as it became clear that he saw her, in some twisted manner, as a confidant. Perhaps he even believed that she must love him, as his wife. It should not surprise her; his previous queens had doubtless simpered and expressed their own undying adoration to swell his ego.

His threats tonight were particularly heated, and she guessed that Lord Butterwell had struck a nerve. Briefly, she considered sending for the boys—the one surefire way she knew to calm his ire—but she had no great love for her husband’s master of coin and she was curious.

“What precisely did Lord Butterwell do?”

“He dared suggest that my succession was unstable.” Maegor’s face took on an even redder hue in his fury. “My succession! I have two sons destined for greatness, and doubtless more to come, and he questions the realm’s stability!”

���Perhaps he merely seeks to understand what the succession is,” Rhaena said, unable to help her bitterness.

Maegor, who had been pacing, arms barred behind his back, halted in place to fix her with a heavy scowl. “Do you mean to be obtuse?”

“It is a fair question,” she said, refusing to balk at his clear displeasure. “My brother Aegon was my father’s heir, and yet you proclaimed yourself king over him. Should Aerion fall while still in his prime, who succeeds him? Rhaegar, or Aerion’s sons?”

“Your father was a kind man,” Maegor said, seeking perhaps to be generous, “and a weak king. His sons would have fared the realm no better.”

“We shall never know,” Rhaena said, folding her hands in her lap to dissuade the sudden fantasy that rose in her to drive a sewing needle through his eyes. “You intend for Rhaegar to fight for the crown, then, against his nephews?”

Maegor’s scowl deepened, her husband ever sensitive to any suggestion that their sons were anything less than perfect. “Then let it be a Valyrian marriage between my sons and your daughters. If they perform their marital duties, there will be no way of knowing son from nephew.”

It is not the same, she considered pointing out. Why should a father cede rule to nephew or son? But already Maegor’s dark mood seemed to have cleared, his enthusiasm for his solution growing. 

“I shall announce it to the realm at the tourney for their third name day,” Maegor declared.

Behold, the superior king, Rhaena thought, twisting her sneer into the smile he expected for his cleverness. It was not Maegor who had prevented the realm from being plunged deep into crippling debt after years of war and reckless spending. Rather it had been her advice to flex their power outward, at the uneasy Free Cities watching from across the Narrow Sea, who had been all too willing to pay to make the threat of dragons go away.

That and the suspiciously lop-sided trade agreements Volantis had offered and her husband had blithely accepted. They had played to Maegor’s pride in his sons, proclaiming them heralds of greatness, chosen by the gods of old Valyria.

Those same gods of old Valyria had brought their ancient homeland only Doom. Her sons could do without such a blessing.

[honeyjynxxed]

Dead on Main Songfic WIP

Danny peaked out from the curtain to check the crowd forming in front of the stage, feeling his breath stutter at all the people milling around. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, the Iceberg Lounge was a hotspot for the rich and elite to schmooze and network with their less than savoury business partners. A Gotham Gala was for fake smiles and political masks, the Iceberg Lounge was for the real business transactions to take place.

Was it a good idea to take a job as entertainment in a place like this? Maybe; Danny was still on the fence about it but he knew that it was important for him to be here. The salary was one of the major pros of taking the job, with it he might actually be able to get a slightly nicer place that wasn’t in the heart of crime alley, but on the other hand his protective obsession was going haywire the longer he spent time around all of these criminals. If he were a normal human there was no way that he’d be able to hear their conversations on weapon smuggling, drug trafficking, artifact stealing, and more but he was enhanced in a way that not many others could claim and thus he could hear it all.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and Danny fought the urge to jump or yelp. Quickly he turned his head to see just who had managed to sneak up on him before letting the tension leech out of body. It was just his new boss, Jason Todd, second son of Bruce Wayne and rumored to be the secret identity of the Red Hood. Danny knew he was Red Hood though, their cores felt the same, sickly and fractured. “Pre-show jitters?” Jason asked and Danny felt his core trill at his deep, rumbly voice. “Anything I can do?”

“It's my first gig here, of course I’m nervous.” Danny had to look up at his boss, the man easily standing over six feet tall and Danny had not quite gotten as tall as his father despite all his growing, “Maybe a kiss to settle my nerves?” It was a cheeky thing to suggest and he coupled it by batting his eyelashes and sticking out his bottom lip. His act got him a pinch to his side that made him squeal and dart away from Jason. “Hey! Don’t be mean to the entertainment, I could quit ya now?” Danny stuck his hands on his hips and lifted his chin in what was supposed to be looking down on Jason but it didn’t look quite right given their height difference. 

Still his core gives a delighted tremble when Jason laughs at him, “Get on stage doll, and we’ll see what you have to say about quitting after.” His boss winks at him before nodding to the still closed curtains separating them from the rest of the lounge. Danny gives him a wave before stepping through to the other side.

There are people on the other side, but not a giant crowd like he might’ve been expecting. The Iceberg Lounge was first and foremost a lounge, somewhere that rich men and women could go for a nice dinner, a smoke indoors, and to show off their latest fashion, jewelry and whatever else the rich spend their money on. Old families with old wealth, new up and comers with new drug money, and those they allowed to come with them. To his left the band begins to play and Danny jumps right into the chorus.

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton.”

The band picks up in energy, shifting from the slow and careful tones before into something faster. Danny keeps his almost regretful tone however, even if his pace shifts. 

“A silhouette is following

Just waiting to break me down

I had it good, that’s what I get

I guess that it's my turn now. 

Cut the wires, tangled, twisted

To find me again

Fracture, break me into pieces

‘Til all that I am,”

Danny can see Jason moving between the patrons of the lounge, stopping and speaking with some, pointing and directing his employees around, and yet not once do his eyes leave Danny on stage. He moves into the chorus again:

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong

Come and breathe the air into my lungs

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton!”

Danny let the last note of the chorus hang as the band was allowed to let loose, just as he began to let go of his powers. Not completely, not enough to go fully ghost, but he allowed them to slip through slightly. From beneath his skin he allowed his skeleton to become visible, allowed his hair to become streaked with white, let the neon green seep into his eyes, and his body started to disobey gravity just enough for him to rise a few inches off the ground. By the time he was finished with his little display it was time to jump back into the song.

“A blinding pain behind my eyes,

Is covering up the truth.

Inside my brain’s, a parasite,

It's telling me what to do.

Feeding on my happiness like I never deserved it at all

(I never deserved it at all)

Feeling like a pessimist when I just wanna laugh through it all

(To laugh through it all)”

Jason’s eyes had widened at the sight of his powers, a flash of green to reflect his own eyes changing but Danny’s boss was nothing if not professional and kept what must’ve been a surprise from stopping him from doing his job. Ancients above he wanted to see what would make Jason lose his cool, what Danny could do to finally make him snap. He’d been trying as Phantom to rile up Red Hood into finally just grabbing him and pinning him against a wall, a rooftop, a door, really he wasn’t picky, but he hadn’t had much success yet. Perhaps going at Jason Todd instead would get him more results.

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong.

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton!”

Danny allowed himself to rise with the music this time, bringing the microphone with him. Nearly all the patrons in the lounge, not just the ones seated at the tables in front of the stage, were openly staring now. Some with wonder, some with disgust, and others in pure awe. He felt his core rumble at the sight, knowing every person in here would remember this night for a long time. Every ghost wanted that, to be remembered, to have their name spoken aloud by the living. Danny wasn’t fully dead yet but that didn’t make him an exception to that rule.

“I project pain with the frame that I maintain

Pulling on chains, wanna break what I can’t change

All that rage put away in my ribcage

Comes out in stages, how could I stage this?

Bending over ‘til you break your back for this

Go ahead and crack my ribs, and take my oxygen

I’m damned if I do, or I don’t, I’m breaking my bones

Can’t make it alone, no!”

Danny was glad that he didn’t need to breathe as much or as often as a regular person did, knowing the quicker parts of the song would’ve been trouble for him otherwise. If this wasn’t one of his favorite songs to cover he’d probably have needed a lot more practice in order to do it justice but his abilities gave him the edge he needed.

“Making such a mess (hey), it’s getting permanently

Painted in my head (hey), and there’s no going back

So love me like I’m dead (hey) until there’s nothing left (hey)

And watch me decompose (hey), ‘til I’m-”

He began to float slowly back down to the stage as he picked up the chorus, knowing the song was winding down and he’d have to shut off his powers soon to make it all seem like special effects. 

“Skin and bones, vulnerable

Crack my ribs and make me whole.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton.

Fix my head, stitch my soul

Find out where it all went wrong.

Come and breathe the air into my lungs,

I just wanna be your skeleton,

Skeleton.”

The final lyric was sung and Danny pushed his powers out just a bit longer to plunge the stage into darkness, the only thing indicating his presence still there being the glow of his skeleton under his skin. The moment the piano played its last note, he extinguished the glow as well. An ice core he may have but all ghosts have slight abilities to mess with electronics and electrical signals, lights, cameras, and tvs being the easiest for him to manipulate. Electrical currents killed him and interacting with them too much can sap him of his strength.

The lights above the stage flickered back on just as he slipped behind the curtains again to hide backstage. He knew within moments that Jason would be storming back here to confront him but he was ready for it. Deep down Danny could admit to wanting this job for more than just the quick cash. Around Jason, around Red Hood his core sang and purred and trilled. When he was with Jason he could visibly see the tension leak from his body, could feel his core begin the process to try and mend itself. If Danny could help him with that then he wanted to, not just because he was the Ghost King and it was his duty but because he actually liked Jason and he wanted the other halfa to like him too. 

“What,” Speak of the devil and shall appear, “the hell was all that Fenton?” The teasing tone from earlier was gone and Danny could see Jason’s handsome face twisted with a wide array of emotions. Anger, caution, worry, fear, and so many others played out in his eyes and were broadcasted by his still forming core. Honestly right now Danny could just coo, Jason clearly didn’t know about the emotions his core was sending out but it was still really cute to watch someone else go through the baby ghost stuff. 

Instead Danny put on his best anxious, scared, please don’t out me face possible and began wringing his hands together. “I just…it's hard to suppress my powers all the time. I know Batman has that whole ‘No metas in Gotham’ rule but I thought since you were running the lounge you might be able to protect me from him.” He just barely looked up at Jason through his eyelashes, letting his lower lip tremble slightly in his act. “Are you gonna fire me? I don’t know if I can get another job…” He watched Jason stiffen, mentally fighting with himself on what he should do. Pretending his powers were meta abilities was the hook, playing on the fact that Jason had a rocky relationship with Batman was the line. 

“No, I’m not going to fire you. That wouldn’t be right of me and I don’t think it's fair that Batman doesn’t want Metas in Gotham.” Calling out the protective obsession forming in Jason’s core was the sinker. The baby halfa didn’t even realize it but Danny already had him wrapped around his finger, now if only he could get him wrapped around him in a literal sense they’d be going somewhere. “I would’ve appreciated a warning though, lying to my guests about special effects isn’t a problem but I could’ve charged them more for it if I had known.”

Danny laughed, forcing it to sound a little wet as if he were on the verge of tears. “Gotta make those elites give back to the world somehow right?” He chanced looking up at Jason a little bit more now and saw the relief on his face that Danny was joking back at him. He might not realize that his core was calling out for Danny, singing in tune so to speak, but somewhere he instinctively wanted to be around him. “So that means I’m okay to keep using my powers? I wasn’t lying when I said it gets hard to suppress them and my voice tends to bring them out more.”

Jason sighed and shook his head, “Yeah you can keep using them, but try and keep them to things that can be explained yeah? Make-up, wires, that sorta stuff. Can’t have Batman smashing in here to interrogate the entertainment. It's just bad for business, doll.” And oh how Danny’s core positively purred at the nickname. Some might find it offensive but when Jason said it he all but melted. 

“Keep callin’ me doll and I’ll do anything you say, boss.” Jason’s eyes darkened for just a moment and Danny suddenly had an entirely new way to get under his skin. For a moment his mind drifts to how Red Hood would react to being called boss by Phantom, or even sir. Danny didn’t want just a one night stand or a friends with benefits situation, he wanted Jason. He wanted to meet his family, help him reunite with his family, wanted to go out on dates and kiss him and hold his hand. Danny wanted the whole package deal, Red Hood Crime Lord and all. Plus, Jason’s core was so sickly, so fractured. He clearly wasn’t getting enough clean ectoplasm and either wasn’t feeding his obsession or wasn’t feeding all of his obsessions. Danny could help, Danny could make it all better. He wasn’t as knowledgeable on Ghost Medicine like Frostbite was but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help out a little. He practically exuded excess ectoplasm that Jason could naturally cycle in to help filter out whatever is making his core sick. The fracturing…that’d be fixed when Danny figured out his obsessions and ways to feed them properly. “Anything else, sir? I do have a second song to sing.”

Jason growled. Full stop, from the throat growled. Danny’s eyes lit up green at the noise, something that clearly came directly from his core. His boss at least had the humanity to look embarrassed by the noise, attempting to cover it up by coughing and clearing his throat. “Of course, please do not let me hinder your work. The crowd loves you already.” He paused, as if to say more, and Danny tilted his head, waiting. Instead, Jason shook his head, turned on his heel, and all but fled somewhere else in the lounge. Oh well, Danny would be seeing him again to get his pay and probably again even later when he went out as the Red Hood. He couldn’t wait~

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Femslash February Day 3! Mountain wingmanning at a lesbian bar (his greenhouse) (Sfw!)

Ok look, I don't know how many consecutive days of writing and posting I have in me. But I'm going to try my hardest to get so much Femslash out this month. I'm not following any set prompt or challenge list. Just my heart. And my pu-

"I need help." Mist says. 

Mountain sets down his carefully trimmed bonsai and looks at her over the rim of his glasses. She's fresh from the lake, with clothes sopping wet from being tugged on right away. Her fingers twist around a tarnished old pendant (skull, eyes set with emeralds). And, most intriguingly, the barest hint of a blush on the apples of her cheeks.

(And slung over her shoulders what is quite possibly the largest pike he's ever seen in an impressive display of prowess but that is neither here nor there. She's not asking for help with the fish.)

"I understand." Mountain replies, having seen that same look on Aether after he met Dew. 

"There was an Air sunning herself on the dock," Mist says. "I've seen her around but I don't know her name."

“What did she look like?” He asks patiently. Cirrus had a fondness for hellebore and datura, but she was usually practicing keyboard with Zephyr this time of day. He glances at a pot of white lilies and nods to himself, even before Mist tells him.

“Big.” Mist says. “Big body, big poofy hair, big sunglasses. I think I splashed her when I jumped out of the water.”

It's the most flustered he’s ever seen her, the way she paces back and forth, trailing her hand in a tub of water lilies.

"I had the fish. In my mouth. When I jumped up on the dock. And I scared her. And I didn't apologize cause my mouth was full of fish. I just walked away and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary."

“Joe cool.” He says suavely and earns a flat glare. He meets it with his own carefully blank face until Mist rolls her eyes and flicks water at him.

“I know her.” He says as an olive branch. “Cumulus. She'll be a backing vocalist and keyboardist on our next tour. Real sweet.”

“Is she the type to be bothered by how I acted?” Is Mist’s next question and Mountain thinks about it. Plenty of ghouls became “domesticated” once they were up top, vastly preferring the convenience of Abbey kitchens and a set menu to a more traditionalist approach like Mist enjoys taking.  From what he's seen, Cumulus had adored the luxuries of the Topside like bubble baths and ice cream. But she still politely asked to have raw meat whenever she ate in the cafeteria. She enjoyed organs and eyeballs, cutting daintily into her meal and chewing methodically before swallowing.

He spares a glance at the pike. It's a decent size, almost as tall as Mist’s scant five feet and from the looks of it, hadn't gone down without a fight. It might be good sliced into fillets with lemon pepper and celery salt. He doesn't think Cumulus has tried raw fish yet.

“You’ll be fine.” He says. “So. Let’s start with the focus of the bouquet.”

“Don’t you start with that flower language.” Mist warns him. “I think it’s ridiculous. I just want something pretty for her to look at without any second meanings for her to guess. I don’t like codes.”

“Alright.” Mountain says, humoring her. “So, lets just start with flowers that remind you of her. Take a look at what calls you.”

Mist beelines for the lilies and Mountain smiles to himself. Mist isn't the type to be sentimental and he hardly expects her to verbalize her thought process. It would be more practical than poetic anyway because that's just how she was. He just guesses and watches and waits while she goes from flower to flower, brow furrowed in thought. 

“I like these.” She says about a pot of bullthistle he’s been nurturing from seed. It's on it's second year and growing tall, fine shoots that promise to bear nasty, thorny leaves. He's got an idea about how the species might be used to strengthen the borders of the abbey but he's worried about how fast it spreads. So it sits, with its purple crowns atop tiny thorny heads. 

“Thank you.” Mountain says. “For the bouquet or just to admire?”

“Just to admire.” Mist admits. Shifting her weight to still keep ahold of the pike, she thrusts her bouquet before him for inspection. Dominated by the lilies, she's added sprigs of lavender and fat peonies. Ferns have been tucked here and there to break up the flowers and Mountain gives her a silent thumbs up. There's no doubt Cumulus will love it.

"Thank you." Mist says gratefully. “I…I really appreciate it, Mountain.”

“Go get’em tiger.” He says as she nods to herself and heads out to find her girl, toting a gorgeous bouquet and her freshly slaughtered kill.

And no sooner do her footsteps fade when Mountain picks up another pair heading to the back of the greenhouse.

"I'm sorry." He says to the bonsai. "We're just doomed to always have interruptions in our alone time, it would seem."

The bonsai forgives him. It was a patient tree. It could wait a little longer.

"Mountain?" Comes Cumulus' frantic voice. "Mountain, you have to help me."

She bursts into the greenhouse, a gorgeous mess of floppy curls and chiffon as she presses her hands to her rosy cheeks. Her sunglasses are askew, her hat is about to fall off and he's never seen her so far from neatly put-together in her entire time with them.

"There was a water Ghoulette." She begins softly. "Caught the biggest fish I've ever seen. So stoic! Such a huntress!  Mountain, I think I'm in love."

"I understand." He says soothingly. "Why don't you take a look at those water lilies while I grab some thistle? Wouldn't want you hurting your hands."

[pink-slay]

arcane Viktor and likely spoilers for both seasons

I keep thinking about Viktor from arcane all the time and I've written poems and had lengthy conversations about it but decided that I need to state it in prose to on an account that I barely update because this account is full of things that mean something to me

I constantly think about the lengths Viktor went to to be well. The writers lured me in thinking maybe hextech or the arcane or shimmer would help Viktor's vision of running on a purple arcane body become a reality. However in the end viktor became equally if not more disabled than before. He lived, yes, but at what cost, killing Sky?

And I'm a believer in the mutual JayVik love and understanding, but Sky still mattered. She was brilliant and wonderful and kept Viktor grounded. Took his head out of his work and into the clouds (eventually literally).

Often, as disabled people, we are told that if we worked harder our problems could go away and it is a prominent belief in our culture, even if unconsciously so. I remember years ago Imani Barbarin made a video on how able bodied people want to believe they could work their way out of any disability by trying harder. They then project this onto disabled people to shield themselves from their inevitable fate (disability or death). This myth is pervasive and as much as I and many people want the betterment of all, perpetuating this myth, even in a fantasy story, is at best unrealistic and at worst problematic.

However, Arcane subverts this expectation because Viktor lives, but he lives a disabled life. He tried harder, and it tore him apart. To me this is a more powerful story than overcoming. Most can try, and most don't overcome not due to personal shortcoming but because trying harder ≠ getting better (at least inherently and especially with disability).

It reminded me of how in my freshman year of college, I dropped my math minor. It was upsetting and annoying because it was an attempt to hold onto the pieces of my first analytical love, math. However I didn't have the right wheelchair then and I didn't know it yet but I was becoming progressively more paralyzed. I just couldn't make it to the classroom they assigned me and they refused to change it.

I told my mother that at a certain point it felt more impactful that my disability made a noticeable impact in limiting me instead of trying to torture myself into narrative of overcoming. Not taking that first class was one of many times Calc II would get in my way, each time related to disability.

Viktor, like me, had a progressive disability that would've continued to progress until it killed him without drastic action. For me the drastic action was a surgery that made me be on constant opioids all summer and destroyed my relationship with my mother and the scraps of independence I still had. For Viktor it was taking shimmer and bearing the almighty power of the hex core.

I guess I write all this to say that my love of math and my disability parallel viktor. We have scientific loves and would work ourselves to death. We can be romantic when we get our heads out of our work. And we are disabled. Sick and disabled. So sick we put our lives at risk for health. Even a glimmer of health.

I know Jayce's speech is controversial among disabled people. I respect the opinions of others but I think many people don't get the experience of severe disability when interpreting it. In real life with the wide variety of disabilities, Viktor may not fall into that category but he surely does in Piltover. For me, my disability is severe. So severe I questioned if, as much as I looked up to Viktor, II could ever be respected like him. However disabled people don't become more respected by shunning nonambulatory powerchair users like me. They just isolate those that make up their community.

From a severely disabled person, understand that yes, I understand you want to fix yourself, but when you have a disability that at any point threatens your life, there is a certain ubiquitous self destruction in everything you do. That's why Viktor needed Jayce's speech. It wasn't because Jayce didn't see Viktor or his pain. Jayce knew Viktor was in pain. Jayce knew Viktor better than he knew anyone. And Jayce knew Viktor needed to be shown his value that was independent of effort--- his value as a person.

To be loved is to hear things that you can't fully wrap your head around. I believe (when I think really hard about it) that I can be who am both because of and despite my disability. I say to my closest friends that it feels like all I ever was was a miracle sick child who lived and a smart person. And I break off each quality about myself and my friend says that she'd still find value in me. Because there are people in our lives like Jayce or my friend who will give speeches to you, not to gain anything but to show you your worth even if it kills them. Because in every universe, sometimes there's only one person who can show you that-- who can stop you from ending the world even if it means succumbing to life and it's inevitable partner, death. Because the people we love don't want to see our sinews as we tear apart ourselves to breathe. They want to see us. They don't want us to suffer as much as we do. But for us there is a desire to be well. And that desire drives suffering it doesn't fix it.

Viktor meant a lot to me as someone whose life keeps changing especially in regards to their disability. Hesitancy toward drugs and spinal hardware and leg braces. And so did the way he almost destroyed the world craving something.

I have longed to be normal, to be well for most of my life. But life doesn't work that way. In fixing ourselvea and the things we view as flaws, we lose beautiful parts in the crossfire. Our friends beg us to see ourselves and if we're lucky our friends do. But so do we. I don't succeed but maybe Arcane has pushed me to see the beauty of being kind to myself because working myself into the ground isn't worth the pain especially with such a bleak unsuccessful outcome. We'll be told to fix ourselves forever but at least for once, in this one show, we can be valued despite our ardor for work. Yes, it isn't inherently wrong to want to be better. But we have lifetimes for that. Just this once maybe we can sit in the beauty of being loved both because

and despite.

[anghraine]

Okay, so this is the Tarsus IV post I vaguely threatened alluded to a few days ago. I wrote most of it before last night's grumbling about movie Kirk, btw, so it's not a result of that; I was already thinking about what we know about Kirk and the Tarsus IV massacre from TOS, and what speculations and headcanons make the most sense to me in the context of TOS. I just waited until today to post it because I wasn't quite done yesterday.

Anyway, I was going over the finer details of "The Conscience of the King" to figure this out, and ended up with a ton of thoughts about the Tarsus IV backstory. So here are my (many) personal takeaways:

Firstly, there's a vague reference to some kind of local coup or uprising that put Governor Kodos in power, I think shortly before the food supply crisis. We don't get any details about the uprising from TOS, though the next to last version of the episode's script did mention Kodos setting himself up as a messianic figure once the coup succeeded. In any case, his power grab was certainly reinforced by the starvation crisis, as revealed by Spock's research:

"there were over eight thousand colonists and virtually no food. And that was when Governor Kodos seized full power and declared emergency martial law."

As far as we know in TOS, the crisis was set off by chance: an exotic fungus happened to destroy most of the colony's food supply, and it wasn't clear when relief would arrive. In fact, the Federation did send relief to the colony, per their usual practice, but it took them long enough to get there that the situation had become dire by then. Nearly all food was gone and the colonists were starving; the episode implies that some had even started committing suicide. Nevertheless, the Federation relief force arrived sooner than expected.

Kodos tries to argue in "The Conscience of the King" that the Federation's relief showing up so soon was just luck and he couldn't have guessed it would happen. But given what we know about the Federation as an institution, and given the urgent pressure the Federation puts on the Enterprise crew in multiple episodes to get food/supplies/medicine to some colony or another, it seems like there is a pretty competent, long-established Federation infrastructure for addressing crises like this. In reality, Kodos used the circumstances to justify something he already believed in and wanted to try implementing.

That thing was eugenics. This isn't ambiguous; the aired episode explicitly describes his atrocities as based on eugenics. The starvation of the colony gave Kodos the opportunity to put his theories into action.

He declared that half the colony would be executed, and the remaining food distributed among the other half. Moreover, the assignment of each colonist to either group was determined by Kodos's conception and judgment of genetic superiority. The genetically inferior half of the population, according to Kodos, was executed, and the genetically superior survivors (again, according to Kodos) were given all the food supplies. Kodos's exact words at the time to those slated to die included these lines:

"Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony."

Kirk says of Kodos's full speech to those chosen for death:

"I remember the words. I wrote them down. [...] Are you sure you didn't act this role out in front of a captive audience whom you blasted out of existence without mercy?"

In the episode, Spock condemns Kodos in similar terms as "without mercy" and "ruthless," and is clearly horrified by what he's discovered:

"Children watching their parents die. Whole families destroyed. Over four thousand people. They died quickly, without pain, but they died."

The means by which Kodos had thousands of civilians killed isn't stated in the episode. As we see in the above quote, though, it seems to have been done very rapidly.

In an earlier draft, there's mention of some kind of re-purposed anti-matter chamber as the mechanism, and Kodos deliberately "sparing" Kirk while making him watch as the chamber switch was flipped. In that version, Kirk seems to be personally targeted for some reason, where in the episode as it is, he's just one of several random eyewitnesses who survived. I personally prefer the episode's version, which I think better fits a narrative around a mass-scale atrocity.

Anyway, there's another take on the massacre where the thousands of civilians slated for execution were gunned down with phasers, but I find that more difficult to reconcile with Spock's description, which sounds more mechanized and efficient to me. I do think there's reason to believe phasers or some other form of advanced weaponry did get used in the course of events, but not in the executions—more on that later.

As I mentioned in my poll, Kirk is established in TOS as being only 33 during "The Conscience of the King," and thus was only 13 when he personally saw all this (the episode repeatedly insists the atrocity took place exactly twenty years earlier—I think the emphasis on this time gap is important). There is no explanation in TOS of why 13-year-old Kirk seems to be the only member of his family who was present for this—and certainly the only one of the Kirks to personally see Kodos—though earlier drafts do have various explanations that make sense.

For instance, there was an idea floating around the drafting process that Kirk might have been a young midshipman stationed on Tarsus IV during the massacre, not a child. His exact age in TOS was up in the air until the second season explicitly established his then-current age as 34. So that idea is not at all canon, but did internally make sense, since there'd be no reason for his relatives to be posted with him.

There's also a fairly late script in which Kirk's father was among those killed. I believe Kirk Sr was already envisioned as a Starfleet officer at that point, and had been assigned to a post on Tarsus IV some time earlier, which is how a boy born in the Midwest ended up living in a remote colony as a child. However, as I understand, the writers were forced to remove the reference to Kirk's father getting killed because higher-ups didn't want to nail down Kirk's history too much in S1, in case they later wanted to take his family in a different direction.

IIRC, TOS never did do anything with Kirk's parents and we're never even told in the show if they're currently alive or dead, much less told anything about their roles during the massacre. His brother Sam Kirk was envisioned as 10 years older than James (I think the new shows shrink this, but that's irrelevant to the TOS production process), so it also made sense that Sam wasn't there, since he'd have been in his 20s and early in his own career elsewhere. (Sam and his family are mentioned in both earlier and later S1 episodes, so "they hadn't invented him yet" isn't the reason for his absence.)

Beyond all that, another detail I find interesting is that Kodos's speech announcing the impending massacre is preserved in some kind of audio file that Kirk has access to on the Enterprise. Kirk gives "Karidian" a copy of the exact words of this speech and orders him to read it aloud, and has the computers run a vocal comparison between that reading and the original recording. The computer analysis strongly indicates that both speeches were delivered by the same person, but lacks 100% certainty—perhaps due to vocal changes over the last 20 years, perhaps to a difference in the quality of the recordings or some other reason.

However, we don't actually know who recorded the original speech; since so few survivors ever got near enough to even see or hear Kodos in person, maybe the recording was done by Kodos himself or one of his people, and recovered later by Starfleet. The speech only addresses the colonists slated for death, suggesting that the 4000 chosen for survival had already been separated out. But it's possible that it was one or more of the colonists themselves who managed to record the speech.

Only nine of the survivors ever personally set eyes on Kodos (this seems to again imply that those selected for survival were mainly not present during the speech). There's a preserved photograph of him from that era, but that's all, and one of the reasons he's able to evade discovery for so long is because of the vanishingly few people involved who had ever seen him—this is not only canon but a major plot point in "The Conscience of the King."

I read on the wiki that there's a book about the whole thing, and in that version, Kirk never actually saw Kodos and just found a picture in a database, which honestly I think is stupid as fuck and makes no sense in terms of the episode as written (though very typical of corporate franchises watering down the horror of some element of an original, less sanitized story in later byproducts). In "The Conscience of the King," though, Leighton, Kirk, and Riley are explicitly stated to be among the nine survivors who saw Kodos personally.

It's never explained why they were among this small group of eyewitnesses, especially considering that Kirk and Riley would have been children at the time and Leighton was quite young.

Another intriguing data point is the fact that half of Leighton's face is very heavily damaged, and it does seem strongly indicated that this happened during the massacre. We don't know why, though, or how old he even was at the time—he seems older than 33-year-old Kirk, but they're good friends and rough contemporaries, so not that far apart in age.

There's also some interesting phrasing in the episode:

"There were nine eyewitnesses who survived the massacre, who'd actually seen Kodos with their own eyes. Jim Kirk was one of them."

This description is also from Spock after his research dive, someone unlikely to be loose with his phrasing. The general assumption, I think, is that the nine eyewitnesses (who I'm going to call the Tarsus Nine for convenience) were among those chosen for survival for eugenics purposes. The reason such a small number of them had ever seen Kodos is, presumably, that most people who'd seen him were deliberately assigned to the genetically unworthy group and killed. The Tarsus Nine were just the tiny fraction who flew under the radar.

That was my original impression, and it is possible, but there were some things I found puzzling about that scenario. For one, if the Tarsus Nine were separated with the other survivors, why are they persistently presented as the only eyewitnesses? If Leighton was separated into the survivor group, why was his face so heavily damaged in all this? Did he try to fight? Would he have been spared from death if he did? And the episode is clear that Leighton, Kirk, and Riley all heard Kodos's speech and witnessed the massacre in person.

Leighton:

"I remember him. That voice. The bloody thing he did [...] Jim, Jim, I need your help. There were only eight or nine of us who actually saw Kodos. I was one, you were another."

Kirk:

"But I remember. [...] I remember the words. I wrote them down. [...] All I understand is that four thousand people were needlessly butchered. [...] I saw him once, twenty years ago. Men change. Memory changes."

Riley:

"He murdered my father, and my mother. I know that voice, that face, I know it. I saw it. He murdered them."

I had been considering possible explanations for the uniqueness of these nine people as the only direct eyewitnesses among some 4000 survivors + the fact that the three eyewitnesses we meet would have been so young at the time (and Spock talks specifically of children seeing their parents die) + Kirk saying he remembers hearing the speech and that he only ever saw Kodos that one time + the Tarsus Nine knowing that nobody left alive except themselves saw Kodos as governor + their very accurate estimates of how many eyewitnesses survived + Leighton's facial scars.

And then I tripped over an ancient post (on livejournal of all things—I was linked to a post unrelated to the massacre and then followed another link) that collected some of the relevant Tarsus IV quotes and offered a very simple and elegant solution.

What if the Tarsus Nine weren't assigned to the "genetically more valuable" group? What if Kirk, Riley, Leighton, and the other six were in fact considered genetically unworthy and assigned to the group slated for death? What if they're the only direct eyewitnesses because everyone else was either removed from the massacre (and never saw the speech) or killed, and that's why there are so few of them?

me: oh damn, I didn't think about that and ... whoa, I don't think the episode ever does say what group they were actually assigned to. It's possible. Holy shit.

So, here's an alternate possibility/headcanon:

4000-odd colonists including the Tarsus Nine were gathered without any knowledge of the intended massacre. They didn't know where the other colonists were or what was going on beyond starvation and martial law. None of them had ever personally seen their reclusive governor. They were just waiting with their families to find out what was going on. Kodos came out to speak to them, at last, and delivered his speech to those slated for death (hence Kirk saying in TOS that he only ever saw him once, 20 years earlier). The "survival" group didn't hear it and never saw him. But Kirk, Leighton, and Riley did—because they were supposed to die.

Kodos's description of 33-year-old Kirk is, uh, let's say intriguing in that context:

"Here you stand, the perfect symbol of our technical society. Mechanized, electronized, and not very human. You've done away with humanity, the striving of man to achieve greatness through his own resources."

Kodos's murderous daughter Lenore, similarly, says:

LENORE: Are you like that, Captain? All this power at your command, yet the decisions that you have to make— KIRK: Come from a very human source. LENORE: Are you, Captain? Human?

It's likely that these colonists and other residents didn't all go meekly to their entirely unexpected deaths. If we go with the concept of Kirk's father as a Starfleet officer serving on a post on the colony, some of these people were in Starfleet and might well have still had weaponry of some kind. They were just as hungry as the rest, but I suspect would have fought to the death against an undisguised atrocity. I think others also would have fought back against Kodos's people, despite being starved and much less well-armed (if armed at all).

In all probability, none of them expected to win, but hoped to buy time for others, especially their children, to escape (hence the conspicuous youth of the eyewitnesses). The resisting residents would have been massacred by Kodos's troops as he took control of the situation, even before thousands of more people were sent to their executions, but I imagine this resistance created enough havoc for nine children and young adults to escape with their lives (Leighton's face getting seared in the process—perhaps by a phaser set to kill that barely missed him).

Most of the literal children among the Tarsus Nine had seen their parents killed as Kodos's people took control, as had other children who didn't survive (hence Spock's description of children watching parents die and of the nine eyewitnesses directly surviving a massacre). The Tarsus Nine may have seen the other colonists forced into the execution mechanism, whatever it was, either during their escape or if any snuck out afterwards to see. Regardless, I headcanon that the Tarsus Nine found each other and hid out together (I'm assuming they ended up cooperating because they're so accurate about just how many of them there were and because I'm guessing literal children wouldn't have survived alone).

We don't know a whole lot about what was going on psychologically with them at the time. But something else I've been thinking about is the interesting ambiguity in Kirk's statement to Kodos about the original genocide speech. Kirk says, "I remember the words. I wrote them down," which seems a reference to Kirk writing the speech down during the episode to force Kodos to read it. However, something I find fascinating there (/Spock fistbump) is that Kirk's statement that he himself wrote down the speech follows so directly from "I remember the words."

I think the implication is that he wrote down the exact words of the speech from memory (indicating that Kodos's genocide announcement that Kirk heard at age 13 is still seared into his mind). Or possibly, the causality is reversed: he perfectly remembers Kodos's speech because he wrote it down at some point in the past (likely not long after surviving the massacre). The former seems a bit more probable to me, but either case would suggest quite a lot about how deeply this affected him.

But whatever the Tarsus Nine were up to, they lasted long enough for Starfleet to arrive and take charge of the situation. We don't know the details of how that happened from TOS, either, though the fact that Kodos got the hell out of Dodge and left a burned body to be misidentified as him suggests that it was obvious enough what Starfleet's arrival was going to mean well before any fighting began.

Afterwards, well ... some of the Tarsus Nine maintained ties, for sure. Kirk and Leighton seem to be trusting friends; they address each other by familiar nicknames, Kirk knows Leighton's wife, and he regards Leighton's deception as something of a personal betrayal. Kirk is a bit vague on Leighton's professional life and dismisses his suspicions at first, so I don't think they're super close, but it's a trusting and familiar relationship in general.

Meanwhile, others among them lost contact. Kirk clearly has no idea that the Lieutenant Riley he knows on the Enterprise was a little boy among the other eyewitnesses, which seems probable enough. Riley likely ended up with caretakers who wouldn't have been all that keen on him being reminded of the horrific trauma he'd experienced. Him ending up on the Enterprise by sheer chance is a hell of a coincidence, but that's not unusual for Star Trek, let's be real.

A minor point: I'm guessing Sam Kirk had a hell of a week as the information about what was happening on Tarsus IV leaked out. I'm guessing from the outside, there'd be the official alert of the food crisis -> the colony's communications going dark -> Starfleet arriving and discovering what had happened -> their updates as they searched for survivors and those responsible -> their reports of finding the 4000 chosen for survival and the Tarsus Nine.

Moving forwards chronologically, we don't know that much about the longer-term effects on the Tarsus Nine apart from Kirk, though Riley is clearly haunted to some extent. Thomas Leighton has a respectable career, though his wife says after his death:

"At least he has peace now. He never really had that before."

As for Kirk, I think the next "version" of Kirk we know anything about via TOS is him as a very young man at Starfleet Academy. This Kirk is repeatedly described as bookish and solemn. In "Shore Leave" (which follows very shortly after "The Conscience of the King," though it's far lighter), we get this exchange:

KIRK: I know the feeling very well. I had it at the Academy. An upperclassman there. One practical joke after another, and always on me. My own personal devil. A guy by the name of Finnegan. MCCOY: And you being the very serious young— KIRK: Serious? I'll make a confession, Bones. I was absolutely grim.

Yeah, I wonder why.

Even as late as his time as an instructor at the Academy, when he was Lieutenant Kirk, he seems pretty recognizably "that" Kirk. He taught a notoriously challenging class (the subject not stated, but implied to be philosophy) and was known as a demanding teacher. In "Where No Man Has Gone Before," his friend and former student Gary Mitchell says:

"Well, I'm getting a chance to read some of that longhair stuff you like. Hey man, I remember you back at the Academy. A stack of books with legs. The first thing I ever heard from an upperclassman was, watch out for Lieutenant Kirk. In his class, you either think or sink."

Mitchell jokes about how he only passed by orchestrating the campaign of a "little blonde lab technician" to distract Kirk from his usual severity. And even this was not a fling; Kirk's relationship with the lab technician reached the point that he almost married her. So even that suggests someone who was taking every part of his life deadly seriously.

The personable, dutiful-but-easy-going charm and good humor of Kirk in much of TOS seems to not have been much in evidence for many, many years of Kirk's life. And even by the time we meet him, this runs much less deep than his powerful sense of responsibility and his commitment to the ideals of the Federation and his own philosophical convictions. We often see his outwards charm switch off like a light when it doesn't serve his purposes.

This is especially apparent in "The Conscience of the King" itself, which includes one of Kirk's most cold-blooded charm offensives—he can't immediately reach Kodos, so instead he deliberately charms Kodos's nineteen-year-old daughter Lenore in order to dig up information on him (not realizing Lenore herself is a murderer). There is a chasm between this calculated charm and his manner when he finds Kodos and drops the front:

The last thing I wanted to say about "The Conscience of the King" and this particular backstory for Kirk is that, after all of this, what exactly is the point of the backstory revealed in this episode? It's Star Trek, there usually is one, even when it's executed badly or clumsily. What is it gesturing at?

There's a repeated emphasis on the twenty years between the present moment and Kodos's atrocity. He is now an old man living a normal life, and doesn't seem to be a particular threat to anyone. One of the major subplots involves Spock trying to figure out what the hell happened twenty years earlier, then trying to convince McCoy of the threat, then Kirk and Spock and McCoy having this fraught discussion about it.

Spock is not dispassionate; he is horrified by both the past atrocity and current threat to Kirk, and quickly reaches a point of certainty about Karidian's/Kodos's identity and what should be done about him. Kirk is more anxious and unsure about getting it wrong and about his own motives, despite simultaneously wanting to just kill this guy on the spot. McCoy doesn't want to believe at pretty much every turn, and even when he does, is wary of acting out of potentially questionable motives so long after the fact. It leads to this great scene between all three:

SPOCK: Why do you invite death? KIRK: I'm not. I'm interested in justice. MCCOY: Are you? Are you sure it's not vengeance? KIRK: No, I'm not sure. I wish I was. I've done things I've never done before. I've placed my command in jeopardy. From here on I've got to determine whether or not Karidian is Kodos. SPOCK: He is. KIRK: You sound certain. I wish I could be. Before I accuse a man of that, I've got to be. I saw him once, twenty years ago. Men change. Memory changes. Look at him now, he's an actor. He can change his appearance. No. Logic is not enough. I've got to feel my way, make absolutely sure. MCCOY: What if you decide he is Kodos? What then? Do you play God, carry his head through the corridors in triumph? That won't bring back the dead, Jim. KIRK: No, but they may rest easier.

Of course, the matter of "oh hey, we keep finding elderly people who committed atrocities some 20 years ago and we've got to navigate how to deal with them now in a way that honors their victims" was not at all metaphorical at the time. In the 60s, the architects of atrocities who made their escape twenty years earlier and were discovered as ostensibly normal aging people were just literal Nazis.

While the Tarsus IV massacre is on a much smaller scale, obviously, Erin Horáková has a good explanation of the topicality here:

In “The Conscience of the King”, we learn that Kirk is a survivor of a colony-world genocide that occurred during his childhood. As an adult, Kirk attempts to determine whether an old man, now an actor, is actually Kodos, the mass murderer who perpetrated this genocide. “Conscience” is a complex, shifting episode made in the wake of the arrest of aged Nazis in South America by Mossad agents (again, it’s subtextually important to this episode that Kirk is played by a Jewish actor).

For further context, plenty of people involved in TOS had themselves fought in WWII, so "what do we do about elderly Nazis" was not a distant issue. Also, while Roddenberry himself was unfortunately antisemitic (a quality presumably related to "Patterns of Force" ever seeing the light of day), there were a lot of Jewish people working behind and in front of the camera on TOS, most famously including both William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy (both are/were Jewish actors from Jewish communities, though this tends to be much more present for many fans with Nimoy—it's hard not to think that is at least partly related to their physical appearances). So the whole premise is complex and fraught in real world terms, as well, which I felt was also worth mentioning as a significant element of what's going on here.

[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,

Part 15

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Part 16: To want

The lab was buzzing with the usual energy—datapads flickering, the quiet hum of machinery, and the occasional back-and-forth between the xenobotany and medical teams. You sat at the long meeting table, half-listening, holding a hot coffee mug as Norm scrolled through his notes on the tablet in front of him.

“All right,” Norm said, tapping the screen. “Next on the agenda—Jake wants us to head to the village to do a full recheck of the medical supplies.”

That got your attention. You straightened in your seat as Kate, sitting beside you, exchanged a glance that practically screamed, interesting.

Brian, who had been half-zoned out with his arms crossed, raised a skeptical brow. “Why do they even need our supplies? It’s not like most of the Na’vi even use human medicine. They trust the Tsahik for that kind of thing.”

Norm sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we know that, but Jake wants to be sure they have access to anything they might need. He doesn’t want anyone suffering if there’s something we can help with. Some of them do come to us in emergencies, and he wants to make sure everything is accounted for. Especially with more human-Navi interactions happening.”

Max nodded in agreement. “It’s not about replacing what Mo’at or the other healers does—it’s just about covering all the bases. And given how unpredictable life on Pandora is, having backup options isn’t the worst idea.”

You leaned forward, already making up your mind. “I’ll go.”

Kate raised her hand lazily. “Yeah, count me in too. I could use some fresh air.”

Brian let out a long breath, shaking his head but smirking nonetheless. “Well, I guess someone’s gotta carry the heavy stuff. Fine, I’m in.”

Norm gave an approving nod. “Great. Max and I will go as well. We’ll head out tomorrow morning and go over the inventory.”

As the conversation shifted to logistics, you felt a familiar flutter of anticipation in your chest. Any excuse to be in the village, to be near Neteyam, was one you were more than happy to take.

Kate nudged your arm under the table, giving you a knowing look. You didn’t need words to understand what she was saying: Oh, I see you, and I know exactly why you volunteered so fast.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small, guilty smile tugging at your lips. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t wrong.

*

The walk to the village was long but familiar, the dense foliage of the forest stretching endlessly in every direction. The sounds of Pandora surrounded you—the distant calls of creatures, the rustling of the wind through the towering trees, and the occasional hum of bioluminescent flora still lingering from the night before.

Brian adjusted the strap of the medkit slung over his shoulder, glancing around with mild curiosity. “How do they even know we’re coming? It’s not like we can send them a text or anything.”

Max, walking ahead, barely looked over his shoulder as he replied. “They already know. They’re watching us.”

Kate, who had only been to the village once before, immediately tensed. Her eyes darted toward the treetops and the thick underbrush, scanning for movement, but she saw nothing—just the endless green, stretching high above and disappearing into the deep shadows of the jungle.

“That’s comforting,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag.

You chuckled, nudging her playfully with your elbow. “Relax, Kate. They’re not going to hunt you down with arrows.”

Kate shot you a look, unimpressed. “You say that, but I know how big those arrows are. And I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one, thanks.”

Brian snorted. “Well, if it makes you feel better, they’d probably go for me first. I talk the most.”

“True,” you said, smirking. “You’d be the loudest target.”

Brian grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced back at Max. “So, they’re just watching us right now? Like, from the trees?”

Max nodded. “Most likely. They’re cautious about humans, always have been. But they also know we’ve been coming here for years, so they won’t interfere. As long as we don’t give them a reason to.”

Kate exhaled, shaking her head. “Great. So we’re just casually being monitored by a bunch of ten-foot-tall warriors, and I can’t even see them. Fantastic.”

You grinned at her. “Welcome to Pandora and you shouldn’t worry.”

Despite her grumbling, you could see the fascination in her expression as she continued scanning the treetops. And though you didn’t say it out loud, you knew exactly what Max meant—somewhere in the shadows, unseen but ever-present, the Na’vi were there. Watching. Waiting.

*

Kate nudged you with her elbow, her lips curving into a sly grin as she lowered her voice just enough so Brian wouldn’t hear. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. You’ve got backup even in the village.”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The look in her eyes—the barely-contained amusement, the way she tilted her head ever so slightly—made it painfully obvious. Neteyam.

You didn’t respond immediately, just shot her a side-eye as you kept walking. But you didn’t deny it either.

Kate hummed knowingly, her smirk widening. “Must be nice.”

You exhaled through your nose, your expression softening despite yourself. “Yeah…”

Kate shot you a look, intrigued by the honesty in your voice. “So,” she dragged out the word, the grin creeping back onto her face. “Have you two seen each other since your little hut adventure?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes. “Jeez, Kate, it was only three days ago.”

“And?” she prompted, waggling her eyebrows.

“And he’s got a million things to do,” you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just like me.”

Kate pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Mmmhmm. Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just grinned wider. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not missing him.”

You didn’t answer right away, biting the inside of your cheek. Of course, you missed him. Terribly.

Kate smirked, her voice turning sing-song. “You totally miss him.”

You sighed, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up, Kate.”

She only laughed, nudging you again. “Never.”

*

The moment you stepped into the village, the air around you shifted. The sounds of daily life—voices calling out in Na’vi, the rhythmic pounding of tools against wood and stone, the distant hum of nature blending seamlessly with the people—welcomed you like a steady heartbeat. It was different from the outpost, from the quiet sterility of the lab, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. It was a world you had come to love, a place where you felt… at home.

Norm had already peeled away, heading straight for Jake, leaving the rest of you behind to take in the scene. Kate and Brian hovered just a step behind you, their postures stiff, their eyes scanning the village with obvious unease. They were used to seeing Na’vi—Neteyam had been a constant presence around you even before you were lovers, and the avatars on the field were a common sight. But this—being surrounded by the Omaticaya in their own home, where their presence was the exception, not the norm—was another thing entirely.

You, on the other hand, felt no such hesitation. You had spent years walking the fine line between observer and participant, and it had only blurred further since Neteyam had claimed a place in your life.

A familiar voice broke through the air before you could take another step.

“Finally!”

Kiri’s voice rang out before she appeared, her tall frame moving toward you with an easy grace, a wide grin on her face.

Before you could respond, Lo’ak was right behind her, his usual lopsided smirk firmly in place as he crossed his arms. “Took you guys long enough.”

You smiled, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease just at the sight of them. “Didn’t know you were waiting for us,” you teased.

Kiri snorted, flipping her braids over her shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes at her, but Lo’ak only grinned wider. “You know,” he drawled, tilting his head at you, “he survived Dad’s lecture.”

You huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Of course, he did.” You weren’t the least bit surprised that Neteyam had made it through relatively unscathed. He was, after all, Neteyam. The golden child. The responsible one. Even when caught sneaking off in the middle of the night.

Lo’ak’s smirk deepened. “You should’ve seen it, though. Dad was pissed. But hey, at least Mom didn’t find out.”

You laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I survived Norm’s lecture, so I’d say we’re even.”

Kiri grinned. “Barely.”

Before anything else could be said, a small figure darted through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between the tall Na’vi bodies before skidding to a stop in front of you.

“Tuk!”

The youngest Sully beamed at you, her big golden eyes shining with excitement. “You’re here!” she said, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Of course I’m here,” you said warmly. “Did you miss me already?”

“Yes!” she declared, nodding enthusiastically before grabbing your wrist with her small, four-fingered hand. “Come on! I have something to show you!”

You laughed, glancing at Kiri and Lo’ak, who both looked thoroughly amused. “Should I be worried?” you asked, letting Tuk tug you forward.

“Nope,” Kiri said, smirking. “But you should definitely be prepared.”

Lo’ak chuckled. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Kate and Brian remained behind, clearly content to stay out of whatever chaos Tuk was about to drag you into. But you didn’t mind. Being around the Sully kids, in the heart of the Omaticaya village, surrounded by these people—it felt like stepping into a world that had slowly, inevitably, begun to feel like yours.

Even if you weren’t technically part of it.

Not yet.

*

Just as you were about to let Tuk drag you off on whatever adventure she had planned, Norm’s voice rang out from the other side of the clearing.

“Hey! Can I get some help over here?”

You turned your head to see him standing near a small set of supplies, Max beside him, already sorting through some of the medical packs they had brought along.

At the same time, Tuk’s small hand tugged insistently at your wrist. “Come on!” she whined, pulling harder, clearly unimpressed with Norm’s timing.

“Go on, Tuk’s orders seem pretty non-negotiable,” Kate teased.

Brian sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about us, we’ll just do all the real work.”

You gave them an apologetic look, lifting your free hand in surrender. “I owe you one,” you said.

Kate gave you an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head as if this was the greatest betrayal she had ever suffered. “Oh, sure,” she drawled. “Abandon us for the tiny one. Unbelievable.”

Brian just smirked, shrugging. “Honestly, I’d take a hyperactive child over sorting medical kits with Norm any day. You’re the one missing out.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’ll remember that when you’re the one getting dragged away next time.”

Kate rolled her eyes but waved you off. “Go on, then. Have fun doing whatever she has planned.”

Tuk huffed impatiently, pulling at your wrist again. “Hurry up!”

You laughed, finally giving in as you let the Na’vi girl lead you away, casting one last glance over your shoulder at the others. Norm was already muttering something under his breath, clearly not thrilled about being ignored, while Kate and Brian reluctantly made their way toward him.

Yeah. You definitely owed them one.

*

The next few hours passed in a blur of laughter, teasing, and the ever-present energy that came with being around the Sully siblings. You sat with Tuk near the stream, sifting through a collection of colorful shells and smooth river stones she had gathered earlier. Every few minutes, she’d hold one up for your inspection, her excitement palpable.

“This one!” Tuk announced, thrusting a particularly iridescent shell into your hands. “It’s perfect for the center of my necklace!”

You turned it over in your palm, watching how the light shimmered across the surface. “It’s beautiful, Tuk,” you said warmly, handing it back to her. “Are you making this for someone special?”

Tuk huffed dramatically. “For me,” she declared. “I have to look good if I’m gonna be a warrior, right?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Of course. Every warrior needs a good accessory.”

“Look!” Tuk declared proudly as she turned back towards you after searching something behind of the pile of her treasure, holding it up with both hands. The bow was beautifully crafted, the smooth wood polished to perfection, with intricate carvings along its length—Na’vi designs you immediately recognized. The craftsmanship was unmistakable.

Tuk noticed your touch and grinned. “Neteyam helped me!” she beamed. “He said that if I want to be a warrior one day, I need a real bow, not just a tiny one.”

Your fingers traced the delicate engravings absentmindedly. You could practically picture him working on it, carving each detail with careful precision, smoothing the wood with practiced hands. He had helped Tuk make this. He had poured time into it, ensuring it was something she would treasure.

You smiled, warmth filling your chest. “He did a good job. It’s beautiful.”

Tuk puffed up, standing taller as she ran her hands along the string. “It’s strong, too. He made me promise to train every day.” She mimicked drawing an arrow, her stance wobbling slightly. “I’m going to be the best warrior ever!”

Lo’ak scoffed playfully. “Tuk, you’re not even fifteen yet.”

“I don’t care! I can still train,” Tuk shot back, sticking her tongue out.

You chuckled, but even as you listened to Tuk chatter about her future warrior status, your eyes flickered around the village, searching, hoping for a glimpse of him. He had to be around somewhere, right? You hadn’t seen him all day, and even though you knew you weren’t supposed to need to see him, you couldn’t help it.

Lo’ak, who had been watching you with an amused smirk, finally spoke up. “He’s not here.”

You turned your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. “I wasn’t looking for him.”

Lo’ak smirked. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been glancing around every five minutes.”

Kiri grinned, joining in. “He’s with the new warriors up at the Hallelujah Mountains. Some of them have their iknimaya now.”

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. It made sense. The iknimaya was one of the most important rites of passage for a Na’vi—bonding with an ikran was a crucial step toward adulthood. But that didn’t stop the faint pang of disappointment from settling in your chest. You hadn’t seen him since the morning he brought you back to the outpost. Since then, you’d been preoccupied with lab work, and he probably had been buried under even more responsibilities.

“After your little nighttime adventure, Dad’s been piling on extra work for him,” Lo’ak continued, grinning as he leaned back on his hands. “He told Dad he was at the Tree of Voices alone, but even with that excuse, he still got loaded with extra duties. You know, as punishment. Said something about ‘keeping his focus where it belongs.’”

Kiri sighed. “Not that he complained,” she added. “He just took it. As usual.”

You stiffened slightly at that. Damn it, Jake. Of course, he didn’t know the full truth—Neteyam had only told him he had been at the Tree of Voices alone. Still, Jake hadn’t bought it completely.

Lo’ak shot you a knowing look, his smirk widening. “You miss him,” he taunted, his voice sing-song.

You exhaled sharply, your patience wearing thin. “Lo’ak—”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “No, no, it’s cute,” he continued, his tail flicking with amusement. “You’ve been sneaking glances all afternoon like maybe he’ll appear out of thin air just because you will him to.”

Your grip tightened on Tuk’s bow as you leveled him with a glare. “Lo’ak, I swear to Eywa, I will hit you with this bow.”

Lo’ak let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Kiri snorted. “Oh, she definitely would.”

Tuk giggled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. She leaned in closer, holding up her bow like she was assessing its weight. “If she doesn’t, I will.”

You gave Tuk an approving nod. “That’s my girl.”

Lo’ak groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Great. Now you’re corrupting my baby sister.”

“You mean our baby sister,” Kiri corrected with a smirk.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He knew better than to fight both of you at once.

Despite the teasing, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming fondness for them. You may not have been born into their world, but they made space for you, treated you as their own. Kiri’s sharp wit, Lo’ak’s relentless mischief, Tuk’s boundless energy—it all felt like home in a way you never expected. Maybe you were different, maybe you weren’t Na’vi, but with them, you never felt out of place.

*

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Kiri grabbed your hand, her excitement barely contained. “Come on, I have something to show you,” she said, practically dragging you back toward the village.

Lo’ak groaned from where he was lying on the grass. “What now?”

“Something actually useful,” Kiri shot back, rolling her eyes. “Not that you’d care.”

Lo’ak grinned, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun with your leaves and pastes.”

You chuckled, waving him off as you followed Kiri. Tuk trailed behind for a few moments before running off toward a group of children her age, leaving you alone with Kiri as she led you toward the Tsahik’s tent.

“I’ve been working on something new, and I know you’ll want to see it.”

You didn’t hesitate, knowing exactly what she meant. Despite the countless differences between humans and Na’vi, one thing had always remained true—you loved learning about their ways, their knowledge of the land, the way they understood nature in a way that science could never fully explain.

As you approached the Tsahik’s tent, the warm, earthy scent of dried herbs and crushed leaves filled the air. You had been inside before, but it never failed to amaze you. The tent was lined with woven mats, baskets overflowing with medicinal plants, and bundles of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.

Mo’at was already there, seated with the quiet authority that came so naturally to her. She looked up as you and Kiri entered, her sharp eyes assessing you for a moment before she nodded in acknowledgment.

“Kaltxì,” Kiri greeted her, settling beside one of the workstations where a few wooden bowls of mixed ingredients were set out. “I was telling her about the healing salve I made.”

Mo’at hummed, her fingers working deftly as she sorted through a pile of dried roots. “Then show her,” she said simply, her voice calm but expectant.

Kiri eagerly gestured for you to sit beside her. You lowered yourself onto the woven mat, your scientist’s curiosity sparking as you took in the various natural remedies laid out before you.

“I know you like learning about this stuff,” Kiri said with a smirk, glancing at you. “I swear, you watch the healers like they’re performing magic.”

You rolled your eyes playfully.

The scientist in you loved studying the plants of Pandora, mapping their properties, comparing them to what little Earth-based knowledge you still clung to. You loved observing, learning. And Kiri, with her deep connection to Eywa and the living world around her, was the best person to learn from.

“This is the one,” Kiri said, pulling a small, round container from a woven satchel. She popped off the lid, revealing a thick, deep green paste inside. “It’s made from yomio leaves and tsawke root. The mixture is really strong for wounds—helps them close faster and reduces swelling.”

You leaned in, inspecting the salve closely. “What’s the base for it?” you asked, reaching out but stopping yourself before touching it.

Kiri grinned, loving your interest. “Crushed yomio leaves, mixed with rendered fat from a syaksyuk.” She pointed to the paste, swirling her finger lightly through it. “The fat helps preserve it longer so it doesn’t spoil, and it also makes it easier to apply.”

You hummed thoughtfully, cataloging the information in your mind. “Do the leaves have to be fresh, or can they be dried before you make the paste?”

“They can be dried,” Kiri replied, “but fresh is always better. The potency fades a little once the leaves start to dry. Mo’at always says the best medicine is made from plants that still have Eywa’s breath in them.”

At that, Mo’at finally spoke, her voice even but carrying the weight of experience. “A plant loses its strength when it is no longer connected to the earth,” she said, glancing between you and Kiri. “That is why we gather them carefully and use them with purpose.”

You nodded, absorbing her words. “That makes sense. On Earth, some plants retain their properties even when dried, but others lose their effectiveness almost immediately.” You glanced at the salve again. “Where do you usually gather the yomio leaves? Does location matter, or are they the same no matter where you find them?”

Mo’at studied you for a moment before gesturing toward a bundle of dried plants hanging nearby. “The strongest grow near the eastern riverbend,” she said. “The water is rich there, the soil full of life. The ones from the higher cliffs are weaker, thinner.”

You nodding. “So the environment affects the potency. That’s fascinating. I wonder if it’s the mineral composition of the soil or if it has to do with the surrounding plants—maybe something in that region encourages better growth.”

Kiri rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her amusement. “You really can’t turn off the scientist part of your brain, can you?”

You laughed, shrugging. “I like understanding how things work.” You turned back to Mo’at, tilting your head slightly. “Does it change the way the salve is made? If the leaves are weaker, do you use more of them to compensate?”

Mo’at’s lips quirked just slightly at the corner—amusement, perhaps, or approval. “Yes,” she said simply, reaching for a large wooden mortar near the fire. “Come,” she instructed, patting the woven mat beside her. “Try.”

Kiri handed you a bundle of fresh yomio leaves, their scent sharp and slightly citrusy. “You have to crush them until they turn into a thick paste,” she explained, gesturing toward the massive mortar.

You eyed the size of it warily. It was Na’vi-sized, carved from thick wood, the pestle nearly as long as your arm.

You set to work, gripping the pestle with both hands and pressing the leaves into the mortar’s base. The first attempt barely bruised them. You frowned, adjusted your grip, and tried again, putting more force behind it.

The pestle slipped, nearly knocking into the side of the mortar.

Kiri snorted. “Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”

You shot her a glare. “I’d like to see you do this with human-sized tools.”

She grinned, but Mo’at, ever patient, simply gestured for you to continue. “Use your weight,” she advised. “Not just your arms.”

You adjusted your stance, planting your feet more firmly. This time, when you pressed down, the leaves gave way under the pressure, releasing a burst of fragrant oil. Encouraged, you kept going, grinding them into a thick, deep-green paste.

After several minutes of struggling, you finally managed to get the consistency right. You sat back with a huff, pushing stray strands of hair from your mask. “Eywa help me,” you muttered, inspecting your work. “How do you guys make this look so easy?”

Mo’at peered into the mortar, then gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good,” she said simply, reaching out to smear a bit of the paste between her fingers, testing its texture. “Strong.”

Despite the effort it had taken, you felt an odd surge of pride at her approval. Mo’at did not give praise lightly.

Kiri nudged you with her elbow. “See? Not bad for a human.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

Mo’at handed you a small wooden jar, indicating for you to scoop the paste inside. As you carefully transferred it, you felt her gaze linger on you. Not cold, not disapproving—just assessing.

Perhaps she wasn’t as resistant to humans as others believed. She wouldn’t say it, but you could tell she was watching, observing how you and Kiri worked together, how you listened, how you tried.

And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see that you weren’t just one of the humans. You were something else.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile from forming. Learning was something you had always loved, and today had been no different. Even in the heart of the Omatikaya, surrounded by their traditions and their knowledge, you found yourself fascinated—drawn deeper into their world. And despite everything, it felt... natural.

*

Kiri, ever the enthusiastic teacher, grabbed a woven bowl and pulled it toward the center of the mat. She reached for a bundle of dried herbs near Mo’at’s side, carefully selecting a few leaves and roots. “So, you saw how the yomio leaves react when crushed into a paste,” she began, stirring the mortar’s remnants with her fingers. “But what happens when we prepare them differently?”

Mo’at, listening silently until now, reached for a small clay pot filled with oil and poured a small amount into a wooden dish. “Water and oil do not carry medicine the same way,” she explained, her voice steady and full of quiet wisdom. “Some plants release their healing properties into water. Others, like tsawke root, need oil to draw out their strength.”

You leaned in, fascinated. “Why is that? Is it because of how the compounds break down?”

Kiri hummed in agreement as she plucked a small, wiry root from the bundle and dropped it into the oil. “It’s because some plants have their power in their juices, but others… the strength is locked in their fibers. Water pulls from the surface, but oil seeps deeper.”

You watched intently as the root began to darken in the oil, its reddish hue leeching into the liquid, staining it a deep amber color. The scent changed too—richer, more pungent, almost spicy. Kiri swirled the dish lightly, tilting it so you could see how the oil thickened as it absorbed the plant’s essence.

Mo’at motioned for you to take another root and place it into a dish filled with water instead. You did as instructed, watching how the root barely changed at all. The water clouded slightly, but it didn’t pull the color or scent in the same way the oil had.

“So for something like tsawke root, an oil base is better for making salves,” you murmured, thinking aloud. “Because it extracts more of the medicinal properties.”

“Yes,” Mo’at confirmed, nodding. “And oil will keep longer than water. No rot. No spoil.”

That made sense. Water-based mixtures would spoil quickly without preservatives, but oil-based infusions could last much longer. You made a mental note of that, filing it away for later.

Kiri reached for another plant, one with soft, rounded leaves that had been drying in bundles around the tent. “Now, watch this,” she said, plucking a few of them and crushing them between her fingers before sprinkling them into both oil and water.

The reaction was immediate. In the water, the leaves darkened, releasing a greenish tint, but they remained mostly intact. In the oil, however, they crumpled further, almost dissolving into the liquid, their edges curling as they infused it with color.

“Their healing properties are weaker,” Kiri explained, “but they still help with pain when mixed right.” She glanced at you with a knowing grin. “And they smell better than some of the stronger ones. That’s why they go into balms.”

You reached out, dipping your finger into the oil mixture and rubbing it between your fingers. It was slick and fragrant, earthy with a hint of spice. “It feels different too,” you noted. “Thicker, heavier.”

Mo’at, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke again. “Yes. The oil holds the medicine in place, keeping it on the skin. Water will wash away. Oil lingers.”

It was all so methodical, yet deeply intuitive. The way they worked with the plants wasn’t just about science—it was about understanding the nature of each one, the way they interacted with their environment, how they behaved under different conditions. You found it endlessly fascinating, the blend of tradition and practical knowledge that Mo’at and Kiri carried with them.

As you were about to ask another question, the tent flap burst open, and a blur of motion barreled toward you.

“Tuk!” Kiri yelped as the girl nearly knocked into her.

Tuk, breathless and grinning, bounced on her heels. “They’re back!” she exclaimed, excitement bubbling in her voice. “The warriors! They came back from the Hallelujah Mountains!”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Neteyam.

You blinked, suddenly forgetting all about the herbs and their properties. Mo’at gave Tuk a mildly disapproving glance but did not scold her. Kiri, however, rolled her eyes, shaking her head at her younger sister’s excitement.

“You could’ve just said that normally, Tuk,” Kiri sighed, but there was amusement in her voice.

Tuk ignored her, turning to you instead. “Come see! You have to come!” She practically bounced in place, her hands reaching for yours.

Your fingers twitched slightly. He was back. You hadn’t seen him in three days, and the anticipation suddenly coiled tight in your stomach.

Kiri smirked knowingly at your hesitation. “Oh, come on,” she teased. “You’re definitely coming. We know who you’re looking for.”

You shot her a look but didn’t deny it.

Tuk, impatient as ever, tugged on your hand insistently. “Come on!” she whined.

With a deep breath, you rose to your feet, brushing off your hands. The past few days without Neteyam had already been too long, and your heart was already racing at the thought of seeing him again.

“Alright,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s go.”

*

As you stepped outside with Kiri and Tuk, the air buzzed with excitement. The village was alive with movement—Na’vi gathered in small clusters, their voices rising in cheers and joyous laughter as warriors returned, most of them with ikran circling above them. Families and friends celebrated, embracing those who had successfully completed their Iknimaya.

Kiri let out a pleased hum as she scanned the sky. “Looks like a every one of them passed,” she observed, watching the newly bonded warriors dismount from their ikran. Their faces shone with triumph, their bodies still bearing fresh scrapes and bruises from the harsh test of earning a flying companion.

Tuk bounced beside you, clapping her hands. “They did it!” she giggled, pointing toward a group of younger warriors who were being showered with praise.

Your heart thumped against your ribs as your eyes flicked over the returning figures, searching—no, longing—for one in particular.

Where is he?

Before you could voice the question, you felt a strong grip on your arm.

“Alright, lovebird,” Kate’s teasing voice cut in, pulling you back to reality. “Come on, you’re getting that dreamy look again.”

You barely had time to react before she dragged you away from Kiri and Tuk, weaving through the crowd toward where Norm and the others were gathered.

“Kate—” you protested, glancing over your shoulder one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Neteyam.

“Nope,” she cut you off, her grip firm as she pulled you along. “You can make eyes at your warrior later. Right now, you’re reporting back to the team like the rest of us.”

Brian glanced up as you approached, lifting an eyebrow. “Ah, she returns. How was your very productive day?”

Kate smirked, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, you know, while we were slaving away, our dear scientist here was out watching the sky, lost in thought.”

You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real venom. “I was not just watching the sky,” you defended, though the warmth on your cheeks betrayed you.

Kate leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Mmm, sure. Not staring at a certain soon-to-return Na’vi warrior, then?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me,” she quipped, nudging you playfully before turning her attention back to Norm and Max.

You sighed, stealing one last glance toward the open clearing where the warriors were returning. Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching with anticipation.

You could wait a little longer.

Maybe.

*

The datapad screen glowed dimly in your hands, the soft hum of village life around you blending into the background as you carefully logged the medical supplies Norm dictated. Your fingers tapped methodically over the touchscreen, cataloging everything.

“Alright,” Norm murmured beside you, scanning over the inventory. “We’re making good progress, but we should start wrapping this up soon. We need to head back before it gets too dark.” He tapped his own screen, checking the remaining tasks. “We still have a couple more things to go over, but we should be done in a few hours.”

You nodded absentmindedly, half-hearing him. Your focus had already begun to drift—your fingers still moved over the datapad, but your eyes had locked onto a figure in the distance.

Neteyam.

He was standing near the central clearing, his posture relaxed but ever-composed, talking with one of the warriors who had returned from their Iknimaya. He must have just gotten back himself, his braids slightly tousled by flight, his skin still faintly glistening from exertion. The golden light of the setting sun played against his deep blue skin, highlighting the strong contours of his shoulders, the ripple of his muscles shifting beneath the intricate woven cummerband he wore. His tail flicked lazily behind him as he shifted from one foot to the other, the easy confidence of his stance utterly captivating.

Gods, how could someone be so beautiful?

You exhaled slowly, watching as he gestured slightly with his hands while speaking, his long fingers moving gracefully, his four-fingered hands so unlike your own. His presence was effortless—commanding yet natural, like he was a part of Pandora itself. And you loved to watch him. To study every detail as if you could carve the image of him into your mind permanently.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You knew you shouldn’t stare, but it was impossible not to. It had been three days since you last saw him, three days since you had felt the warmth of his hands on your waist, since his lips had ghosted over your skin with whispered words that still echoed in your mind. Now, here he was, so close and yet so far, completely unaware that you were here.

“He doesn’t even know she’s here,” Brian murmured in a low voice beside Kate, and you barely registered the way your friends had begun to whisper.

Kate snickered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think she cares. Look at her.”

You blinked, snapping your eyes away from Neteyam, your fingers tightening slightly on the datapad. You shook your head once, sharp and deliberate, as if willing yourself back to the present. With an exhale, you forced your focus back onto the screen in front of you, resuming your typing as though nothing had happened.

Don’t be obvious. Don’t bother him. Don’t make this harder for him than it already is.

Because this wasn’t like the nights you had stolen together in the lab, when you could be as close as you wanted. This was the village. And here, only his siblings and your human colleagues knew about what you shared with him. If anyone else found out, it would only make things harder for him.

You swallowed the ache that settled in your chest. You wanted him, wanted to be near him, but you also knew better. This was his world. You wouldn’t make it more complicated for him, even if it meant keeping your distance. Even if it meant pretending not to see him.

You tried to focus on the datapad. You really did. The text on the screen blurred as you logged the last of the salves, but your fingers moved automatically, your mind hopelessly elsewhere.

Hopelessly on him.

Your gaze flickered up again, unable to help yourself. Just a quick glance, just for a moment—you told yourself. He was still talking with the warrior, standing in that infuriatingly perfect way he always did, his tail swayed lazily behind him, curling subtly every now and then, the bioluminescent dots along his back shimmering faintly in the warm light of the evening.

You sighed inwardly, dragging your eyes back down to the datapad—only to glance back up again a few seconds later.

Pathetic, you scolded yourself.

But this time, something was different. Your breath hitched as you caught movement near him—Tuk had appeared, bouncing with excitement, tugging on his arm. Neteyam automatically leaned down to her level, listening patiently as she whispered something conspiratorially into his ear.

You smiled fondly at the sight, watching as he nodded along to whatever she was saying. But then—Tuk turned, her hand extending outward. Pointing.

At you.

Your stomach dropped.

Time slowed as Neteyam’s golden eyes followed her direction.

Straight. To. You.

Your brain stalled, panic flaring instantly.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit—

You did the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. You looked around like a dumbass, as if there could possibly be anyone else in the vicinity that Tuk might be pointing at.

As if there was anyone else Neteyam could be looking at.

Your wide eyes darted left. Right. As if the trees or the handful of other humans in the village could somehow be the intended targets of his attention. Maybe he’s not looking at me—maybe—

But then you saw it.

The exact moment Neteyam registered your pathetic attempt at playing dumb. The exact moment amusement flickered over his face.

He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, making his braids sway over his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your face burned.

He knew.

He knew you’d been watching him.

You didn’t need to hear his voice to know exactly what he was thinking.

Caught you staring again, ma yawne.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him, diving back into the datapad like your life depended on it. Kate and Brian exchanged glances before looking at you expectantly, but you ignored them, determined to pretend none of this just happened.

But deep down, under all your mortification, you felt the warmth spread through your chest.

Because even after all this time—after three years of falling for him, after becoming his secret lover, after knowing his touch, his voice, his kisses—just one look from Neteyam still managed to unravel you completely.

*

Neteyam approached slowly, his long strides easy and unhurried as he made his way toward the small cluster of humans. His gaze flickered to you briefly, warmth lingering in his golden eyes, before Tuk, practically vibrating with excitement, bounced around him, already tugging on his arm.

"Neteyam!" Tuk beamed, gripping his fingers as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "How was the Iknimaya? Did you see any big ikrans? Did anyone fall? Did you have to help someone? Tell me everything!"

Neteyam chuckled, ruffling her braids affectionately. "Slow down, Tuk. One question at a time, okay?"

But she didn't slow down, not in the slightest. "Were they scared? Did everyone pass? What about you? What did you do?!"

He let out a soft exhale but answered patiently, the same way he always did when it came to her. "Yes, everyone passed. Some of them were scared, but they were brave." His voice carried that steady, unwavering confidence that made your stomach flutter, even when it wasn’t directed at you. "And no one fell, Tuk, I promise."

You couldn't help but listen, even as you tried to focus on the datapad in front of you. His voice was like gravity, pulling you in whether you wanted it to or not.

But then Tuk changed the subject.

"Oh!" she gasped suddenly, tugging on his hand again. "I showed her my bow! The one you made for me! And she loved it!"

Your fingers paused over the keypad, and you glanced up from the screen just in time to see Neteyam’s ears flick up, his expression shifting with quiet amusement. His gaze found yours again, this time lingering, as if he was waiting to see your reaction.

You pressed your lips together, biting back a smile, and turned back to the datapad, determined to not let him see how much his attention affected you.

But he was watching you.

You could feel it.

His warm gaze settled on you as you worked beside Norm, like he was studying you just as much as you had been studying him moments ago. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, and it took every ounce of restraint in your body to not squirm under the weight of it. You wanted to be close to him. So bad.

You forced yourself to type. Focus. Focus. Do not look at him. Act normal.

The other scientists greeted Neteyam, and he responded in kind, raising his hand and offering them the traditional "I see you" gesture, his fingers pressed together as he inclined his head in quiet respect.

And then, to your horror and delight—he walked toward you.

Your fingers stilled completely when you noticed his large frame moving closer.

Then, as he always did in the lab, he crouched down beside you, bringing himself to your level with that same effortless grace.

You turned your head slightly, your breath catching when you met his eyes.

Neteyam's gaze was steady, warm, filled with something quiet and unreadable. He was so close. Close enough that you could see every delicate detail of his face—the intricate bioluminescent freckles dotting his skin, the sharp yet soft angles of his features, the slight part of his lips as if he wanted to say something but was waiting for you first.

And Eywa, you wanted to throw yourself at him.

To run your fingers through his braids, to press your face into the warmth of his chest, to feel him again after days of aching for him.

But you couldn’t.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

So instead, you smiled. A soft, small thing, laced with all the affection you couldn’t put into words at that moment.

And he smiled back.

It was a subtle curve of his lips, barely there—but you saw it.

You knew that smile.

It was the same one he gave you when he was holding you in the dark, when his hands mapped the shape of your body, when he whispered things against your skin that made your head spin.

You exhaled quietly, grounding yourself before speaking. "You made it back in one piece."

"Of course, I did," he murmured, his voice carrying the slightest hint of amusement, his eyes not moving from yours. "Did you doubt me?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Maybe just a little."

He huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before his gaze dropped briefly—to your lips, then back to your eyes.

It lasted only a second.

But you noticed.

And you knew, without a doubt, that Neteyam had missed you just as much as you missed him.

“You guys look like you bit into a lemon,” Kate whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

You shot her a sharp glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying your struggle to stay composed. It didn’t help that Brian was quietly smirking beside her, glancing between you and Neteyam like he was watching a live drama unfold.

You ignored them. Instead, you looked back at Neteyam, your gaze softening despite yourself. Happy to see him again.

He was so close, crouched beside you, golden eyes warm and unwavering. You wanted to reach out, to let your fingers map out the places you had kissed before. But instead, you tilted your head slightly, forcing a teasing smirk to your lips.

“Shouldn’t the future olo’eyktan be celebrating with the new warriors?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that part of your whole ‘leader of the people’ thing?”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering it, but then his lips curved into a slow, lazy smirk, his tails swaying side to side happily. “Never,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety timbre that sent a shiver down your spine. “Not when the most interesting being is here.”

Your stomach flipped.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your neck. “Flattery, huh? I thought you were above that, mighty warrior.” Eywa, how did he do that? How did he manage to say things so easily, so naturally, like he wasn’t completely unraveling you from the inside out?

His tail flicked idly behind him, his amusement barely concealed. “You wound me,” he murmured, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

Neteyam watched you carefully, studying your reaction like he was memorizing every twitch of your expression. Then, as if sensing your thoughts, his voice softened. “Since when have you been here?” he asked, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

Your heart clenched at the realization, and you softened immediately. “Since this morning,” you admitted, watching the way his jaw clenched slightly, like the thought of you being so close yet out of reach bothered him. “We came with Norm to check on the medical supplies.” You paused, then smirked playfully. “Not that you would’ve noticed. You were too busy climbing floating mountains.”

You exhaled, finally able to answer, but as you opened your mouth, you noticed something in his eyes.

Sadness.

A quiet kind of disappointment.

He was frustrated. Frustrated that he hadn’t been able to see you all day.

Neteyam huffed a small laugh, shaking his head, but before he could respond, a voice called out from the other side of the village.

“Neteyam!”

You both turned toward the source of the voice—a young warrior waving him over. The celebration was still going strong, the newly bonded riders surrounded by their proud friends and family.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, a very put-upon sigh, his ears twitching slightly in annoyance. He didn’t want to go.

You smirked at him, tilting your head teasingly. “Come on,” you teased. “Your duty is calling.”

Neteyam let out a quiet, dramatic groan, but there was amusement in his golden gaze as he slowly rose to his full height, towering over you once more.

And just as he stepped past you—

Thwap.

His tail flicked out, playfully slapping the side of your mask.

A startled laugh burst from your lips as you reached up instinctively, swatting at nothing but air. “Neteyam!” you half-scolded, half-laughed, shaking your head.

He only smirked over his shoulder, his golden eyes full of mischief as he walked away. "See you soon, syulang," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you smiling like a complete fool.

And as you watched him go, warmth bloomed deep in your chest.

You had missed him.

*

The next few hours passed in a blur of work, conversation, and the occasional distraction—mainly in the form of Tuk.

She would dart over every so often, her small hands grasping onto your arm as she chattered about something seemingly mundane but infinitely endearing. One time, it was about how she and Kiri had found a new kind of insect near the river. Another time, she excitedly showed you a rock she had found, claiming it looked just like an ikran’s wing. And at one point, she even plopped down beside you, her large Na’vi eyes studying the datapad with intense curiosity.

"How do your fingers move so fast?" Tuk asked in awe, watching as you typed, recording the final pieces of data into the system.

You chuckled, your fingers pausing for just a moment to flex them dramatically. "Years of practice," you said, tapping the screen one last time. "When you have to type reports as often as I do, you get fast."

Tuk hummed thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hands as she leaned against you, peeking at the screen. "It looks like you're talking to the pad," she mused.

"In a way, I am," you admitted, your lips curling into a small smile. "This is how humans keep records. We don’t have memory sharing like you do with Eywa, so we have to write everything down."

Tuk scrunched her nose. "That sounds hard."

You laughed softly. "Sometimes it is."

Tuk stayed with you as you worked, her presence a welcome distraction. She would ask you small questions, tell you little stories, and at some point, she began absentmindedly playing with the strap of your mask, tugging it gently as she murmured to herself about something or another. You didn’t mind—it was nice to have her here.

Still, even with Tuk’s chatter filling the air, your gaze would involuntarily flick towards him.

Neteyam.

He was with the other warriors, standing tall among them, his frame impossibly strong, impossibly perfect despite the clear exhaustion clinging to him. Maybe no one else noticed, but you did. The slight droop of his ears, the way his shoulders weren’t held as taut as usual, the brief moments where he would exhale just a little slower than before.

He was tired.

And of course he was—he had been at the Hallelujah Mountains all day, guiding the younger warriors through their Iknimaya. And now, after all of that, he was still here, still standing, still listening as others spoke to him, still carrying the weight of expectation on his shoulders.

You marveled at him.

At how he made exhaustion look so breathtaking.

At how, even now, he looked like he had been sculpted by Eywa herself—a warrior through and through, but still, somehow, entirely yours.

"You’re staring again," Tuk whispered beside you, her voice full of teasing mischief.

Your eyes widened slightly, snapping back to your datapad as you cleared your throat. "No, I’m not," you muttered quickly, typing a little more aggressively than before.

Tuk giggled. "Yes, you are," she sing-songed, nudging you with her elbow. "You always stare at my brother like that."

You gave her an exaggeratedly stern look. "I do not."

Tuk grinned, her little tail flicking behind her. "Uh-huh.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you turned your focus firmly back onto the datapad. But despite your best efforts, your eyes still betrayed you, flickering back toward him one last time.

And for a brief second—just a second—Neteyam turned his head slightly, as if sensing you, as if feeling your gaze.

You quickly looked back at the screen, pretending to be deep in work, pretending like you hadn’t been admiring him for the past five minutes.

Tuk snickered.

And all you could do was pray that Neteyam hadn’t caught you this time.

*

The last hour had been a blur of work, subtle glances, and the occasional burst of laughter, all thanks to Tuk.

Somewhere along the way, you had surrendered to her latest demand—braiding your hair.

You sat cross-legged, letting her weave her small hands through your locks as she hummed to herself, completely immersed in her task. And if that meant keeping your head down and avoiding Neteyam’s gaze, then it was a win-win. Because Eywa help you, every time you felt his golden eyes flick in your direction, your face burned hotter than the Pandoran sun.

It was ridiculous. You had been together for months now—three years if you counted the years you had been hopelessly in love with him—but now, every single time he looked at you, you blushed like a fool.

And Neteyam?

He knew it.

You could see it in the faint smirk that pulled at his lips each time he caught you looking away too fast, in the way his tail flicked slightly when your cheeks turned pink. The man enjoyed it—enjoyed watching you fall apart under his gaze.

It was infuriating and entirely unfair.

Tuk, blissfully unaware of your turmoil, suddenly leaned back, clapping her hands together. “Done!” she chirped excitedly.

Before you could process what she had done to your hair, Neteyam walked up to you again.

Tuk beamed up at him, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Look, look! I did her hair!” she announced, motioning toward you like you were a masterpiece she had just finished sculpting.

Neteyam’s golden eyes softened as he took in your appearance, his lips twitching up as he studied Tuk’s handiwork. Your long hair had been intricately braided with small woven beads—Na’vi-style—and you had to admit, it felt strangely nice, comfortable, as if the hairstyle belonged on you.

You reached back and flicked your braid over your shoulder dramatically, grinning. “From now on, I am an honorary Omaticaya,” you declared, throwing yourself fully into Tuk’s enthusiasm.

Tuk giggled, clearly proud of her work. “Yes! Now you can’t leave! You’re one of us!”

Neteyam chuckled, crouching down next to you, his eyes drinking you in. “Not bad, Tuk,” he mused, giving his sister a small nod of approval before looking back at you, his gaze lingering. “It suits you.”

Your heart stuttered at the way he said it—low, soft, like a secret meant just for you.

Before you could respond, Norm’s voice cut through the moment. “Alright, that’s it for today.” He stood, stretching his arms above his head before looking toward the sky. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the village in a warm, golden glow. His expression darkened slightly. “We need to head back before nightfall.”

Tuk’s ears twitched at his words, and before you could even stand up, she grabbed your hand.

“Nooo, wait!” she whined, holding onto you with surprising strength. “She has to stay a little longer! I still have to show her something.”

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in her voice, and Eywa help you, you found yourself looking at Norm with pleading eyes, despite already knowing exactly what his answer would be.

Norm’s jaw tightened. “Tuk—” Norm exhaled slowly, clearly conflicted. You knew he hated when humans stayed outside after dark—for good reason.  Tuk, the little menace, squeezed your hand tighter and gave Norm the biggest, roundest, most innocent eyes she could muster.

“Pleaaase, Norm?” she begged sweetly.

You almost laughed. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.

“I will bring her back later,” Neteyam interjected smoothly, his voice calm and steady, but Neteyam’s presence changed things. Neteyam, who was nothing if not responsible, who never let anything happen to you, was a different story.

Still, Norm didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, and you could practically see the calculations running through his head.

Finally, Norm sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But—not too late.” He turned his gaze to Neteyam then, his expression serious. “Bring her back safely.”

Neteyam nodded once, solemnly. “Always.”

Tuk let out a cheer, pulling you forward before Norm could change his mind.

And just like that, you were staying.

*

Your stomach twisted slightly as all eyes turned toward you. It wasn’t hostile—at least, not entirely—but it was still undeniable that you were an outlier here.

The entire clan was gathered around the fire, their massive forms crouching or sitting as they shared their evening meal. The soft glow of the flames flickered over their deep blue skin, casting warm highlights on their faces, illuminating their intricate bioluminescent markings.

This was their space, their world, and you had stayed past the time you were supposed to leave.

Jake was watching you with interest, his gaze flickering from you to Neteyam—like he was considering something. But what really made you uneasy was the sharp, disapproving look on Neytiri’s face. She didn’t speak, but her piercing amber eyes said enough.

You felt your nerves spike, every part of you screaming that this wasn’t your place.

Just as you started to back away, Tuk’s hand gripped your wrist, tugging you toward the family like she hadn’t just unknowingly pulled you into a tense, silent war zone. You glanced back nervously, expecting Neteyam to stop this—to step in and tell Tuk you should go—but when you met his gaze, his golden eyes were steady, calm in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring.

You swallowed hard, trying not to panic, but you could feel your heart pounding against your ribs. Neytiri’s stare was like a blade, and Kiri and Lo’ak—who were sitting next to their parents—were failing miserably at hiding their amusement.

You couldn’t be here. This wasn’t your place.

"Tuk," you whispered, desperately trying to reason with her as she dragged you closer to the fire, toward her family. "I should go. I can’t be here."

Tuk, oblivious to the tension, just tightened her grip. "Don’t be silly," she chirped happily. "You’re already here! And you have to sit with us!"

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Panic coiled tight in your stomach as she forced you down to sit beside her, right at the edge of the family’s circle. You barely registered the warmth of the fire as you snuck another glance at Neytiri, who had not stopped watching you.

Jake finally leaned forward slightly, tilting his head toward Neteyam. "So... what’s the deal here?" he asked, his tone casual but curious.

Neteyam didn’t even flinch. "She stayed behind with Tuk," he answered simply, his voice even.

Jake hummed, and you tried not to die on the spot.

Before you could even attempt to make a hasty escape, Tuk practically shoved a rather large purple fruit into your hands.

"Taste it!" she said eagerly. "It’s the best fruit ever!"

You blinked, glancing down at the fruit before throwing a glance toward Neteyam, silently pleading for an answer.

Is this even safe for humans?

Neteyam raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused, but then his ears twitched slightly—his version of a shrug.

"Not that I would know," his expression seemed to say.

Your stomach sank even further.

This was a terrible idea.

*

You inhaled sharply, bracing yourself as you held your breath and pulled down your mask.

The fruit in your hands was a deep, almost unreal purple, the color seeping into the flesh beneath its thick peel. You turned it in your fingers, examining its smooth, glossy surface, your mind automatically trying to compare it to something familiar—but there was no fruit on Earth that looked like this.

You hesitated for a second longer before finally taking a cautious bite.

The moment the fruit burst on your tongue, a shockwave of flavor hit you all at once. It was sweet, but not cloying—tangy, almost citrusy, yet rich and velvety at the same time. The texture was unlike anything you’d had before, somewhere between a ripe mango and honeyed nectar.

You barely had time to process it before your lungs screamed for air, and you hurriedly snapped your mask back into place, sucking in a deep breath as the aftertaste lingered like a dream on your tongue.

Eyes wide, you turned to Neteyam first, then to Tuk, stunned.

"Woah," you breathed, your voice slightly muffled by your mask. "That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten since I got to Pandora!"

Tuk beamed, bouncing slightly. "I told you!" she chirped, looking immensely proud of herself.

Across the fire, Lo’ak let out a loud laugh, his sharp teeth flashing in amusement. "Damn," he chuckled. "She looks like she just saw Eywa herself."

Kiri smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "Guess human food really is as bland as we thought," she teased.

Even Jake was grinning, his sharp eyes twinkling as he leaned back on his hands. "Didn’t expect that reaction, kid," he admitted, chuckling.

You turned back to Neteyam, flustered, but his golden eyes were already on you, soft, amused, and something else—something warm that made your stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that knowing look, like he’d been waiting for this moment—watching you experience something new in his world, something that made your eyes light up.

The only one who wasn’t amused was Neytiri.

She said nothing, her face unreadable, though her sharp gaze lingered on the fruit in your hands for a second too long before flicking back to Neteyam.

You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of where you were.

This wasn’t your place.

And yet…

When you looked back at Neteyam, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

For just a moment, the firelight flickered between you, and nothing else mattered.

*

The meal slowly came to an end, the soft murmur of conversations fading into the crackling of the fire as the clan settled into a more relaxed rhythm. You carefully finished the last of the fruit, the process tiring but worth it—pulling off your mask, taking a bite, then quickly putting it back on before your lungs protested for air. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but you managed, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue.

Tuk was practically glowing with happiness, her hands clasped together as she rocked excitedly on her knees beside you. "You spent the whole day with me!" she beamed, her tail swishing behind her in delight. "And you liked my fruit! You have to come back so I can show you more!"

You smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I’d love that, Tuk."

But before you could say anything else, Neytiri suddenly appeared, her presence looming like a storm cloud. You barely had time to react before Tuk was practically pulled away from you, Neytiri’s firm hand grasping her daughter’s shoulder. She didn’t say a single word to you—didn’t even glance in your direction—but the message was clear.

You were not welcome here.

The warmth of the moment vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold tightness in your chest as you sat there, watching as Neytiri led Tuk away.

Lo’ak and Kiri exchanged knowing glances, their amusement from earlier dying down, though neither of them seemed particularly surprised.

Neytiri’s sharp disapproving gaze flickered toward Neteyam as she walked past, her expression unreadable but heavy with meaning. A silent warning.

But Neteyam didn’t flinch.

He met his mother’s gaze with calm, unwavering confidence, his shoulders straight, unyielding—a silent message of his own. When she finally disappeared into the shadows, you let out a slow, shaky breath, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire evening pressing down on you.

You turned to Neteyam, whispering softly, "I should go back. I already made things awkward."

Your voice was barely above a breath, but Neteyam heard you.

His golden eyes searched yours, something flickering behind them—something unreadable, something deep. Something like want…

But he didn’t argue.

He just gave you a slow, knowing nod before standing, his tail brushing against your side as he turned.

"Come," he murmured, his voice steady and warm. "I’ll walk you back."

*

You followed him through the forest, the air still warm from the lingering heat of the day, but the cool night breeze carried a soothing calmness. Above you, the sky was drenched in stars, endless and vast, stretching beyond what your eyes could comprehend. The bioluminescent flora of the forest glowed in soft blues, purples, and pinks, casting an ethereal light on everything around you. The ground beneath your boots pulsed faintly with life, every step awakening the natural world.

You had walked through this forest countless times before, mostly on his side, but somehow, it never stopped being mesmerizing. And maybe it never would.

Neteyam moved effortlessly ahead of you, his tall frame almost blending with the living, breathing world around him. The sway of his tail, the way his broad shoulders shifted with each careful step—it was like he was part of the forest itself, the embodiment of Pandora’s wild beauty.

You marveled at how different he was from you. So much taller, so much stronger—his long limbs moved with quiet power, his ears flicking at the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures. And yet, for all his strength, he was gentle.

He turned slightly, his golden eyes catching the glow of the plants, making them look even brighter, more alive.

"You’re quiet," he murmured.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "I’m just… taking it all in," you admitted, your gaze drifting to the glowing vines that curled around the trees. "It still amazes me. The way the forest comes alive at night."

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. "You look at it like you’re seeing it for the first time."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," you whispered, reaching out to brush your fingertips along a bioluminescent fern. The soft light pulsed beneath your touch, responding to the contact. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by this place."

He hummed softly, a deep, thoughtful sound, before his gaze flickered toward you again.

"I’m sorry I stayed," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I shouldn’t have. It was awkward. Your mother practically killed me with her stare."

Neteyam exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but close. "Tuk wanted you there," he said simply, his voice calm and assured. "So it was okay." He hesitated for a moment before adding, a little quieter, "And… I wanted you there too."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth blooming in your chest at his words.

You glanced at him, watching the way his ears twitched slightly, as if unsure how you’d respond. But you didn’t know what to say. Because you had wanted to be there, too—with him, with his family, with the people who mattered most to him.

The sounds of the distant village still echoed behind you—laughter, the soft murmur of voices, the faint melody of a song. But as you and Neteyam continued walking, the sounds began to fade, replaced by the quiet symphony of the forest.

Neteyam’s pace was slow, deliberately matching yours.

You glanced up at him, still marveling at his height.

When he stood beside you, his palm could easily rest against the back of your head. You barely reached his waist—a fact he never teased you for, but one that was always so obvious whenever you stood next to him like this.

And yet, despite the sheer difference in size, you never felt small next to him. Never felt fragile.

Just… his.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the path ahead, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far. But it was difficult when he was this close, when his scent surrounded you, when you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

And knowing that he wanted you there, just as much as you had wanted to be there…

Eywa, he made it so hard to keep your composure.

*

The night air was cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth radiating from Neteyam beside you. You continued walking in silence, the distant hum of the village now completely gone, leaving only the symphony of the forest—soft rustling leaves, the distant call of night creatures, and the bioluminescent glow illuminating the path ahead.

And then—he stopped.

You barely had a second to react before Neteyam suddenly crouched before you, bringing himself to your level. His golden eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. Before you could say a word, his large hands slid around your waist, engulfing you completely, his fingers spreading wide over your ribs as if he needed to feel all of you at once.

A small, startled squeak escaped your lips as he pulled you closer, and before you could gather your thoughts, his nose pressed against your neck.

A slow, deep inhale. Then another.

His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You know how hard it was not to touch you?" he murmured, his voice low, rough, and full of restraint.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers instinctively sliding up his muscular arms, feeling the tension there—the barely controlled want.

Your hands traveled further, moving over the ridges of his strong shoulders, stopping at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you caressed the skin there, feeling the heat of him, the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

He let out a slow exhale, his grip tightening just slightly before his lips brushed against your neck.

The soft press of his mouth against your skin made you melt into him, your body molding against his as your breath hitched.

Eywa. You missed him.

Missed his touch, missed the way he could make you unravel with just a whisper, a kiss, a look.

Your fingers dug slightly into his shoulder, your body responding to him before your mind could catch up.

"Neteyam..." you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.

But he just hummed against your skin, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw, as if memorizing the taste of you all over again.

*

Neteyam kissed your neck slowly, savoring every second he had with you. Each press of his lips was deliberate, lingering, like he was committing the feeling of your skin to memory. His warm breath fanned over you, and when his lips parted slightly, his tongue barely grazing your sensitive skin, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

His hands were restless, sliding up your back, fingertips ghosting over your spine as they found their way beneath your top. His calloused fingers met your bare skin, and the contrast of rough against soft sent a shiver through you. He moved slowly, his hands mapping the contours of your back, exploring, claiming, and yet, worshipping at the same time.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against your neck, his voice husky and raw with emotion.

Your fingers tightened on his strong shoulders, your breath uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. "I missed you too," you murmured back, pressing yourself closer to him, your body desperate for more.

You took a few deep, shaky breath, holding it, and then—without hesitation—you pulled down your mask.

And kissed him.

It was fierce, desperate, your lips crashing into his as you poured every aching thought, every longing moment into it. Your fingers dug into his scalp, threading through his thick braids, pulling him impossibly closer even though there was no space left between you.

Neteyam groaned softly into the kiss, his large hand sliding up your back, his palm finding the back of your head, engulfing your skull entirely as he held you steady, taking everything you gave him and giving it back tenfold.

The heat of his mouth, the way he kissed you back with such intensity, made the rest of the world fade away. His fingers tightened in your hair, his other hand securing you against him, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long you kissed him, only that your lungs burned, screaming for air—but you didn’t want to stop.

But you had to.

With a shaky gasp, you tore yourself away, your lips tingling, your whole body thrumming with heat. You fumbled slightly, quickly securing your mask back into place, your breaths coming in heavy, uneven bursts.

Neteyam’s golden eyes were blazing, locked onto you as if he couldn’t look away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his tail flicking wildly behind him, the tension in his body palpable.

And Eywa help you—all you wanted was to kiss him again.

*

As soon as you caught your breath, your chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls, you pulled down your mask again. The cool night air kissed your skin, but nothing compared to the warmth of his presence, his touch, his lips.

You leaned forward, your hands still clutching his shoulders, your fingertips barely ghosting over his warm blue skin before you kissed him again.

Neteyam responded instantly, like he had been waiting for you to return to him. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm but reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were in his arms. His lips moved with desperation, with devotion, as though he was memorizing you all over again.

Then, you felt it.

His tail.

It wrapped around your calf, the movement slow, deliberate—possessive. A silent claim. The soft brush of it against your skin sent a shudder down your spine, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

The kiss deepened, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else existed.

But then, the air in your lungs thinned again, your body demanding oxygen. With a soft sigh of reluctance, you pulled away, your lips still tingling as you quickly secured your mask back into place.

As you breathed, your hands moved on their own, gliding along his shoulders, tracing the sculpted lines of his collarbone, until finally, your fingers reached his jawline.

You caressed it gently, your thumb brushing over the strong, angular lines of his face, your heart swelling with something so deep, so overwhelming that it almost frightened you.

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you as you whispered, “You are so perfect.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply, his golden eyes searching yours, his ears flicking at your words as if they physically affected him.

His tail tightened slightly around your leg in response, his hands still holding you close as his lips curled into a slow, reverent smile.

“Not as perfect as you, ma yawne,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his forehead leaning against the glass of your mask, unwilling to let you go.

*

Neteyam pressed his head back against the crook of your neck, his breath slow, controlled—yet you could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dug into your waist as if he were trying to mold you against him, to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

His deep inhale sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making you weak in his hold. His hands were desperate, firm, as if anchoring himself to reality through you, through your touch, your scent, your very presence.

He was lost in the sensation.

So lost that he didn’t even realize he had started pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your soft sighs only urged him on.

His lips traveled lower, savoring the way your skin reacted to him, the way you melted in his embrace. And then—his sharp teeth grazed you, a teasing scrape before he sank them into your skin just enough to leave a mark.

Your gasp was soft but sharp, your fingers tightening where they still clung to his shoulders.

“Neteyam...” your breath hitched, the words barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause.

His ears flicked, and when he pulled back slightly, his golden eyes were heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as they flickered from your parted lips to your fingers gingerly pressing against the mark he had just left.

A lovebite.

A visible claim.

Your eyes widened slightly as you whispered, “Everyone will see this...”

You weren’t scolding him. No, your voice lacked any true protest. It was soft, breathy, more like you were stating a fact—one that sent a bolt of heat through your veins.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Neteyam’s lips. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. If anything, he looked proud. Still holding you close, he reached for your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently but securely around it as he brought your hand closer to his lips.

His golden gaze softened as he turned your hand over, brushing his lips against the tender skin just above the bracelet he had given you months ago.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep, full of certainty.

The word sent a shiver through your body, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You swallowed, watching him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shallow as you felt the heat of his lips linger on your wrist.

Neteyam’s tail wrapped around your thigh now, securing you even closer as his golden eyes flicked back up to meet yours.

His expression was something unreadable, a mix of possessiveness, longing, and something deeper—something unspoken.

And all you could do was stand there, trapped in his gravity, in his warmth, in him.

*

Neteyam closed his eyes, a slow exhale leaving his lips as he kept your hand in his grasp. His fingers, large and warm, cradled your smaller palm as though it was something fragile, precious.

Without a word, he guided your hand to his cheek, pressing it gently against his skin, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

His breathing was deep, slow, controlled—but only just.

You could feel the way his jaw clenched beneath your palm, the way his muscles tightened slightly under your fingers. But then he sighed, a deep, contented sound, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders just by feeling your touch.

The warmth of his skin, the contrast of his blue complexion against your human fingers, was mesmerizing. The bioluminescent freckles on his cheekbone glowed softly beneath your touch, shifting subtly with every breath he took.

And then, in a voice so low, so raw with emotion that it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered,

"You don’t know how much I want you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

The sheer honesty in his words, the quiet desperation, the way his ears flicked slightly back, the tension in his shoulders despite his relaxed posture—it was overwhelming.

Your thumb, acting on its own, brushed softly against his cheekbone, tracing the faint ridges of his skin. He shuddered under your touch, his grip tightening just a little around your wrist as if to keep you close, to make sure you wouldn’t pull away.

The weight of his confession settled between you, thick with unspoken longing.

You could feel it in the way he held you, in the way his tail curled around your leg possessively, in the way his breathing deepened as if trying to steady himself.

And Eywa help you, because you wanted him too.

More than anything.

Part 17: Soon

Should I write boombaya scene or not?

[run2gyuz]

Untouchable

Warnings: Smoking, Tattoos (?), insinuation that he doesn't get on with his parents, very slight sexual innuendo but not really

A/N: thought this was cute ^^

wc: 800

The soft hum of an old jazz record filled the air, mingling with the subtle scent of vinyl and nostalgia. It was the kind of place you’d only find if you were looking—or if fate decided to push you in the right direction. You weren’t expecting much more than to browse the record bins when you saw him, a striking figure in a worn leather jacket with messy, dark hair and an aloof expression. He was flipping through records, his fingers lingering on a vintage Bowie album. His presence was magnetic, but it was the subtle tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his jacket that caught your eye.

Beomgyu. you wouldn’t know his name until later, but something about him demanded attention. You pretended not to notice when he glanced at you, his dark eyes filled with curiosity—and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"You into Bowie?" he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low, a little rough, and laced with disinterest, though his question betrayed a spark of intrigue.

You shrugged, matching his nonchalance. "Depends on the album."

That made him smirk—a small, fleeting expression that felt like a victory. He set the record down and turned to face you fully, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "You don’t look like someone who just stumbles into a place like this."

"Neither do you," You shot back, and that earned you a quiet chuckle.

That was how it began—two strangers in a record store, exchanging guarded words and subtle glances. It wasn’t until you saw him again, a week later, in the crowded halls of your university, that you realised fate wasn’t quite finished with you.

Your coffee date wasn’t really a date. At least, that’s what he called it when he texted you. Coffee. No expectations. It was blunt, just like him. But something about his presence—his casual confidence mixed with an unspoken vulnerability—made you say yes.

We met at a small café near campus, one of those places with dim lighting and indie music playing just loud enough to drown out awkward silences. Beomgyu was already there when you arrived, a cigarette balanced precariously between his fingers as he scrolled through his phone. When he saw you, he put it out, his expression unreadable.

"You’re late," he said, though there was no bite to his words.

"And you’re smoking," You replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Fair enough."

The conversation was easy, surprisingly so. He talked about music, his favourite bands, and how he hated the way his dad had tried to push classical piano lessons on him as a kid. You learned about his older brother, the one person he spoke about with genuine warmth, and how his tiny studio apartment felt less like home and more like a hiding place. He was guarded but not impenetrable, his sharp edges softened whenever your eyes met.

"So, what’s your deal?" he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was intense, as if he were trying to unravel you with a single question.

"My deal?" You echoed, buying time.

"Yeah. You’ve got this… vibe. Like you don’t take shit from anyone but still manage to look approachable. It’s annoying."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You’re one to talk. You’re like a walking contradiction."

"Am I?" His lips curled into a smirk, but there was something deeper in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even a hint of admiration. "Guess that makes us even."

The coffee wasn’t just coffee. Neither of you said it out loud, but there was an unspoken agreement that this wasn’t just a casual encounter. Beomgyu might have walked in expecting nothing more than a fleeting moment, a new addition to his (sparce) roster, another notch on the belt of his restless life, but something shifted between you that day.

He walked you home, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he matched my pace. When you reached your door, he hesitated, glancing at the cozy glow of my apartment through the window.

"You live alone?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason," he muttered, looking away. But then he met your gaze again, his usual coldness giving way to something softer. "I like this. You. The whole... vibe."

I didn’t push for an explanation. Instead, you smiled, opening your door. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."

He lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing against the frame as if debating whether to step inside. But then he nodded, his smirk returning. "Goodnight."

As you closed the door, you realised something: for all his tattoos, his cigarette smoke, and his sharp edges, Beomgyu wasn’t as untouchable as he seemed. And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the only one intrigued.

reblogs + comments are appreciated!!

[utilitycaster]

I’ve never actually watched a campaign of critical role live, like I first heard of it at the start of c3, didn’t finish campaigns 1 and 2 until episode like 80, and decided to just let c3 finish airing so I could binge. You’ve been in fandom since c2, and I wanted to ask two questions. How does criticism of c3 differ from c2, or even c1? Also, since the fandom has grown and the cast is now much more removed from the fans, do you think if they ever do another long form campaign they’ll try and address some complaints people have had about c3? Or will they just continue to do their own thing? It just feels (to me with no point of comparison) that a lot of people have a lot of valid complaints about c3 and I can’t imagine they’d just ignore all of it, but I could just be naive

Let me answer the ending question first, which is that I do not know how much the cast sees and honestly I wouldn't even blame them for ignoring most commentary during the campaign because I think it's hard to actually run a campaign constantly trying to make the fandom happy. I also have some guesses that the cast has their own doubts that are perhaps less harsh than what many of us have been saying, but are present. Like I can't imagine they missed how rushed the emotional beats of this campaign felt, and how bad this party is at making decisions that feel earned and interesting and don't take them 3 hours, even if they might keep that private. I think the flaws of this campaign are also a bit of a perfect storm, namely, Matt had a very specific plot in mind but ran this campaign with too open a hand, and the cast of characters they played could have used a bit more balance. I mean, I'll admit to being unimpressed by a few of Bells Hells' initial premises compared to other parties, but most actually could have become great if they were in a more character-tailored campaign like the previous two. I think without this goal of creating a big culmination in a hypothetical future campaign, this problem of having ill-suited characters for that type of plot and then pushing development aside in the service of that culmination becomes a nonissue.

Now, fan criticism. This gets tricky, because a lot of criticism, to be blunt, sounds similar on the surface no matter how valid it is. For example, "this ship lacks chemistry and development" is basically a criticism people throw at any ship they dislike. Chemistry is ultimately subjective, or at least impossible to measure in a meaningful way (this is why the But Number Go Up crowd hates when it gets brought up, like, doesn't matter how many fics your ship has if I think the characters are cold fish with each other; I'll never like it) and development is not but requires strong meta to back it up and it's hard to prove a negative.

Shipping aside, though: I think the clincher for me is that people who ended up disliking Campaign 2 any time between the ending of the hiatus or after the finale, were as a rule invested in one very specific outcome: either they quit because their ship didn't happen (including the many, many people who thought Fjord and Jester or Beau and Yasha would break up in the finale, apropos of nothing); in the case of Shadowgast that the ship didn't happen in the way they expected; or they quit because Molly was not resurrected. There was certainly a lot of trepidation going into the finale that not all stories would have a satisfying conclusion (notably Caleb, Yasha, and Fjord, all of whom did get meaningful resolution in the finale) but, at least in my circles, no one was arguing that the Nein as a whole felt robbed and that the campaign did them dirty. You had the weirdass Caduceus stans who failed to understand that his story was precisely what he wanted, or the Caleb Should Have Killed Everyone In The Assembly people, but honestly at least in my recollections a lot of those were secondary to various shipping/Molly complaints and grew out of there as a means to bash the campaign for additional reasons, rather than as a root cause for dissatisfaction themselves. Here, we have people who are ostensibly thrilled with the shipping outcome and the endstate with the gods becoming mortal and who were crowing about that up until the finale announcement at which point they, in their own words, crashed out and suddenly began agreeing with everything this campaign's detractors had said re: lack of character-focused arcs and rushed pacing, and I think that's notable.

I don't feel qualified really to speak about Campaign 1 because I wasn't there, but I think in addition to the violent misogynistic hate which Critical Role obviously did not nor should have listened to and taken as guidance, there was the usual "MY SHIP DIDN'T HAPPEN SO THIS CAMPAIGN IS BAD AND PROBLEMATIC" complaints we saw with Campaign 2.

I guess my point is, getting back to that first paragraph about shipping, you can't go off of the phrasing of criticism; you really do need to take it in context.

[mintyys-blog]

THE LAST LETTER— bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: character death, blood.

Bucky arrived too late.

He stormed into the abandoned warehouse, heart pounding, metal arm aching from how tightly he clenched his fist. The stench of blood and gunpowder filled the air, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused on one thing—you.

The Hydra operative who had taken you was dead, his body slumped against the far wall. But Bucky didn’t care. He only cared about the figure lying still in the center of the room.

“No, no, no—”

His knees hit the floor beside you, trembling hands reaching out to pull you into his arms. Your body was still warm, but the rising and falling of your chest had stopped. Your lips were slightly parted, as if you had tried to say something before it was too late. Bucky let out a ragged breath, rocking you gently, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Wake up, doll. Please, wake up.”

But you wouldn’t.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the burning in his throat. He had fought so hard, tore through every enemy in his way, and still—he failed.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A single piece of paper, folded neatly, stained with blood but still intact. His breath hitched as he recognized your handwriting.

With shaking fingers, he opened the letter.

My Bucky,

If you’re reading this, I guess I didn’t make it. I’m sorry. I know you’re probably blaming yourself, but you need to stop that right now. This wasn’t your fault.

You saved me in more ways than you’ll ever know. Before you, I didn’t know what it meant to love someone so completely. You gave me that. You gave me a home, a future I wanted, and I will never regret a single second of loving you.

But now, you have to do something for me. You have to keep living.

I know it won’t be easy, but Bucky, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to love and be loved. And I need you to promise me—really promise me—that you won’t let this destroy you.

Because if I had to do this all over again, if I had to choose between my life or saving yours? I’d choose you every time.

So live, Bucky. For me.

And know that wherever I am, I’ll always love you.

Forever,

Y/N

Xoxo

The paper shook in his hands.

A choked sob tore from his throat as he clutched the letter to his chest, his entire body trembling. How could you ask him to move on? How could you expect him to live in a world without you?

Tears fell freely now, soaking into your shirt as he pressed a final, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too, doll. Always.”

[riverofjazzsims]

Winter Holiday 20 years old 4'11 Orientation: Heterosexual-ish Occupation: Creator of smiles Location: Where the snow first falls

Winter Holiday is an unique individual who over the last few months has started to show, shall we say some interesting characteristics. For the moment though she is mostly human. She knows that she will have an interesting road a head of her and as her parents have made her aware, a partner during this journey will be essential. Mainly because no-one knows what to expect. Her parents defied the rules and loved each other and if that wasn't bad enough did what was thought impossible, create new life. See Winter has some magical lineage, her fathers, yes fathers, are a touch legendary and her mother seemingly just human was found to be a bit more than anyone could guess.

But we are not here today to talk about them. Winter is very much a mystery and as such, details about her will become known as we progress.

Here are some fun Winter facts: ❄️she absolutely LOVES the cold and snow ❄️oddly almost anywhere Winter goes there's either a drop in temp / starts to snow ❄️The birthmarks on her cheeks slowly appeared over the years and are cool to the touch ❄️She loves the color blue ❄️Dancing is her religion

More info will be forthcoming as we lead up to the submission deadline

Contestant Entry Rules:

❄️YA males only, any ethnicity or size welcome ❄️No Occults - caveat- winner will become immortal/long lifespan as Winter will be walking this rock of a planet for a very long time. ❄️Bio/brief backstory ❄️1 negative trait/ no custom traits ❄️No in game jobs assigned please ( totally fine for them to have one listed in their bio) ❄️3 skills of your choosing, max level 5 ❄️Likes/Dislikes please - 10 max ❄️Turn-on/off optional ❄️light /med CC or Vanilla is OK ❄️NO ALPHA hair ❄️No body presets ❄️Attire: 2 everyday/ 1 cold weather. If you don't have seasons please add your sims cold weather outfit as their 3rd everyday and I will change it over to the appropriate slot in CAS. All other you can leave in underwear and I will supply outfit if/when needed. Please keep in mind we will be almost always in cold weather when outside.

Side note: I use default skin (Bare by Lamatisse) and eyes (jack eyes remastered - but i had to "fix" them to work after some patch so your simmies will be using those in game Sliders are ok as I have the most popular ones. Note I will not add any new ones in my game so small tweaks may be made to compensate

❄️ I own ALL packs ❄️

Quick Questions for the potential hopefuls What is your favorite color Tell us what makes you naughty and what makes you nice ( yes answer both) Sims height

Contestant Submissions

Submissions deadline: Saturday Feb 15th @10pm CST. If I end up with more than 7 candidates , 7 will be chosen from the submissions. More to come if this ends up being the case

Remember to tag me or use #HTDF or #KillerBC So I can see your entry and reblog

Friendly reminder this is an 18+ blog, there will be mature themes involved. So the watcher needs to be at least 18 to enter 🫡

Not everyone will make it out alive.👀☠️ Some may even disappear. There will be chaos and drama and what ever else these damn sims throw my way.

Gameplay: There will be various gameplay mods being used throughout this BC including and not limited to Wicked Whims, and several Sacrificial Mods including extreme violence There will be some storytelling component to this, As with most BC there will be some challenges, group activities/dates and solo opportunities. Interactions will predominately be autonomous and I will use that to help build the story and game play. Some scenes/interactions may be replayed out using poses/animations Winter is looking for love but keep in mind there is a story playing out along side this and its a little on the dark side and yes not everyone will make it out alive. The only ones immune to the Grimms kiss will be Winter and her parents.

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

The results for the 'How could Riko have been salvaged' poll exceed expectations guys

So... to summarise... the best possible options for reforming our problem child are: (1) kindest man who ever lived and (2) heir to the eastern USA branch of the Yakuza. I love you all so much.

I honestly believed most people would say Riko was beyond all hope (I mean he never showed the remotest shred of human decency? ever?). Otherwise, no surprises with the winner. In Wymack we trust. I can't be sorry Riko's dead but I can't be sorry Wymack came to his funeral either. It's the closest that boy ever got.

But the Ichirou one!! We need fics, and we need them now! How would work, do you think? Riko realising that the grass isn't in fact greener on Ichirou's side of the fence? Or that the world is so much larger than Tetsuiji's little wasp factory? Or is it simply knowing that someone's in Riko's corner? Do they plot together about taking over from these horrible elders (as if an Ichirou warped by Kengo would ever share power), giving Riko yet another vain dream to chase? It shouldn't work, none of these things should work, and yet... I really want to explore a world where Ichirou was more like Aaron, and wanted his brother.

Despite my belief in the healing powers of prog metal, I would have picked the one where Tetsuji is sentimental enough about Kayleigh to establish a more equitable dynamic between Kevin and Riko. But I guess the general view is that nothing Tetsuji touches would ever lead to something good. (Fair.)

I bet Riko would blame Kevin being a temptress for driving him mad. No question which one Neil would pick. Jean would probably pick that too... although he'd take savage enjoyment in seeing the Raven!Neil one play out (feel sorry for Riko just thinking about it).

I didn't try changing who was alive/dead, but I was wondering if anyone would vote for Riko's mother surviving. Poor lady. I guess she had so little power she couldn't affect much... except she wanted both her children, that's something, isn't it? By aftg standards, that's everything.

Damn you Nora for making me cry over this monstrosity (again)