#i just enjoy exploring characters that i like

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

No fr ageplay for me and my partner is a source of comfort for us as autistic people (we take turns playing as the adult and child characters and it even extends into our nonsexual life because it's just a fun way to express ourselves with eachother!), so fucking annoying that it gets grouped with actual pedophilia because, newsflash, we're both adults and we're dating eachother BECAUSE we're adults and have zero desire to date/fuck people who aren't! We enjoy taking care of eachother, and we enjoy exploring the themes of loss of innocence in a safe environment. People are wayyyyy too comfortable casually throwing around accusations of horrific crimes. Pisses me off.

genuinely I do wish more people were able to get beyond their initial yuck with stuff like this or petplay or like truly any D/s dynamic stuff and learn about the ways it can be really gratifying and nurturing for people, but unfortunately the knee jerk reaction towards disgust for any kind of sexual behavior that people do not personally get is sooooo strong :/

[sunshinehunter]

I finished it and watched all of it but I just dropped off really enjoying it because I just... like the story line for a few months of 'do the gods deserve to be saved'... holy shit I could not give a SHIT about. They think it might be compelling story telling but hearing them go back and forth about it for weeks was some of the most mind numbing character interactions we've ever had.

The worst is that this party has some of my favorite characters. I love ALL of them. I usually dislike Liam's character bc he's kinda just always emo man with big brown eyes which, hey man if that's your thing I'm so happy for you. But I genuinely liked Orym. I loved Imogen and Laudna. I loved Chetney SO much. I loved Ashton (he was my fave) and Fearne took some time to grow on me but I love that agent of chaos. Vox Machina I was like they're fine, M9 I only really connected with like 1-3 of them. BH I genuinely liked all of them.

They were just stuck in a campaign that no offense to Matt, really fucking dragged at the end. If they'd wrapped up the Ruidus thing in idea??? 12 episodes or something? But didn't it go on for like a year? I thought the Ruidus thing was really neat but the problem was NONE of them gave a shit about the gods or the MILLIONS of people who worshiped the gods. Like I don't care if you personally have beef with the gods bc they didn't personally speak to you. MILLIONS of people's lives are affected by this. Grow up. I think the season would have been better if Matt had told them 'hey guys this campaign we might explore these themes' because GOD a group of atheists and a single religious person in a season that has the climax about the gods SUCKS.

Anyway I didn't vote because I don't think its mediocre or great. It was just kinda mid

this is out of curiosity only and I don't expect these results to be an accurate reflection given obvious skew but pick what best describes you and say whatever in the tags

[genericpuff]

Are there any other LO-critical projects like LR?? Doesn’t have to be comics, I like fanfic(critic-fic?) too, I’ve been really interested in reading stuff like LR

Sure is! The list I have here are just the ones I know of, there are definitely more out there if you browse the #antiLO #lo critical tags or filter your searches on fanfic sites like AO3, but I hope this gives you a good start into finding more works that scratch that itch!

Lore Asgard (AO3) - Briefly in the original LO, Persephone jokes about running off to the Norse Pantheon; Lore Asgard is what would have happened if she actually went through with it.

Lore Mictlan (AO3) - Also plays with the question of "what if Persephone ran off to the Norse Pantheon", but instead she winds up in the realm of the Aztec gods.

Pomegranmints (AO3) - Re-imagines the plot of LO if Persephone and Minthe kissed instead of fighting over Hades ٩(♡ε♡)۶

Survive the Night (Tumblr) - Not sure how long this project is planned to be but it's basically a re-imagining of LO that further explores all the deeply-rooted issues of Hades and Minthe's relationship. Very tense and emotionally raw dialogue scenes, Minthe gets a lot more agency and character exploration here.

Desire for Peace (Webtoon) - Though it's an entirely unique work separate from LO (it's not a fan comic or retelling), the creator was compelled by a distaste towards modern Greek myth retellings to create their own Greek myth comic, starring Ares as the main protagonist. It has both beautiful and unique art, and it presents a writing style that isn't as watered down and simplified as so many popular commercial Greek myth retellings tend to be. The creator is very cool and has done an amazing job at creating a true Greek myth retelling comic, without all the bells and whistles and crutches of "modernizing" the stories.

Theia Mania - Also not at all related to LO, it's just a great comic series that covers all sorts of different myths and tales, but it's most famously known for its ongoing retelling of Hades and Persephone in Queen of the Dead. Like the creator of Desire for Peace, the creator of Theia Mania is someone who Gives a Shit™️ about the source material they're writing about and does a great job at both presenting the culture of Ancient Greece at the time (so again, no modern 2000's stuff here) but also putting some of their own unique twists on an old tale. And the best part? No Demeter scapegoating to be found here <3

Lore Valhalla (Youtube/Patreon) - A brief one-shot that remakes the first episode of Lore Olympus, but with Norse gods instead of Greek. This isn't an ongoing series, just a fun project that Youtuber Crown Obsidian challenged himself to make after he read (and did not particularly enjoy) Lore Olympus.

[kraangdroidz]

I really enjoy looking at Donatello's characterisation - especially the 2012 version of Donnie.

I don't know why, but something specifically about the 2012 iteration of our favourite brothers draws me to them. Maybe it's because I think they have the most interesting and unhealthy brother dynamic to explore out of any version of the Turtles. But just to say right off the bat, I don't agree with the statement that Raphael is abusive toward Mikey in this version. I don't think this to be true at all.

But in the 2012 version of Donnie, I think it's the obsessional aspect of his character that I find interesting. People flame him hard for it - which is very valid - the way he treated April was very creepy, and some of the things he did April had no knowledge of, (Like Donnie taking a photo of her and having it as his laptop wallpaper). But I like doing a little more when it comes to characters' less-than-ideal traits. Yeah, what they're doing is bad, creepy, etc. But why exactly might they be acting that way?

For Donnie, I think his problem is how he looks.

In the 2012 iteration, we never really see the turtles have a strong desire to be human. Mikey sometimes doesn't understand that humans will be scared of him, but he never lashes out and has a big moment like, 'I want to be a human so I can make more friends!' We see Mikey wonder what he'd look like as a human in an episode after Donnie creates retromutagen - with Mikey assuming if he used retromutagen on himself he'd turn human and not back into a regular turtle.

It is played as a joke, though, and he doesn't seem genuinely upset by the fact he's stuck as a turtle, as he is seen smiling after saying he wondered what he'd look like.

Interestingly enough, Donnie is the one to be portrayed as having a negative view attached to being a mutant more than any of his brothers.

Outside of being a mutant, it is implied that Donnie already has a fragile self-image anyway.

Remember the episode Turtle Temper? I think it's the third episode of the first season. But at one point, the other turtles are instructed to shoot arrows at Raph, while Raph has to try and avoid the arrows. Splinter makes it clear, however, that Mikey, Leo, and Donnie are allowed to insult Raphael during the exercise.

I've seen another content creator say that the insults they throw at Raphael could be more them self-projecting views they have on themselves rather than them actually thinking these things about their brother. Leo says, 'And you're always whining, poor me, nobody understands me.'

While this is easily applicable to Raph as an insult from Leo - Leo does have his own fair share of moments where he has gone to Splinter complaining that the others aren't listening to him or respecting him, that they don't understand the burden he has to hold as leader.

Mikey tells Raph he moves like a bloated buffalo - which, although never hinted at in the show, could imply that maybe Mikey is insecure about how much he eats. Maybe his brothers have made comments about his greediness.

Donnie says, 'Oh! You can't keep your back straight during Omote kote Gyaku! And you're ugly!'

I think the first part is interesting as Donnie is the tallest out of his brothers - gangly limbs could mean Donnie has more difficulty knowing how to stand, how to sit, so on so forth. A lot of tall people can feel really awkward as a result of their height.

Donnie most likely is sat over a desk all day, and again, being tall, Donnie has more of a slouched posture out of his brothers. I think it was Karai that also insults Donnie in an episode by calling him scrawny, in which he responds, 'And I'm not scrawny! I'm svelte!' Svelte meaning slender and elegant.

Raph has also insulted Donnie's looks before in an episode, and again, it is unclear if this is a common occurrence, but knowing 2012 Raph's character, it's probably happened on more than one occasion.

Donnie : And why do you keep grabbing me by the face? What is wrong with my face?!

Raph: Do you want me to list the reasons alphabetically or in descending order of grossness?

So regardless of being mutated or not, it seems Donnie just has a generalised lack of confidence and some issues surrounding how tall he is.

But to his issues regarding being mutated.

Donnie might've previously not had any issues with being a mutant. Before, it might've been just a general lack of confidence, as I have already said. But in society, looks are always seen as a good trait to possess if you want to have any shot at a love life. You need to fit into the beauty standards and be attractive if you want a partner.

Before April, his brothers would've been the only thing to compare himself to. He lived in a home with only mutants for fifteen years of his life - so had normal teenager issues of going through puberty and insecurities. A lot of people can feel odd/uncomfortable and dislike their growth spurts, which is why Donnie's issues at first might seem like normal things for a teenager to worry about. Donnie's biggest issue would've been how scrawny and lanky he saw himself.

But when they meet April, there is a glaring difference.

Suddenly, there is somebody in his life who isn't a mutant like him. It becomes abundantly clear to Donnie that from somebody else's standpoint, their biggest issue with him wouldn't be his tooth gap or his height, but just the plain fact that he's so different. Inhuman. Out of the ordinary. A mutant.

When he's rambling to Timothy (Mutagen Man at this point) about why April might be on a date with some punk kid (Casey) the conclusion he resorts to is, 'Because he's human, that's why.'

At the end of the episode A Foot Too Big, when Donnie apologises to April, he says, 'I'm just... a mutant.' Again, this shows Donnie jumps to the conclusion that this is why April doesn't want to be with him, not his overbearing nature or the fact that she just genuinely might not be interested. The problem in Donnie's mind is that he's mutated.

The fact that Donnie used the word 'just' implies that being a mutant is all that Donnie has boiled himself down to. He thinks that his other traits aren't worthwhile or good - like him being funny, smart, inventive - because he thinks that nobody would pay attention to those aspects of his personality. At the end of the day, he thinks nobody will be able to see him outside of being a monster.

In Fungus Humungous, the hallucination of April that Donnie experiences calls him an 'ugly mutant freak'. It is unlikely April actually thinks this of Donnie, but it's what Donnie thinks she does because it's his biggest fear. I'd like to split Donnie's hallucination into two parts. April insulting Donnie about being a mutant, and Donnie's hallucination of April kissing Casey.

We see April kissing Casey. I think the fact that this part of the hallucination comes second is meant to represent this fear of rejection and insecurity surrounding being a mutant are two sides of the same coin. His fear of April choosing Casey is a by-product of his main insecurity. We are shown April calling Donnie an 'ugly mutant freak' first. Donnie isn't afraid to lose April as a person to Casey. He's afraid of losing his only hope at feeling confident to Casey.

In the first half of the hallucination, it shows that April uses a sharp tongue like a whip.

This tongue is shown to go through Donnie's heart and subsequently breaks it.

"To have a sharp tongue" means to be quick to criticize, speak harshly, or make cutting remarks; essentially, someone who is often unkind or sarcastic with their words.

I think this represents that, over anything, it is April's words that break his heart more than her actions. It is her disgust at him being a mutant that shatters him. It's what makes him crack in the episode. He starts screaming, runs away, and shouts that he, 'doesn't want to hear anymore.' This is Donnie's breaking point. Her sharp tongue and words, over her actions like kissing Casey, that is Donnie's true biggest fear.

Donnie doesn't want to be with April purely because he loves her. To Donnie, it would be more than April simply making a choice on who to partner up with. It would be confirmation for Donnie that the issue all along was because he's a mutant.

The point I'm trying to make is that Donnie is more obsessed with trying to improve his own self-image than he is obsessed with April as a person.

He wants to use April as a means to prove someone could love him despite appearances because, as I said earlier, looks are important to a lot of people. Gaining a romantic partner would most likely grant Donnie the confidence, the consolidation that he 'isn't ugly after all' because someone managed to fall in love with him. That is why he so desperately chases after April.

He chases after the feeling of confidence.

His character kills me.

[lorewovenrp]

Reliving Roleplay Fever with a Warrior Cat Adventure!

I started this Tumblr account because, like many of you, I’ve been feeling the weight of missing those amazing roleplay moments. You know the ones I mean—the times when everything just clicks, when the stories unfold in ways you never expected, and you’re fully immersed in a world you and others have built together. It’s always those special sessions, that one moment, or maybe a series of memories that you just can’t shake. You know what I’m talking about, right? I think we all have that one RP that we just can’t forget.

I want to get back into roleplay because it’s something I’ve always loved, and there’s just something about the creative energy and the stories we can tell with other people. I’m planning on still talking about roleplays and lore in general, because it’s so interesting seeing everyone’s perspectives and hearing other people's stories. But... I think I might start a roleplay again myself. If I do, it’ll probably be Warrior Cats-based, mostly because who doesn’t feel the nostalgia of being an angry little kitty again? It’s a world with so much to explore and create, and I just think it’d be a fun thing to dive back into.

That said, it’ll likely be a little while before it opens up because I want to get the website set up just right—proper coding, neat layout, all that. I also want to touch up my preexisting litter roll and make sure everything looks nice and polished before I officially launch.

So, if you're interested in joining or just want to hear more, please let me know in the poll! Even if there’s not a huge interest, I’ll definitely still go ahead with it because, honestly, world-building and character creation have always been my absolute favorite parts of roleplaying. No matter what, I think it’s something I’ll enjoy as a hobby.

I would share a pic of the litter generator but its kind of large and even zoomed out it doesn't all fit. I'll try to get a video of it at some point for those interested in that type of thing! Some cool features it currently has:

Genetic Inheritance: Picks traits from both parents or just one for variety!

Mutation Possibilities: Introduces mutation chances (e.g., 0.3-10%) for added surprises.

Fertility System: Adjusts the fertility rate based on genetics, affecting litter sizes and chances of success.

Chance Breakdown: Some traits have multiple chances within chances. For example, the eye roll might first give a chance for heterochromia, and then, if it rolls, it splits further—whether the left eye is mom’s, dad’s, or a random combination!

[bobozolol]

New Twisted Wonderland Character just dropped?!?

Jk anyways here's a more proper introduction to my Yuu oc!

Standard Information

Name: Eugene Jonson Birthday: August 13th (Leo) Age: 16 Height: 152cm Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual Homeland: ????? Grade: Freshman Class: Class A (No. 26) Club: Science Club Best Subject: Chemistry Hobbies: Baking/Confectionery, Gardening, Pet Peeves: Being disrespected Favorite Food: Griot, Sweet potatoes Least Favorite Food: Coleslaw Talent: Photography

Brief summary

Ewe comes from a somewhat large family, having four siblings in total (two older and two younger). He's a bit more reckless and outspoken than the lot of them, often getting into physical altercations at school due to his short temper and impulsivity. He is easy to rile up, and proved to be the perfect target for the teasing and snide remarks of his peers. It was because of this behavior that his mother had him pulled from his previous school and transferred to another that's further from their neighborhood.

He struggles with finding his purpose, his only real motivation for doing well in school was to secure a career that would make him enough money to help around the house. He doesn't particularly enjoy school, or the people within it, and it caused him to unintentionally isolate himself. That along with the responsibility of being an older brother and good role model, he had no real time to explore any hobbies he may have enjoyed. He feels stagnant, and would often wish for change, or at least a push in the right direction.

After staying late at his new school, Ewe is suddenly taken to the world of Twisted Wonderland with no real recollection of how he got there or why. What's even weirder is the statues of the fabled "Great Seven" that strikingly resemble the storybook villains he grew up watching back home...

Fun Facts and Bits!

Against his better judgement, Ewe has a surprising knack for other small, creative based hobbies like knitting or crafting.

He gets along rather well with the ghosts around campus.

Very accident prone. Has small bandages on his hands from paper cuts and often trips over his laces no matter how secure he ties them.

Great at cooking. Later in the story he starts selling plates with the encouragement of Trey.

Will challenge anyone to a fight if he's mad enough. Has no self-preservation whatsoever-

Speaks his mind, often coming off as crass or blunt when he does.

Carries the Ghost Camera everywhere he goes.

Relatively close with Malleus, enough to where he doesn't mind when he comes over unprompted.

Dyes his hair. It's actually brown.

Extra Sketches and Art!

Outfit Lineup:

Old Sketches with Grim:

Extras:

I worked quite a bit on him with my friend @daiyuu-jadie so make sure to give her a follow, too!

(I used @/ai-kan1's Template for the first picture!)

[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, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference, needy Neteyam, oral sex (fem receiving)

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 16: To want

This is my first time writing an explicit fic, and honestly, I never thought I’d venture into this kind of writing! It was both exciting and a little nerve-wracking to create something so intimate, so please be kind in the comments. I’m still learning and experimenting with this style, so I really appreciate any support, encouragement, or constructive feedback. Hope you enjoy! 💙✨

Part 17: To worship

You don’t know when Neteyam called for his ikran.

You don’t know when it landed next to you in the dense forest, its large wings stirring the night air, rustling the bioluminescent plants around you. You barely register the shift in the ground beneath you as Neteyam moves, guiding you effortlessly.

Because you’re clinging to him—desperate, breathless, lost in the heat of his touch.

Your arms wrap tight around his broad shoulders, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles beneath his skin. Your legs instinctively lock around his torso, holding onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the world. Maybe he is.

You don’t understand how or when you end up on the back of his ikran, only that somehow, you do. His warmth surrounds you, his scent thick in the cool night air as the wind rushes past. But all you can focus on is him—his heartbeat against yours, his steady hands gripping you firmly, keeping you pressed against him as the ikran carries you through the sky.

The flight is a blur.

The next thing you know, your back is against the woven walls of the hunter’s hut, and Neteyam is carrying you inside with an ease that makes your stomach tighten. His strong arms hold you effortlessly, his chest pressed flush against yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin.

Slow, reverent kisses.

Soft, teasing drags of his lips against your pulse.

Each touch sends a wave of heat through you, a slow-burning ache that coils deep in your stomach.

Your breath shudders as you grip his shoulders tighter, feeling the way he flexes beneath your touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Neteyam groans in response, his grip tightening, his body pressing against yours like he can’t get enough of you.

You want to be closer. Closer than before.

Neteyam must feel it too because he moves with purpose, stepping deeper into the hut, his pace unhurried but filled with intent.

Then—he lays you down on the pelts.

The woven pelts beneath you are soft, but the warmth of his body above you is intoxicating. He hovers over you, his golden eyes dark with want, his breath uneven as he takes you in. His tail flicks behind him, his body taut with restraint even as his hands explore, mapping every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

His weight presses against you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

The space between you is almost nonexistent.

Almost.

Because he’s still holding back.

But you don’t want distance.

You don’t want hesitation.

You just want him.

Now.

Neteyam’s hands are everywhere.  

Large, warm, and reverent as they skim over your sides, your waist, your hips—like he’s trying to learn you by touch alone. His breath is heavy, uneven, his golden eyes locked onto yours with something dark, something raw, something hungry.  

His fingers toy with the hem of your top, his thumb brushing against your bare skin, slow and deliberate. He watches you carefully, silently asking, silently waiting.  

You nod. A barely-there movement, but it’s all he needs.  

With one smooth pull, he lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, leaving you beneath him in only your bra and shorts.  

Neteyam inhales sharply, his ears flicking back, his pupils dilating as he drinks you in.  

“Eywa…” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, like the sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.  

You shift under his gaze, heat crawling up your spine, your fingers twitching against the pelts beneath you. His golden eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you squirm, suddenly feeling impossibly small under his intense stare. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and his tail flicks behind him. He leans in, so close that his lips brush against your temple before moving lower, his nose ghosting along the side of your cheek next to the edge of the mask, the sharp inhale he takes sending shivers down your spine.  

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.  

His fingers slide up your sides, teasing, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs.  

“How many nights I’ve laid awake, picturing you like this? Beneath me, wanting me?”  

Your breath shudders. You can’t think. Can’t breathe.  

His lips hover over your pulse, the warmth of them barely there, just a whisper of sensation, and you feel like you might combust.  

“Neteyam…” You whisper his name, voice fragile, breaking.  

He groans softly, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he presses his forehead to the glass of your mask, eyes wild, burning.  

You don’t think.  

You just act.  

A deep breath. Hold it.  

Your fingers tremble as you reach up, pull the mask off—  

And then you kiss him.  

Fierce, desperate, needing.  

Your lips crash into his, and Neteyam growls against your mouth, his control snapping like a bowstring pulled too tight. His hand tangles into your hair, one sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you up against him, chest to chest, heat to heat.  

His lips move with an urgency that leaves you dizzy, his tongue parting your lips, claiming your breath, your body, your very soul. He kisses you like he’s been starving for you, like he needs you more than the air in his lungs.  

And you give him everything.  

Your hands roam over his shoulders, his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the way he shudders every time you touch him. Your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer, closer, needing him like never before.  

Your lungs scream for air, but you don’t care. Not yet.  

Not when his mouth is on yours. Not when his hand is gripping your hips, sliding over your body like he owns it, like he’s claiming it.  

The burn in your chest becomes unbearable.  

You gasp, wrenching yourself away just long enough to fumble your mask back into place, sucking in a desperate breath, your body still thrumming with heat, with need.  

Neteyam is panting above you, his forehead pressing against your temple, his golden eyes dark, his lips kiss-swollen. His hands tremble where they hold you, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t want to let go.  

And neither do you.  

You want him.  

You need him.  

And from the way he looks at you—his jaw tight, his tail lashing, his body still caging you in—you know he feels the same.    

Neteyam’s breath is heavy, his body burning above you as his fingers explore every inch of your exposed skin. But when his hands reach your back, brushing against the fabric of your bra, he pauses.  

His brows furrow slightly, ears twitching as he fumbles with the clasp.  

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the soft giggle that threatens to slip out as his large fingers struggle with the tiny hooks. He huffs softly, clearly frustrated, pulling back just enough to glance down at where his hands are failing him.  

“'upe lu fì'u?”[What is this?] he mutters, his tail flicking sharply in irritation.  

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can, Neteyam growls under his breath. His patience snaps.  

With one firm tug, the clasp gives way—not because he figured it out, but because he simply ripped it open. The straps slide down your arms, the fabric falling away completely as he tosses the ruined garment aside without a second thought.  

Neteyam stills.  

His golden eyes, blown wide with hunger, drink in the sight of you, bare beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as the cool night air brushes against your heated skin.  

You tremble.  

The sharp chill sends a ripple over your body, making your nipples harden under his intense gaze. His jaw clenches, his breathing uneven, his tail curling behind him. You swallow hard, shifting slightly beneath him, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable under his unwavering stare.  

But Eywa—the way he looks at you.  

Like you are his entire world.  

His voice is a hushed reverence when he finally speaks. “You are…” He trails off, shaking his head as if words are failing him. “…breathtaking.”  

Heat surges up your spine, spreading through your limbs. Your fingers twitch, restless, aching for him.  

But Neteyam… he waits.  

Tension coils tight in his muscles, his self-control an unyielding force. He wants you—gods, it’s painfully obvious from the way he hovers over you, the way his fingers twitch at your sides—but still, he waits.  

And that’s what undoes you.  

That restraint, that unshaken patience, when all you want is for him to break.  

You can’t take it.  

Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his thick beaded braids as you pull him down, guiding his mouth where you need him.  

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest when his lips meet the soft swell of your breast. His mouth is hot, reverent, worshiping as he kisses over your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks over the hardened peak, teasing, tasting—learning you.  

Your breath shudders, a whimper slipping past your lips as your grip tightens in his hair.  

Neteyam feels that reaction—your nails scraping against his scalp, the way your back arches slightly beneath him—and it ruins him.  

A growl vibrates against your skin as his other hand slides lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. You shiver beneath him, anticipation thick between you, the air crackling with want.  

He’s barely touched you—barely started—and yet you already feel like you might fall apart.  

And from the way his lips linger against your skin, the way his breath shudders against you…  

He’s just as lost.  

Neteyam’s fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them downward, slow, deliberate. The fabric slides over your hips, down your thighs, leaving you breathless beneath him. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a ripple of shivers through your body.

He groans softly at the sight of you—now clad in nothing but the thin scrap of your panties, the last barrier between you and him. His golden eyes, dark with hunger, trace every inch of you, memorizing, devouring.

Your breath stutters when his hands—so large, so warm—grip your hips, steadying you as he begins his descent.

The first kiss lands just below your ribs.

Soft. Warm.

A whisper of reverence against your skin.

Your stomach tenses at the sensation, and Neteyam smirks against you, his lips curving into something purely mischievous.

He felt that.

His flat nose brushes lower, his breath hot against your skin as he plants another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate.

A soft gasp escapes you.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips continue their slow, tortuous path downward, lingering over your stomach, his sharp canines grazing lightly against the sensitive skin there.

You squirm.

A quiet, needy sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam chuckles—a low, satisfied rumble that vibrates against your skin.

“I like that,” he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want.

He kisses lower.

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out, tasting you, tracing slow patterns along your skin. “Neteyam,” you whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra.

His sharp ears flick at the sound, his tail curling behind him.

He loves it. Loves hearing his name fall from your lips like that—soft, breathless, full of need.

Another kiss, just above the waistband of your panties, his teeth grazing teasingly against your hip bone.

You gasp, thighs twitching beneath his touch, your body arching slightly toward him, seeking more, more, more.

He hums approvingly, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you in place as his lips move to the other side of your stomach, repeating the same agonizingly slow worship.

“Sensitive here, hmm?” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another teasing kiss just below your navel.

You whimper, nodding, unable to form words, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

His mouth lingers there, reveling in the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body reacts so easily, so completely to his touch.

You swear you can feel his smirk, the way his lips curve against your skin, pleased—no, thrilled—by the way you unravel beneath him.

He wants you like this.

Helpless. Desperate.

He presses another slow, burning kiss just above the last scrap of fabric still keeping him from you, his breath hot against your skin.

And when you whisper his name again, your voice barely more than a breath—

He groans, his restraint hanging by a thread.

He wants more.

And you’re about to give it to him.

Neteyam’s fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, his grip firm but unbearably slow as he drags the thin fabric down your legs. You shiver as the cool air brushes over your newly exposed skin, heat pooling in your core as you feel the last barrier between you and him disappear.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor barely registers through the pounding of your heartbeat.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes over you. You’re bare beneath him now—nothing left to shield you from his heated, hungry gaze. Your boldness from before vanishes like mist beneath the sun. You press your thighs together instinctively, suddenly feeling shy, overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you.

Golden eyes drink you in like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His tail flicks behind him, the low, steady thumps against the hut floor betraying the barely-contained need simmering beneath his skin.

When you risk a glance up at him, your breath catches.

Neteyam is sitting back on his heels, legs spread, his gaze fixed entirely on you.

Predatory. Ravenous.

Like you’re prey trapped beneath him.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment, craving it, and now that he has you—finally has you—he’s going to take his time.

Heat burns up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as you turn your head away, unable to hold his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, rich and full of amusement, but when his hand brushes over your thigh, it’s reverent, patient.

He’s not going to let you hide from him.

Not now.

Not when you finally belong to him fully.

His large, warm hands trace the length of your legs, his touch slow, deliberate.

“Open for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.

Your thighs tremble, hesitating, but his touch is firm, coaxing you apart with a gentle insistence.

One of his large hands moves down, curling beneath your calf almost engulfing it as he lifts your leg, his grip steady, secure.

Your breath hitches as his lips press against your skin.

A kiss.

Soft at first.

Right at the curve of your calf.

Then another.

And another.

His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your skin as he trails slow, burning kisses up your leg, inch by inch. Your breathing stutters, your hands gripping the furs beneath you, helpless beneath his worship. He reaches your knee, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there, his lips lingering, his nose brushing against you as he breathes you in.

Then, lower.

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, closer, so dangerously close—

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam groans.

A deep, guttural sound that sends a tremor through his body.

His ears flick sharply, his tail curling and thumping behind him as his grip tightens around your leg.

“You sound so sweet, ma’syulang,” he whisper, voice thick with hunger.

The sound of his name spills from your lips in a breathy moan as his sharp teeth scrape gently against your thigh.

You gasp, as you try to press your hand against your mouth but the mask is in the way.

Neteyam shudders.

Your touch makes his whole body tremble.

His tail flicks wildly, his self-control almost over as he drags his tongue along your inner thigh, tasting you, marking you. His canines graze your skin again before he bites, sinking his teeth just enough to leave a mark—just enough to claim you. Your body jerks in response, a breathless moan spilling from your lips as your thighs threaten to close again.

But his hands—his strong, steady hands—keep you open for him.

And he’s not finished.

Neteyam growls, his breath hot against your skin as he laves his tongue over the fresh mark, soothing the sting before leaving another kiss right beside it.

You already know—you’re going to have to wear long pants for days just to hide the evidence of what he’s doing to you.

But you don’t care.

Not when his mouth is this warm, this desperate against your skin.

Not when his hands are holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Not when all you want is to be his.

Completely.

Finally.

And the way he’s trembling against you—his fingers digging into your thighs, his breath coming ragged and uneven—tells you that he’s barely holding himself together.

That every noise you make, every twitch of your body beneath him, is destroying him. And you’re about to ruin him completely.

Neteyam settles between your thighs, his body sinking lower, his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven pulls, anticipation winding so tightly in your core that you feel like you might snap at any moment.

He’s so close.

So devastatingly close to where you need him, yet he doesn’t move forward.

He lingers.

His golden eyes roam over your body with unrestrained hunger, taking in everything now that there’s nothing left between you.

A slow, reverent inhale, as if breathing in the scent of you is enough to send him spiraling.

His hands, large and warm, trace slow, idle patterns along the side of your thighs, the contrast between his rough palms and your soft skin making you shiver. You twitch beneath him, your fingers curling into the pelts below, your breath stuttering when his lips graze so close, just next to where you ache for him most.

But he doesn’t go there.

Instead, he kisses your thighs again.

Slow.

Lingering.

His mouth trails along the softest parts of you, tongue flicking out just slightly between kisses, tasting you, savoring the way your body trembles beneath him.

A low, pleased rumble vibrates from deep within his chest when he feels you squirm, the need in your body so obvious that it makes his blood run hot.

Eywa, you’re so beautiful like this.

Laid bare before him, trembling, squirming, so soft beneath his hands, his to hold, his to worship.

How many nights has he dreamed of this?

How many times has he ached for you, touched himself to the thought of you, imagined how sweet you would taste, how you would fall apart beneath his tongue?

And now, you’re here.

Real.

Shaking.

Needing him.

His ears flick at the sound of your ragged breathing, his tail curling behind him as his hands squeeze your thighs, spreading you further, holding you open for him.

And yet—

He waits.

He watches.

He drinks in every inch of you, memorizing the way your body reacts, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close, the way your fingers twitch like you want to pull him in but don’t dare to move.

You let out a small, frustrated whimper, shifting beneath him, trying to get closer—but he doesn’t let you.

His lips brush over the skin just beside where you need him, deliberately avoiding the one place that aches for him most.

His control is ironclad, but only just.

His whole body is buzzing with restraint, fighting every instinct that urges him to take you now, to claim you, to bury himself in your softness and never come up for air.

But no—

Not yet.

Not until you’re begging for him.

His tongue flicks against the sensitive skin of your thigh, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss just next to where his head is resting between your legs.

Your back arches.

A soft, broken whimper tumbles from your lips.

And then, barely above a whisper—

"Please."

Neteyam groans.

A deep, needy sound that rumbles through his whole body, his tail curling tighter, his ears pinning back as his fingers tighten against your thighs.

His restraint snaps like a bowstring.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

And you shatter.

Neteyam’s mouth claims you in a slow, devastating slide of heat, his tongue pressing firmly against your most sensitive part in a way that makes your entire body jerk.

A strangled gasp escapes your lips, your back arching off the pelts as if a current of electricity just ripped through you.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your fingers fly into his hair on instinct, gripping at his thick braids as your thighs clamp around his head, but it doesn’t deter him.

Not even a little.

If anything, it makes him groan against you, the deep, guttural sound vibrating through your core, sending another shockwave of pleasure rippling up your spine. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you open as he moves with agonizing slowness, his tongue dragging over you in long, deliberate strokes.

Each movement is maddening, a slow, teasing exploration, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is breathless, a desperate plea as your head tilts back, fingers tugging at his braids, heels digging into his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he doesn’t rush.

No, he revels in the way your body twists beneath him, the way your hips roll, the way your thighs tremble, the way you chant his name like a desperate, breathless prayer.

"Eywa, please—" Your voice is breaking, a shameful mix of whimpers and gasps, of curses and incoherent pleading.

Neteyam growls against you, his large hands sliding up your trembling thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you down.

"I have you." His voice is deep, muffled, vibrating straight into you before he sucks at your clit in a way that makes your whole body jolt.

A strangled cry rips from your throat.

Your grip on his hair tightens—desperate, clawing—your fingers curling against his scalp as you pull at him, as if you could somehow ground yourself against the force of the pleasure.

But there is no control now.

No grounding.

Just him.

His mouth.

His tongue works you open, devouring you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

The pressure in your core coils too fast, too sharp, a fiery tension snapping through your veins, your thighs trembling around his head.

His tongue presses harder, his lips sealing around your swollen, aching clit, and then he sucks.

"Neteyam—!"

Your entire body locks up, your back arching off the pelts, your breath shattering into a sharp, broken cry as pleasure crashes over you in an overwhelming wave.

Your thighs tremble violently as your body bucks against him, but he doesn’t stop.

He guides you through it, his hands strong and unyielding as he holds you down, his tongue still moving in slow, languid strokes, drawing out every last pulse, every last shudder.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your whole body trembling, your mind floating somewhere between bliss and disbelief.

Neteyam hums against you, a deep, satisfied sound as he drinks in the way you fall apart for him, his grip on your thighs tight, possessive, like he never wants to let go.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just slightly, his lips glistening, his golden eyes blazing as he looks up at you.

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips as he licks his mouth, his voice thick with hunger.

"That was only the beginning, ma’syulang."

Your chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven breaths, the aftershocks of your climax still coursing through your trembling body. Your muscles feel like liquid, heat pooling in your limbs, your fingers weakly clutching at the pelts beneath you. The air in the hut is thick—humid and heavy, wrapped in the scent of desire and him.

Your mind struggles to catch up. To understand what just happened.

That was the quickest and the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your body still hums with the afterglow, tiny tremors rippling through your thighs where Neteyam still holds you open. The cool night air kisses your flushed skin, sharp in contrast to the feverish warmth that lingers in your core.

You gasp, eyes unfocused as you stare at the thatched ceiling above you.

It’s almost hilarious, in some twisted way.

You had to travel four and a half light-years across space, sleeping in a cryostasis capsule for six years, leave behind everything you’d ever known, survive Pandora’s harsh wilderness, fall in love with a ten-foot-tall blue warrior—just to experience this.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh tumbles from your lips.

You can’t help it.

It bubbles up from your chest, soft at first, then growing until you’re giggling, completely hazed, utterly wrecked, staring up at the ceiling like the secrets of the universe have just been rewritten before your very eyes.

Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle above you, his large hands still gripping your thighs, keeping them spread for him. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you know he smirks, the amused shake of his head as he watches you come undone beneath him.

"Something funny, ma’yawne?" His voice is deep, laced with satisfaction, but there’s a teasing edge to it, warm and indulgent.

You try to form a response, but your brain is still swimming in the aftermath of pleasure, still trying to grasp the sheer insanity of what just happened.

So instead, you just shake your head weakly, still breathless, still trying to process.

Neteyam shifts slightly, and before you can register what he’s doing, you feel it—

The hot, wet slide of his tongue against your still-sensitive core.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your entire body jerking, muscles tensing as a shock of pleasure rips through your oversensitive nerves.

Your hips twitch involuntarily as you try to squirm away—but his hands hold you firm, strong and unyielding.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is raw, breathless, shaking.

He groans against you, his lips pressing against your swollen, aching heat, devouring you all over again.

"Still so sweet," he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky purr against your most sensitive part. "I could stay here forever."

Another wave of sensation crashes over you, your body still so raw, so open to him. Your breath shudders as you try to form a coherent thought, but he’s already moving—his tongue lapping, slow and deliberate, savoring you with an almost devotional hunger.

You can feel the way he takes his time, savoring you, groaning against your heat like this is something he’s craved for longer than he’d ever admit.

And he has.

For so many nights, for so many years, Neteyam has imagined this—you laid out before him, trembling, gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your small body writhing beneath his tongue.

And now, he finally has you.

And he’s going to worship you.

"Let me have you, ma’syulang," he breathes against you, his voice thick with reverence. "Let me taste you again."

And then, with another slow, luxurious stroke of his tongue, he does.

Neteyam’s mouth is relentless.

The slow, maddening slide of his tongue sends another shudder through your body, his warmth against your most sensitive part making you tremble all over again. You should be too sensitive, should be unable to handle more—but somehow, it doesn’t matter.

It still feels so good.

Your body betrays you, pleasure building once more, deep and slow, coiling in your stomach like a rising tide.

Neteyam knows.

He feels it in the way your thighs tremble in his grip, in the way your breath hitches sharply every time his tongue moves just right. He can hear it in the soft, choked sounds escaping you, the way your hips instinctively arch against his mouth, desperate for more.

He groans, the sound vibrating against you, deep and reverent, like he’s lost in his own pleasure—like this is the most pleasurable thing he’s ever done.

“Eywa…” he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick and strained, full of awe. His fingers tighten around your thighs, spreading you open further, keeping you right where he wants you. “You taste like—", he groans again, voice cut off as he devours you once more.

The feeling is too much, but not enough.

Your hands fly to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the shameless, wanton sounds pouring from your lips. But—

The mask.

Your fingers hit the smooth glass instead, a clear barrier between you and your desperate attempt at containment.

And Neteyam sees it.

Sees the way your hands tremble against your mask, your eyes squeezed shut, your chest heaving.

His lips curl into a wicked, knowing smirk against your core, his golden eyes gleaming as he looks up at you.

“Don’t hide from me, ma’tanhi,” he murmurs, his voice dark, teasing.

And then—

His tongue slides deeper.

A sharp, high-pitched cry rips from your throat as his tongue pushes against your entrance, slick and firm, slipping just inside, teasing you.

Your body reacts instantly—your hips arch off the pelts, desperate for more, grinding against his mouth with raw, needy instinct. Neteyam groans loudly at that, a deep, almost pained sound that sends a violent shudder through your body.

"That’s it," he praises, his voice rough, guttural, his hands gripping you harder, keeping you right there. "Give yourself to me."

His tongue flicks against your clit, slow and purposeful, and he moans—a deep, shuddering sound that vibrates through you, that makes you tremble beneath him.

His pleasure is undeniable.

And when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping, working you up again, you realize—

You’re going to break.

And he is the one who’s going to break you.

Your body shatters.

The heat in your core snaps, sharp and violent, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. A raw, broken scream tearing from your lips as you come undone on Neteyam’s tongue again. You chant his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea—like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. “Neteyam—Neteyam—oh, Eywa—Neteyam!”

Your hands tighten in his braids, your thighs trembling around his head, your entire body shaking as he works you through your orgasm, licking you like he can’t get enough.

You hear it—the low, wrecked moan he lets out against your core, the way his breath stutters like this is just as intense for him as it is for you. Like your pleasure is his own, like he’s lost in it, drowning in the way you come apart beneath him.

Your body slumps back against the pelts, gasping for air like you’ve just run miles, like you’ve been chased and finally caught.

Your limbs feel boneless, your chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Your entire body tingles, still thrumming with aftershocks, still trembling from how hard he made you come.

And then—

Neteyam moves.

Slowly, purposefully, he crawls up your body, his golden eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry.

Your breath catches as you watch him prowl over you, his massive frame caging you in, his muscles shifting with effortless strength. His tail flicks lazily behind him, but his movements are anything but relaxed—he’s deliberate, controlled, like a predator savoring the moment before claiming his prey.

Your mask fogs up from how hard you’re panting, heat radiating from every inch of your overwhelmed body. But it doesn’t matter—

Because as soon as he’s close enough, you rip it off.

And kiss him.

Desperately.

Like there’s no tomorrow. Like the world is ending and he’s the only thing keeping you alive.

His lips are hot, wet with your taste, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues tangle, fighting, devouring each other. You taste yourself on him, and the realization sends another wave of arousal surging through you.

Neteyam groans into the kiss, his massive hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. His chest rumbles, deep and needy, his entire body pressing you down into the pelts.

You kiss him until your lungs burn, until your chest aches for air.

And only then—only when your vision starts to blur—do you pull back, gasping as you fumble your mask back onto your face.

The moment it presses into place, you flop back onto the pelts, spent, limbs weak and trembling.

Neteyam chuckles, his voice low and amused, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you struggle to recover.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, smirking. “So weak. I barely touched you.”

You glare at him, lifting a shaky hand to smack his broad chest. “Fuck you.”

His smirk deepens, his ears flicking forward as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“That’s the plan.”

The heat between you lingers, even as the urgency fades into something slower, sweeter.

Neteyam’s massive form cages you in, his warm, powerful body wrapped around yours as he leans on his right elbow. His golden eyes drink you in, still dark with hunger, but softer now, filled with something deeper.

His fingers trace lazy, worshipful paths along your naked body—up and down, from the curve of your hip to the dip of your waist, then higher, until his palm spans across your ribs, pressing warm and firm over your racing heart.

He marvels at you.

How small you are beneath him.

How tiny your frame is compared to his—so soft, so delicate, yet still strong in a way that drives him insane.

One of his hands is enough to engulf both of your plump breasts, covering you completely. Marvel them how soft they felt under his palm. He squeezes, testing, teasing, watching in fascination as you squirm beneath him, your breath catching at the sensation.

But even with the stark difference in size, you are perfect to him.

You always have been.

Your breathing slowly evens out, but the moment you begin to relax, your fingers find his shoulders. You explore him, trailing the broad planes of muscle, feeling the strength beneath his skin. You grow bolder, your blunt nails raking gently over his deep blue striped skin, watching the way his muscles twitch in response.

Neteyam hums in approval, leaning down, pressing his lips softly against the lovebite he left on your neck.

Your heart swells with so much affection that you feel like you might burst. The words slip out before you can stop them, soft and reverent.

"I love you so much."

Neteyam stills for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then—he presses another slow, lingering kiss to the mark.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma’yawne."[I see you, my beloved.]

The words send a shiver through you, sinking deep into your bones. His voice is low, rich with meaning, with devotion, and your body trembles in response.

But then—you feel it.

The hard press of him against your thigh.

He’s achingly hard, the thick length of him pressed against your skin through the thin material of his loincloth, hot and undeniable. The realization sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core, making you ache all over again. Slowly, you reach down, sliding down on his chest, on his abs, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to touch him—to feel all of him for the first time.

But before you can, his large hand catches yours, pinning it effortlessly above your head.

You let out a soft gasp, blinking up at him in surprise as his lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Not today," he purrs into your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitches as you look up at him, your fingers flexing beneath his grip. “But I want to touch you,” you whisper, pleading, your voice desperate and needy.

Neteyam chuckles, low and dangerous. Instead of answering, he leans down, bites your earlobe—gentle but firm—then soothes it with his tongue, the teasing motion making your stomach flip.

Before you can protest, his other hand slides down, gripping your hips, pulling you closer against him.

And then—he grinds against you.

Slow. Deliberate.

The thick, solid length of him presses against your bare thigh, rolling against your feverish skin. The sensation is maddening, the friction sending a wave of pleasure surging through you.

A moan slips past your lips, high and needy, your body reacting instinctively to his.

You look up at him, your chest rising and falling, your pupils blown wide with desperation.

"Please..." your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "Oe tìkin nga, ma’Neteyam."[I need you, Neteyam.]

And that—that breaks him.

His golden eyes darken, his restraint shattering like glass.

His left hand trails down, slipping over your stomach, moving with purpose, with promise.

You hold your breath, waiting, wanting—

Then—

The first fluttering touch of his fingers between your thighs makes you whimper.

His calloused fingertips tease along your most sensitive part, deliberate, exploratory, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

You tremble beneath him, arching your hips against his touch, silently begging for more. Neteyam watches you, utterly captivated by how you react to him, how your body responds to every careful movement of his fingers.

Then, slowly—he enters you.

Just one finger.

Long and thick, stretching you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. A soft, shocked moan slipping from your lips as your thighs tremble around him.

Eywa—

Just one of his fingers feels like when you use two of your own.

And the thought—

The thought of how much more of him there is to take—

It makes you shudder with anticipation.

You’re writhing beneath him, body caught in a relentless cycle of pleasure and want, teetering on the edge of something bigger, something deeper. You don’t even know how many times you’ve come just by his fingers.

It’s a blur—waves of ecstasy crashing over you again and again, each one leaving you shaken, your legs trembling around his broad shoulders as he works you apart with his expert fingers.

But you do feel when his second finger presses into you.

Your body stretches around him, and the sensation is so much, so deep, a desperate gasp ripping from your lips. "Fuck… yes," you whimper, your fingers clawing at his arms, grasping his armbands for a moment, your nails raking over his unbelievably strong shoulders. "So good—"

Neteyam groans deeply above you, his golden eyes hungry, his tail lashing behind him in raw need. His ears twitch at every sweet, gasping sound you make, drinking them in like they’re the only thing keeping him sane.

You can feel how much he’s trying to hold himself back.

How his hips stutter against your side, how he grinds himself slowly, as if trying to relieve some of his own unbearable ache.

He’s just as desperate as you are.

That thought alone sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, your hips rolling frantically against his fingers, seeking more, needing more.

Your hands fly up, trembling fingers reaching for him—grasping, pulling.

And then—

You yank your mask down.

Before he can even register it, your lips crash against his, fierce and unrelenting.

It’s messy, desperate, filled with raw hunger as you pour everything—every ache, every longing thought—into the kiss.

Neteyam groans against your small lips, his grip on you tightening, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes you cry out against his lips.

You don’t care.

You need him.

You need him now.

Your breath burns in your lungs, but before you pull away to put your mask back, you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, pleading.

"Please, Neteyam…" Your forehead rests against his, your breath mixing with his as your thighs quiver around his hips. “I  need you to…”

"...fuck me."

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest—a sound so primal, so filled with desperation, that it makes your whole body shudder.

You barely manage to secure your mask back into place before Neteyam moves.

Before he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.

Neteyam shifts, his movements slow, deliberate, as he settles back on his heels between your open legs. His golden eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with something heavy, something intense that makes your breath hitch before he even touches the knots at his hips.

Your heart pounds as his fingers move, untying the thin strips of fabric that hold up his loincloth. His hands are steady, but you see the way his chest rises and falls with each slow breath, see the way his muscles twitch slightly with anticipation.

And then—

The last piece of cloth falls away.

A sharp, unexpected surge of need crashes through you.

You barely realize you’re moving until your elbows prop you up, your eyes dropping to his body, the forest’s soft bioluminescent light from the outside through the gaps of the woven walls flickered over his deep blue skin, highlighting the smooth planes of his powerful body, all hard muscle and grace. The markings running down his chest and arms seemed to glow faintly, tracing the sculpted ridges of his defined torso, the shadows deepening where his muscles tensed.

He was massive, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, his form both elegant and commanding, honed by years of discipline and training. His thighs were powerful, thick with muscle, built for speed, for strength, for hunt. Yet, here in this quiet moment, he was simply a man before you, yours to admire.

And then… your gaze drifted lower.

A deep flush spread across your cheeks as you took him in. Hard. Heavy. Surprisingly human-looking, yet distinctly Na’vi.

Your breath wavered.

And—Eywa, he’s big.

It was thicker, longer, with a slight curve upward, the flushed tip a deep shade of blue, darker than the rest of him. It twitched under your gaze, as if aware of your attention, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him. The base of it, where soft ridges ran subtly down the underside, was nestled against the apex of his thighs, right above the dip of his hip bones.

But somehow, seeing this, seeing all of him for the first time, makes reality set in in a way that makes your stomach twist with something dangerously close to uncertainty.

Neteyam notices.

His ears twitch, his breath catches—just for a moment—before his expression softens. You expect him to smirk, to tease you the way Lo’ak or Kiri would in any other circumstances, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, his tail flicking slowly behind him, his whole body trembling with restraint.

Not for himself.  

For you. 

Because you are the one making him like this.  

You are the one he’s been aching for, the one he’s been waiting for, the one he wants with such intensity that it’s practically vibrating through him.  

Your lips part, your chest tightens at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re everything.  

And just like that, the uncertainty vanishes.  

A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips.  

Because you make him feel this way.  

Because you have all of him, completely and utterly undone before you.  

And when you finally lift your gaze back to his face, Neteyam looks absolutely lost in you.

As you sit up before him, the warmth of the soft pelts beneath you is nothing compared to the heat radiating from Neteyam’s body. His massive frame is kneeling before you, yet even like this, he towers over you—his sheer presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

Your heart pounds as you crawl closer, moving toward him with slow, deliberate intent. The dim light of the hut flickers across his deep blue skin, highlighting every tense muscle, every careful breath as he watches your approach.

And then—your legs brace beneath you, and you rise to your feet.

Despite being on his knees, he is still tall enough that you are nearly eye-level with him now. The realization sends a small shiver through you. He is so big, so strong, and yet, the moment you stand, his long arms wrap instantly around your waist, pulling you to him, pressing you flush against his chest.

You gasp softly, his warmth seeping into you, his strength caging you in a way that only makes you want him more.

“Neteyam…” you whisper, your small fingers trailing down, brushing over the solid muscles  as you steady yourself. Your touch is featherlight, gliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling the hardness of his body beneath your fingertips, but carefully—deliberately—you avoid touching his aching length.

A sharp inhale hisses through his teeth at the teasing absence of your touch. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to warn you.

But you don’t stop.

Your hands travel upward, over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm before sliding over his powerful shoulders. You grip him there, needing to steady yourself—your legs are still weak, still trembling from the overwhelming pleasure he had given you earlier.

His golden eyes are burning as they lock onto yours, his breath shallow and controlled, but you can feel the way his muscles coil tight beneath your hands. The way his tail flicks in sharp, desperate movements behind him. Slowly, you pull off your mask, holding your breath just long enough to lean in—your lips brushing against the curve of his strangely shaped ear, pressing the softest, most delicate kiss against it.

A violent shudder runs through Neteyam, his grip on you tightening. His ears are so sensitive.

You smile against his skin, your voice barely above a breath as you whisper:

"Why are you holding back?"

And then, before he can answer, you press another kiss just beneath his ear, feeling the way his jaw tightens, how his hands twitch against your waist, how his entire body is practically vibrating beneath you.

Neteyam lets out a low, deep groan, his voice strained as he finally answers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in return:

"Because if I don’t… I will ruin you."

His words send a wave of heat down your spine, your whole body tightening at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his voice.

"Because if I give in now," he continues, his grip firming on your waist as his head dips lower, "I will not stop. Not until I have had all of you."

His lips graze your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Not until you are shaking beneath me again."

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shoulders, your chest heaving as your breath catches in your throat. You smile at him—soft, tender, and so full of love that it makes Neteyam stiffen for an entirely different reason. Because despite the aching desire burning in his veins, despite the raw need that has him trembling in restraint, you still look at him like this. Like he is yours as much as you are his.

Even with the undeniable heat pressing between you, even as he can feel the way your body is eager for him, he still waits. Still holds back because he refuses to hurt you, refuses to be anything but careful with you.

And that makes you smile even more.

Your heart swells with something deep, something raw, something endless for the man in front of you. He is so good—so considerate, so perfect, even when he is barely holding himself together, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

You pull your mask back on, taking a few steady breaths, filling your lungs. And then, with deliberate slowness, you remove it again, holding it carefully in your hand as you lean in—your lips barely brushing against his as you whisper:

"What if I want to be yours, ma’Neteyam?"

His entire body freezes.

For a split second, his golden eyes darken with something almost primal, something wild, something so deeply possessive that your breath catches in your throat.

And then—he moves.

His hands grasp your waist, firm and unrelenting, as he pulls you against him. Before you can even gasp, he lifts you—effortlessly, easily—making you wrap your legs around his waist as you cling to him.

You let out a small, breathless noise as your hands fly around his broad shoulders, your body molding against his as he holds you up like you weigh nothing.

And then—you feel it.

His hard length, pressing against the curve of your butt, hot and heavy even through the thin barriers of warmth still between you.

A shudder runs through you at the sheer size of him, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you press closer, feeling the way his grip tightens in response.

"You test me, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, a growl of pleasure and restraint in your ear.

And then—he moves.

With deliberate ease, Neteyam lowers you onto the soft pelts, his body still caging yours as he hovers above you.

His golden eyes never leave yours, drinking in every inch of you—your heaving chest, the way your lips part slightly as you pant beneath him, the way your legs instinctively tighten around his waist before he gently pries them apart, making space for himself.

His hands glide down your body, slow and reverent, tracing the curves he has memorized in his dreams, the ones he has ached to worship properly for so long.

You quickly put your mask back on, gulping in the air you desperately need. But before you can say anything, before you can even think, Neteyam leans down, his warm lips brushing the shell of your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your very bones as he whispers:

"Then let me make you mine."

Your breath catches as you look up at him, golden eyes locked onto yours, his body poised above you like a force of nature. Your chest rises and falls, lips parted in anticipation, and there’s nothing else—no one else—but him.

"Yes... please," you whisper, voice trembling with longing, with need.

Neteyam’s ears flick at your words, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His hands, so large, so warm, slide over your sides with gentle reverence, as if mapping you, memorizing every curve, every dip. Then, he leans down, his lips finding your collarbone, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

And then—you feel it.

A sharp gasp leaves you as his hand moves between your bodies, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers against your skin sending a new wave of anticipation through you. Your legs instinctively tighten around his hips, urging him closer, and he obliges—pressing himself against you, hot and hard.

A shiver racks through your body as you feel the blunt, thick tip of him against your still-sensitive and soaked core, the sheer size of him making your stomach tighten. He’s so big, so intensely there, and yet—he doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward.

Because even now, when every muscle in his body is coiled tight, when he aches for you, he still waits.

Neteyam pulls back just enough to look down at you, his golden eyes burning with so many things at once—desire, need, but also hesitation.

You know what he’s thinking.

That you are so small beneath him. That you are fragile compared to his massive frame. That he wants this more than anything, but he refuses to hurt you.

Your heart swells at the love in his expression, at the silent plea in his gaze, the way his ears flatten slightly against his skull.

And so, you nod, fingers reaching up to brush his strong jaw, whispering again, softer this time.

"Rutxe."[Please.]

Neteyam exhales shakily, his resolve barely holding together, and then—slowly, agonizingly slowly—he begins to push in.

Your breath stutters at the sensation, your fingers digging into his shoulders as inch by inch, he fills you, his thick length stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Neteyam lets out a deep, shuddering groan, his forehead pressing into your hair as he buries his face against you, his breaths ragged. His ears twitch, his entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal urge screaming at him to move faster, to take, to claim.

But he doesn’t.

He waits, panting against your skin, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your temple as he gives you time—time to adjust, time to feel every inch of him, time to let your body mold to him like you were made for him.

His hands clutch your hips, his fingers trembling slightly as he forces himself to still, waiting for any sign, any word from you.

And then, finally, when you exhale a breathless "Neteyam...", he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he shudders.

Because this—this moment, this feeling—is more than he ever dreamed of.

And he will give you everything.

A gasp leaves your lips as Neteyam finally sinks all the way in, his body pressing flush against yours, his warmth consuming you completely. The feeling is overwhelming—too much and yet not enough all at once—stretching you in a way that has your head spinning, your chest rising in sharp, shallow breaths.

A deep, ragged groan rumbles from Neteyam’s chest as he trembles above you, his muscles taut beneath your fingertips, his entire body coiled with restraint. His ears flatten against his skull, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the tension straining his neck. He looks almost pained, as if holding himself together is taking everything he has.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper, reaching up with shaky hands, fingers brushing over the taut lines of his arms, feeling the way they quiver slightly from the effort of not moving.

He is huge, overwhelming in every sense, and yet—he waits, his chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths, his golden eyes squeezed shut as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, to not lose himself in you completely.

Your heart aches at the sheer amount of control it takes for him to hold back, to not give in to the deep, primal need raging inside him.

Gently, you trail your hands up his arms, over his biceps, before cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His skin is burning, feverish under your touch, and when his golden eyes flutter open, they are wild—blown wide with desperation, with so much unspoken need.

"You are so good..." you murmur softly, trying to soothe him, trying to ease the trembling in his body.

But just as the words leave your lips, Neteyam’s hips stutter against you, and the last syllable turns into a long, helpless moan as pleasure shoots up your spine.

Neteyam curses under his breath, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you feel like you might break apart beneath him. He drops his forehead against your mask’s glass, panting, his breath hot against the thin glass.

"You are—" he exhales, voice barely more than a growl, "going to be the death of me."

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turns into a sharp gasp as he shifts, barely moving, and your entire body shudders in response.

You are so full of him, stretched beyond anything you’ve ever known, and yet—it feels right. Like you were meant to take him, like his body was made to fit yours.

And Eywa help you, but you need more.

Your fingers curl in his braids, your lips parting as you pant, pleading. "Neteyam..."

His answering growl rumbles against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread, his body shaking as he fights every instinct to move, to claim you completely.

But when your small hands grip his shoulders, when your body arches against his, when you whimper his name like a prayer—

Neteyam exhales a shaky breath as he slowly pulls back, only to sink into you again—agonizingly slow, deliberate, as if he wants to savor every second, every inch.

A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you once more, his larger hips pressing flush against yours, his right fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist like he needs to anchor himself, while his right arm is above your head and holding almost all of his body weight.

"Eywa..." he breathes, his voice rough, almost desperate. "You feel so—so good, ma’yawne. So tight around me... so perfect."

His praise sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, your body clenching around him in response. The sound that leaves him is feral, his hips stuttering before he pulls back and thrusts in again, this time just a little deeper, a little stronger.

"Nete—ah!" you gasp, your hands flying to his arms, gripping onto his biceps like a lifeline. He is so big, so strong above you, his body dwarfing yours, surrounding you completely.

His movements are slow, almost reverent, each roll of his hips measured, precise—like he is learning you, learning how to make you fall apart for him. You moan with every thrust, your head falling back, eyes rolling as pleasure coils deep in your stomach.

"Fuck, Neteyam..." you whimper, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Neteyam lets out a low, pleased growl at your words, his tail curling tightly around your thigh. He leans down, his lips brushing over your jaw as he murmurs against your skin.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that, syulang..."

His next thrust is deeper, the drag of him sending a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure through you. You cry out, your nails raking down his arms, your entire body arching into him.

"Tìyawn, you're so tight..." he groans, his voice strained as if he’s barely holding himself together. "You feel—Eywa, you feel like you were made for me."

A shudder wracks your body at his words, your breath catching, your thighs tightening around his waist. You feel the restraint in him, the way his muscles coil with every slow, controlled thrust, the way his hands tremble slightly as he grip your hips.

And Eywa help you—you want more.

"Neteyam..." you plead, breathless, your hands sliding up to tangle in his braids. "Please—"

Every roll of his hips sends a new wave of sensation through you, his length sliding in and out of you with such ease now, each thrust sending a tremor through your limbs. The friction, the way he stretches you so perfectly. Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, echoing through the small hut. Right now, there is only him, only the way he moves inside you, the way his body engulfs yours, the way he feels so impossibly perfect.

"Eywa—" Neteyam groans, his golden eyes flickering down to where your bodies are joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. His ears flick back, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to hold himself together, but you can feel his restraint slipping. His movements are too careful, his muscles too tense, like he’s holding back more than he should.

That won’t do.

You tilt your head up, eyes locking onto his as you gasp, "You won’t break me, Neteyam."

His breath hitches at your words, his ears twitching sharply. His grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his movements stalling for just a fraction of a second.

And then you laugh—a breathless, hazy sound as you reach up, cupping his face between your trembling fingers. "I can take you," you whisper, your voice dripping with need, with urgency. "I want you to stop holding back."

For a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes dark with something primal, his nostrils flaring. His tail flicks once, twice—and then, with a low, guttural growl, his restraint snaps.

Before you can even take another breath, his arms wrap around you, circling your waist and pulling you flush against him. You gasp as your chest meets his, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist as he buries himself inside you all the way, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency.

"Eywa—" you choke out, your fingers digging into his back, your body rocking against his with every thrust.

"You can take me, huh?" Neteyam grits out, his voice strained, his breath warm against your temple. "Let’s see if you still say that when I make you come again, syulang."

And then he picks up his pace, his thrusts deeper, faster, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, making your breath hitch and your toes curl. You cling to him, your nails raking down his back, your moans spilling freely from your lips.

"Yes— Neteyam, yes!" you cry out, your head tilting back as pleasure overtakes every part of you.

His arms tighten around you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck as he loses himself in you, completely, entirely—just as you wanted. Just as you needed.

Neteyam groans as he finally lets go, his self-control snapping like a bowstring. His thrusts turn deep, urgent, each one stretching you completely, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turn into desperate, wordless cries, your body arching helplessly beneath him as he drives into you with long, powerful strokes.

Your nails dig into his upper arms, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "Nete—" you gasp, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the overwhelming sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time.

His breath is ragged, his golden eyes burning as he watches you—watches the way you writhe under him, the way your lips part with each moan, the way your body welcomes him so perfectly. "Eywa, syulang," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, his body shaking from the effort of holding himself up. "Nga zir—nìftxan—tsìltsan."[You feel so good.]

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body reacting instantly. The pleasure in your core twists, tightens—and then, like a bursting star, it snaps.

"Neteyam!" You scream his name as you reach your peak, your back arching off the pelts, your head tilting back, your eyes rolling back as your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shudders, clenching down so tight around him that you feel his entire form tremble above you.

Neteyam groans, his rhythm stuttering as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation too intense, too perfect. "Eywa—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked as he follows you, his hips jerking forward one last time as he buries himself deep inside you.

His whole body shakes, his muscles flexing, his ears flat as he releases a deep, throaty moan. His grip on you tightens, his hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you to him as he rides out his release.

If he weren’t bracing himself on his elbow, he might have collapsed entirely from the sheer force of it. Instead, his body trembles against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slowly comes back to himself.

You’re both shaking, panting, completely spent.

The only sound in the hut is your heavy breaths, the rapid thumping of your hearts pounding against each other. Your fingers, still buried in his arms, twitch as the aftershocks ripple through you.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper breathlessly, your body still trembling beneath him.

He exhales deeply, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you, in the reality of what just happened.

And Eywa—nothing has ever felt more right.

Neteyam lets out a long, slow breath, his body still pressed against yours, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming. His heart pounds against your chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat, his breaths uneven as he comes down from the intensity of it all. His arms stay wrapped around you, as if he’s afraid to let go—as if this moment is something sacred that he wants to hold onto for as long as possible.

You’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, but as the haze of pleasure fades, a lazy, satisfied smile spreads across your lips. With a soft sigh, you lift your hands, running them gently over his shoulders, easing the tension from his taut muscles with slow, loving strokes.

Then, with a deep inhale, you pull down your mask, just for a moment, just long enough to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips. Neteyam hums into the kiss, his large hands still gripping your waist, holding you close as he lingers in the feeling of you. His lips move against yours deliberately, savoring every second, as if trying to memorize your taste.

When you finally pull away, gasping softly, you quickly secure your mask back into place, still smiling up at him, your body boneless beneath him.

A breathless giggle bubbles up from your chest as you look at him, eyes filled with warmth. "If I knew this would be so good with you..." You bite your lip, teasing, eyes gleaming with mischief, "Fuck, I would’ve been yours sooner."

Neteyam huffs a soft laugh, his golden eyes softening as he looks down at you, pure adoration shining in them. "You have always been mine, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, affectionate, full of certainty.

Your heart stutters at his words, your fingers trailing over his shoulders, down his arms, down to his chest, mapping every dip and ridge of his powerful form. Your touch is gentle, soothing, filled with love, easing the last remnants of tension from his body.

After a moment, Neteyam slowly pulls out of you, his movements careful, but still enough to make a deep, shuddering moan spill from your lips. Your breath catches as you feel the mess he left inside you, the warm, sticky evidence of just how much he ruined you.

"Fuck," you exhale, laughing breathlessly as you feel his release slowly drip out of you. Your head falls back onto the pelts, a hand loosely covering your face. "You really ruined me."

Neteyam’s ears twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he murmurs, his voice full of smug satisfaction, his tail flicking happily behind him.

His hands caress your hips, his fingers tracing the marks he left on your skin, his touch soothing despite the intensity of what just happened. His golden eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, every mark of his claim, every lingering shiver that courses through you.

"Rest, ma’yawne," he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against the glass of your mask. "I will hold you."

And as you melt into him, wrapped in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, his presence, you realize—there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

The warmth of Neteyam’s body against yours is all-encompassing, his long arms wrapped securely around your much smaller form as you nestle against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, his blue skin still warm from exertion, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your palm. You’re still hazy, still floating from everything that happened between you, but this—this—is just as intoxicating.

His tail lazily flicks behind him, brushing against your leg, his deep, steady breaths melting into something else entirely—a low, rumbling vibration, soft yet unmistakable. You blink, confused for a moment before the realization hits you.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle, but you fail. "Neteyam… are you purring?"

His ears twitch at your words, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinks down at you. "Purring?" he repeats, clearly confused.

But that only makes you laugh harder. The deep, continuous rumble in his chest sounds exactly like a big cat, and it’s so unbelievably adorable that you can’t help but let out another giggle. "Oh my Eywa, you sound like a huge cat."

Neteyam raises a single, unimpressed brow, his expression deadpan. "What is a cat?"

That only makes you laugh harder. "Ohh," you hum through your giggles. "I will show you one day."

He narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not amused at being compared to something he doesn’t even know, but when you nuzzle closer against his chest, the tension melts from his expression. His arms tighten around you, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your back, his purring—because that’s definitely what it is—deepening.

A warmth spreads through you, something deeper than just affection, something so all-consuming that you can’t contain it. You shift slightly, pushing yourself up to sit beside him, your knees tucked beneath you as you gaze down at him.

Neteyam watches you curiously, his ears twitching slightly as you lean in and rest your chin on his broad chest, staring at him with the silliest, most adoring smile on your face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice amused but affectionate, one hand lazily tracing the curve of your spine.

You exhale a soft breath, your eyes drinking in every perfect detail of him—the strong lines of his face, the soft glow of his bioluminescent freckles, the way his golden eyes hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

"Just watching," you murmur dreamily, "the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."

His expression shifts, something soft and utterly devoted settling in his golden gaze. His ears twitch slightly, his tail flicking against the pelts in response. "Yawne…" he breathes, his voice so gentle, so full of love.

And you can only smile, because Eywa, how is it possible to love someone this much?

Part 18: (Soon)

[2-old-to-guard]

Sebastien, Booker, Le Livre

Alright then, let us begin with the sad french one!

*Disclaimer* - this is a long post, buckle up before reading

First Impression:

The first time we see Booker, he's riding a motocyle. Firstly, this serves as a cool visual. But also... all he's wearing on the bike is jeans, a short sleeved shirt and no helmet whilst swerving through the streets. We immedietly see that he's not too concerened about dying which could be foreshadowing his depression.

The second thing we learn about "The book" is that he likes to collect book, badum tish, when Andy gives him a "first edition Don Quixote". This mostly foreshadows Andy's fate (as will be explained in her analysis) but it also shows Booker's rather dismissive attitude towards life. A deleted scene shows Booker using scratch cards. This combined with his alcoholism and his expensive book collection, he uses habits like this to make him feel something.

Relationships:

Unlike Andy with Joe or Nicky, Booker and her don't hug until the Gousanville ambush. They just walk side by side and Andy gives him the book. This makes me believe that Booker doesn't respond to touched whilst Andy seems to rely on touch.

Booker and Nicky seem to have a playful rilvary though there isn't much to work with, they have very little scenes and the ones I can find are mostly about Nicky. But this scene does make me laugh as Booker is clearly enjoying annoying Nicky. It adds complexity to Booker as he clearly has strong connections with the other immortals and clearly loves them.

As I've talked about before, Joe and Booker is the most affectionate of Booker's relationship. Joe celebrates Booker's success in the bet and Booker turns to Joe when celebrating. Further explanation can be find here.

Foreshadowing Betrayal:

Watching the movie multiple times, I became intrigued on the ways they foreshadows his betrayel, focusing on the Sudan Mission.

Firstly, when Andy, Joe and Nicky are reuniting, Booker turns away from the affection. This, combined with "It's a job" cutting the playfull moment short, he's possibly trying to alienate himself from his family as he knows what he's about to do. You can also see something is wrong based on the look Copley gives him after Andy accepts the mission.

During the mission, Booker is the only one who doesn't react to the ambush. He frowns a little but otherwise doesn't appear surprised (gee I wonder why).

After the mission, he's mostly on damage control. Claiming he 'checked' Copley is clearly meant to foreshadow that Booker is on it.

When Nile is discovered, he's the only one who doesn't want to find her. This, while hinting to his betrayal, also shows his complexity. He doesn't want to subject Nile to experiments and so doesn't want to find her.

The Dreams:

Each of the immortals focus on different things from the dreams that show a part of their character.

As the youngest memeber of the group, he cannot see most of the dream and has little to contribute. Furthermore, the only thing he knows for certain is that he "felt her die". This shows Booker's focus on death.

In Nile's dream, all she sees of Booker is him drinking. Make of that what you will.

The Dinner Scene:

Booker's comment is met with laughter from Joe insted of concern. This clearly shows that his nilahism isn't a recent development and is seen as something endearing about his personality. Also justifys why the immortals didn't suspect his betrayel. He's not acting any different than usual. This almost serves as a metaphor for depression as there are usually little signs of people's depression worsening as they are trying to pretend.

I think it's interesting that Booker refers to his death like this. In the comics, Booker tries to desert the Napoleonic War and is hanged for his treason. I wonder if it was meant to be "fighting WITH Napoleon" and if this will be explored in the sequel. This desertion is integral to his character as it shows he wasn't meant to be a warrior and had no wish to fight, which adds another layer of tragedy to him being an eternal fighter.

These small moments, combined with Joe's chuckle earlier, implicity shows the relationship between the three men even though they don't have many scenes together. Booker laughs at Nicky's joke and looks to Joe after Quynh is brought up. He doesn't hate the couple, even though he holds a little bitterness, but he had become some consumed with his greif and sorrow that he doesn't consider what they would want and is willing to sacrifice them to achieve mortality.

This line foreshadows Booker's backstory and shows that he does care about Nile as he wants to protect her from pain.

The Goussainville Ambush:

Straight away, Copley not capturing Booker is suspicious. When you first watch it, you think it's just because he looks dead and the mercenaries don't know he's immortal. But when you rewatch, it's clear this was a plan to ensure that Andy was also captured.

Fan fact, this is the first time Andy and Booker touch and it is driven but the intense emotion of 'oh my god is Booker dead'. It is also directly follows an act of violence (Andy slapping Booker) which is an intresting choice.

This subtle acting choice is really interesting to me. Matthias seems to almost answer Andy's question before remembering that he's ✨betraying her✨ and then goes back to being 'clueless'.

Booker and Nile:

I think it's really sweet that Booker tries to comfort Nile while there's a hole in his chest. It's also incredibley ironic given how much Booker hates immortality. While some people ship the duo, I think it is more of a paternal realationship. It's unique to have the grieving character, especially a man, to be grieving children insted of a partner. Building Nile and Booker's relationship on this ground makes it feel more paternal than romantic to me.

Booker telling Nile his backstory comes in a really organic way, with him trying to convince her not to see her family. This is the first time in the movie that Booker's cynicism is recognised by the script as a bad thing. Up until this point, it's been just a character quirk but they give him the space to fully show the weight of immortality on Booker. Also Matthias slays this scene, ate and left no crumbs.

The Betrayel:

I could do a full analysis on this scene but I'll summerise here:

Andy holds such trust in Booker that she doesn't doubt he would've warned her about anyone arriving therefore, the only person who could be behind her is him. When Andy calls for Booker, he responds instantly with:

Shooting her in the back is such a gut punch, specifically for Andy. He knew he could get away with it because she trusts him so much.

This is the first time in the movie that Booker initiates physical contact with anyone and again, its an act of violence.

This line of dialogue is so beautifully tragic. It puts Booker's despair on full display. He's willing to make a deal with the devil so he's allowed to go to hell. It is also double sided as, of course, Andy is now mortal. But it also holds a level of deceit beacause if Andy wanted to be mortal then why did he feel the need to lie to her and set this up. Surely if she wanted it, she'd agree to the testing. Overall, Booker has allowed his greif to consume him and convince him to do anything to achieve mortality.

Despite that, when he realises that she is mortal, he immedietly tries to save her from the experiments that would kill her. It sort of shocks him into thinking, somewhat, clearly. But by then it's too late. Booker is a really good tragic character and follows the conventions well. He wants to be mortal so he lies, cheats and hurts his family. When he gets what he wants, another twist means that his goal is not what he wants anymore but by then it's too late.

The Lab:

This line is yet another example of Booker's irony. He seemingly forgets that Joe and Nicky KILLED each other when they first met, and for many years afterwards. It took them many years, possibly more than Booker's been alive, to find love. Furthermore, they now have to live and love with the knowledge they will eventually die at seemingly random. Booker combines cynicism with naivity as he is the young member of the group and therefore, doesn't view time as they do. Whilst they have lived long, he fears to.

However, Booker knows he made a mistake and wants to pay for it. At first, he wants to stay in the lab and suffer. But this is most likely guided by his depression as staying in the lab could result in his mortality. Subtly, he's still trying to die. But Andy, maybe seeing through this, shares her newfound mentality and he, feeling guilty, strives to help her.

Now Andy has expressed a desire to live, he honors that and helps her achieve that.

The Final Battle:

Knowing his mistake, Booker puts his all into helping the others.

I like the detail of him using military techniques with Nile (tapping her shoulder to let her know it's clear). It a subtle moment of him showing care for people with actions.

Also, this clip of Booker covering Joe and Nicky almost like he's trying to attone for his actions.

Second to Nicky, Booker runs over to Nile and helps her out of the car. This works as the penultimate climax to their relationship. Instead of just telling Nile to give up on her family, he offers her a new one. Also the expression he gives Andy as she approaches.

Banishment:

Booker's banishement is one of the most controversial parts of the movie but it works fully for me. Of course Joe and Nicky don't want to be around Booker for a while, he betrayed them in the worst possible way (which I'll delve into in their sections). As displayed throughout the movie, they trusted him completley and he hurt them. He knows this and I think that's why he says:

It's almost like wishful thinking. The looks between Joe and Booker break my heart as Marwan and Matthias are so easily able to convey the hurt and anger of Joe and the regret and acceptance from Booker.

This entire scene is heartbreaking tbh. This is the first moment of contact between Andy and Booker that doesn't end in violence. I think this is meant to symbolise the ways they have accepted their immortality or mortality respectively. Also, as Booker doesn't seem to like physical contact, having him initiate a hug almost appears to be him trying to comfort Andy about their new relationship.

Conclusion:

Booker is a really complicated character that is full of contridictions and stupidity but he's a unique part of the characters and adds most of the sorrow of the immortals. He serves to show the toll of immortality in the present insted of just showing it in the past.

All in all, I love the sad little French man and I'm glad he'll be back with the main cast in the sequel. Also Matthias Schoenaerts ate and left no crumbs

[woooshworldtwo]

AT A LOSS

TAGS: WIFE!READER [Originally just mentioned once in dialogue but otherwise just spouse is used when describing said relationship between characters], Husband!Caracalla x Reader x Unrequited!Geta, Mentions of sex, Brief mentions of slavery [gladiators in the Colosseum], Brief mentions of animal cruelty [animals participating in the Colosseum], Historical inaccuracies, I'm not sure what else.

FIRST NOTE: I think I wanted to try accentuating the care he wants to give reader and therefore ends up treating those around him as what he sees them as- disposable and like shit. Geta is a TERRIBLE man so I guess I just wanted him to be pining for someone he knows is out of reach. I was gonna make it a series to like Caracalla x partner reader x unrequited Geta. if this is the first chapter, ngl idk where to trail off from there. i kind of write while im smoking just to fuck around so maybe i could write at least five-ish chapters if i think of a good enough plot. WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE THINK?? who knows i could even do the same with Caracalla, it could make sense cause he literally kills his brother in the movie

SECOND NOTE: pov ur me, high off like five tokes and u watch Gladiator 2 the day it comes out on Paramount+. BOOM, obsessed, love it, don't even care about the historical inaccuracies. For some reason, as someone as not all there like Caracalla is, having that deep relationship with his brother, once he notices that lil interest Geta has, or even just the doubts of others finally becoming to a point where my guy has to LOCK IN to keep his partner w him. not cause they don't love them, I think it would be cause he loves THEM too much. I'm talking bristling at the notion whenever he thinks of them together. JUST UNSPOKEN TENSION. do u guys enjoy that?

THIRD NOTE: unfortunately, i have more to talk about but no one to say it to so ur my audience. yelling into the mic i ask, do you guys think I should write porn of Caracalla and reader FUCKING?? idk if it would even include Geta- IT COULD, WHATEVER YOU GUYS WANT. I sort of just wanted to explore writing intimacy as an actual action instead described as thoughts. leave ur thoughts on what u guys think on that too bc im literally so curious.

PLEASE DON'T COPY MY WORK, I BET YOU

Summer in your lungs, and alcohol swimming in your stomach; Caracalla wonders if he's seen beauty such as yours. Never alone in the hours of the night, the lovers he takes soon notice how harder he is to satisfy, to sedate into a warm puddle wrapped in expensive sheets- instead becoming unflinching to the pleasures that usually melt his tortured mind.

Intense with his emotions, he swears this affection was there from first glance. Taken sight of you at in your hazy glory; the clothes accentuating the shade of your skin, the warmth of your eyes, it only takes months before you two wed.

From there, days are blissful. Misery always follows, but he finds with your company at his side, falling into the episodes of madness are rarer and rarer.

Perhaps it's the sweetness of your soul mending what his lacks, or having the closeness of your body distances the pestering thoughts appearing out of thin air. No matter what is it, with his claws dug into your being- he refuses to let go.

Dimmed by what other's consider insanity, it's difficult not to see Caracalla's growing lucidness. Coming face to face with it, Geta realizes any foes and enemies of Rome has never been as close as his brother has to the inner workings of his mind.

Divided by grace, the affection for you has been its limit. As the eldest, Caracalla bears the pitying glances from other's in the palace; to have the responsibilities laid on Geta is blasphemy, but who else can handle its weight when his mind is in two?

Who else to lessen its everlasting ache if not you? For that reason, such as many others, is why he cannot risk this becoming what he has grown familiar with- sharing with his brother.

Holding the same curiosity he did in the faint moments of childhood, his Adam's Apple bobs faintly- and when you look to follow its movements before returning your gaze to him: a faint shiver is felt and repressed in that same breath. "Caracalla?"

Asking in a murmur, he knows what you're referring to. Living with you these past handful of months, he can recall the number of times you've cut each conversation he's thought out into nothing more than small talk. In one worded questions, he cannot help but admire the relaxed sight of you.

So much so, he allows you to each time. Tossing the unspoken plans of connection for small talk, he nods. A hint of a smile is seen, and alone from that, you beam back at him.

Genuine like the sun, to continue seeing it, it makes it easy for him to keep spew out half thought words in hopes something he says would land. "He will arrive shortly, do not worry.", it ends with your name, echoing from his mouth, and although the God's have given him the same glory they themselves hold at their fingertips; nothing has sounded as holy.

Bounded by faith, the prayers he spills are ingrained in the folds of his brain, but once consumed in these times of power, he wonders if he should dare step closer to the soul he swears should beat for him.

"... Geta?", Unknowing for how much time has past, the beaming smile you once held is melted into a small frown. Quietly urging him to the present like he's seen you do with his brother, there's a warmth blooming in the hallow part of his chest.

Cherishing the brief concern, it only seems to remind him what Caracalla has naturally and what he takes the scraps of.

Still leaned back into the expensive marble, the wall itself is a pale enough color to forget about, instead focusing on the features he, too, fantasizes of in passing moments alone.

"Where did you go?", Too familiar with speaking to the other emperor, the question is thoughtless when spoken, yet its weight is felt nonetheless. "Nowhere. Just here.. Are you enjoying yourself?", Taking a pause, he eventually speaks again. It's done when walking to the the throne nearing Caracalla's; the one you sit in.

"Quite the spectacle.", Your eyes peer down at the sight below; bloodshed in the Colosseum's sand doesn't make your stomach twist like it once did, however when watching captured men swing weapons- and seeing another one fall, you look to him again.

Sitting at his own throne, you find his eyes already on you; a quirk upturning on his lips to show the pleased buzz your words give him. Gladiators from conquered lands, their purpose in Rome is to win their survival and amuse any passing visitors. Yet in the past year or so, since your arrival, he's found a deeper sense of pride at their display.

Growing passed the Senator's praise, passed continuing his parents past teachings, he has found serenity in the amazement you hold so clearly.

Seeing your wonder at the captured animals; their stature towering over the sand's flat ground, using its strength to trample over any competitors- he finds himself chasing the occasional bursts of attention he manages to keep with in your magenta sunlight.

Never promising loyalty to anyone; he chases it when you're unable to give it, the mess of concubines and courtesans who he cannot remember the names nor the faces of, only remembering their similarities to you- their purpose has been asked for more as of late, and neglected all the same soon after.

No matter if it was seeing a person with hair similar to yours, a familiar sounding voice, even just dressed in clothing resembling your own; they were sought out after in hopes of finding you in them.

He finds it only lasts briefly.

Of course sex is endless, at the call of his voice and at the stop of a groan; services are there to satisfy whatever craving he has. But after each round of breathlessness, he finds that hunger for what is missing growing into something insatiable.

Hours spent, feeling their bodies, picturing what your own must look like underneath the white moonlight casting into his bedchambers. Each thrust is heavy with yearning he cannot mend, moaning for warmth he cannot have; he damns Caracalla in those times for finding you first before he did.

Perhaps then would you be his spouse. To bed you the same way his brother does would be true nirvana, to hear those same whimpers he knows you're able to make, to feel you shiver and tighten around him the same way those people do; it's what he longs for.

He's certain then he'd be more than just rough, chasing whatever high is made in a blurry of orgasms- it becomes difficult to differentiate who is with him and who is imagined; not when his eyes are shut and your image is all he sees in its darkness. Tenderness is taught, and if his brother was able to learn to extend that same to you; there is no doubt he'd do the same.

"Are you enjoying it?", Turning your focus back onto Geta, his answer is a hum. The sound is husky from passing thoughts, and strain for what should be hidden; he takes a moment to gather his words.

"I always favor your company, the spectacle is merely entertainment.", Repeating what you said only minutes ago, the unexpressed emotions behind it is registered in your mind- and although brushed off originally, that denial you have becomes harder to not believe Geta's feelings becoming more noticeable in the time spent at his brother's side.

"The ambience of cheering Roman's, animals in pain, and dying men; no wonder we have such lively conversations in these times.", Another quality of yours he finds endearing is your dryness. The harshness soaked into your veins from being raised by your family has not changed you the way it has him he notices; viewing the cruelties of Rome in whatever light you could shed, he once again almost smiles, a quirk of his lips turning upwards showing.

"Complaining to the emperor for the privileges he's given you? What an ungrateful wife you are.", Breaking out into a smile, what is said is anything but malicious. Leaving Caracalla unmentioned; unsaid, his mind is soothed from its ache, mending itself when remembering it's just you and him- hidden away.

Alone in a place where he can pretend you two are more than in-laws, there's a warm stirring at the sound of your laughter. Filled with humor you express so freely, it reminds him of conversations with your father throughout the years; his stories of your youth.

Defiant in ways he wishes he'd seen, and mischievous in ways he knows you still are; the only changes is now you're not tangible. Yet, lost in affections like he never got to be as a boy, he doesn't mind who he's face to face with now. Not in the slightest.

"Forgive my insolence, emperor; I plead for it.", Clearly you speak to Caracalla too much because the shiver trailing up his spine goes directly into that heated feeling in his abdomen. Aware you're unknowing to the effect you have, it only worsens at the hint of playfulness heard.

"Oh, you're forgiven. The God's have extended their mercy onto you today, but be wry, they could change their mind.", Unwilling to give into the arousal brewing, the tension he's created in his body, he replies with a smile- one that lingers too long.

Mischief isn't needed to be noticed in the palace, not with the two emperor's having their souls intertwining themselves with your own- no longer being unheard by those around you, that streak remains. It brings an amusement greater than bloodshed to Geta, and even more so to Caracalla. Smoothness of your words he swears is coated with the sweetest of wines; it disarms what would be seen as scrutiny as nothing more than a jest.

With humor being forgotten in such trying times; outside of what the Colosseum offers, and outside of the different celebrations of another conquered land- Geta finds your spirit is lightening to what is constantly dampening in his.

Shouts of Roman's are heard, like you predicted, and another man falls. However, with neither of you truly paying attention to the sight; their deaths were not offered the same graciousness you're given so carelessly, so frivolously: and when one of the last remaining takes their bow to surrender- only then do you look away.

To see your eyes of amusement grow into something unreadable, his own smile dims into a frown.

Standing from the throne, his hands rest on the Bisellium's railing, he grips onto it tightly when seeing below. Blood stains the sand as always; the deceased laid out over it in the afternoon heat, and the two lone man kneel. Meters away from one another, your eyes flicker between them, and soon Geta speaks up again.

Mercy is yelled in the air, and when he asks you, his voice is quieter than intended, "Shall we show mercy?"

Sparking what was lost, you nod, and another smile is seen, "Mercy."

Prayers do not solve what is inevitable, he finds, not when the God's blood soars through his body. The threat of rebellion, and the stings of betrayal, that mask that hides it all becomes wavering whenever he's with you; wishing to you like he did as a child to the God's for power, to worship you in ways he only should deities- it almost feels blasphemous.

Even more so now, when you don't understand the importance behind what he says; the grace he offers, the laughs he lets slip out- it is only the beginning of what he could promise you.

FOURTH NOTE: Now that you've made it this far, I wanna like drift away from what I was writing on my old account. it was just small paragraphs, but writing on a laptop just HITS DIFFERNT- literal hours spent doing this shit. I don't rlly wanna take requests bc i feel like my time is just too hectic for that, BUT I WOULD LOVE to hear your guys thoughts!! Okay, small series on these characters- Quinn Mossbacher, Simon Kalivoda, Ethan Russell, DIMITRI KRAVIOFF, DANIEL MARKOWITZ, JASON HOCHBERG, and finally our beloved; Caracalla. bad part is I haven't most of the movies they're in, so i don't want it to be inaccurate.

FIFTH NOTE: currently i'm writing a Johnny Storm fic series inspired by the new Fantastic Four trailer (writing the third chapter of what could be a five or even eight part series if I get to understand that franchise better), an Eddie Muson fic mainly just to fuck around and post that old one I never got a chance to. also an Adrian Chase fic i found on my laptop, another one for Koby from the one piece live action (I was inspired when the show first came out), and joe goldberg

FINAL NOTE: I've wanted to get into watching Yellowjackets. LOVE THE SHOW. Another thing I wanted to ask bc when I write for women characters, i like to write them as WLW. SO would you guys like it if i also wrote for Iris (Companion), SISTER BARNES (Heretic), Jinx (Arcane), Lucy Maclean (Fallout), Rhiannon Lewis (Sweetpea)?? one day if i sell out and get a membership to Prime or those silly addons; I WILL.

[zepskies]

Aww thanks for the shoutout, my friend! This format for HCs is just so fun, right? It's really cool for me to see how it's caught on in the fandom of Jackles characters! And now, I'm very excited to dive into some Valentine's Day fluff. 😍😍

Dean-o:

Dean isn't big on Valentine's Day and romance. Not because he thinks it's an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn't know how to be romantic.

Oooh this is so true for Dean. He's only had like, what, two real relationships in his life? With Lisa, I feel like we got a sense that they were loving partners, but the show didn't dive all that deep into what their relationship actually looked like romantically. (One of my biggest gripes honestly. Outing myself here: I shipped Dean x Lisa hard back in the day and was heartbroken when they broke her and Dean up and wrote her and Ben out of the show the way they did. 😭)

But anyway lol, back to your lovely headcanon. I love this because Dean really does show that he cares in his actions -- not in big grand gestures, but in the little every day things, as well as in the way he would protect and care for his girl, "taking care of you when you're injured," etc.

What a lovely turn in the ending though!! He decked out the Dean Cave, I love it!! 😍 That's a big gesture he could 100% pull off. 💕

Ahaha not him getting flustered because he's not used to being given unconditional affection. *breaks my heart and knits it back together at the same time* 🥹

Benjamin:

LOL "old school" is an understatement with this guy for sure, but it very much tracks that he'd go all out for V-Day. He's got money to burn, and I feel like he'd enjoy trying to impress his girl with all the fanfare of a beautiful night out. (I explored that idea in Lost on You for sure.)

💀💀 omfg you nailed him there. 💯 😂

Dear lord I get so freakin' weak for the hand on the small of the back. 😭 plss

But I cacked at the "not being an award for bad acting." 😂😂 Ben does have that old-school charm in spades though, so I don't blame her for letting some of that caveman mentality go. lmao

However this:

omfggg Ben. So accurate, and somehow it's still sexy 😅 (there might be something wrong with me. It's fine.)

I also like the contrast between Dean's card and SB's card at the end -- Ben's not asking questions. He's more straightforward and demanding that you're his. 👌🏽🫠

Beau Beau:

Awww sweet cowboy sheriff. 🥹 He really is making up for past mistakes and going all out!

LMAO I loved this entire section for so many reasons -- Beau's southern charm and chivalry, the good dose of realism coming from the reader, plus that one at the end making me cackle. 🤣

I really like how she manages to surprise him back though. What a perfect gift for Beau, giving him quality time, and some peace and tranquility. 💗 I would love a lakehouse cabin getaway with this guy. Feel like that would be the perfect cozy vibes. ❤️

Russ:

Very on-brand indeed that he's the one you can't quite pin down (at first). 😅 His job really would make things difficult to make a relationship work, even with the reader soldiering through and trying to be unaffected that she thinks he won't be around for Valentine's Day.

His homecoming is so very sweet though! What a lovely reunion moment. 🥹

I loved ALL of these HCs, Wayne, but I'm torn between Dean and Beau on this one. So very sweet for this hopeless romantic!~ 💞

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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[the-boring-distopia]

I just had the stupidest idea, I wrote up a bunch of stuff last semester (related to genetics and biology, I never got to use it tho :( But I enjoyed writing it) about adaptations and genetic illness. I am interested in biology, proteins and the such, combining the thing I think about at uni with the other thing I also think about at uni sounds fun. My last post about Ianthe and prion disease was really well received so I thought I might write some more in depth posts about necromancy and the Locked Tomb universe. The topics I planned on exploring are:

Dulcinea's Illness, what it might be based on symptoms and the treatments she received in GtN and how it might affected her as a person.

How Harrow might be capable of creating entire skeletons from one bone shard despite it breaking the laws of physics, presenting my theory that the River works as a buffer for necromancers both as a power source and as a temporary holding space for materials they use in their magic. This one always puzzled me and I might've been able to pin down a theory. (There will be a part about why Palamedes and Cam in one body was a problem and why I think they could not be "present" at the same time)

Ianthe's is an another character that is on my mind a lot. In this really cool post by @cemetegee there were a lot of cool ideas I want to explore further and introduce my idea about my other oldest headcanon: Ianthe's potencial albinism, related health issues and my favorite: how this relates to her and Corona's development in the womb. I floated this idea on that post and there was a really good question about why only Ianthe has it, I might be able to answer that.

I really want to make a post about Judith and Varun, because what's happening here is technically parasitism and I really want to get into specifics because I find the idea of it mind boggling.

How Blood of Eden mistreated Judith when she was fighting for her life and they probably broke (potencial) laws about prisoners of war, did the worst possible thing in (almost) every scenario and how terrifying it must've been for Judith to suffer through this, mostly conscious: a medical perspective. This one pissed me off when I read it because it was not even adressed in Nona the Ninth.

About the hole in Gideon/Kiriona's chest (the one that makes her aerodynamic lol) and how Gideon died exactly because it was fucked up and painful and enough a reason for her to be upset at Harrow.

The part in Nona the Ninth were Nona was falling apart on the Ninth, because the descriptions read as if she suffered a high dose of ionizing radiation and the idea that Alecto was able to inflict damage like this... It got me thinking what other abilites Alecto might have (she is the earth, after all).

I might make a post about the murder of Naberius Tern and why I am a bit sceptical that it was Ianthe that killed him (it's a wild ride and just a theory).

I want to explore the limits of lyctoral healing, because I find it interesting how some injuries can instantly heal but others don't. I will reread Harrow the Ninth, collect descriptions of lyctoral healing and compare them to actual data on how tissues like that in human bodies can and should heal. I might also theorize about how necromancy works on living tissue in general.

A post on Noodle the dog because he is a good boi.

[crtakespropogandist]

CR 3 finale dump pt. 3 - Putting my finger on it

I enjoyed the campaign while I was watching it for the most part, because the cast's antics and chemistry always make me smile. But I invariably engaged the most during the tie-ins and cameos bringing back the PCs and NPCs from previous campaigns, and I couldn't summon the same investment for this one. I was ruminating on why that was, and here is what I came up with:

Campaign 3 didn't "work" like the other two because the characters, the plot, and the setting were not integrated. Matt had an epic storyline in mind that could dramatically change Exandria. He also had two lovingly designed settings, Marquet and Ruidus, the fruits of great collaborative labor that he wanted to show off. Finally, he wanted to let his friends have total control in conceptualizing their characters. The result is that the players and Matt seemed really afraid of stepping on each other's (and the other creatives') toes, and the narrative hurt for it.

Character hooks led away from the plot and setting. Setting hooks led away from the plot and characters. Plot hooks led away from the setting and characters. The cast ultimately had to follow the plot, leaving PCs uninvested and locations underutilized along with all their resident NPCs. Freaking Vox Machina had stronger relationships with Marquesian NPCs.

Yet Matt was still discouraged from taking time away from exploring new places and meeting new people for a deeper dive on Delilah Briarwood. Why didn't Ludinus give Tal'Dorei a heads up when the Briarwoods became fugitives? Did he help them in exchange for residuum? Did they steal his obsessive research on the Matron's ritual for Vecna to use? Maybe Jiana Hexum knows something abou...oop BH left Jrusar and forgot all about her. Matt was also discouraged from leaving shiny new Marquet any earlier for Aeor 2: Electric Boogaloo, which left FCG high and dry. The self-imposed balance between the three key story elements was impossible to maintain in a satisfactory way.

VM and M9 are native to their campaigns' respective continents (except my boy Tary ofc), and the plot evolved organically from personal stakes intrinsic to those settings. Moments like "I am no friend to the empire" and "It's Lady Vex'ahlia" are off the table when the party is Oops! All Transients. The worst irony is that Matt undermined the players' autonomy by unilaterally deciding that Caleb and Beau utterly fumbled the task Liam and Marisha set them to in their C2 epilogues. Liam's frustration at the Key scene was palpable. My fellow viewers who only hopped aboard on Campaign 3 can get weirdly defensive against C2's "encroachment" and C2 enjoyers (also fellows of mine) wishing it would "encroach" more. Ludinus was introduced in C2. The ruins of Aeor and Molaesmyr are in Wildmount. Dunamancy is centralized in Wildmount. The Nein spent time in Aeor, in Uthodurn, in the Dynasty. The Nein have gods. What experiments did Ludinus conduct in Vergessen? What are the specifics about what Ludinus did in Molaesmyr, what he's done throughout his life of scheming? It's pretty safe to guess that the Nein would have found out given another chance. Could you imagine how Campaign 2 might have panned out if Beau and Caleb reeeaaally grilled Demid Sunlash and followed up on where he went? (Also Ruidusborn!Essek would have made so much sense I'm vibrating) (Also also d'ya think Eadwulf was always supposed to be a real Matron follower, or could he have been set up as a Paragon's Call/Vanguard type reporting to Ludinus?)

The Mighty Nein are a party with a collective INT that blows BH out of the water. Even as someone introduced to the stream via BH, I can't help but agree with Beau's "Why not us?" comments. Why not give the Wildmount party the Wildmount BBEG? Why not give Bell's Hells the kind of story that encourages them to be little NPC-coded freaks pushing each other's big red buttons just to see what happens? Why not give Marquet a party that calls it home?

The answer is because we got this instead, and I'm kinda sad about it. If BH gets animated, that show is a lost cause if some fundamental changes aren't made.

[bunnwich]

I just found out a Prince of Egypt Musical exists, and one of the addition songs— 'footprints on the sand'— really gives me Leona vibes

(Spotify link to the song)

https://open.spotify.com/track/40PqpFQdrylghRZgY36W8G?si=wATkespmQyar931PNnNc8A&context=spotify%3Aalbum%3A7MOGTYjo3ifwHDBf0EBE71

(Genius lyrics)

https://genius.com/Original-west-end-cast-of-the-prince-of-egypt-footprints-on-the-sand-lyrics

So since you're— at least in my view— one of the Leona experts, I was wondering what your thoughts would be on it!

Not that it fits perfectly; no song ever really fits 100%, after all. But I think it has strong Leona vibes

Leona VS The Weight of Insignificance

(Ahhh sorry I am just getting around to this.;-; BTW DFGHJK I’m flattered that you consider me a Leona expert??)

So this is pretty cool because I didn't realize there was a Prince of Egypt Musical? I’m a big fan of the animated movie and of musicals so I’ll have to listen to the rest someday!

So, I think in general the theme of “Footprints in The Sand” is about the idea of “trying to leave a mark” in life, but feeling like it won't matter in the long run and also exploring the insignificance that we all feel as people.

That being said, I can see why this song made you think of Leona! It brought up some feelings about what being second-born in a royal lineage means and how that can make someone feel insignificant just in concept. The spare heir if you will. 

It's interesting because it also made me think about how Leona has such complicated feelings about his title too?

Like on the one hand, he feels like he's “forever in the shadow of Falena” but at the same time, I DO think a small part of him secretly enjoys the mobility of not having the reasonability of king and therefore the first few lines of the song before it fades into him sounding more melancholic made me think of this.

(AND ALSO since we’ve seen how he would handle being king in his Chapter 7 Dream OOF.) My thoughts on that: X

The second son– My father's wrong (THIS LINE TOO) It's got to be the easiest role on Earth Just play around Just play along Enjoy the bounty of my birth So what's today's amusement For this second son? Which one shall I choose from so many kinds of fun?

I think it leads back to the age-old conclusion about Leona’s character (that his dream really hammered home), is that being king is NOT what he truly wants and it more comes to feeling worthy as a person as if he has to “justify” his own existence of feeling useless. It’s more about the kind of attention he craves. To be useful, respected, adored. 

The song mentions the fear of not leaving behind a legacy and feeling the weight of your own insignificance as a person. I can see how both the characters of Moses and Leona both struggle with “finding their purpose” and not being able to see their own worth like others who care about them do. 

It made me think of the song (also in Prince of Egypt) “Through Heaven's Eyes” which I feel actually continues this theme. The idea that even if you can’t see your OWN value that everyone—has their own innate value as people—and that in itself is meaningful.

A single thread in a tapestry Though its color brightly shines Can never see its purpose In the pattern of the grand design And the stone that sits on the very top Of the mountains mighty face Does it think it's more important Than the stones that form the base?

For Leona—the people he acts as a mentor to like—Ruggie, Epel and Savanaclaw as a whole—have a pretty high opinion of him despite his flaws. And the fact that he can’t always see that and appreciate that value that he unconsciously and consciously brings to them reflects this. He has and will leave an impact even if it's not as “important” as a king. And he could do even more good if he actually tried to do so.

I think it’s a lesson we all struggle with TBH, the whole: seeing our inherent value as people and it’s def why I think Leona is a more relatable character than he first appears in twst. :3

Thank you for sharing with me though! I love finding stuff like this! I hope you have a wonderful day/night!💚

[moonmaiden1996]

Hi!!! I was curious do you have an headcanons for either 🩵Fukaboshi 🔱 or 🩷Katakuris🍩 idea if the perfect partner?

(I know they are basically the same character in a different font. Protective big brother, fangs, giant, loyal to their family, wields a trident, and a few other things. But they both are just two of my favorite characters)

Okay...I have to admit I had to go back to the manga and read bits of it for these two and boy was I glad I did. These men can be any woman/mans fantasy.... I may have gotten a little steamy with this one....Let me know what you think.

Request are still open! I have added Disney's Rivals and Sakamoto's Day to my list because they are amazing.....

Fukaboshi’s Ideal Partner 🔱

1. A Partner Who Matches His Kindness

Fukaboshi is a protector at heart. He’s strong and commanding when he needs to be, but at his core, he is gentle, always looking out for others. He’s drawn to a partner who shares that compassion—someone who treats others with kindness, who listens, who isn’t afraid to stand up for what’s right.

Nothing makes him fall harder than seeing you care for his people, watching you play with the children of Fishman Island, offering comfort to those in need. He swears his heart stops when you place a hand over his and say, “Let’s protect this place together.”

2. Late-Night Stargazing

Fukaboshi loves the quiet moments—lying on the sandy shore, looking up at the stars while the waves lap at the beach. He pulls you close, your head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped around you.

"Do you ever wonder if someone up there is looking back at us?" he muses, voice low and thoughtful. When you turn to look at him, the starlight reflects in his deep blue eyes, making them even more mesmerizing.

If you fall asleep on him, he doesn’t move an inch—he just smiles and lets you rest, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back.

3. Someone Who Can Handle the Depths (and Him)

Fukaboshi is a big man in every sense—tall, broad, and built like a warrior-prince. His ideal partner? Someone who isn’t intimidated by his sheer size, both in and out of the water. He wants a lover who embraces the feeling of being held, pressed against his strong chest, drowning in his affection just as much as they might drown in the ocean.

And speaking of the ocean—imagine clinging to him as he takes you on an exhilarating ride through the currents, his powerful strokes cutting through the water as he pulls you along, holding you so close you can feel the slow, deep rumble of his laughter. The pressure of the depths is nothing compared to the pressure of his grip when he finally gets you alone.

"You trust me, don’t you?" His voice is husky in your ear, his webbed fingers tracing the curve of your thigh as he floats just above you. "Let me take care of you… let me make you feel weightless in every way.”

4. Gentle Yet Dominant

He may be a prince, noble and kind, but when he wants something—when he wants you—he’s relentless. His kisses start slow, savoring every sigh, every trembling exhale, but once he has you fully under him, fully his? He devours.

His webbed hands, surprisingly warm, slide over your skin, exploring every inch as if you’re more precious than any treasure in the deep. His trident-wielding strength is matched only by his patience—he loves the build-up, watching you squirm as he takes his sweet time.

"I want to hear you beg, love." His voice is low, teasing, his sharp fangs grazing your collarbone as he presses you into soft silk sheets. "Tell me how badly you need me… and maybe I'll stop teasing."

But let’s be real—he never stops teasing.

5. Riding Sea Creatures (or Just Riding Him)

Fukaboshi is an expert rider—whether it’s guiding massive sea creatures through the currents or having you ride him with the same confidence. He enjoys watching you take control, hands pressed against his strong chest, thighs shaking as you move at your own pace.

His deep, approving groans vibrate against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, helping you keep balance. He loves when you take charge—when you lean down, kiss him breathless, and show him just how much you want him.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmurs, breath hitching as you roll your hips just right. His gaze darkens, pupils dilating as his fingers tighten their grip. "But don’t think I’ll let you have all the fun."

And the next moment? You're beneath him, drowning in his slow, deliberate thrusts, gasping as the prince of the sea claims you in every possible way.

Katakuri’s Ideal Partner 🍩

1. A Love That’s Simple but Meaningful

Katakuri isn’t one for grand romantic gestures. He shows love in quiet ways—by leaving a fresh cup of tea by your bedside in the morning, by slipping a hand around your waist when you least expect it, by making sure you always get the best of whatever’s available (even if it means sacrificing his own portion).

If he really likes you, you might find little surprises—handmade snacks, flowers he definitely didn’t spend an hour picking, small gifts he leaves without taking credit.

"I just… thought you’d like it," he mutters, looking away as if he’s not the strongest warrior in the world completely flustered by your gratitude.

2. Watching Over You While You Sleep

Katakuri doesn’t sleep much. When he does, it’s usually brief and restless, always ready to protect his family at a moment’s notice. But when you’re in his life? He finds himself staying awake for a different reason—just to watch you sleep.

It’s not in a creepy way, of course. He just… likes knowing you’re safe. That you trust him enough to let your guard down around him. He traces a gentle hand over your cheek, brushes a stray hair from your face, and sighs, feeling something settle deep in his chest.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

If you wake up and catch him staring, he’ll turn away, muttering something about “just making sure you were comfortable.” But if you pull him closer and mumble, “Go to sleep, Kat,” he actually listens… because in that moment, he finally feels at peace.

3.The One Who Sees Through His Mask

Katakuri is the type of man who watches you before he lets you in. His ideal partner? Someone who sees past his intimidating exterior—the towering frame, the sharp fangs, the cold stare—and recognizes the man beneath.

At first, he’s cautious, reserved, his touches controlled. But once he realizes you truly want him—when he catches the way your eyes linger on his lips, when your fingers brush against his bare skin with something other than fear—his restraint shatters.

"You don’t have to hold back with me," you whisper against his lips, and that’s all it takes.

One moment, you’re standing; the next, you’re pinned against the nearest surface, your wrists held above your head as Katakuri devours your mouth like a man starved.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls against your skin, his fangs grazing just enough to make you gasp. "But you’re about to find out."

4. Dominant but Soft for You

Katakuri is a man of control. He’s used to being the strongest in the room, used to people fearing him. But you? You make him weak.

When he’s with you, he’s still dominant, still the commanding, powerful force that keeps his family safe. But behind closed doors, when it’s just the two of you? He lets himself feel.

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin as he grinds against you, his rough hands skimming down your sides. He groans when you thread your fingers through his hair, his entire body shivering at the sensation.

"You’re going to ruin me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with need. And yet, despite the hunger in his eyes, he takes his time, savoring every single second as if he’s memorizing you.

5. Absolute Worship

Katakuri may be intimidating, but in the bedroom? He worships his partner. He’s the type to cherish every inch of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your thighs, watching you squirm beneath him.

"Let me taste you." The words are more command than request, his strong hands gripping your hips as he lowers himself, his breath hot against your core. "I want to hear you scream my name."

He doesn’t just want you to feel good—he wants you wrecked, trembling, breathless, incapable of thinking about anyone but him. And once he’s finally inside you, slow and deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his groans vibrating through your very bones—he stays there, savoring the heat, the tightness, the way you cling to him.

"Mine," he breathes, voice raw with emotion as he moves, deep and deliberate, watching your every reaction. "You're mine."

And when you finally reach your climax, shattering around him, he follows soon after, moaning your name as he fills you completely. But he's not done.

"Hope you're not too tired, love," he murmurs, that rare smirk playing on his lips as he rolls his hips again, drawing out another whimper from your already sensitive body. "Because I’m not nearly satisfied yet."

Final Thoughts

Fukaboshi = Deep, slow-burning passion, teasing dominance, pure love, intimacy, and absolute devotion. Katakuri = Relentless hunger, unwavering control, protective, slow but intense love-making, and complete worship of his partner.

[apas-95]

Hi, I really liked your insight on masked characters in this post.

https://www.tumblr.com/apas-95/767757275851096064/masks-that-cover-the-face-but-leave-the-eyes?source=share

I'm writing a fictional work where masks and specifically helmets are a big part of the story.

I always enjoy characters that fall into this trope and I don't think they're often explored deeply enough.

So I'm wondering, what does a mask and or helmet that fully obscures a character's face, say about them? Compared to just the eyes being exposed, or just the mouth.

I'll preface this by saying that all my statements here are observations about trends I've noticed, rather than prescriptive attempts at defining archetypes (since I've seen it be taken otherwise).

Characters whose faces are entirely obscured tend to be anonymised - rather than emphasising their body or their internal self, both of these disappear. These types of characters tend to be presented either like automotons, when there are many of them; or seen through the lens of their actions, when they are alone. In both cases they are presented basically without personality or physicality, existing more as a force of will (whether their own will, or someone else's).

[prettyboykatsuki]

oh boy lmfao.

hi. this is the extended authors note for my love, my alibi. there is nothing important to the fic itself so if you're comfortable with the presented dead dove content- you are more then welcome to skip this entirely. i hope you enjoy/enjoyed reading!

cw very long discussion about fictional incest. just me yapping.

this fic is the first long-form incest fic im publishing on ao3 in general but also the first dc fic i am posting for love and deepspace which has a very wide audience. i've been warned a few times about antis and whatnot but i don't make this post trying to specifically address them but to kind of briefly weigh in on my choice to write caleb and mcs relationship this way

despite the english localization and how it attempts to scrub out the incestual element of caleb and mcs relationship - i don't think you can remove this aspect without butchering calebs character almost entirely.

i would go as far as saying removing the familial aspect of calebs feelings and reducing him to close childhood friend makes him as significantly less moving and less interesting.

i also think a lot of the story's thematic choices and motifs (forbidden fruit for example) do not make sense unless you consider the relationship between mc and caleb as siblings first and foremost.

the level of intensity and emotional angst just really explicitly does not work the same. there's no reason for mc to react to romantic advances with such guilt and denial towards a character she explicitly considers a friend.

there is also no reason for caleb to feel explicitly responsible for behavior in the way he is in canon.

caleb and mc being siblings is a crucial aspect of their relationship - and it is also crucial to note they experience a conflicting sense of mutual attraction in the years they grow up that way. evidenced in multiple of the cards.

also in literally every other version of the game (cn, jpn, kr) it is affirmed explicitly that caleb views himself as mcs brother SDKFJSD.

for all of these reasons i wanted to explore the nature of their relationship and play with some of the discomfort because i think it makes for an interesting story. i dont think caleb sees being mcs brother as contradictory. his denial of their relationship feels intentionally hurtful to mc in order to make her address the uncomfortable underlying attraction imo. caleb wanting to be everything to mc being literal in nature. this is why he can also act very parental towards her despite the small age gap.

i can understand why incest in this regard might be uncomfortable for some of you to engage with, and i respect your feelings and your choice but i do encourage you to look beyond the moral taboo and try to examine the themes that come with incest like forbidden romance and co-dependence and think critically about how it impacts the story

and if you are still uncomfortable comfortable engaging with it, feel free to click off !! genuinely i get it, its not for everyone. but please do so without judgement of those who are comfortable. no real people are exploited in writing this. it is all make believe and for fun

all that being said, i hope you like this fic that made me crazy.

love,

fang.