#i never would have expected to be here 9 months ago

[g0ldenboi333]

The way I don't even post about this show on here, but 8x16 of 9-1-1 has left such a bitter taste in my mouth that I need to get all of this out of my system.

I've never been so upset over a character death, but not because the character is dead (which a part of me refuses to believe), but rather how his death was handled. And I'm not saying this as a person who only joined the fandom of few months ago, I'm saying this as a person who has watched this show live for 7 years.

8 years of character development, thrown to the side for the sake of "realism"?? Bobby Nash spent the show's entire history struggling to forgive himself after the death of his family. Before, he wanted nothing more than to see them again. He spent the entire show's history growing to love his second chance, his new life, his new family, wanting nothing more than to stay with them. And his tribute was to give him the ending that his suicidal ideology wanted??? Buried with his past that he's worked so hard to forgive himself for??? From a writing standpoint, it feels so gross.

I can't say that I'm entirely against Athena's arc from this episode -- Angela Bassett is an amazing actress -- but my issue with it is that mostly no one else gets to show much, if any, emotion about a member of their family dying. I'm glad that at least Chimney got to be upset on screen, and I acknowledge that even Hen had her moment (just shortlived, unfortunately), but Buck and Eddie? Characters who have been through mounds of development because of Bobby? Not even a sliver?? I'm really hoping that there's more to it in the next two episodes because this isn't sitting right, but I keep getting this weird itch that it's not the case.

You expect me to believe that Evan "Buck" "my emotions control me" Buckley is just... okay after the man that he saw as his father died two weeks ago? He was less okay when his best friend was three states away. Like. I don't doubt that therapy helps, but all of this "growth" wasn't even on screen, so it just feels so shoehorned in so the writers didn't have to write it.

And, on the topic of "on screen," all of Eddie's was just not that. I can't even say anything about it because there's nothing TO SAY with the combined 3 minutes of screen time that he had.

Because all of the screen time was given to the B-plot -- which takes up more time than the "A-plot" (if I can even call it that). A mother who believes that her dead son was still alive somewhere. With the way this show usually plays out, you'd think this would parallel the fact that Bobby was alive somewhere, despite being buried. Because this show has a tendency to leave you hoping for the impossible -- a point that even Chimney brings up too, a secret third option that one fights the concept of "possibility" -- but, no. I take the B-plot to be Athena being walked through the fact that Bobby was dead.

I don't believe this play was about us theorizing that he was still alive, btw, as I'm pretty sure the episode was written before we even knew Bobby was dead. But that doesn't mean it feels less insulting. If anything, it convinces me more that he is still alive somewhere. Somehow.

I have this weird hope for the next two episodes that all of this is an elaborate ruse that backfired horrendously, but given how, overall, this episode was written, it genuinely pains me to think that it was an attempt at at something serious. And everything after 8x16 will be forever tainted with how this episode (and the previous one) was handled, regardless of how "good" the season finale could possibly be.

[clits-and-clips]

A big shout out and thank you to everyone who was so kind to me this year, who gave me advice through one of the most difficult times of my life, who helped me even though we don't even know eachother that well. I'll never forget the kindness and love you all have shown me. It truly helped me so much to be able to vent here and receive similar stories and experiences. I hope I can do the same for you if you ever need it, and im so so grateful for you all🥰🥰

[jmflowers]

Swarla Kisses Rated [x]

1. "Don't get dressed." (22nd November 2024)

The loud noise that occurred at the moment this kiss aired was the sound of an entire population's proverbial panties dropping. Has there ever been a hotter line spoken? This is the power-necking the soap community taught us about. Swarla started off SO strong it's frankly terrifying. 14/10 Carla knew what she wanted.

2. "Have you?" (29th November 2024)

When the most confident dyke on the cobbles asks you if you've changed your mind about your feelings for her, you are required by law to stubbornly keep your hand on your hip. Even if she pushes your hair back from your face as delicately as humanly possible??? If Lisa Swain ever looked at me like that I would burst into flames. 11/10

3. "Is that better?" (16th December 2024)

We reached the domesticity era of their love in 0.2 seconds flat and I for one am not upset about it. The way Carla nuzzles in? The tilt of Lisa's head? The repetition? I was not expecting more kisses so soon in their story. The only way this could've gotten better is if they'd eaten each other's faces after this had been a clearer angle. 7/10 Carla Connor saying, “I want you.” plays on loop in my head at all times.

4. "Mmm... truffley." (20th December 2024)

The prolonged eye contact???? The dazed look on Lisa's face immediately after?? The fucking giggles???? The sheer power Carla Connor has and wields for good (ie. my own entertainment). Coronation Street said y'all deserve this. 10/10 Carla can hand feed me any day of the week.

5. "See you later." (20th December 2024)

Have you ever seen anyone look so peaceful about a decision before? Carla Connor said, "Today's the day I kiss my girlfriend in the street." I know y'all were waiting for that Live Sally Reaction and it did not disappoint. I hope they kiss each other goodbye constantly forever. 6/10 The way she analyzed Lisa's entire face before leaning forward made me scream both internally and externally.

6. New Year's Countdown (31st December 2024)

If you thought I wouldn't lose my mind over the image of them off in a corner of the pub in their own little world, you were wrong. I need to know if this was a scripting choice, an acting choice, or an editing choice for reasons. I'm never going to get sick of the way Lisa pulls Carla closer by the shoulders (almost) every time they kiss. Lisa closing her eyes like that makes my heart stop beating. 8/10

7. "Ooh, your lip!" (31st December 2024)

You ever just get aggressively snogged by a woman who's falling in love with you (while your lip is busted open from fighting bad guys)? Superheroes really don't get days off but they do get the girl. I miss the power-necking (literally a month ago?!?), but this was still so cute. 9/10 for the sheer fact that Carla needed a New Year's like this considering she dies like 12 hours later.

8. "Won't take that long." (31st December 2024)

Carla Connor isn't the only one who nearly fainted shortly after this kiss. Lisa said let me flutter my drunk eyelashes at you. The way Carla opened her mouth?? The breathy, "Shall we go to bed?" from Lisa??? The fucking forehead lean???? I am too goddamn gay for this to be on my screen. How did we get a month into this relationship and already reach 8 kiss scenes? 10/10 thanks Coronation Street for the gay rights.

9. "Please don't leave me here." (1st January 2025)

The fact that Lisa could walk away from Carla in this moment is frankly mind-blowing; her face is the same colour as Betsy's shirt. Lisa, woman, OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES. Someone said Carla looks like she died 3 hours ago and they're not wrong. 3/10 because I'm a sucker for the domestic nature of this but also I want to punch everyone in the face for not protecting our sick baby. Gold star for the Corrie makeup department and their highlighter collection.

10. "Are we okay?" (8th January 2025)

Lisa Swain's affectionate eye roll immediately after Bobby interrupted them is like 1/1000th of how we all really felt. She lingered on this kiss for so long. The hand coming up to cup Carla's head? The forehead lean again? Carla's little smile when she realized what was about to happen? Give these ladies a room that isn't in hospital or full of their children. 9/10 we're watching f/f hurt/comfort fanfiction live on ITV.

11. Comforting Hand (9th January 2025)

We're deep in the trenches of this hurt/comfort storyline now, kids. I hope Lisa plans on sitting vigil at Carla's bedside for the rest of their damn lives (yes I'm wearing my clown makeup while I watch this soap). 4/10 because my self-deprecating baby pulled away from the love and support she deserves.

12. Good Luck (13th January 2025)

As far as kisses go, this barely passes the test, but THEY ARE FAMILY. Carla, proper bricking it. Betsy, also bricking it. Good thing Lisa Swain swooped in to wish her wife girlfriend good luck with the most vanilla cheek peck known to man. Someone get them a room and a dialysis machine whirring to drown out all their kids, stat! 5/10 cause I respect the domesticity.

13. "We'll make it happen either way." (17th January 2025)

At the precise moment that Carla Connor's head settled in against Lisa Swain's shoulder and her eyes closed and she smiled that little smile while Lisa declared them a 'we', my heart officially stopped beating and I passed away. Rating this soft head kiss an 8/10 from the grave because (whatever entity you believe is on the other side) agreed with me: that's the Connor-Swain family!

14. "I'm not scared. I'm not." (20th January 2025)

Carla Connor is absolutely not scared. And she absolutely did not inch forward slightly so that Lisa could be the one to decide to hold her and make her feel safe. Absolutely none of that happened. I'm going to forever be soft about all these forehead kisses and collapsing-into-each-other hugs. Rating this a 9/10 for the utter loving, vulnerability of it all. Now, go make sweet love about it!

15. "Ugh, in my dreams." (5th February 2025)

DOMESTICITY ERA IS A GO. They greet each other with kisses, y'all. We're really in it now... we've made it! Coronation Street said have all the vanilla lip pecks you desire, cause they live together. 7/10 Because all I'm really thinking about is them staying up all night in the glow of the dialysis machine making sweet love.

16. "...the best possible future I could imagine." (5th February 2025)

Lisa Swain: Certified Softy said I'm gonna stick by you so hard, Carla Connor. Through sickness and in lunch break. I'm obsessed with how committed she gets to these hand and forehead kisses; how long she hovers on the moment, making eye contact, making sure Carla knows what she means. 8/10 This is what love looks like.

17. "Just introducing myself." (10th February 2025)

Listen, I know y'all went feral for this show of dominance kiss (and it was really such a dyke power move), but this had literally nothing to do with Carla and everything to do with Lisa and Rob's dick-measuring contest. Carla didn't even close her eyes. Do we know if she consents to public displays of affection in front of her estranged, murdering little brother and his prison guard? Grab your pitchforks cause I'm giving this a 2/10

18. "...I want him fit enough for the transplant." (10th February 2025)

Lisa really said, "I know who your brother is now, but I'm still soft for you," and we respect her for that. Even if Carla in this moment thinks she literally doesn't care. Can you hear the cogs turning in her head, Carla? Let a woman scheme. Rating this a 5/10 cause she's got a Carla-shaped space in her arms and I'm mush about it even when they're too focused on kidney transplants to kiss sloppy-style.

19. "Oh, I love you. Thank you." (12th February 2025)

A barely audible "I love you"?!?!?! I nearly didn't believe it myself. But if anything warrants such a declaration, it's Lisa running Carla a bath. This whole scene was so domestic and life-partner-coded that I could implode just thinking about it. 7/10 cause there's hands and whispering and that's like gay kryptonite.

20. "You're gonna be here when I get back..." (14th February 2025)

The arm grab. The reciprocal I love yous. The fact that they're STARING INTO EACH OTHER'S EYES AS THEY KISS. Listen, I am a weak woman and this kiss nearly took me out. Not that unlike how Mandy took Carla out of the hospital like 24 hours later. 8/10 cause I'm about ready to propose on their behalves.

21. "You tryna get away without a little kissy?" (12th March 2025)

Carla Connor certified fucking loser when it comes to Lisa Swain. Honestly, she could've said anything and that's really what she chose. But then she yanked Lisa to her by the neck and hummed through the entire thing and I very momentarily stopped dreaming about the day they'll kiss like it's November 2024 again. 8/10

22. "We can't keep around Betsy 24/7, lovey, can we?" (17 March 2025)

The pat on Lisa’s head moments before this kiss occurs will live rent-free in my mind for all eternity. Carla Connor said, “down, girl.” I’m just over here thinking about the weeks of Lisa comforting Carla with head and hand kisses and how Carla is now returning the favour. It’s about balance, folks. 7/10 for the sheer number of places they’re physically connected in this scene.

23. "Well, that's your department, missus." (17 March 2025)

Lisa Swain popped like a damn balloon with one touch from Carla Connor. You know when you’re cuddling with someone you love and you’re suddenly so exhausted because you’re so at peace? That’s this moment to me - even if Lisa’s brain is still positively swirling with stress and Carla’s is run rampant with guilt. They’re safe together and that makes this kiss pure. 6/10 for the way Lisa’s eyes close and her little smile appears.

24. "I shot my own daughter." (26 March 2025)

Thank goodness for this camera and this lens, but fuck this angle. How am I supposed to dissect kisses for ratings when I can’t even see them, Corrie?!?!? Carla’s first response to Lisa’s confession being to pull her closer makes me feel so many things all at once. They really said they’re a team, y’all. 3/10 cause I’m not heartless, I just want some words with the director and DP and editor of this episode.

25. "Tantrums and hormonal breakdowns?" (28 March 2025)

It’s so gay of them to have lasted all of 12 hours in a fight before they were collapsing into each others’ arms, crying and professing their love. I’d like the look of relief and exhaustion and peace on Lisa’s face in this moment tattooed on the inside of my eyelids so I can look at it while I try to sleep. 7/10 cause I need all of their scenes shot Big Brother style for my sanity.

26. "...we can get through anything." (28 March 2025)

There’s a vine somewhere that makes the exact squeeeeing noise that’s been playing on loop in my head since the moment this kiss aired. The fucking sound of them kissing! The eyelashes, the tears, the l o o k i n g. The SNIFFLE. 9/10 I never expect to be as gay as I am about them, and then moments like this occur and a god damn pride flag pops out of my mouth.

27. "Come 'ere." (28 March 2025)

Thank GOD Alison King is a soap queen who knows how to work those camera angles for her own coverage. I’m sick with the Sappho from the way Lisa looks up at Carla as she is pulled into this kiss/hug combo. They’re so everything I could literally die. Bury me beneath the cobbles, Corrie; I’m here until the end of this couple. 8/10

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 9 - Déjà vu

CW: dead dove don't eat, torture, death, suicidal thoughts.

The playlist I have been writing to for this series is here!

Previous parts - masterlist - next

This is real, but it doesn’t feel real. Your breathing picks up, your heart is thumping in your chest. You try to remember the techniques your therapist taught you for avoiding a panic attack. 

This is real though, you’re not fighting against your subconscious and memories, this isn’t like the flashbacks you get in the shower.

This is real.

You’re still in the dark, maybe that's on purpose, maybe it's already started, the psychological torture. Keeping you in the closest thing to a sensory deprivation room. You don’t bother trying to keep track of time. They don’t bring you food or water, you can’t hear anything on the other side of the walls, it’s just you and your thoughts. 

Someone comes to collect you, slapping cuffs back on and walking you down a windowless corridor into a brightly lit room with a table bolted to the floor and chairs on either side. He shoves you down into a chair, there’s a large one way window in the room, on this side you can only see your reflection. 

You expect the soldier to tie your hands to the table or the chairs. He doesn’t though, he takes the cuffs and leaves. You’re alone now, you hear the door lock, not like you were going to run anyway. You’re not waiting too long before the door opens again.

Philip Graves walks in, you’ve only run into him a few times, he doesn’t look any different from what you remember. You straighten up in your chair, he walks over to the other side of the table. He has a folder tucked under his arm and two cups, one in each hand. 

“I didn’t know how you took it. Milk and sugar?” He asks as he puts one of the cups in front of you. You ignore him looking behind him at the one way glass. You wonder if they’re watching; John or Johnny, maybe even kyle. 

Graves puts the folder down on the table and sits down. 

There’s nothing they can do. It was days before Laswell managed to exonerate you before, you have a feeling this time it’s going to be different. 

“It surprised me when I heard 141 were getting a medic.” He leans back in his chair sipping his coffee. “How many times have you had to pull them out of the field for some dumb shit?” 

You stay silent. 

“Well, I always knew they would ruin every nice thing they get.” He chuckles, it makes you feel sick.

God you hate him. Good, at least when he hurts you it won't be as painful. You don’t have to worry about moving on without him, forgiving him. You can spend the rest of your life hating him for what he’s going to do. 

“Your personal devices are being checked. Want to let us know in advance if we will find anything?” He says, raising an eyebrow. Your stomach twists, they’ll find nudes pictures you sent to tease them before everything fell apart. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to look at them let alone get rid of them.

You stare him down until just sighs and takes another drink of his coffee. 

“I respect you, you’ve been here before and you’re still so.. put together.” He leans forward studying your face. “How do you do it? I would love to give some tips to my men.” 

It feels like a pathetic attempt to get you to lower your defences; make you think you’re the one with the power. You’re not going to say anything, not until he forces you, and even then you’re not going to make it easy for him. You’ve had your time to panic, you’ve had your time to cry, now it’s your time to fight.

You tune out Graves as he batters you with questions you ignore, you don’t want to build rapport with him. Instead you end up looking past him at the one way window in the room. You never got a chance to tell John you forgave him, maybe he’s watching, maybe he’s not, you don’t know what's worse. 

You don't know if Simon is okay, if he’s out of surgery or if he’s stable. That makes you sad, you hope he survives, a few months ago you wouldn’t have had the strength to push gauze in his wounds if he was bleeding out. Now you can’t stand the thought of him not being around. 

Your therapist was right, even though you didn’t believe it during your sessions, you feel stronger, brave. You worked the trauma into something positive, you forgave the people you love, the people you hurt you. You close your eyes letting out a breath, you remember the first day you were in the house you all bought. 

The kitchen was being renovated, the place was empty, all there was was a single mattress on the living room floor. That's all you needed apparently, that and takeaway, it was a good night. Even though the acoustics of the empty house were less than ideal, you had some really good sex, then you fell asleep in someone's arms. 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your thoughts, you look up at Graves who’s demeanor has changed. Maybe he’s bored of you ignoring him. He gets up and goes over to open it. He blocks the door, you try to look but you can’t see. You can’t make out what he’s saying either. 

When the door closes the mood in the room is different. Graves comes over and puts your phone on the table in between you both. He doesn’t sit down. 

“What do you think we found?”

You look up at him blinking. You won’t break this easily.

“It will be easier if you talk.” 

You hold your ground. There is nothing incriminating on your phone, on any of your devices. He crosses his arms. 

“I didn’t expect you of all people to be the one attempting to take out 141 twice.” He scoffs. “I can’t fault your dedication. But here’s the thing, you stepped on the toes of someone you probably didn’t mean to. Now we need to find out what you know.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. He lets out a huff pressing his lips together. 

“Andrei Nolan, ring a bell?” You try so hard not to react, you can feel your jaw clenching though. Graves reaches over and picks up the folder. He flicks through it until he finds what he’s looking for, he throws one of the CCTV snapshots on the table. You don’t even need to lean forward to look, you know it's the same ones John showed you months ago. 

It’s happening again, John and Simon didn’t believe you when you were screaming and begging at them. You have a feeling Graves gives less of a fuck. 

“This really doesn’t have to be hard.” He puts the folder down bracing on the table, his arms spread apart. He studies you for a reaction you unclench your jaw keeping eye contact with him. He stands up striding round the table to stand next to you. You don’t move, keeping your eyes looking at yourself in the mirrored window.

“Your life is about to get extremely uncomfortable extremely quickly if you don’t cooperate.” His breath is hot on your ear, his voice low as he grits his teeth. “You think 141 were bad, you haven't seen anything yet. You should really think hard about how you want to continue these little talks.”  

His fingers are gripping your arms as he pulls you to your feet. He knees your thighs forcing you to bend over the table as he pulls your wrists into cuffs. Your heart rate picks up again, he's dragging you back to your cell. He throws you in without taking the cuffs off. You stubble against the metal bed, the door is slammed closed. Your arms are stuck behind your back as you steady yourself the best you can. 

You let out a grunt sitting down on the floor as the lights go off again. 

You’re not going to let them break you.

…

This time it’s harder. That surprises you. 

You don’t get to sleep, you can’t keep track of time, they don’t bring you food or water. Everytime you’re about to nod off or get comfy you're dragged out of your cell into the same blindingly bright room. The torture hasn’t started quite yet, Graves just shouts at you, his voice going horse after a few hours. 

You don’t say a word. 

Your body is exhausted, you have no idea how long it has been. One day at least, Graves took a shower. You could see his ruffled hair groomed, he smelt of the shitty base soap. 

“141 may have believed your bullshit but I don’t buy it for a second!” He shouts, slamming his hand down on the metal table. It’s been another long session, your head is swimming, your body is feeling weak, you could use some food, or a sleep. At least 141 kept you fed and let you get some sleep.

Graves comes over to you yanking your hair forcing your head to look straight. His grip is tight causing you to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palm. It’s the first time he’s been physical with you. 

“Lieutenant Riley is dead.” It’s like a punch to the gut. Your eyes widen, your breathing stops. 

You feel like you’re going to be sick, your head swims. No. he can’t be dead. 

“You did that. You killed him.” He points in the mirror. Your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. He grips your hair tighter as he throws your head forward. Your neck pops, you look down at your knees, tears falling on your pants. 

He can’t be dead. 

You don’t move, you don’t listen to Graves, just let the silent tears come, being the only outlet for the pain in your heart. You never got to tell him you forgave him, you never saw him smile one last time. You never got to tell him you love him. Now he’s gone and that's all your fault.  

Arms grab you pulling you out the chair, you don’t fight them, you don’t have the strength, you don’t care. You expect to be taken back to your cell. Instead you’re taken to another room, a new room. There’s a table and a chair, you sniff looking around as Graves takes you over to the table. 

Another person walks into the room. You see a tray with some tools on it, a bucket with clothes soaking inside. You know where this is going and you don't care. Let them drown you, let them hurt you, you deserve all of this. 

You should have been there, you should have saved him. 

The other man is bigger than Graves, he manhandles you, your body is almost betraying you fighting against their grip. Something deep inside you knows what's about to happen and wants to fight. You end up slipping from Graves grip and falling to your knees. It’s not long before there is another person in the room. More hands on you.

Panic rises in you adrenaline pumping through your veins, your sadness has turned to anger, your fight or flight has kicked in and you’re choosing to fight. You scratch and kick, screaming at the top of your lungs until your throat is sore. It doesn’t matter though there are too many people, you don’t have the energy to fight them, even with the boost of adrenaline.

You’re picked up, your body slammed hard on the metal table, it’s cold, your ankles and wrists are cuffed. You can’t move or fight anymore. You look up watching everyone but graves leave the room. He grips your head pulling it down, it slams hard against the table making your ears ring. 

“I really didn’t want it to turn out like this.” He says, he sounds sympathetic. It’s bullshit. Your breathing is rapid; it feels like you can't breathe, your fingers tingle as Graves leaves your side. You hear the running of a tap, the sloshing of water.  

“How long did you last last time? A day? Two?” The door opens and another person comes in. You don’t bother looking, just stare at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. It stings your already raw eyes. “I bet we can do better.” 

You feel like you can hear a chuckle in his voice. The wet rag comes over your nose and mouth, you flick your eyes back to Graves standing above you. There’s a smile on his face, he’s enjoying this. 

You squeeze your eyes closed wishing you were anywhere else as cold water is poured over your face. 

next

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[ax-louise]

HISTORY

yan!romantic royal damian wayne × royal male reader × yan!platonic royal batfamily

NOTE: i never actually thought someone is waiting for this series and i'm a bit nervous if anyone would even like it :p, so this is for that one anon who asked for this, im very sorry! here's a short (very) part of chapter 2. stuck on chapter 2 since this chapter would be long, currently on 7k+ word count and still planning on continuing. reader is Caelum's prince, for context. also, reader is 9 years old in this part and planning on continuing the series until 16-20+ years old :p

“I heard that Caelum finally has a royal attending the Academy after years!” Stephanie Brown exclaimed, her eyes shining in excitement and enthusiasm. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“What are you even getting excited for?” Timothy asked, closing the door of his own chamber. His eyes traveled from Stephanie to Duke and Cassandra standing before him, with Duke lowering his own royal mantle, and leaning down in front of a chimney for warmth. “This is… insane. We’re not even a week in yet for this year, and you’re here?”

Although the three of them would actually prefer to stay back in Gotham than to live for months in the Academy, the news that Caelum finally has a prince to represent their kingdom after these years, has been the reason for them to come back to the Academy earlier than expected. New things have arrived, and they're not one to miss.

Plus, Timothy's report containing how Caelum's heir acts differently from how they expected him to be pushed them into forcing Bruce to send them to the Academy immediately, to witness you themselves, to see you for themselves. From the image of you being aggressive towards Gotham, holding a grudge against them and taking the Academy as your chance to avenge your kingdom from history, to them realizing that your intentions are surprisingly pure.

But what do they actually know? Timothy only met you yesterday, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know you from the hours of watching you, right? Of course he does. You were a potential threat for his kingdom, and it is only his job to assure everyone they're safe.

“How about the kingdom?” Timothy asked once again. Stephanie let out an air through her nostrils before plopping down on Timothy's bed.

“Everything is fine. Bruce can handle it.”

The doors Timothy had once shut close were opened, the loud footsteps prior alerted them of a person, and they watched the doorknob be twisted from the other side before Damian came into view, his usual scowl evident on his face, and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound bounced on the walls, and echoed inside the silent chamber.

“What has become your reason to attend earlier from what we had discussed?” Damian started, and walked towards one of Timothy's chairs placed on a corner.

“The report,” Duke answered this time, his back facing the rest of his siblings. “I guess none of us believed that the kingdom we attacked years ago, the same kingdom that has been making us suffering by their silence, is surprisingly not a threat at all.”

"Why are you already coming to conclusions when it has only been two days with Caelum's heir?” Damian questioned, leaning backwards on the chair and letting himself relax, releasing all tensions resting on his shoulders from today’s events. “What made you think that they'll immediately attack us? He could be manipulating us into thinking he knows nothing.”

“But what do you think?” Timothy spoke. “He came alone with one royal knight, and we're here with hundreds of ours, standing behind our backs and ready to unleash their swords if any of the neighboring kingdoms attack us. But we're talking about Caelum here, we didn't give the rest of them a reason to be a threat to us, we're sending hundreds of men against one knight and his nine years old prince who doesn't even know anything at all.”

“And what are you trying to insinuate, Drake?”

“That we're pathetic and obsessed?” Stephanie answered for Timothy, eyes sticking on the ceiling, and a soft laugh that left her lips after her words. “I mean, it's better to be sure than not at all, Caelum didn't even do anything after our ancestors killed their former queen, isn't it already a proof that they are never going to answer our call for war, even after all these years?”

“We had a reason to start a war,” Duke stated. “But after all these years, truths are always uncovered. I don't think we had the right to execute their queen because of an accusation we never had an evidence with… and being alert, cautious, around Caelum for so many years, even until this moment, just to receive nothing really proves how pathetic we've become. We tried to start everything, and we’ve been waiting for too long. This is our way to make an alliance and fix everything with Caelum to stop putting ourselves on edge.”

“Who are we to say that? We're not the one seating on a throne to decide,” Damian argued.

“But you will,” Timothy pointed his finger at Damian. “And that is one thing both you and [Name] had in common.”

[glaciertea]

Tickets for Two

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader two-shot

Part 2

This is part one of this story that's been on my mind for quite a while.

Summary: Working the graveyard shift at a movie theater has it quirks. It's not the best thing, and it's not the worst.

Well, there is one thing that keeps you from leaving this job.

The huge, gorgeous man who comes in every Thursday.

CW: Nothing for this chapter, just having a crush on Miguel.

Word count: 1.7k

There was something about Thursday nights in the movie theater that always made you exhilarated.

It wasn't the smell of freshly stale popcorn that stunk up your nostrils or the fact that you were able to score the after-hours time slot on this day. The ones many would kill to have because after 9 p.m., the place is a barren ghost town. Oh, no. It wasn't one of those reasons. 

It was him.

Throughout the year and a half you managed to survive working here; you've never seen a man like that before in your life. Yes, you've seen your fair share of attractive people come in and out; of course, this was a place to watch the latest hit-or-miss films. But this one, this one was different.

Tall, high cheekbones, a jawline that could shapren diamonds merely by looking at them, those piercing eyes, and those muscles. You always have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming.

He started coming three months ago for the ‘Traditional Thursdays’ feature presentation. Your theater would show old movies from the 1930's ranging to the 2020's or 2030's. It was a nice addition, as your boss wanted to have that “retro-style feel,” and it was pretty successful… if one were to go at the 9 p.m. slot. That frame usually brought in a decent amount of customers, but you were happy to not deal with that anymore.

You managed to get in the ten-to-one schedule block. It was a ghost town during those hours, especially with the midnight showings. You would lounge behind the concession, eyeing a few nightcrawlers emerge, but you would wait for him.

He would walk through the sliding doors exactly at midnight. Never a minute early, never a minute late. The actual film doesn't begin until 12:10 to showcase the following week's feature and a trailer or two. 

So it gives him enough time to head in your direction. He has become a regular for you, always ordering a medium black roast coffee, a small popcorn, and a pack of gummy worms. It got to the point where you realized the items were never going to change, so you made it a habit to have them prepared for him on hand. You barely speak because you don't know what to conjure up, and you certainly don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you stick to the basic “Here's your order” and “Enjoy your film.”

He always responds with a “Thank you” or an “I appreciate it,” and each time, your knees will wobble. His voice was smoother than the butter that you poured on the popcorn. He had you weak. His chiseled profile, his domineering height—he was too good to be true. You want to know more about him, but he's very much to himself. You are intimidated by him; his demeanor can make him seem unapproachable, but that only draws you in more.

There will be a day you will finally find the courage to strike up a conversation. One day.

You just weren't expecting it to be today. You manned the concussion stand, eyeing the time and counting the milliseconds. It was, of course, slow, but you loved it. Easy money to you.

His order was fresh and ready to go; he was going to stroll in less than a minute, and you had to put a lid on your excitement. And like clockwork, he came in and made his way right to you.

Putting on your best smile, you placed the snacks and beverage on the counter. “I got everything ready to go, sir. Piping hot and a new batch of popcorn made.”

“Actually, I want to switch it up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.”

Your brain practically malfunctioned. Not from the request, but from the fact he uttered more words to you. Your reaction must have given something away as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“If not, that's fine. I don't want you wasting supplies on me.”

Scolding yourself, you shook your head and waved your hands. “No, no! No, sir, it's not an inconvenience at all. I'll gladly ring you up with a new order. Anything for the customer.” You despised saying that phrase as it got so many ungrateful, smug idiots out of problems they decided to cause. But for him? You would repeat it endlessly.

Discarding the usual and clearing the order from the register, you nodded. “What are your taste buds tingling for?” Did you really say those words in that order? Your body suddenly wanted to combust.

The man raised a brow as you chuckled nervously. “That sounded... less dumber in my head.”

His lips turned upwards at that, and your heart stopped. He smiles? He can smile! You never once saw him do that, but if you did, you managed to miss it. He managed to look more radiant; how was that possible?

“Well, my taste buds are craving pretzel bites, fruit snacks, and... can I make my medium roast into a large?”

“Yes, sir, I'll try to get it done before the film starts.” 

“No hay necesidad de apresurarse. Take your time.”

“Okay.” You squeaked out, hiding your flustered state from him.

Miguel rested his arms on the countertop and observed the way you moved back and forth, blending new beans and meticulously placing the hot pretzels in a bag. 

“Here you go.” You reached down and took a packet of fruits and propped it nicely on the pretzel bag. “Steaming and raring to go.”

“Are you usually precise when making these orders?” Miguel pulled his wallet out and paid for the meal, leaving a nice tip.

“Kind of. Maybe it's because I have more time to do these things, and I like my regulars to enjoy nice treats.” You grinned and went to clean up his usual. “I hope you enjoy.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Definitely keeping sure. Thank you again.”

You didn't know what meant by that as he took up his things and headed off to catch the film. You put your hand to your chest and calmed your heart rate, going on about your night. You honestly believed that would've been the end of that interaction and that the following week would revert back to the same old, same old, but you were far from it.

The next Thursday, he was there, but fifteen minutes earlier, asking for a new item from the menu alongside the other treats. You were once again thrown off, but that didn't mean you got to be near his presence more, and if not longer. 

It started off with small extras. A bag of pretzels, sized up on the popcorn, an extra bag of candy—nothing too extravagant. However, as the weeks coasted by, the orders got bigger. A hotdog, flatbread pizza, sliders—those meals took you longer to make, but you did not mind one bit. 

You got to chat with him constantly; when Thursday rolled around, you had that extra pep in your step. The conversations ranged from his tedious office filled with people of the same personality, the many tales of strange movie customers from you, or anything that springs to mind. He was awkward, loveable, and sweet, and your crush for him only grew more with each visit. To the point that it was overwhelming.

And it wasn't blowing away anytime soon. 

You were fixing him up a basket of curly fries and chicken tenders casually yapping away when the topic of movie genres popped up.

“I'm into animated movies. They seemingly are able to convey more emotions than actual humans.”

Miguel enjoyed watching you; he honestly preferred looking at you than the film he was supposed to see. “I enjoy them as well. They tend to have moments that resonate with you on a higher emotional level.” He tapped his finger on the glass counter. “Do you have any favorites?”

“Hmm.” You rubbed your chin before moving back over to the fries and dumping some extra salt and pepper on them (they barely had any flavor to them). “I like a good Lixar film. It's funny how they're able to give certain things sentiment. Rather it's inanimate or not, they find a way. I mean, they gave a torso and sweater emotions. A sweater!” You poured the fries into the plastic basket and moved onto the tenders. “Now in particular, I love Bouillabaisse. Up is a heartbreaker, but I can understand the older man's pain. Searching Elmo is so gorgeous, especially for the time it came out. And Coco, that's a tearjerker. That ending scene when he's singing to her? Gets me every time.” 

“I enjoyed all those as well.” Miguel took a sip of his freshly brewed coffee. “Especially the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” You grabbed some tongs and flipped the tenders to cook them evenly. 

“Sí. A bit of a bias though.” 

“A bias?”

“I share the name of the main character.” He stared right into your eyes as he said that.

“Miguel.” It was velvety as it slid off your tongue.

Was that a suave way of him giving his name? It never occurred to you that you actually never learned his name. He knew yours because of the required name tag, but you were glad to know it now and took it with no complaints.

“It fits.” You smiled and finally finished and rang up his meal. “I shouldn't keep you from the movie. I hope everything is of satisfaction for you.”

“You already know it will be.” He paid and reached for his goods when he stopped.

You crooked your neck and looked down to make sure you didn't miss anything. His usual and the new meal were there, so you didn't know what was up. 

“Is everything okay? Did I mess up your order?”

“Everything is fine. I only want to…” he snatched up a napkin and scanned, even going as far as peering over the counter.

“Miguel?” 

“Do you have a pen?” 

“Yes?” You took one from under the register and handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He scribbled down at lightning pace and folded it half, sliding it across to you. “I'll see you then.” He bowed his head, snagged up his meal and left. 

You had to wait several seconds to recover from your shock when you hastily snatched up the napkin and opened it up. You drew your lips to your teeth to prevent yourself from screaming. 

There were ten digits written in blue.

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 9

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

A/N: Happy reading!!!!!

Isla touches up her lipstick under the bright lights of the bathroom, which smells like apples thanks to whatever air freshener is plugged in here. When she drops the lipstick in her purse, Isla sighs at her reflection, the frustration evident in her green eyes. She knows it’s only been a little over an hour since she and her family arrived at Midsummers, but it was an hour spent unable to get to Rafe, and the thought has her blowing a slow breath out of her nose.

Relax. You’re becoming desperate. When has she ever chased after a guy? It’s not in her nature, really, and she’s not sure why it’s becoming so prominent about Rafe Cameron, of all people. She tells herself that it’s guilt that’s driving her, feeling badly for assuming he was the one who had punched JJ because of how offended and hurt he had looked when it came up. Truthfully, Isla hadn’t expected Rafe to be hurt by it, not the way she had seen it reflected in his eyes, and she guesses maybe that’s why she’s so adamant on talking to him and properly apologizing to him.

And especially after that date. . . The way he set it up for them, cooking their meal—it was the sweetest thing any guy has ever done for her to show her their interest. Anyone she has been with before, whether it was a relationship or whatever, never put that kind of effort for her. And that. . . It meant a lot to her. Not to mention the fact that she really did have a good fucking time and, frankly, wished that he had kissed her. Or she should have kissed him.

They should have fucking kissed.

Isla blows out a breath, knowing she can’t change the past as she gives herself one last look over before walking to the door. She begins her walk down the hallway back to where the party is, hearing chatter and music in the distance, only to come to a sudden halt to avoid running into someone who turns the corner from a connecting hallway.

“Isla?” She freezes upon hearing her name from the familiar voice, taking in a deep, quiet breath when her gaze lifts and her eyes lock with her ex-boyfriend.

Of all the people to run into. . . 

She hadn’t once thought of running into Carlo at Midsummers, but that was also because she forgot that a few months ago, his mom got remarried and his step-dad is from the Kook side of Outer Banks, and while Carlo hadn’t changed schools and still went to the public school Isla and her friends go to instead of switching over to the Kook academy, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he and his family would come tonight. She had been lucky enough not to spot him—until now, as he stares at her in mild surprise, like he hadn’t expected to run into her, either.

“I was just heading back,” she says, moving to brush past him.

“Wait—” She is forced to stop when he suddenly appears in front of her. “We never got a chance to talk at Sarah’s party.”

Her patience is already wearing thin. “That’s because I made it clear I don’t want to talk to you,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. Goddammit, why can’t he take the hint? What is there for him to say? To apologize for cheating on her? Beg for her forgiveness? She doesn’t care—not anymore, at least. Her annoyance builds, and Isla narrows her eyes and says, “Let’s get one thing clear, Carlo. I don’t owe you shit, alright? You fucked up. You threw our relationship out the window. So I’m well within my rights to tell you to go to hell and never have to speak to you again, because you don’t deserve it.”

Carlo’s jaw tightens, the vein in his temple beginning to protrude with every word Isla hits him with. But she simply keeps glaring at him, undeterred and sick of him trying to have a conversation with her that he thinks will change her opinion of him. “You never even gave me a chance to explain myself—”

“Explain yourself?” Isla repeats, eyebrows rising in disbelief at his audacity. “I’m sorry, I don’t need a step by step walk-through of how your dick ended up in some Jersey girl. It’s been a year since we broke up, Carlo. Move on. I sure as hell have.”

She sees the muscle in his jaw work, indignation firing up in his eyes. But right when Isla thinks he’s going to argue back, spew some bullshit, he surprises her by dipping his chin briefly in a nod. “Fine,” he says tightly. “You win. Won’t bother you again.”

Isla arches an eyebrow as she watches him turn and go, mildly surprised at how easily he gave in. But she doesn’t have a chance to dwell on it, because a new voice from behind her speaks up. “Are you always this brutal to guys who have a thing for you?”

Heart jumping, Isla spins around to see Rafe leaning against the wall on his side, watching her with an almost blank expression. Unable to help herself, Isla’s gaze dips, taking in the sight of him now that he’s this close after days of not seeing him, admiring the pristine press of his suit, his bangs framing his temples, and the family ring he wears on his pinky that gleams under the hallway lights.

When her gaze lifts to meet his, he arches an eyebrow, and instead of being embarrassed that he noticed her blatantly checking him out, she’s just relieved to see him—to have him talk to her. “Only the ones who deserve it,” she replies, her voice growing soft on its own. There’s about five feet of space between them, and she’s desperate to diminish it. “Rafe, I—can we talk?”

“About what?” he asks, but there’s a shift in his gaze that tells Isla he knows exactly what she wants to talk about.

She takes a couple of steps towards him, all too aware of the party going on behind her and that any one of her friends or her sister could walk by at any point and spot them. But she doesn’t want to add fuel to this already sensitive situation as she tells him, “I want to apologize—”

“Not here,” he cuts her off.

Isla blinks and before she knows it, his hand is holding hers and Isla’s gaze instantly drops down to the way his larger hand engulfs hers, his touch warm as their palms press together, and the air hitches in her throat as he tugs her forward. She has enough sense to use her free hand to lift the skirt of her dress so she doesn’t trip as Rafe pulls her around her corner, her heart thundering and too quickly for her to comprehend, they’re suddenly in a small, dark room.

Isla’s gaze darts, just barely making out the shelves next to her and along the wall opposite of the door as she turns around when the sound of the door clicking shut breaks the silence. She squints when a light is switched on, bathing her and Rafe in dim yellow lighting. Her throat tightens when she notices how small the room is—feeling smaller still with Rafe towering over her. Even in the shitty lighting of the supply closet, he’s unfairly gorgeous, the kind that makes her heart skip a beat in one second and pick up its pace in the next. And in the small space, the scent of his cologne is more prominent; fresh and woodsy and delicious.

When her gaze meets his, he arches an eyebrow and tells her, “Wouldn’t want your friends to spot us.”

He says it dryly, and it tightens something in her chest—even as she notes the way his gaze seems to trace the length of her, her skin prickling with awareness. His words have her blurting, “Rafe, I’m so—”

“I overreacted,” he cuts in, effectively surprising her as she gapes up at him. She most definitely hadn’t expected that. When he takes note of her surprised expression, one corner of his lips tilts up in a small, knowing smile. “I was thinking about it and I can’t exactly blame you for thinking I gave Maybank the black eye.”

“I was unfair,” she says with a frown, unsure how this conversation turned around. “I shouldn’t have just assumed that it was you.”

“I can’t exactly blame you for it,” he says, that half smile still visible as he rubs his bottom lip with a thumb. “Not with the history I have with your friends. I can’t expect you to forget all of that after just one date. It was unfair of me, too, to just shut you out these last couple of days.” His gaze meets hers and Isla’s throat locks at the genuine apology in his eyes, the kind that you can’t fake. “I’m sorry for not responding to your messages.”

Isla’s lips part, though no words come out as she stares at him in surprise. Part of her wonders if she’s imagining things, but she still can’t help the way her lips curve up into an incredulous, fond smile. Rafe’s gaze tracks the movement as he asks through a short chuckle, “What?”

She shakes her head, biting down on her smiling bottom lip. “I came here today fully intent on apologizing to you for not giving you the benefit of the doubt. And you just completely turn it around and apologize to me instead.”

His smile widens a bit, looking down at her with a lift of his chin. “Did I steal your thunder?”

Isla lets out a laugh. “A little bit,” she says with a nod. The air between them grows tense, in a way that makes her skin heat up as she realizes their proximity. But even so, her smile falters and she tells him, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Rafe’s smile fades a bit and for a second, Isla thinks he’s going to deny being hurt. But then again, Rafe is full of surprises, because he nods, gaze dropping to their feet as his lips twist to the side briefly. “I appreciate your apology.” His gaze lifts, blue eyes locking with her deep green, and the air seems to crackle. “You’re forgiven.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, not realizing how badly she wanted to hear those words until Rafe says them. The guy had given her one of the best dates she had ever been on, and she had turned around and insulted him, hurt his feelings, and Isla hated that she did that. If you asked her months ago if she would be up at night, tossing and turning over hurting Rafe Cameron’s feelings, she would have laughed in your face. But now, Isla feels an immense amount of relief knowing that he has forgiven her, and it’s a crazy development, but it’s not one she minds.

“Good,” she says quietly through a smile.

Her heart jumps when Rafe takes a step towards her, the already small space between them diminishing more as he does. “What about me?” he asks, voice low and enough to threaten goosebumps breaking across her skin. “Am I forgiven, too?”

She has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact as he gets closer, her pulse skittering in anticipation as the distance between them diminishes. The world beyond the door of the supply closet ceases to exist and all Isla can think of, can focus on, is the man before her, towering over her in his staggering height that she never before admired. She sees the way Rafe’s gaze dips from her eyes, lingering on her lips, and her stomach flips at the hungry look that darkens his eyes. She desperately wants him to act on that hunger.

“Yes,” she answers, her voice a whisper as if she’s divulging a secret only for him to know. Her own gaze flickers to his mouth, at lips that look so soft and make her wonder if they feel the same. Desire makes heat pool in her belly, her heart thudding faster and faster with every passing second. Through her dried throat, she speaks up, “If I tell you something, you promise not to hold it against me?”

Maybe he hears the vulnerability that slips into her tone, because Rafe’s gaze snaps up to meet her eyes once more. His chin dips into a single nod. “I promise.”

Her pulse quickens even more. For a split second, she hesitates in spilling her truth, knowing it’s going to leave her open and vulnerable in front of a person she never before wanted to be in such a state. But somewhere along the way, things changed so fast that Isla is left dizzy from it, but it’s a slow turning change she finds herself wanting to explore more of. It’s scary and new, but Isla wouldn’t be a Pogue if she shied away from trying scary and new things.

So conjuring up every ounce of her confidence, she looks him in the eye and confesses, “I missed you.”

Rafe’s eyes flare and she swears she hears him suck in a sharp breath, like her words were a punch in the gut. Her own cheeks warm as her statement hangs between them, feeling her heart pounding in her ears as she waits for him to say something. Anything. The tension in the small space is taut, ready to snap at any second, and she wonders if he can feel it so intently, too. Is she just imagining it? Can he, too, feel the sizzle of energy that exists between them?

“Isla.” His voice is rough, eyes darkening with a need that she feels deep in her bones. “Tell me I can kiss you.”

She nearly wants to cry in relief. “Please.”

It’s all the permission he needs, thankfully, and their collision is earth shattering.

Rafe’s arm winds around her waist and he tugs her close, erasing any remaining space between them as he leans down and captures her lips in a searing, breath-stealing kiss. Isla can’t stop the instant, gratifying moan that sounds from her throat at the first contact of his lips against hers, her hands coming up to grip the lapels of his suit jacket as she practically melts into him and the head spinning kiss.

Their fronts are pressed together and she swears she can feel every hard line of his torso against her as Rafe’s other hand grips her jaw, thumb on one side and his fingers on the other as he tilts her head just the way he likes it. Isla’s knees threaten to give out when his tongue teases her lips and she parts them for him immediately, wetness pooling in her underwear when he groans as his tongue languidly, teasingly slides along hers, tasting her as if he’s savoring every moment. Liquid heat pours through her blood as Rafe takes a few steps forward until Isla is being pressed against a shelf, the contents of it rattling yet neither of them paying any attention as he continues to rob her of her breath with his kiss.

One of her hands slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the pace of the kiss doesn’t slow for a second as Rafe’s arm moves from around her waist—only for his hand to grip her thigh from the parting of the slit of her dress, his skin warm against her already heated one, and she gasps against him as he lifts her leg to hook it around his hip. It brings them even closer, if possible, and Isla whimpers when she feels his hardness press against her panty covered core, the fiery need for him intensifying even more.

Yes, yes, yes. This is better than she could have ever imagined, going beyond her wildest fantasies. Every movement of his lips against hers sparks electricity in her veins, bringing her closer and closer to the point of cataclysmic explosion. She has kissed plenty of people before but, God, never like this. This, she can feel deep in her soul, bringing every cell in her body to life. She thinks she can easily get addicted to this—to Rafe’s kisses. How can someone be so damn good at kissing?

Isla doesn’t want to stop, she never wants this to stop, but air becomes an annoying necessity. Their kiss slows down, but it seems that Rafe doesn’t want to end it, either, dragging it out as long as he can, tasting her lips with sweet, soft kisses that make her heart ache in the best way. They don’t pull apart, foreheads pressing together as they catch their breaths, the supply closet filled with the sounds of their labored breathing as they share the air between them.

Isla’s eyes slowly open, heavy with dizzying lust, eyelashes fluttering as she finally opens them—only to see that Rafe is already watching her with a hooded gaze of his own. Her heart leaps, noting his kiss swollen lips, which have pinkened also because of her lipstick. The sight of her lipstick smeared on his mouth intensifies the heat pooled low in her belly, watching him with a hunger no doubt he can see.

Fuck. He kissed her in a way that ruined anyone else for her. There’s no going back from this.

“That was. . .” She trails off, still trying to catch her breath, their noses brushing together.

His mouth curves up. “Better than I could’ve imagined,” he finishes, making her already flushed cheeks blush more as she lifts her gaze to meet his, a shy yet thrilled smile dancing on her own lips. Especially when she feels his fingers brushing along her thigh, her leg still wrapped around him, and the blush deepens as she slowly puts her foot back onto the ground.

A breathless laugh escapes her as says, “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

Rafe grins. An honest, panty-dropping smile that makes her want to kiss him again. His hand on her jaw shifts and she feels his thumb swipe along her bottom lip. “So do you, baby.”

Oh, God. The term of endearment does more to her than she cares to admit, breath stilling in her lungs as her lips tingle not only from his kiss, but the gentle caress of his thumb. His voice is low, a dizzying rasp, and if he ever finds out the kind of effect he has on her, then Isla is in trouble.

Dropping her gaze, she opens her purse and pulls out a small tissue packet. When she takes out a tissue and holds it up to him, Rafe glances at it before meeting her gaze, smirking as he says, “Your mess. Only right for you to clean it up.”

She finds herself grinning at the teasing glint in his eyes, biting her bottom lip as she moves her hand further up and, gently, wipes at Rafe’s lips. His gaze is heavy on her as she does so, heart thudding wildly as she gets rid of her lipstick smeared on his smiling mouth. “Done,” she says once she’s finished, crushing the tissue in a ball in her hand.

“Thank you,” he hums before taking the tissue pack from her hand. “My turn.”

Her pulse stutters once more when he places a knuckle under chin to lift her face up, gazes locking as he, oh so gently, wipes at the skin right around her lips, as if he’s being careful not to displace the rest of her makeup. It’s the most tender anyone has ever been with her, even if it’s something as mundane as him fixing her smeared lipstick, and Isla is a hundred percent sure she falls for him a little bit more, right at this moment. Who knew Rafe Cameron could be so soft, so gentle? After kissing her senseless, nonetheless.

“What do you say to a second date?” he asks, head tilting slightly as he dabs at the corner of her mouth.

Isla finds herself smiling, stomach fluttering. “I’ll say yes if you promise to kiss me again.”

Rafe grins, lowering his hand. Her body craves to be wrapped up in him again as he lifts his chin and says, “That’s a promise I’ll always keep.”

He proves himself when he presses a slow kiss to her lips once more, and Isla melts into him once more, wishing that they could stay in here, just the two of them, instead of returning to the Midsummers party. Her heart flutters wildly, happily, as she returns the kiss before they break apart slowly. “Just let me know when,” she tells him.

“Hmm?” Rafe hums, his gaze on her lips, like he wants to kiss her again. She’d totally let him.

Isla laughs. “For the date.”

His eyes flicker up to meet hers. “Yes, ma’am.” He glances over his shoulder. “Let me make sure the coast is clear.”

“One sec,” she says, taking out her phone and lipstick. Using the camera, she checks her reflection for a moment and grins at Rafe. “Nice clean up job,” she says, making him chuckle as he watches her quickly reapply her lipstick. He really did wipe away any remnants from her skin, and with the lipstick newly applied, no one would ever know. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She watches as Rafe steps to the door, switching off the light and plunging them into darkness, only for some light to slip through the crack that appears when Rafe opens the door just an inch or so. He peeks out, his hand gesturing her forward, and she steps up. “Okay, you’re good to go.”

He opens the door wider and Isla’s heart thuds as she steps out into the empty, bright hallway. She can hear the music and the party continue on outside, glancing down at the last second to make sure her dress is straightened, which it is. Right when she’s about to make her way down the hallway, not wanting to linger in case someone comes by, Rafe’s voice stops her.

“Isla.” She glances at him where he remains inside, standing in the space between the door and the door frame. He grins that panty-dropping smile once more, his gaze dipping to take in the length of her and igniting a fire in her skin as it trails back up to meet her eyes. “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, glancing away momentarily to give herself a second to get her wits about her, before musing, “You’re only saying that ’cause you just made out with me.”

He chuckles. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” He winks and somehow makes even that seem hot, when Isla would otherwise find it cringey if it was anyone else. Rafe nods in the direction of the party. “Get back out there.”

Isla’s not quite ready to leave him, but she knows she has to because her friends and sister will start looking for her if she’s gone for too long. When she rejoins Kie and Sarah, her sister asks, “Where have you been?”

“Bathroom,” Isla answers. “Why, did I miss something?”

“No,” Sarah hums, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

“Other than watching people ask Mom and Dad about their anniversary party. I think Mom’s gonna break out in hives,” Kie adds in. Their parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary is coming up quick, and they’re planning a party which Kie and Isla will be helping out with, and while their mom loves to throw a good party, the whole planning part stresses her out. “But we saw Carlo and were worried if you ran into him.”

Isla scoffs, trying to ignore the way her lips are still tingling from Rafe’s kisses. “I did,” she says, making both of their gazes whip to her. Isla rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I told him to fuck off, and that was the end of that.”

Sarah shakes her head, expression scrunching up in annoyance. “If men are gonna have one thing, it’s the fucking audacity.”

Kie nods as Isla chuckles. “Tell me about it,” she says, just as her skin prickles with awareness. Her gaze wanders until it lands on Rafe, back on the porch with his friends, and Isla bites the inside of her cheek as his gaze seems to find hers in that moment, too. They lock eyes on opposite sides of the party, and her belly flips as that dizzying kiss replays in her mind on a loop.

She has to look away before anyone notices, tuning back into the conversation with Kie and Sarah while trying not to think of Rafe. But it doesn’t help that he watches her from wherever he is throughout the party, a secret just between them in a crowd full of people, but theirs to keep. For now, at least.

[lyzsaphrodite]

༊*·˚ Home is Where the Heart is ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Dior Goodjohn x fem!reader

synopsis: You and Dior are long distanced and she decides to surprise you by coming to visit you for your birthday.

warnings: fluff, fluff, and fluff

a/n: this is not my best writing ever i just wanted to get this out while i work on the Summer fic

You and Dior have been in a long-distance relationship for about a year and a half now. You met on the set of Percy Jackson and instantly clicked; she ended up asking you out two months into filming. After season one wrapped, she went back home to LA, and you returned to your hometown. You haven't seen each other in person since filming wrapped six months ago, because you're still in school. You guys text multiple times a day and FaceTime at least once a day, but it's still hard for both of you. Especially for you since your love language is physical touch, and you just like to have physical connections with people. Your birthday was coming up, so Dior thought it would be an amazing idea if she came and surprised you. She planned it all out with your family; she would fly in on your actual birthday and stay for a month.

Today was finally your birthday. You woke up to look at your phone and found a bunch of birthday wishes from friends, family, and even fans. But none from the person that mattered most to you. You didn't think she would ever forget your birthday. Maybe she just wasn't awake yet, even though it was currently noon, which means it was 9 in LA, and she's always up before 9. But you just decided not to worry about it. You still had the whole day. You were really bummed that she wouldn't be able to come for your birthday, but you understand that she's busy with her music and everything. You got out of bed, took a shower, and got ready for the day. You and your best friend decided to go shopping for your birthday. You visited all your favorite stores, getting all of your birthday freebies. By the time you and your best friend headed home, it was around 4 o’clock, and you've yet to get a message from Dior, which made you visibly disappointed. Your best friend kept seeing you checking your messages every few minutes and finally decided to say something.

“I’m sure she didn't forget; you know her, she's always busy with something.”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure everyone but her has wished me a happy birthday though. Like even at the mall, those fans who came up to us to say happy birthday, I didn't even know them. And I thought she would be one of the first to say it.”

You finally arrived home and went straight upstairs to put your bags down and take off your shoes. You were home for around 30 minutes when you finally heard the doorbell ring.

“Y/N, someone's here for you,” your mom yelled. You had no clue who it could be; you weren't expecting anyone.

“Coming!” you yelled back to your mom. You hurried down the stairs to the front door, and standing there was Dior with her bags and a gift. She looks just as beautiful as she always does.

“Hey, baby,” she said, smiling.

You had absolutely no idea how to react; you were definitely not expecting this at all. You ran to her and jumped to hug her. As she held and hugged you, you started to tear up.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren't able to come.”

“I wanted to surprise you, sweet girl.”

“How long are you staying?”

“For a month.”

“Oh my gosh, no way!”

“Way!”

“OMG, and Mom, you knew about this?”

Your mom just smiled and nodded.

“Yep, and so did your best friend.”

“OMG!! I cannot believe this; I thought you forgot my birthday!”

“I could never forget your birthday, mamas.”

You and Dior share a passionate kiss, the weight of her surprise visit lifting a heavy burden off your shoulders. In that moment, all the worries and doubts melted away, replaced by the warmth of her presence. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The month that followed was a whirlwind of joy and reconnection. Every day felt like a treasure, filled with laughter, adventures, and stolen moments of affection. Whether it was exploring your hometown together, cooking meals side by side, or simply cuddling on the couch watching movies, every second was cherished. On the day of her departure, you stood at the airport, hand in hand, hearts heavy with the weight of impending separation.

"I wish we lived closer," you managed to say, your voice breaking slightly as you fought back tears, the airport's din muffling your words.

Dior's eyes softened, mirroring the sorrow in your own as she squeezed your hand gently. "I know, darling. It's hard saying goodbye every time," she murmured, her voice tinged with empathy.

You leaned into her embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of her presence amidst the impersonal hustle of the airport. "I hate it when you leave," you stated simply, your voice carrying a mix of longing and frustration, the airport's commotion providing a stark backdrop to your heartfelt confession.

Dior's arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if trying to shield you from the pain of separation. "I feel it too, love. It never gets any easier," she whispered, her breath warm against your ear.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in her shoulder, the weight of longing settling heavily in your chest. "I just wish we could be together more often," you confessed, your voice barely audible above the noise of the crowd.

Dior's fingers brushed through your hair soothingly, her touch a silent reassurance. "Me too, sweetheart. But no matter the distance, you'll always have my heart," she vowed, her words a promise of enduring love.

And as you stood together in the midst of the bustling airport terminal, surrounded by the chaos of departure, you found solace in the simple act of being together, knowing that no matter where life may take you, your love would always be a constant, guiding light in the darkness.

this is unusually short because I didn't know how to end it

taglist: @asvterias

[kjupchurch-xx]

12 Years In The Making - Tumblr Request

"Love, remember, we're having dinner tonight, don't make plans." Hugh yelled from the bathroom as he was shaving his face. 

I smiled, "I know, babe. I haven't forgotten. I'll make sure I'm free and finished up with my interview before 7." I said as I re-checked my dress. 

Tonight, was Hugh and I's tenth wedding anniversary. Normally, we'd be on a trip like we did every year for our anniversary, but I had just celebrated the premiere of a movie I'd been filming for the last year, so that halted our anniversary vacation plans. Our kids were visiting with Hugh's mother, Grace while she was in town, so we had the house to ourselves for the night. Hugh's older kids, Oscar and Ava were going to be joining us for dinner tonight. 

In 2012, Hugh and I met whilst working on a movie set together and immediately began dating. I was 22 and he was going on 44 years old. He'd been divorced from his ex-wife for about 9 months at that time. His kids were around 7 and 12 at the time. We married in 2014 with a quiet beachfront ceremony in Australia, surrounded by our immediate families, his children and a few of our closest friends. Our ceremony was more intimate than anything, with Hugh tearing up seeing me accompanied down the beach by my father. 

In 2015, we found out we were expecting our first child, Hugh's first biological child. Our daughter was born in early 2016. Our second daughter was born in 2019, with our son being born in 2022, just two years ago. Our kids were now 8, 5 and 2. Despite being a huge blended family, he knows I would never be caught dead driving a mini van or a "mom car". While he drives the luxury SUVs, mom still drives the Audi RX8 and occasionally a Dodge Charger if I have the babies in the backseat. 

I was shaken from my thoughts by a kiss on the cheek, "You look beautiful, baby." He said softly in my ear as he smiled at me. 

I blushed, "Thank you. Where are we going tonight?" I asked, knowing he would never tell me, but always hopeful that he'd slip up one day and spoil a surprise. 

He smirked at me as he shook his head, "Now Darling, you know if I told you where we were going, it would spoil the surprise." 

I playfully rolled my eyes, "How am I supposed to know where to meet you after my interview if I don't know where you're taking me to dinner?" I asked, trying to catch him up once more. 

He chuckled as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head, "You're meeting me at the first place I took you when you moved to New York. That is the only hint I'm giving you." 

Stefanos. Stefanos was the first place Hugh took me for dinner once I'd officially moved in with him, in 2013. It was a beautiful, high-end Italian restaurant. He'd picked it because he knew Italian was my favorite type of cuisine. 

I smiled as I pulled him in for a kiss, "I've gotta go or else I'm gonna be late." I mumbled against his lips.

He smirked against my lips, mumbling back, "You can be fashionably late, love. I would love to ravage you right here." 

I giggled, "As much as I want to, and you know I have a hard time turning you down, I have to go... but, later tonight, I promise I'll make it up to you." I said seductively while slowly grazing my hand over the crotch of his pants. 

He laughed, almost shivering at my touch, "This is why we have three kids." He said nonchalantly. 

I laughed as I grabbed my keys to head towards the door of our home, "Alright, I'll see you at 7." I said, smiling as I walked out of the house. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I quickly finished up my interview, noticing it was now 6:30, which meant I had to haul literal ass to Stefano's to get there by 7 to meet Hugh for our anniversary dinner. I grabbed my keys and wallet and began sprinting towards the elevator, then towards the parking garage where my car was parked. 

I managed to make it to Stefano's right at 6:59 on the dot to see Hugh standing outside of his SUV, looking at me. I quickly shut the engine off and jumped out, "I am so sorry I'm almost late. The interview finished at 6:30, traffic downtown was a nightmare." I said almost anxiety ridden from the traffic. 

He giggled, "It's okay, love... But I lied to you. We're not eating at Stefano's." He smirked, trying to keep a straight face. 

I looked at him almost wide eyed, "Why did you make me rush to Stefano's then?" I asked, getting a bit annoyed. 

Traffic and anxiety were not my friend, clearly. Luckily, my husband knew this and never took it personally. 

He chuckled at me as he walked up to me and kissed me, "Because you kept insisting that I tell you where I was taking you." He said cockily. 

I sighed, chuckling as I rolled my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck, "Okay, I learned my lesson. Now seriously, what are we doing?" 

He pulled away from me and walked towards his SUV, "Get in and I'll take you to the actual place we're going." 

I shrugged my shoulders, "Okay." I said as I grabbed my wallet out of my Audi, locking the car and getting into his SUV. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hugh drove for another 10 minutes, while his free hand interlocked its fingers with mine. The ride was filled with him happily singing along to songs on the radio. I noticed we were pulling up at an event venue and looked over at him. 

He knew I was going to, considering he was smiling at me as he parked the car. "What are we doing, Jackman?" I asked, almost suspiciously, raising one brow at him. 

He chuckled cheekily, "We're doing another press interview." He said casually. 

I squinted my eyes, "This is not a very good surprise." I said sarcastically. 

He rolled his eyes, shutting the car off and getting out, "Just come on." He said, mocking annoyance. 

I got out of the SUV as he came over and linked his arm with mine as we began walking towards the entrance of the venue. 

"Is this seriously a press interview?" I asked, noticing all of the cars in the parking lot. 

He nodded, "Okay, it's not a press interview. We're going to Ryan and Blake's wrap party, but I promise, I am taking you to dinner afterwards." He said as we continued walking. 

I sighed. It was our tenth wedding anniversary. As much as I loved and adored Ryan and Blake, I wanted to celebrate my anniversary. I didn't care to be celebrating everyone else tonight. This was out of the ordinary for Hugh, but with how busy he'd been with the press for Deadpool & Wolverine, I'm not too surprised our anniversary had slipped to the back burner. 

As we approached the entrance, his grip on my arm tightened as he pulled me closer, wrapping one arm around my waist. As we entered the venue, I immediately spotted Blake and Ryan, and a group of people I hadn't yet recognized or paid much attention to. There were pictures of Blake's new film, It Ends With Us plastered near the stage area. 

Blake and Ryan approached us, "About time you two made it. We were getting ready to post your numbers on a billboard." Ryan joked. 

Hugh and I laughed, "Thanks for coming, you too. I know it's your anniversary, you can blame him for the poor planning." Blake said sympathetically as she shot Ryan a glare. 

I smiled as I hugged her, "It's okay. Thank you for having us." I said, hiding my disappointment. 

"Mommy!" I heard yell as I felt two small arms wrap around my waist. 

I chuckled as I looked down to see our middle daughter hugging my waist, "Hey boo, where's grandma Grace?" I asked her as I rubbed her hair. 

She shrugged, "She's talking to uncle Shawn." Our daughter said as she pointed over to Shawn Levy, who was in fact chatting it up with my mother-in-law, as she held our two year old son on her hip. 

I giggled, as Hugh asked her, "What about daddy? You didn't miss me?" He playfully pouted. 

She giggled as she playfully shook her head no, still holding onto my waist. 

Our 5-year-old was a bit...scared of daddy after seeing him on the set for Deadpool and Wolverine. She truly believed daddy had claws that come out of his hands when he's upset, which has been hilarious and a bit aggravating convincing her that Daddy indeed does not have claws that come out of his knuckles. 

I stooped down to look at her, "You better give daddy a hug." I said playfully, trying to sound firm. 

She shook her head no, "Mommy, daddy has claws that come out of him hands." She said as matter of factly. 

Hugh tried hard to not show his laughter as he watched our interaction. 

I shrugged, "I know he does." I nodded, "If you don't hug him, I think they might come out. Quick, hurry!" I said dramatically to her, lightly pushing her towards Hugh. 

Ryan was having a hard time holding his laughter back as he watched me interact with my daughter, while Hugh shot me a glare, trying also to not laugh as our daughter nervously walked over and hugged her dad. 

Hugh shook his head at me as he picked her up, "Baby, daddy does not have claws. Your mommy just says that because she's got them and doesn't want you to know the truth." He said sarcastically as he stuck his tongue out at me. 

As we walked further into the venue, I began noticing the people in the crowd. I saw my family, Hugh's siblings, his mother of course, a bunch of our friends, my step children, etc. 

I looked towards Hugh, "Did you fly my family here for Ryan and Blake's wrap party?" I asked almost in disbelief. 

He smirked, "I flew your family here for your gift, baby." 

I looked at him, puzzled. "I'm so confused right now." 

He chuckled as he sat our daughter down, "I've got to go give a speech for Blake. I'll be back." He said quickly as he walked over towards the stage, grabbing a microphone, tapping it to make sure it's on.

Our daughter ran to play with the other kids as my family approached me, showering me in hugs. My family did not live in New York, they lived further down south. Hugh always made sure to fly them up for any special occasion. He knew it meant the world to me whenever he'd include them in anything we did. 

Hugh began speaking into the microphone, "Hello everyone. " He said with a smile, "Tonight, we're here to celebrate the premiere of Blake's new film." He continued as he smiled towards Blake and Ryan. "I just want to say, I appreciate each and every one of you for coming tonight. Planning this event has been stressful because I did not want to risk my wife finding out." He smirked towards me, laughing nervously. 

I looked up at him, shooting him a glare. So he couldn't plan something for our anniversary, but he could take the time to plan something for our friend's movie release. I noticed Ryan and Blake looking over at me, snickering. Hugh noticed my glare as he continued giggling nervously. 

"My wife thinks she's here to celebrate Blake's movie." He said as he smiled cheekily at me, "But actually baby, we're here to celebrate our anniversary." He said sweetly as my glare faded into an over-emotional expression. "Ten years ago, I married this beautiful, sexy, gorgeous woman. I met her twelve years ago to this very day, and I fell madly in love with her." He paused as I began to tear up. Our oldest daughter, who was 8 walked over and held my hand. 

I shook my head in disbelief that I'd actually thought he'd forgotten to plan something special. "Baby, this party is for you. You are an incredible mother to our children. You are an incredible wife. I am so blessed to be married to you and to share this life with you, even if you are difficult to deal with sometimes." He joked, causing me to chuckle while everyone began laughing. 

He smiled at me, "Come here, baby." He said as he motioned his hand for me to come up on the stage. 

I blushed shyly as I walked up towards the stage, taking his hand. "I love you. Happy 10 years, baby." he said sweetly as he pulled me into his arms, smiling at me. 

I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I love you too. Happy 10 years...and to many, many more..." I said as I pulled him in for a kiss.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

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

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

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

Part 17: To worship (NSFW)

First of all, I want to apologize for making this part so long. I don't know why I'm doing this. :') So this part is set in the past, from Neteyam's perspective and how he experienced the past three years. The present, from which we count back, would be the first part of this fanfic, 'To belong'. This story has 2 volume because it is so long. :')

Part 18: vol 1.: To remember

(2 years and 9 months ago)

Neteyam had prayed for guidance. Months ago.

Under the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices, with the whispers of Eywa surrounding him, with the tsaheylu he had knelt and asked for wisdom. For strength. For a path that would make him the leader his father wanted him to be. He had thought of his people, of the weight of responsibility that would one day rest on his shoulders.

And then, you arrived. A human. Small and fragile. Out of place.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, watching from a distance as you stepped into the village again, trailing behind the other scientists. You were speaking with Kiri, your voice animated, your eyes bright with curiosity. Always asking, always looking at everything as if it was the first time. It made something inside him twist—something he didn’t want to name.

You have been here before. Several times now. At first, it was just the introductions, the formalities of trust. But you kept coming back with the scientists. With your wide, searching eyes and your endless questions.

It should not have bothered him. But it did. Because you weren’t supposed to belong here. And yet, somehow, you were starting to.

Neteyam turned away, his jaw tightening as he adjusted the bow slung over his back. He had more important things to do than stand around watching you try to pronounce Lo’ak’s name properly.

“You are angry again,” Kiri’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned his head slightly, realizing too late that she had noticed him watching.

“I am not angry.”

“You are,” she said, unconvinced. “Your tail is moving like you are about to fight something.”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose and forced his tail to still. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Kiri crossed her arms, her ears twitching. “She is trying.”

“She wouldn’t understand,” he shot back, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “She never will. She is—” He cut himself off before he could say the words lingering on his tongue.

Human. Fragile. Useless.

But the truth was, he had seen your hands stained with dirt from examining plants, had watched you write furiously in your notes, had overheard you arguing with Norm about something scientific that he barely understood. You were not useless, at least not in the way he wanted to believe. Kiri hummed, a knowing glint in her eyes. “You act like you do not care, but I see the way you look at her.”

Neteyam’s ears flattened, a flicker of something sharp curling in his chest. “I do not look at her.”

Kiri only smiled. He hated that smile. It meant she knew something he didn’t want her to know. Before he could respond, a familiar voice reached him.

“Neteyam.”

His shoulders tensed. He knew that voice. Too well.

When he turned, you were standing there, your exo-mask reflecting the light. You were looking up at him, those bright eyes full of something he could not name. For a moment, he only stared at you. You had a way of looking at people—not just at them, but through them. As if you could see past the layers of expectation and duty, past the role he played, straight into the parts of himself he kept hidden.

And that unsettled him more than anything else.

“I—” You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “I had a question about the ikrans. If you have time.”

A question. Of course. You always had questions.

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. He did not know why it frustrated him so much. Maybe it was the fact that you would never understand, no matter how many times you asked. Or maybe it was that you would leave one day, and none of this would matter.

“Ask someone else,” he said, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. You blinked, startled by his coldness.

Kiri sighed beside him, muttering something under her breath before shaking her head and walking off. Neteyam turned away, ready to do the same.

“Wait.”

Your voice was quiet, but something in it made him pause. When he looked at you again, there was no frustration in your gaze. No irritation. Only that same quiet patience. That same quiet understanding. As if you saw the anger and the confusion swirling inside him—and chose not to fear it.

He hated that. He hated that you looked at him like that. Because it made him feel like you saw him. Not as his father’s son. Not as the perfect warrior. Just him.

(2 years and 7 months ago)

You were following him again.

Neteyam could feel your presence at his back, light steps crunching softly against the dirt path as you trailed behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know you were staring, your wide, inquisitive eyes scanning everything—the village, the people, him. It has become a habit.

He didn’t remember when he stopped avoiding you. Maybe it was that moment in the family kelku, when your small, strange hand had pressed against his, your fingers tracing the curve of his stripes like they were something worth studying. Like he was something worth studying.

He had been frozen then, caught between the instinct to pull away and the strange warmth your touch left behind. That moment had shifted something. Now, when you were in the village, you drifted toward him more than the others. And he let you. He had told himself, at first, that it was because you were persistent. That you asked too many questions, that you would only find someone else to bother if he pushed you away. But the truth was, he had stopped minding. And that was dangerous.

Because he had once resented your presence. Had once thought you a disruption to the path Eywa had set before him. But now? Now, he found himself answering your questions. Even the ones that had no answers.

“What does it feel like?” you asked, voice quiet beside him.

They were near the edge of the village, past the woven homes and hanging bridges, where the land sloped downward toward the trees. He had been tending to his weapons when you had found him, lingering nearby, waiting. He knew better than to think you would stay silent for long. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What does what feel like?”

Your gaze flickered to the distant trees where the ikrans nested. “Riding.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to his bow. “There are no words for it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked despite himself, pulling the bowstring back to test the tension. “Maybe not. But it is true.”

You sighed, dropping down onto a rock beside him. “You always say that when I ask something you don’t want to answer.”

That wasn’t true. Was it? His hands stilled for a moment. Perhaps it was. Because sometimes you asked things that had no explanation.

Like how he knew where to step in the trees without looking.

Like how he could feel the presence of another without seeing them.

Like how he could sense the forest breathing, living, shifting all around him.

You wanted to understand, even the things that had no words. Because humans did not see the world the way he did. But you were trying. And it was getting harder to pretend he didn’t notice. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting toward the trees in the distance. “It is like... becoming part of something greater than yourself,” he said, voice quieter than before. “Like hearing a song for the first time and somehow knowing the words.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. But when he glanced at you, you weren’t laughing. You were just watching him, your expression unreadable. For a moment, you looked like you wanted to say something. But instead, you only nodded, your fingers curling around the fabric of your pants.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And that was the most dangerous part of all. Because he had never thought he would find comfort in a human’s presence. But when you were there—just there—he did.

(2 years and 5 months ago)

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he listened to the forest breathe around him.

Patrolling gave him space to think. Away from the village, away from responsibilities, away from the weight of what he was supposed to become. Out here, he was just himself—feet light against the damp earth, bow in hand, senses attuned to the quiet rhythm of the wild. Which was why the sound of human voices in this part of the forest made him freeze.

His ears twitched, catching the faint hum of conversation ahead. Carefully, he moved through the foliage, his body instinctively blending into the shadows of the trees. He didn’t expect to find humans here—not this deep, not where the paths faded into untamed land. But there they were. The xenobotany team. His eyes scanned the group, noting their gear, their careful movements. And then—his shoulders tensed.

You were here. You were crouched near a cluster of plants, your exo-mask reflecting dappled light as you scribbled something into a notebook. Your hair had come loose from its usual tie, strands falling across your face as you concentrated. Neteyam frowned. You weren’t supposed to be this far into the forest. “What are you doing here?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, head snapping up. But the moment you saw him, your expression shifted from surprise to something brighter. “Neteyam!”

Your happiness at seeing him was immediate, unguarded. His ears flicked at the sound of his name on your lips, and he ignored the strange warmth that stirred in his chest. He crossed his arms. “It is not safe here.”

You blinked at him before glancing around. “We’re fine,” you said, pointing toward the soldiers stationed a few feet away, their guns slung over their shoulders. “We have protection.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. Sky People and their weapons. They relied too much on them, thinking they could control what they didn’t understand. A gun would not stop the forest from turning against them if it wanted to.

You must have noticed his disapproval because you quickly added, “I’m just helping the others record data. I’m not doing anything dangerous.”

He huffed, his tail flicking. “Being here is dangerous enough.”

You only smiled at that, completely unfazed. Then, as if the entire conversation had already shifted in your mind, you said, “Oh! I want to show you something.”

Before he could respond, you were reaching into the bag slung across your body, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. Neteyam watched, curiosity outweighing his irritation, as you flipped through the pages. The sight of your notes was familiar now—sketches of plants, markings of their Na’vi names, careful observations in a language he was starting to recognize as yours.

Then you stopped on a page and turned it toward him. His breath caught.

An atokirina. It was drawn in careful, deliberate strokes, its delicate tendrils captured with a reverence that surprised him.

“I saw one earlier,” you said softly. “Just for a moment. It landed near me before it floated away.” Neteyam stared at the drawing, at the way you had tried to capture something so sacred with only ink and paper. Deep down, he knew what it meant. A woodsprite did not appear without reason.

Eywa’s presence. A sign. A message. But what was Eywa trying to tell you?

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you were watching him, waiting. Expecting... something. He didn’t know what to say. So he only nodded. “You saw something rare,” he murmured. Your smile widened, pleased, and you carefully tucked the notebook away.

Neteyam exhaled, glancing toward the trees. The weight in his chest had not disappeared. If anything, it had grown heavier. Because the longer you stayed in his world, the harder it became to believe you weren’t meant to be here.

(2 years and 3 months ago)

Neteyam had lost count of how many times you had followed him now. It had started months ago—you're trailing behind him, asking endless questions, always looking up at him with those wide, curious eyes. At first, he had tolerated it. Then, somehow, without realizing when it happened, he had come to expect it. And now? Now, he didn’t know how to go without it.

He had noticed the moment you left Kiri’s side earlier. He hadn’t turned to look, hadn’t acknowledged your approach, but he had known. He always knew. You were behind him now, weaving through the village paths with light, eager steps. You had no hesitation anymore, no uncertainty in the way you moved through this world. Not like before.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, adjusting the strap of his bow across his chest. “I am going to check the training area.”

You hummed. “Then I guess I am, too.”

He shook his head, but the corner of his lips twitched. He had given up on telling you to go somewhere else. You never listened. A moment of quiet passed between you, only the sounds of the village filling the space. He expected your usual questions—about the Na’vi, the village, Pandora itself. But instead, your voice came softer. More thoughtful.

“What is your favorite time of day?”

Neteyam slowed his steps just slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You tilted your head, repeating, “Your favorite time of day. Morning, afternoon, night?”

No one had ever asked him that before. He hesitated, considering. “Dawn,” he said finally. “Before the village wakes. When the sky is still dark, but the world is awake.”

You smiled, as if pleased by his answer. “That makes sense.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You shrugged. “You’re always the first to wake up, right? And you like quiet. You get to have a moment just for yourself.”

Neteyam blinked. You weren’t wrong. You tilted your head, watching him. “Okay, next one.”

His ears twitched, and he huffed. “How many of these questions do you have?”

“As many as you let me ask.” His tail flicked, but he didn’t stop you. “You never go where the others go.” Your voice was light, thoughtful. Neteyam glanced over his shoulder. You were a step behind him, your head tilted in curiosity.

“I do not need to be where they are,” he said simply.

You hummed as if considering that. “You like being alone?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I like the quiet.”

Your lips quirked up slightly. “Then why do you let me follow you?”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Because you do not listen when I tell you to leave.”

You grinned, not at all deterred. “That’s not an answer.”

He glanced at you again. Your eyes were bright, expectant. He sighed. “You are… not loud.”

It was a weak answer, but you seemed pleased with it anyway. You walked in silence for a while, the forest stretching endlessly around you. It was peaceful. Easy. Then, after a few moments— “What is your favorite fruit?”

Neteyam blinked. “What?”

You repeated the question, tilting your head. “You know, your favorite. The one you always go for first.”

He frowned slightly. “…Tumpasuk,” he admitted after a pause. “When it is ripe.”

You nodded, filing the information away in that strange mind of yours. “And your ikran? What’s her name?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. “Tawkami.”

You smiled, rolling the name over your tongue like you were testing it. “That suits her.”

Another pause.

“What’s something you’re bad at?”

Neteyam let out a short laugh. “Nothing.”

You snorted. “That’s a lie.”

His smirk deepened. “I am not bad at anything important.”

“Oh? So you’re bad at unimportant things?”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “That is not what I said.”

You grinned. “Still. I want to know.”

He rolled his eyes, but for some reason, he thought about it. Then, reluctantly, he muttered, “I am bad at carving.”

Your brows lifted. “Really?”

“My father is good at it,” he admitted, glancing ahead. “So is Lo’ak. But when I try, the lines are never right. The wood does not listen to me.” You let out a soft hum, like you were committing that to memory. He knew you were. It should have been irritating.

It wasn’t. You asked him more.

What’s your favorite food?

Who was your first ikran ride with?

When was the last time you did something just for yourself?

And then—

“When are you happiest?” Neteyam’s steps faltered. He didn’t answer right away. You didn’t press him. You just walked beside him, looking at him the same way you always did—like you saw him, not the warrior, not the perfect son.

Just him. He inhaled, glancing toward the sky, toward the place where the clouds drifted endlessly. And he thought—

Now.

He did not say it. He found himself smiling. Just a little.

But you tripped over a root a second later, barely catching yourself before you fell. Neteyam huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to steady you. “Pay attention, tawtute.”

You looked up at him, laughing at yourself, and that strange warmth returned to his chest. This. This was why he let you stay. Being with you was beginning to feel like riding his ikran. Like freedom.

When he flew, when he was in the sky, nothing else mattered. Not his duty, not his expectations, not the weight of being his father’s son. Up there, he could breathe. And somehow, you made him feel the same. Even just for a moment.

(2 years and 1 months ago)

Neteyam glanced back over his shoulder, ears twitching as he listened to your exaggerated huff. “This path is ridiculous,” you grumbled, pushing aside a thick vine. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

He smirked but didn’t slow his pace. “You ask that every time.”

“And yet, every time, the answer is never reassuring.”

Despite your complaints, you followed him without hesitation, your smaller frame weaving through the dense foliage, careful but determined. You had seen this plant on your datapad days ago, its image glowing on the screen as you turned it toward him, eyes bright with interest. He had recognized it immediately and, without thinking, had told you he could show you the real thing.

Now, here you were, deep in the forest where even most of the other scientists rarely ventured. He should have questioned why he had offered in the first place, but he didn’t want to think about that. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing the pond ahead.

You gasped.

Neteyam watched as you stepped past him, your boots sinking slightly into the damp earth as you took in the sight before you. The water was a perfect mirror, reflecting the vibrant greens and soft purples of the forest canopy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, catching on the surface and making the ripples shimmer like liquid gold.

But he knew you weren’t looking at the water. You were looking at the flower.

The Toktorayl floated atop the pond, its petals wide and soft, pulsing gently with a bioluminescent glow even in the daylight. Its roots swayed just beneath the water’s surface, moving with the current as though it were breathing. Your eyes were wide, filled with unguarded awe. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Neteyam felt a strange tug in his chest. He turned away before he could dwell on it, stepping toward a huge fallen tree trunk near the water’s edge. He sat down, letting his legs stretch out until his feet touched the cool surface of the pond. But his gaze drifted back to you.

You knelt at the edge of the pond, your fingers hovering just above the water as if you wished you could touch the flower but knew better than to disturb it. The filtered sunlight cast a warm glow over you, illuminating the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Your skin look softer in this light. Almost golden.

His eyes traced the way strands of your hair had slipped loose from your usual tie, catching the sunlight like fine threads. The gentle rise and fall of your breath. The way your mask reflected the water’s glow, but not enough to hide the brightness of your eyes. You were always looking at the world as if it was something to be discovered.

And for the first time, Neteyam found himself looking at you the same way. The thought made his stomach twist. He forced his gaze away, back to the water, to the ripples spreading from his submerged feet. It was strange. How much he noticed. How much he wanted to notice.

*

You sighed as you climbed onto the fallen tree trunk too, gripping the rough bark for balance. It was wide enough to sit comfortably, but not so much that there was room to stretch out. Neteyam glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you settled beside him. Your legs, far too short to reach the water, dangled over the edge. After a moment, you kicked them lightly, the motion almost absentminded.

A slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You are like Tuk,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a look. “What?”

“When she sits like this, she does the same thing.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well, sorry for having short legs.”

His smirk widened, tail flicking. “Not your fault you are so small.”

“Not my fault you’re unnaturally tall,” you shot back, bumping his arm lightly with your elbow. He chuckled, shaking his head. Silence stretched between you, but it was not uncomfortable. It never was.

He had learned this over the past months—how easy it was to exist beside you. You didn’t fill the quiet with unnecessary words, didn’t demand things from him the way others did. Instead, you just were. And somehow, he had come to crave that. Still, the ease of it sometimes unsettled him. He didn’t understand why you were here, why you followed him when you could be anywhere else. With someone else.

Why did he let you?

Sometimes, that invisible pull between you—the one neither of you ever spoke about—frustrated him. With a slow inhale, he leaned back on his arms, letting his face tilt toward the dappled sunlight above. His legs remained submerged in the cool water, a contrast to the warmth spreading over his skin.

For a moment, he allowed himself to just be.

The sounds of the forest surrounded you—the distant calls of ikran overhead, the rustling of leaves as small creatures moved through the undergrowth, the soft lapping of water against the trunk. His ears flicked instinctively toward every sound. His tail swayed in a slow, lazy rhythm behind him.

And then— He felt it. Your gaze. Steady. Intent.

It wasn’t the kind of look he got from others—people who measured him as the future olo’eyktan, as Jake Sully’s eldest son. It was different. Like you were seeing something else entirely. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the warmth curling in his chest. But the longer you looked, the harder it became to pretend he didn’t feel it.

Neteyam kept his eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. He should have ignored it—the weight of your gaze, the way it lingered. But he didn’t.

Instead, he cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the way you were watching him. Your head was tilted slightly, eyes following the slow sway of his tail, the flick of his ears. You weren’t just looking at him—you were studying him. He let the silence stretch for another breath before speaking, his voice low and amused. “Why are you staring at me?”

You startled, your whole body tensing as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Your gaze snapped away, cheeks flushing slightly as you turned toward the water. “How did you know?” you mumbled, barely audible.

His ears flicked lazily. “I always know.”

You huffed, curling in on yourself slightly, clearly flustered. For a while, you said nothing. You just watched the pond, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the bark of the trunk. The water reflected the sunlight in rippling waves, golden flecks dancing across the surface. Every so often, some kind of Pandoran fish leapt into the air, sending small ripples outward before disappearing again.

Neteyam stayed quiet, listening to the rhythm of your breath, the steady beat of the forest around you. Then, finally—

“I was just thinking.” Your voice was soft, contemplative.

Neteyam turned his head slightly, studying your profile. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Something in your tone told him that, if you wanted to say more, you would. So, he just nodded, exhaling slowly, and let the quiet settle between you again. For a while, you didn’t speak.

You just watched the forest, eyes tracing the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, the way the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. The world around you moved in quiet harmony—creatures shifting in the undergrowth, birds flitting from branch to branch, the water lapping softly against the shore. Neteyam let his eyes drift closed again, letting himself sink into the moment.

“Did you ever think that your life could be different?”

Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if you weren’t sure you should ask.

Neteyam’s eyes opened slowly. His first instinct was to brush it off. Of course not. His path had always been clear. He was Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan—firstborn son of Toruk Makto, future olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya. His life was not something to be questioned. It simply was. But the words wouldn’t come. Because maybe—just maybe—he had thought about it.

In the quiet moments. In the rare spaces where he wasn’t just a warrior, a leader in training. In the stolen pockets of time where he was simply himself. Like now. Like when you were beside him.

He turned his head slightly, studying your expression. You weren’t looking at him—your gaze was still on the forest, your hands resting lightly on the bark beneath you. But there was something in your posture, in the way you asked, that made him wonder if you had been thinking about it, too.

His tail flicked, slow and thoughtful, as he considered his words. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure what to say. Neteyam exhaled slowly, watching the ripples in the pond as he considered his answer. Did he ever think about his life being different?

The truth sat heavy in his chest, unspoken for so long that it almost felt strange to acknowledge it now. But you were waiting, patient as always, asking him questions no one else ever did. Finally, he spoke. “I do not know,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Sometimes, maybe.”

You hummed in reply, a soft, thoughtful sound. You didn’t press, didn’t demand more. You just let his words settle between you, accepting them as they were. Your feet kicked lightly in the air, a slow, absentminded movement. You still weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost somewhere in the shifting greens and golds of the forest.

“What was your childhood like?”

Neteyam blinked. His ears twitched at the unexpected question, and for a moment, he was caught off guard. Most people asked about his training. About the responsibilities placed upon him. But you weren’t asking about that Neteyam. You were asking about him.

The boy before the warrior. Before the expectations. His throat tightened slightly. You wanted to know him. Neteyam stared at the water. His childhood.

He had never thought much about it—not in the way you were asking. His memories were not separate pieces but a path leading to where he was now. Training. Responsibility. Becoming the warrior his father needed him to be. But there were other memories, too.

Ones that weren’t about duty. Ones he hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. “I was… happy,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “At least, I think I was.”

You turned slightly but still didn’t look at him, letting him speak at his own pace. “I grew up with my siblings always at my side. Lo’ak was always causing trouble. I had to pull him out of it, even when we were little.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “Kiri was different—quieter but bold. She saw the world in a way no one else did. Tuk… Tuk was just Tuk. She made everything brighter. She is like sunlight.”

He paused, his tail flicking lightly against the log.

“I remember climbing the trees before I was supposed to. My father would scold me, but my mother always said I was just like him. I remember the first time I caught a fish with my hands—I thought I was ready to be a great hunter. But when I tried to show my father, it slipped away. He trained me from the moment I could hold a bow. And she made sure I knew what it meant to be Omaticaya. To be a son of this clan.”

You laughed softly, and he found himself smiling at the memory. For a moment, he forgot to guard his words. “I used to think I had all the time in the world. That I could just… be.” His smile faded slightly. “But things changed. They always do.”

You finally turned to look at him then. And when you did, you were smiling. Not out of amusement or politeness, but something softer. Something real. Like you saw the honesty in his words and valued it. And somehow, that was enough to make the weight in his chest feel just a little lighter. He cleared his throat and looked away.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the distant call of a bird overhead. Then, you spoke. “I had a good childhood too,” you said, your voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Even though Earth was—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Even though it was dying.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed slightly, and he turned his head to look at you again. You were still staring at the pond, at the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. “It was different,” you continued. “Everything was different. The sky was dull, the air was heavy.” You gestured vaguely toward the water before you. “Nothing was untouched. The world was… dead.”

Neteyam listened, unmoving. He had heard about Earth before. From his father, from Norm, from the others who had come from there. But hearing you say it, hearing the distant nostalgia in your voice—it was different. You took a slow breath.

“But I was happy.”

His ears twitched. You looked at him now, your lips curling into a small, wistful smile.

“It was home.”

Neteyam’s fingers flexed slightly against the bark. And for the first time, he realized something. He knew who you were on Pandora. He knew your voice when you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. He knew how stubborn you were, how you followed him even when he pretended not to want you to. He knew you were kind, curious, fearless in ways most humans weren’t. But he didn’t know your past. Didn’t know what you had left behind. Didn’t know what had shaped you before you ever stepped foot on this moon. And for some reason suddenly, he wanted to know.

*

Neteyam studied you for a long moment. You had told him you were happy on Earth. But how could that be? From everything he had heard, your home was nothing like this—no forests, no sky untouched by human hands, no true connection to the world around you. How could anyone be happy in a place like that? Before he could stop himself, the question was already leaving his lips. “What was your life like?”

You turned your head sharply, eyes widening in surprise. He could see the hesitation flicker across your face, like you hadn’t expected him to ask. Like maybe no one ever had. But then, after a pause, you smiled. “My life?” you echoed, glancing back toward the water. “It was… different.”

Neteyam leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he waited for you to continue. You exhaled, as if sifting through old memories.

“My parents were good people. Busy, but good. They worked a lot, so I had a lot of freedom growing up. Maybe too much.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I was reckless. Always getting into trouble. Climbing things I shouldn’t, sneaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Neteyam huffed softly at that. “Sounds familiar.”

You grinned but didn’t deny it. Then, your expression softened. “But my favorite memories were with my brother.”

His ears twitched slightly at the shift in your voice.

“We used to sneak onto rooftops at night,” you continued, tilting your head as if you could still see those distant nights in your mind. “The sky was always this dull, greyish color—too much pollution. You couldn’t see the stars. But we used to lie there and imagine what it would look like if the sky was clear. If we could see the stars the way they were meant to be seen.”

Neteyam felt something strange twist in his chest. You had grown up beneath a sky without stars. Without the forest. Without the breath of a world that lived the way Pandora did. And yet, you had dreamed of it. “I used to wish,” you said, voice quiet now, “just once, that I could see a real forest. Not the artificial ones in the zoos or on screens. A real one. Something untouched.”

You laughed then, shaking your head. “I never thought I’d have to leave everything behind just to see it.” Neteyam didn’t know what to say.

You had left your home, your family, everything you knew. And yet, when you looked around, when you marveled at this world, you never seemed bitter about it. You had found what you were searching for.

And for the first time, Neteyam wondered if maybe—just maybe—Eywa had brought you here for a reason.

*

“Is it difficult to meet your father’s expectations?” Neteyam’s breath caught, just for a moment. His gaze shifted to you, searching your face. Your voice had been soft, careful, like you knew you were treading into something heavy. Something personal.

He turned away, staring down at the water instead. You had asked so many things today, but this… this was different. For a long time, he didn’t answer. He watched as the ripples in the pond smoothed out, as the faint reflection of the trees above shifted with the wind.

He thought about all the answers he could give—No, it is my duty. No, I was raised for this. No, I do not think about it.

But none of them felt true. Before he could find the right words, you spoke again.

“Because from what I see—” your voice was lighter now, teasing, but not unkind—“how hard it is for us—humans—to comply, it can’t be easy for you.” You chuckled, an honest, knowing sound.

And for some reason, that made something in his chest loosen. Neteyam exhaled slowly. You understood more than you let on. More than most did. Neteyam didn’t answer you. He didn’t have to. Because when he met your gaze, when he saw the quiet understanding there, he knew���You already knew his answer.

Even when he couldn’t say it. He swallowed, looking back toward the water, watching the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. Then, before he could think too much about it, he asked—

“When did you know you wanted to come here?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. For a moment, you didn’t answer. He could almost see your thoughts shifting, pulling you back to a time long before you ever set foot on this moon. Then, you took a slow breath. “Humans discovered Pandora over a hundred years ago,” you began, your voice quieter now. “By the time I was born, people had already been coming here for decades—to learn, to take, to destroy.”

Your hands curled slightly against the bark of the tree trunk, and you glanced down.

“I know what the humans before me did. What they took from your people, from this world. I understand why we’re hated. And… I don’t blame you for it.” Neteyam remained silent, watching you closely.

You exhaled, then continued.

“When my little brother and I were kids, we saw these old holovids about Pandora.” A small, wistful smile tugged at your lips. “We couldn’t believe it. That somewhere out in the universe, there was a moon with floating mountains and glowing forests.”

You huffed softly. “And more than that, we couldn’t believe that there were ten-foot-tall blue aliens living there.” The moment the words left your mouth, you winced. Your head snapped toward him, your expression instantly apologetic. “I mean—” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not aliens. That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

Neteyam raised an amused brow, biting back a smirk. You sighed, visibly flustered. After a pause, you cleared your throat and continued.

“The first time we saw how small humans looked next to the Na’vi, I decided.” You glanced at him, your voice steady. “I told myself that one day, I was going to get here. I was going to see this moon with my own eyes.” Your fingers traced idly at the bark beneath you. “And now… here I am.”

Neteyam watched you for a long moment, taking in the weight of your words. You had come all this way—not to take, not to destroy, but because you had dreamed of it. He wasn’t sure if he was the one teaching you about his world— Or if you were teaching him something about his own.

Neteyam hummed at your words, a low, thoughtful sound deep in his chest. His tail swayed idly behind him, the slow rhythm betraying the fact that he was still thinking about what you had said. About how you had dreamed of this place before you had ever set foot on it. About how you had come here not because you had to—but because you wanted to.

His golden eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, watching the way the light caught in your hair, the way your fingers absently traced the bark. Then, before the thoughts could take root too deeply, he turned his head away. Silence stretched between you again, but this time, you were the one to break it.

“Do you fear something?” Your voice was quiet, careful. It wasn’t the question itself that caught him off guard—it was the way you asked it.

You weren’t talking about predators. About battles. About physical dangers. You meant something else. Something deeper.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the water again. He had never really spoken about this before. Not to Kiri, not to Lo’ak, not to anyone. But you were waiting. And you had given him your truths. He could give you this.

“I fear…” He hesitated, then tried again. “I fear not being enough.” The words felt heavy, but also strangely freeing. His fingers curled slightly against the rough bark. “I was born to lead, to be strong, to always do what is best for the people.”

He swallowed.

“I know my duty. I have never questioned it.”

He paused, watching as a leaf floated down from the canopy above, landing softly on the pond’s surface. “But sometimes, I wonder…” His voice lowered. “What if I fail?” The words felt strange on his tongue, like he wasn’t supposed to say them out loud. Like speaking them made them real. His ears twitched slightly. “I have trained my whole life to be the leader my father needs me to be. To be the son my mother expects. But what if—”

He exhaled, shaking his head.

“What if that is not enough?” His tail flicked once, a restless movement. Then, after a moment, he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It is foolish, I know.”

But when he finally turned back to look at you, there was no mockery in your expression. No judgment. Only understanding. And somehow, that made his chest ache more than anything else.

Warmth.

It was a subtle thing, a gentle pressure against his thigh. Soft, small fingers resting against his skin. Neteyam barely had time to process it before your voice came, quiet but firm. “It is not foolish.” His ears flicked, his gaze snapping to you. You were smiling—not teasing, not dismissive, but something real. Something certain. “Maybe I’ve only known you for a year,” you continued, your eyes steady on his, “but I’m sure as hell you’ll be a great olo’eyktan for your people.”

The words settled deep inside him, deeper than he wanted to admit. But before he could say anything, you seemed to realize what you had done. Your fingers twitched, and you quickly pulled your hand away, placing it in your lap as if you had touched fire. Then, after a small pause, you added, almost offhandedly—too offhandedly— “Even if a human’s words don’t count as much.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Neteyam’s chest tightened.

You looked down, your gaze falling to the water below, as if watching your own reflection ripple beneath the surface. “I used to fear too,” you admitted softly. “Fear that my parents were going to be disappointed in me.”

Your voice was quieter now, your fingers curling slightly against your lap.

“They wanted me to become a doctor,” you sighed. “It was understandable. On Earth, there are lots of sick people. It could have been an easy source of money. A stable life.” You inhaled slowly, then exhaled, your shoulders sinking slightly. “But I knew I wanted to come here.”

Neteyam watched you closely, the way you seemed lost in your own memories. You had made a choice—one that had taken you far from everything you knew. And for the first time, he thought about what that must have meant for you. For the girl who had once laid on rooftops, staring up at a sky with no stars— Who had left behind an entire life just to see the world he had always taken for granted. Neteyam hesitated before speaking.

“You said you wanted to come here.” You didn’t react at first, your gaze still fixed on the water below. “To see this place.”

He studied you carefully, searching for something—anything—in your expression. But there was nothing. No flicker of emotion, no shift in your posture. Just stillness. His tail flicked slightly. “But you never talked about your family,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Why is that?”

This time, you reacted.

Not with words, not with a look, but with the way you swallowed, the way your fingers clenched against your lap before releasing again. You turned your head slightly, looking away. Then, you sighed. Neteyam instantly regretted asking. The air between you felt different now—heavier. He knew that feeling. Knew what it meant when someone carried something too painful to touch.

He almost wished he could take the words back.

Just one minute.

One breath.

But after a long, endless moment—

“They died.”

Your voice was steady, but something about it made his chest tighten. You took a slow breath, as if choosing your words carefully. “Right before I got my approval from the RDA.” Neteyam didn’t move. You weren’t looking at him, your gaze fixed somewhere distant, somewhere unreachable. “It was a car crash,” you continued, voice flat, emotionless. “Just a moment. And they were gone.”

A pause.

“In a matter of seconds, I lost everything.” The forest seemed quieter somehow. Like even the wind had softened to listen. You sighed again, your eyes drifting toward the trees, watching the leaves shift in the breeze. “I always thought I should’ve been with them that day,” you murmured. “If I had followed the path they wanted me to, I would’ve been with them.”

Neteyam barely breathed.

“I was at the RDA headquarters,” you added, voice hollow now. “Studying my ass off. Doing everything I could to manage to get here.” Then, you let out a small, bitter laugh. Neteyam had never heard you laugh like that before.

*

He watched you. The slow, steady rise and fall of your breath. The way your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh, like there was something unsaid beneath your skin, waiting to spill out. You were thinking. About what, he wasn’t sure. But he could sense it—just like he could sense when a storm was brewing on the horizon, when the wind shifted before the rain. He didn’t push.

You would tell him if you wanted to.

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible for everyone?” The question was like a stone dropped into still water. Neteyam’s body tensed slightly, but he didn’t move.

Did he ever get tired? The weight of expectations had been on his shoulders since the moment he could walk. He had never questioned it. Never allowed himself to. It was not a burden—it was simply who he was meant to be.

And yet—

There were moments.

Moments when he saw Lo’ak running through the trees without a care, Kiri lost in her own world of discovery, Tuk laughing freely at the simplest joys.

Moments when he wanted to step outside of his duty, just for a breath, just for a moment— And be. But that was not the life he had been given. So he swallowed it down. Like he always did. Minutes passed, and he still hadn’t answered. Beside him, you shifted slightly, then sighed.

“You don’t have to answer,” you said, your voice gentle.

When he turned to you, you were already smiling, soft and knowing. Like you understood why he couldn’t say it out loud. Like you already knew his answer. Neteyam inhaled slowly. And for once, instead of burying it, instead of swallowing it down— He let the truth slip free.

“Yes.”

His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Sometimes I do.”

You nodded at his answer, a knowing smile playing on your lips. Like you had known all along. Like you had only wanted him to know it, too. Neteyam exhaled, his gaze drifting back to the water. He wasn’t sure if admitting it made the weight any lighter, but it was strange—to have someone look at him, really look at him, and see it. See him.

Then, after a few moments, you spoke again.

“You know, I used to get overwhelmed too.” Your legs swung absently in the air, your shoelaces bouncing with every kick. You watched them, as if fascinated by the way they moved—like a shadow following your own rhythm. You shrugged. “If I don’t work hard enough, they’ll send me back to Earth.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched slightly, his head turning toward you. You glanced at him, just for a moment, before looking away again. “If I’m not useful to the RDA, they’d terminate my contract.” You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms. “Fuckers.”

The sharpness of the word made Neteyam’s lips twitch, but he didn’t interrupt. You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I studied my whole life to get chosen by them,” you said, voice quieter now. “And now, I have to prove myself every single day.”

Then you laughed—soft and breathy. But there was no humor in it. Neteyam’s tail flicked, something unsettled stirring in his chest. You had worked so hard to get here. You have fought to earn a place among your own people. And yet, you were still fighting.

Still proving yourself. He knew what that felt like.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—you were not so different after all. You shook your head, as if shaking off the weight of your own words, and when you looked at him again, your expression was different.

That same smile. The one you had worn the first time you stepped into his village, wide-eyed and full of wonder. The one that had irritated him once, back when he thought you were just another human passing through. Now, it made something in his chest loosen.

“But enough of this puny human’s sad story,” you declared, your lips curling into a smirk. Neteyam raised a brow at your sudden shift. “I’m not that interesting,” you added, tilting your head slightly. “Especially if I’m next to you or someone else from your village.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head. He could feel the change in your energy, the way your spirit had already lifted, like the serious conversation from minutes ago had never existed. You were like that.

Moving between emotions with an ease that almost fascinated him. Then, you leaned forward slightly, your voice dipping with curiosity. “Is it true that the warriors dip their arrowheads into venom to make their kill faster?”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. For a moment, he simply stared at you, trying to determine if he had heard correctly. You looked at him expectantly, completely unbothered by the fact that you had gone from sharing something deeply personal to asking about poisoned weapons in a matter of seconds.

His ears flicked, amusement flickering across his features. “Of all the things you could ask,” he murmured, shaking his head.

You just grinned.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose before answering. “Some do,” he admitted, his tail flicking lazily. “It depends on the hunter and the prey. Certain poisons make a kill faster, cleaner. Others… not so much.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Not so much?”

He smirked. “Some poisons are meant to incapacitate—not kill.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You mean… like paralyze them?”

Neteyam nodded.

You let out a low whistle, shaking your head. “Remind me to never get on a Na’vi’s bad side.”

Neteyam chuckled, his smirk deepening. “I think it is too late for that, tawtute.”

You gasped in mock offense, shoving his arm lightly. “Hey!”

He only laughed, his tail flicking against the tree trunk. The heavy conversation from earlier still lingered somewhere beneath the surface, but for now, it was replaced by something easier. Something lighter. And Neteyam found that he didn’t mind it one bit. He glanced toward you, his gaze lingering longer than he meant it to.

You didn’t notice. You were too mesmerized by the few Yerik across the pond, their slender forms dipping low as they drank from the water. Your eyes followed their movements, quiet, awed. Like you were seeing something sacred. And maybe, to you, it was. He had seen this look on you before—this quiet reverence, this complete presence in the world around you. It was one of the things that had started to unsettle him the most.

Because you saw things. Not just with your eyes, but with something deeper.

And at some point—without him even realizing—you had started looking at him the same way. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his fingers curling idly against the rough bark beneath him. A year ago, he would have sworn he’d never speak to you more than necessary.

He would have kept his distance, fulfilled his duty, and let you remain an outsider in his world. And yet, now— Now, you are here.

Far from the village, far from the human outpost. Talking about things he had never spoken about before. Letting you ask questions he had never dared to ask himself.

When had that changed?

When had you changed?

Or maybe—

Had he? He still didn’t know why Eywa had placed you in his life. He had spent too much time trying to understand, to make sense of it. But maybe it wasn’t something to understand. Maybe it was something to feel. Maybe it was about seeing.

About having a life beyond his never-ending duty. Neteyam’s gaze softened, a small, unfamiliar smile tugging at his lips. He still didn’t know what this feeling was, didn’t know where to place it—this strange warmth in his chest, this quiet pull toward you. You were far too small compared to anything he knew.

And yet, the way you had woven yourself into his mind, into his life, into the quiet spaces he had once kept to himself— It was terrifying.

(2 years ago)

Neteyam stepped into his family’s kelku, shaking off the lingering tension from the day’s training.

But…

He saw you. You were sitting cross-legged on the woven floor, a mess of tangled grass in your hands, your brows furrowed in frustration. Kiri knelt beside you, effortlessly weaving the long strands with practiced ease, her fingers moving in quick, fluid motions.

You, however, were struggling. Neteyam leaned against the entrance, watching silently as you huffed, attempting once more to bend the stubborn grass into shape. But the material resisted your efforts, slipping from your fingers at the last moment.

You let out a quiet groan, your shoulders slumping. Neteyam felt the corners of his lips twitch. You were always like this—so determined, so desperate to understand things that had no logic, no precise method you could study or analyze. Some things had to be felt.

Learned through patience, through instinct. But you had never been good at patience, at least outside of your job. And for some reason, that amused him far more than it should.

Since your talk at the pond, something has changed between you. He couldn’t quite name it, but it was there, lingering beneath every glance, every quiet moment shared between you. And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress the pull he felt toward you. 

He stepped forward. “Is that supposed to be a basket?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Neteyam smirked as he approached, glancing down at the poorly shaped attempt in your hands. It was lopsided, the strands uneven, some already fraying at the ends.

“I am not sure it can hold anything,” he mused. “Perhaps a single fruit, if you do not move too much.”

Your eyes narrowed. Then, before he could react, you threw the half-finished basket at him. Neteyam caught it with ease, raising a brow as you scoffed.

“You know, there are people who can’t be talented in everything,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Unlike some.”

Your squint was exaggerated, your annoyance barely masking the amusement lurking beneath it. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, turning the misshapen basket over in his hands. It was terrible.

But, somehow, he liked it.

(1 year and 11 months ago)

The rainstorm had come fast. One moment, the sky was its usual deep blue, and the next, dark clouds had swallowed it whole. The rain had started slowly—fat, lazy drops plopping onto the village roofs, tapping against the leaves. But then the wind picked up, and suddenly, the heavens had split open. Sheets of rain hammered against the trees, sending waterfalls cascading off the woven platforms, soaking everything in sight.

The humans had been caught off guard. Neteyam had watched them scramble when it became clear they wouldn’t be able to return to their outpost in the near future. The storm was too strong, the paths too slick. Which was why you were here. Sitting cross-legged across from him, huddled beneath the family kelku’s woven canopy, warm and dry.

Unlike him. Neteyam exhaled sharply, reaching for a length of twine to restring his bow. His hair was still damp from earlier, loose strands sticking to his skin, dripping onto his shoulders. He ignored it, fingers moving expertly as he tied a careful knot. He could feel you watching.

You had been fidgeting for the past few minutes, shifting slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. Every so often, you’d open your mouth as if to say something, then hesitate. He raised a brow.

“What?”

You blinked, then shook your head.

“Nothing.”

Neteyam hummed, unconvinced. A beat of silence. Then—

“You know,” you said slowly, tilting your head, “your hair is kind of a mess.”

Neteyam frowned, ears twitching. He lifted a hand to his braids, feeling where the strands had loosened from the rain, the damp weight of them resting against his shoulders. It wasn’t that bad. You must have seen his unimpressed look because you grinned.

“No, seriously. It’s bad. Like—battle damage bad.” 

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “The storm was worse than expected.”

“I can tell.” You leaned in slightly, studying his head like you were analyzing something critically wrong. “Your little warrior braids are all over the place.”

Neteyam scoffed, shaking his head. “They are fine.”

“They are not fine,” you countered. “You look like you lost a fight with a banshee.”

He huffed, turning back to his bow. “I will fix them later.”

“Or…” you said, stretching out the word, mischief flickering in your eyes. “I could fix them for you.”

Neteyam froze. Just for a second. You must have taken his silence as permission, because suddenly you were shifting onto your feet, standing up, moving closer, reaching toward him with small, delicate fingers. Neteyam leaned back immediately, narrowing his eyes. “No.”

You laughed. “Oh, come on.”

“I do not need your help.”

“You obviously do.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in warning. “I can do it myself.”

Your grin widened. “Yeah, but I can do it better.”

Neteyam scoffed. “You do not even know how.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Excuse you. I do know how.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

“Okay, well,” you amended, “Kiri tried to teach me once.”

Neteyam smirked. “I have seen your attempts at weaving.”

“That was different.”

“You tangled the fibers so badly that Kiri had to cut them apart.”

You groaned, dropping your head back. “That was one time!”

Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head. But before he could protest further, you scooted closer. He stilled. You were right there. Too close. Your knees bumped against his side as you reached up, fingers hovering near his temple, waiting. “Just let me fix one,” you said, lips quirking. “If I ruin it, you can make fun of me forever.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, weighing his options. He could refuse. He should refuse. But the way you were looking at him—expectant, teasing—made it impossible. He muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly lowered his hands, giving the smallest nod. Your smile was blinding. “Stay still,” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

Then, gently—so gently—you reached for his braid. Neteyam clenched his jaw.

Eywa.

Your hands were warm. Small fingers brushed against his scalp as you carefully unraveled the ruined braid, working through the damp strands with surprising care. His ears twitched at the feeling, something foreign curling in his chest. No one touched him like this. His mother did, when she tended to his hair as a child. Kiri sometimes, if she was feeling particularly annoying. But this—

This was different.

You were close enough that he could see the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lip slightly as you focused. Close enough that he caught the scent of rain on your skin, the faint traces of whatever strange human soap you used. The firelight flickered against your features, casting soft shadows along the curve of your cheek, through the glass panel of your mask.

Neteyam swallowed. He should not be thinking about your cheekbones. You huffed, frustrated, trying to smooth out a particularly tangled strand. Your fingers brushed against the base of his ear, and Neteyam almost flinched. His tail twitched violently behind him.

You noticed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “Does that tickle?”

Neteyam scowled. “No.”

You smirked. “It does.”

“It does not.”

You narrowed your eyes, grinning like you had just won something. “Interesting…”

“Do not.”

You wiggled your fingers threateningly. “What would happen if I—”

Neteyam grabbed your wrist before you could even try. His large hand circled around your thin wrist so easily. You gasped, eyes wide in exaggerated offense. “Neteyam!”

He exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip slightly. “You are impossible.”

You just grinned. For a moment, you stayed like that—your wrist in his grasp, your eyes flickering between his face and his hand, something unreadable in your expression. Then— “…You’re really warm,” you murmured.

Neteyam stilled. The words were so soft he almost thought he imagined them. But you were looking at him now, really looking at him, your usual teasing energy replaced by something else. His heartbeat picked up. The air felt… heavy. He should let go. He should let go.

Instead, his grip lingered—just for a second longer than necessary. Then, abruptly, he released your wrist, looking away. “Are you finished?”

You blinked, snapping back into focus. “Oh! Right. Yeah, yeah.”

You made quick work of the rest of the braid, fingers moving more carefully this time. When you were done, you pulled away, sitting back with a pleased look on your face.

“See? Perfect.”

Neteyam reached up, fingers grazing the newly woven braid. It was… decent. He hummed. “It will do.”

You scoffed. “Wow. You’re welcome, your highness.”

Neteyam smirked. “I did not say thank you.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are insufferable.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. But later that night, as the rain continued to fall, Neteyam found himself touching that braid— Again and again. And even though he knew it was just hair, he couldn’t help but think—It felt different now.

(1 year and 10 months ago)

Neteyam didn’t know why he was here. His patrols never took him this close to the human outpost. There was no reason for him to be here. No threat, no duty. And yet, here he was. His steps were silent as he moved through the dense foliage, keeping to the shadows, his golden eyes scanning the small group of scientists in the clearing ahead.

There you were.

Sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your datapad in one hand and a small instrument in the other, completely immersed in whatever you were studying. Strands of hair had fallen loose from your usual tie, and you absently tucked them behind your ear as you worked. Neteyam exhaled slowly. He didn’t understand this.

Didn’t understand why he had ended up here today, why his feet had carried him in your direction instead of somewhere else. You were just a human. Just a human. He had more important things to do. He remained hidden, watching you from a distance. He thought he was sneaky enough. Years of hunting had taught him patience, how to blend into the world around him, how to move unseen.

But then—

You turned. And smiled.

It was wide and bright—brighter than the twin suns overhead.

And Neteyam’s heart stuttered.

“I knew you were there,” you said, grinning as you looked directly at him.

Neteyam blinked, stepping into the clearing with a frown. “How did you know?” he asked, his ears flicking in irritation at being caught so easily.

You only shrugged, tossing your hair over your shoulder with an easy movement. “I just did.” Then, your expression changed. You tilted your head slightly, looking at him like you were about to tell him something secret, something only meant for the two of you.

Neteyam’s body tensed slightly as you leaned towards him just a little despite your size difference. And before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself leaning down, just enough to hear your whispered answer. “I don’t know,” you murmured, your lips twitching. “Maybe I’m a Na’vi hunter in disguise.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, straightening immediately. You burst into laughter, clearly delighted by his reaction. And despite himself, despite everything— He smiled at you. It was so easy to do. Why? 

You crouched back down, returning to whatever work you had been doing, your laughter still lingering in the air. Then, casually, you asked, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in the village and be a perfect leader?”

Neteyam’s lips parted slightly, but no answer came. Because he didn’t know. Why was he here? Why had he chosen this path, today of all days? Why had he let himself be pulled toward you when there was no reason to be?

Somehow, you must have sensed his hesitation. Because before he could even attempt an answer, you glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer now. “Either way, I’m happy to see you.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. You said it so simply, so easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like his presence meant something to you.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe— He had come here because, deep down… He had wanted to see you, too.

(1 year and 9 months ago)

You didn’t hear him. Neteyam had been watching you from the thick branch above, waiting, studying. You were alone, cross-legged against the trunk of a massive tree, your head tilted slightly as you gazed at the forest around you.

Just watching. He didn’t understand you sometimes. Most humans were never still. They talked, they moved, they always did something. But you—you could just be. And yet, that doesn't mean you should be here.

Alone.

He exhaled through his nose and leaped down. The moment his feet hit the ground, you screamed. A sharp, startled sound. You scrambled slightly, your hands pressing against the dirt as you looked up at him with wide eyes. Neteyam straightened to his full height, towering over you. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your exhale shaky. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sharper than he intended.

You blinked at him. Then, instead of scolding him for scaring you—or worse, looking afraid—you smiled. A soft, small thing. “I just wanted to be alone,” you said, shrugging.

Neteyam frowned, his ears twitching. That wasn’t a good enough answer. “Where are the other humans?”

You turned your head slightly, your gaze flicking toward the right as you thought about it. Why did you have to think about it? Then, finally— “Back in the outpost,” you answered.

His frown deepened. That was not the answer he wanted. “You should not be alone,” he said, his tail flicking in irritation. “You are small.”

You scoffed. Then, to his utter disbelief, you laughed. “Neteyam,” you said, amusement lacing your voice. “I am fine.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you tilted your head up at him. “Or what?” you teased. “The mighty warrior would be sad if a viperwolf dragged me into its den?”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. You were infuriating. And yet, his lips twitched. You looked up at him, waiting. Neteyam held your gaze, his tail still flicking sharply behind him. Then, gently, you smiled. “Don’t worry, I was fine.”

His ears twitched.

Fine?

You were alone in the middle of the forest, completely unprotected, with no one around except the creatures lurking in the shadows. Yet you smiled at him, as if his concern was unnecessary. His tail flicked again, betraying his frustration. You noticed.

Your lips twitched slightly before you continued, “I was here a few times. And it was always peaceful. Even safe.”

Neteyam’s frown deepened. Safe? You thought this place was safe? You had no instincts, no natural awareness of the dangers hidden beneath the beauty of the forest. He had spent his whole life learning how to listen to it, how to sense the smallest shifts in the air, the softest disturbances in the leaves. You had none of that.

He muttered something under his breath in Na’vi, shaking his head.

You didn’t react—didn’t understand the words—but when he muttered tawtute, your eyes brightened slightly. Then, instead of looking offended, you smiled again. His tail lashed once behind him. Before he could say anything else, you tilted your head and asked, as if you hadn’t just been arguing—

“How was your day?”

Neteyam blinked. The sudden change in topic threw him off balance. For a moment, he could only stare at you, caught between lingering frustration and something he couldn’t quite name. You just waited, patient, watching him with those same curious eyes. And he found himself answering.

“My day?” Neteyam repeated, arching a brow at you. You nodded, completely unbothered by the shift in conversation, as if you hadn’t just been laughing at his concern. He exhaled, shaking his head. “It was… fine. Nothing special.”

Your smile widened slightly. “Nothing special?”

Neteyam huffed. “Training, patrols, the usual.”

“So, running around the forest, scaring away potential threats, and looking perfect while doing it?” you teased, tilting your head.

He smirked. “That does sound about right.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed.

Neteyam watched you for a moment before asking, “And you? Why did you want to be alone?”

You hummed, thinking. Then, with a bright smile, you said, “I don’t know, I just wanted to listen to the forest. I love how alive it is.” Your eyes lit up as you spoke, your hands gesturing slightly, as if trying to grasp something intangible. Neteyam didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t that.

He blinked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something he didn’t want to name. Sometimes, he doesn't understand you.

You weren’t Na’vi. You had no connection to Eywa, no way to truly feel the world around you as he did. And yet… Somehow, you did. Somehow, you felt it anyway. If you had been Na’vi, you would have been deeply connected to Eywa. He knew it. You would have been strong among his people. A hunter, maybe. A healer. A tsahik.

His tsahik.

The thought struck him so suddenly that he nearly stood up on instinct. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself still. It was a dangerous thought. Yet… It wasn’t bad.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the ridiculous notion. You were just a human. That was all.

And somehow, only being a human seemed… enough. Still, he crouched down next to you, studying you as if he could understand you just by looking. You noticed, of course. You always did. “What?” you asked, tilting your head.

Neteyam smirked. “I am just trying to see what kind of creature chooses to sit alone in the forest, thinking it is safe.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “A creature? That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

Neteyam hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

You scoffed, bumping his knee lightly with yours. “For your information, mighty warrior, some of us like peace and quiet.”

“You? Quiet?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I do not believe it.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse you, I can be quiet.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

Your lips twitched. “…Okay, maybe not all the time.”

He smirked. “Not ever.”

You gasped again, shoving his arm playfully. “Take that back.” He only laughed, shaking his head.

“I cannot. It is the truth.”

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

“And you are still too small to be alone in the forest,” he countered smoothly.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Let it go, Neteyam.”

Neteyam just smirked, his tail flicking lazily behind him. For all your stubbornness, you didn’t realize that you had already won something far more important. Half a year ago, he wouldn’t have sat here like this. Wouldn’t have let you pull him into these easy conversations. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But now? Now, he wasn’t sure how to go back.

(1 year and 8 months ago)

Something wasn’t right. Neteyam could feel it. He sat outside his family’s kelku, absently sharpening the tip of an arrow, his movements precise, controlled. But his mind was elsewhere. You weren’t here.

Again.

The humans had come to the village today, just as they always did, hauling their equipment, speaking in their strange clipped words, taking notes on things they would never truly understand. But you weren’t with them. Just like last time. And the time before that. It had been almost a week since he had last seen you, and for some reason, the thought unsettled him more than it should.

You always came. Twice a week, sometimes three. Without fail.

Even before—before he had let himself see you, before he had stopped pretending that you were just another human passing through— You had always returned. No matter how distant he had been. No matter how he had tried to push you away.

So why weren’t you here now? For a moment, the thought crept in— Had he done something? No. That was impossible. If there was one thing he knew about you, it was that you were stubborn. Even when he had tried to keep you at a distance, even when he had been sharp with you, cold, dismissive— You had always come back.

You had never let him scare you away.

And now, suddenly, you were gone? His grip tightened slightly around the arrow.

“She is sick, you know.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. Kiri stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with an infuriating knowing look. His brows furrowed. “What?”

Kiri shrugged. “I heard the humans talking. She is sick.”

Something in his chest twisted. Sick? You were sick? He sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “What kind of sick?”

Kiri smirked, stepping closer. “I don’t know. Maybe her weak human body finally gave up on her.”

Neteyam glared. Kiri only laughed, shaking her head. “Relax. It’s nothing serious.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Then why is she not here?”

Kiri tilted her head.“They ordered her to rest.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in frustration. He didn’t like this. You were always here. Always bright, always talking, always—present. And now, suddenly, you were confined to the outpost, sick, and he had only just now found out? Kiri grinned, clearly amused by his reaction. “You look worried, ma’tsmukan.”

Neteyam scowled, shaking his head. “I am not worried.”

Kiri only hummed, a knowing glint in her eye. He ignored her. But still—his fingers tightened around the arrow.

*

Neteyam didn’t remember deciding to come here. Yet, here he was. The forest was dark, the bioluminescent glow of the plants casting faint, ghostly light over the clearing. The air was thick with the sounds of night—distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the rustling of leaves in the wind. And beyond it, standing cold and unnatural against the wild, living world, was the human outpost.

Neteyam crouched at the edge of the clearing, hidden in the dense foliage, his golden eyes fixed on the metal structure. It was strange. Too strange. The walls were smooth, lifeless.

Nothing like the woven kelku of his people, nothing like the towering trees that breathed around him. It didn’t belong here. And yet… You did. This was your place. A place where you would be safe.

His grip tightened around the leaves in his hand. He glanced down at them, finally aware of their presence. Dark purple, thick-veined. The kind his grandmother used to crush into a bitter paste when he was a child. It soothed fevers, eased aches.

He had picked them without thinking. Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. What was he doing? Why had he come here? He had no reason to be this close. No reason to care that you were sick. No reason to feel so restless when you weren’t in the village where you should be.

Should be?

His tail flicked behind him, his ears twitching toward every sound. The outpost was silent. The humans had long since retreated inside, away from the dangers of the night. Still, Neteyam remained where he was, hidden among the leaves, watching. He told himself he was only making sure you were safe. And if that was a lie, then it was one he wasn’t ready to confront.

*

Neteyam’s sharp gaze flickered over the clearing, scanning the area outside the human outpost. There were plants everywhere. Some were small, contained in odd-looking transparent cases, while others stretched taller, their vines creeping over the edges of the metal structure. He recognized many of them—forest plants, things that belonged deep in the wild, not trapped here under artificial lights.

It was strange. The humans had taken them from their home, pulled them from the soil just to study them. They did the same with everything, didn’t they? Suddenly, a low hissing sound cut through the quiet. Neteyam tensed.

The airgate to the outpost slid open, releasing a controlled burst of sterilized air. A human stepped out, her exo-mask reflecting the dim glow of the outdoor lamps. She was young—close in age to you. He recognized her. She had been in the village once, months before you had first arrived.

He hadn’t paid her much attention then, but now, for some reason, seeing her here made him think. She moved toward a section of small orange plants, datapad in hand, completely unaware of the golden eyes watching her from the shadows. Neteyam’s grip tightened around the dark purple leaves in his palm. Why had he brought them?

The thought nagged at him, frustration curling in his chest. He knew the humans were smart—at least, smart enough to heal their own kind. They had their own medicines, their own ways of treating illness. And yet… A whole week had passed. A whole week of you not being in the village, of your absence stretching longer than it ever had before.

And Neteyam found himself doubting them. Doubting that whatever strange things they used to heal each other were enough. These leaves—he knew them. He had trusted them since he was a child. It worked. It had always worked. And now, here he was.

Standing outside the human outpost, clutching these same leaves in his hand— Not knowing why. Not wanting to know why. Neteyam’s muscles tensed. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward. The leaves rustled as he moved out of the foliage, his tall frame emerging from the shadows.

The woman froze.

Her breath hitched as she turned, her blue eyes wide behind her exo-mask. She gasped.

Neteyam saw the fear flicker across her face, the way she instinctively shrank back, pressing herself against one of the plant containers. He kept walking. His steps were slow, deliberate. Purposeful. Deep down, he knew how this must look to her—a lone Na’vi warrior appearing from the forest in the dead of night, silent and unreadable.

But he didn’t stop. The woman’s hands gripped the edge of the plant container as she stammered,

“I—I mean no harm, please don’t hurt me.”

Then, barely above a whisper, she muttered something else under her breath—something about whShe expected him to do something. Say ether or not he even understood English. Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose.

She was scared of him. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him. Neteyam stopped.

Just a step away from her now, close enough that he could see the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, the way her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the plant container. Her fear clung to the air between them, sharp and uncertain.

something. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand. She flinched slightly but didn’t move as he extended his palm toward her, revealing the dark purple leaves resting in his grasp.

“For (Y/N),” he said simply. His voice was low but steady.

The woman’s breath hitched. He met her eyes, unblinking, before adding,

“Crush it for her. She will be better.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her frantic, wide-eyed panic stilled—morphing into something else entirely. Her gaze flickered between his face and the leaves in his hand, as if she couldn’t quite process what was happening. As if she had expected anything but this.

Neteyam watched, silent, as her fear began to unravel, piece by piece. Slowly—hesitantly—she reached out. Her small fingers hovered over his palm for a second, unsure, before she finally took the plant from him, the contrast between her pale skin and the deep purple leaves stark against the dim light.

Neteyam held her gaze for a fraction longer. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the forest.

*

(few days later)

Neteyam heard you before he saw you. Laughter. Bright, unrestrained, cutting through the usual village chatter like a melody. His ears twitched instinctively, tail flicking as his steps slowed.

Then, a flash of movement— And suddenly, you were there. Within minutes, you had somehow slipped into his orbit, like you always did, standing before him with that unmistakable look on your face. A glowing, shit-eating grin. Neteyam crossed his arms, raising a brow. “You look better.”

Your grin widened. “Yes, of course.” You lifted your chin slightly, eyes twinkling. “I have a blue guardian angel.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Is that what we are calling it?”

You hummed, nodding with mock seriousness. “Absolutely. He appeared from the shadows, gifted me a mysterious plant, and then vanished into the night. Very mythical of him.”

Neteyam huffed, but he couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging at the corner of his lips. You were back.

Healthy.

Standing in front of him, talking too much, smiling too wide—just as you always did. And for the first time in days, something inside him settled. Like he could breathe again.

You launched into some story about how Norm had forced you to rest, how Kate had teased you about having a secret admirer after finding the plant, but Neteyam barely processed the words. He was too busy watching you. Taking in the way you moved, the way the golden afternoon light caught in your hair, the way you spoke like the world around you was yours to shape.

He hadn’t realized how much he hated not seeing you. Not until now. Then, abruptly, you sighed dramatically. “But seriously, Neteyam.” His ears flicked at the shift in your tone. You leaned in slightly, whispering like you were about to tell him some great secret. “I have never eaten anything more bitter in my entire life.”

Neteyam blinked. Then, he smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You groaned. “That’s not the point! It tasted like death.”

He chuckled, arms still crossed. “You sound ungrateful.”

“Oh, I am grateful.” You patted his arm dramatically. “I just think my guardian angel needs to work on his choice of gifts.”

Neteyam let out a real laugh then, deep and unguarded, shaking his head as you grinned up at him. He had missed this.

Missed you.

(1 year and 6 months ago)

He should have been somewhere else—training, patrolling, doing something productive— But instead, he was sitting on the mossy ground, watching you work. The xenobotany team had stopped questioning it months ago. By now, they barely even acknowledged his presence.

They were used to him appearing at your side only to disappear into the forest again after a few minutes, like a shadow that came and went with the shifting light. He never spoke to them, never lingered too long—just long enough to see you, to make sure you were safe, to convince himself that he was only here because you were a human in a dangerous place.

That was what he told himself, anyway. But the truth was… He couldn’t stay away from you. And he didn’t know why. You were crouched beside a low-growing plant, fingers delicately brushing the leaves as you observed them.

The glow from your datapad cast a faint, artificial light across your face, reflecting in your eyes as you studied the readings on the screen. Neteyam should have been watching the forest. Instead, he was watching you. Then—

Your eyes flickered toward him.

Just for a second. Then back to your datapad. Neteyam’s ears twitched, but he said nothing.

A moment passed.

Then—again.

Your gaze darted toward him, then away.

Back to your datapad.

And then—

Again.

At first, he wasn’t sure what you were watching. But after a while, he noticed the pattern. Your gaze wasn’t lingering on his face. It wasn’t on his hands or his posture or his weapons. No— Your eyes followed the slow, lazy sway of his tail as it shifted side to side against the moss. Neteyam blinked. His tail stilled for a moment, but the instant it moved again, your eyes followed.

A realization struck him so suddenly that his ears flicked back against his skull. You were fascinated by it.

By him.

The thought sent something sharp through his chest, something he didn’t have a name for, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. You didn’t even realize what you were doing. Didn’t realize that you were staring. Didn’t realize that your innocent curiosity was affecting him.

Neteyam forced himself to exhale, looking away before you could catch him watching you just as intently. But the damage was already done. Because now, he knew. You saw him.

And that knowledge settled deep in his bones, thrumming like the distant beat of war drums, impossible to ignore. For a moment, Neteyam wondered if he had misheard you. Because there was no way you had just said— “Can I touch your tail?”

He blinked.

You glanced at him again, your expression expectant—curious—like you had just asked something as simple as can you pass me that leaf? His ears flicked up in surprise. He didn’t know who was more stunned—him or you. Because the moment the words left your mouth, your entire face drained of color.

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in horror, like you had just realized what you had said. “Oh, fuck,” you breathed.

Neteyam’s tail flicked behind him— Not because of your question, but because it was taking everything in him not to laugh. “I—I didn’t mean—” you stammered, hands coming up as if to physically take the words back. “I mean, I did mean it, but not like—I—you—fuck—”

Your voice had dropped into a frantic whisper as you looked up at him, terrified, like you had just insulted him, like he was about to exile you from the forest forever. Your hands clenched into fists against your lap as you sucked in a breath. “I meant scientifically,” you blurted. “For science. Obviously.”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head. “For science?”

You nodded—way too fast.

“Yes. Obviously.”

His tail swayed again, and your eyes immediately flicked toward it before snapping back to his face like you had just been caught. Neteyam smirked. “You want to touch my tail… for science?” he asked, amused.

You swallowed thickly. “Yes?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just watched you. Watch the way you fidgeted, the way your lips pressed into a thin line, the way your entire soul looked like it was about to ascend from sheer embarrassment.

Finally, he lifted a brow, fighting back a grin. “I don’t think that’s how your science works,” he mused.

Neteyam watched as you very slowly turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with mortification, your entire body screaming retreat, retreat, retreat. His smirk widened. “What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

Without looking at him, you let out a deep, suffering sigh and muttered, “I’m going to dig a hole and become one with Eywa.”

Neteyam’s chest rumbled with laughter. A real, full-bodied laugh that he couldn’t hold back this time. Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowed in betrayal. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning forward slightly. “You are very entertaining.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I said that. Out loud.”

“You did,” he confirmed, his tail flicking playfully. “Quite clearly, actually.”

“I know!” you whined, tilting your head back toward the sky, looking like you genuinely wanted to cease existing.

Neteyam just shook his head, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a low hum. “So,” he teased, golden eyes glinting mischievously. “Do you still want to touch it?”

Your hands flew up, waving frantically in front of your face. “No!”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking once more. Liar. You were dying.

At least, that’s what it looked like. Still sitting next to him, you had buried your face into your hands, groaning softly like you were trying to will yourself into the ground, fully committed to your plan of becoming one with Eywa.

Neteyam smirked, tail flicking lazily behind him. Oh, this was too good. You had made it far too easy. Without a word, he shifted slightly, lifting his tail— Then, with deliberate slowness, let it settle right onto your lap.

He felt your body stiffen immediately. Neteyam almost laughed. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, waiting—curious—to see what you would do. A long pause. Then, slowly, your fingers parted, revealing wide, startled eyes peeking through. You blinked.

Then blinked again. Neteyam’s smirk grew. “You wanted to touch it,” he murmured, voice like silk. “So go on.”

You inhaled sharply, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure. And for a moment, he was certain you were going to refuse.

But— You moved.

A small, tentative hand reached out, fingertips brushing over the sleek, sensitive skin of his tail with the lightest, gentlest touch.

Neteyam’s entire body locked up. His breath hitched, something hot and unfamiliar searing through his spine.

Eywa.

He had never— No one had ever— This felt different.

His tail twitched under your touch, betraying him for a split second before he forced it to still. His jaw clenched. He could not react. He could not let you see what this was doing to him. Because this was nothing.

It was just a human—just you—touching his tail. It shouldn’t feel like this. But it did.

When they were children, he and his siblings had been rough, yanking and swatting at each other’s tails without a second thought. He had touched his own tail before, out of habit or necessity. But it had never felt like this. Like warmth sinking into his skin. Like something delicate. Like something dangerous. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral, keeping his breath steady—doing everything in his power not to let you know.

Not to let you see what you had just done to him. You were marveling at it. That was the only way to describe it. Your expression was nothing short of captivated, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in quiet wonder as you lifted his tail ever so slightly, bringing it closer to your face as if inspecting something rare—something precious.

Neteyam swallowed hard, his ears unconsciously pinning back. Because— Eywa— You were too much. You shouldn’t be looking at him like that. Like he was something special. Like he was something worth cherishing. Your fingers wrapped around his tail carefully, gently, like you were afraid to grip too hard, afraid to hurt him.

Neteyam felt his heart stutter. Your hands were so small. So soft. With each passing second, your face lit up more and more, like you were experiencing something magical, like this was the most fascinating thing you had ever touched.

And fuck— The way you touched him— Your fingers moved slowly, tracing along the length of his tail with delicate precision. Then— Your touch drifted lower, toward the dark fur at the end of it, fingers hesitating, lingering. Neteyam felt it—knew exactly what you were thinking.

You wanted to touch that too. But before you could— His tail betrayed him. The tip curled away from your reach, an involuntary movement, a silent challenge. Like it refused to be taken so easily.

You blinked in surprise, tilting your head slightly, watching as it twitched playfully in your lap—like it had a mind of its own. Neteyam clenched his jaw. Because fuck, this was—this was— Your other hand moved. Fingers closing firmly yet still so gentle around the twitching end, holding it still.

And just like that—

Neteyam stopped breathing. Neteyam’s brain is completely short-circuited. Because you—you were— “Wow,” you breathed, looking up at him with a beaming smile, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “It’s soft.”

Neteyam blinked. You were still holding his tail, fingers gently curled around it, cradling it in your hands like it was something precious. And you— You looked like a Na’vi child discovering their parent’s body for the first time, wide-eyed, fascinated, utterly enchanted by something so simple, so ordinary to him.

Except this wasn’t ordinary. Not at all.

His tail twitched, but you held it firm, running your fingers lightly along its length, watching how the fur caught the dim light. You were studying it, waiting— Waiting for him to tease you, for him to say something sharp, something smug. But the words never came. Because he couldn’t think. Instead, he just stared at you. Like he had just bitten into the sourest fruit in the entire forest.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and his chest felt tight, too tight, as if he couldn’t quite breathe right. Because you had no idea. No idea what you were doing to him. No idea how wrong it was that your small hands felt this good on his tail. No idea that if you kept touching it like that—slow and curious— He was going to lose his fucking mind.

Neteyam snapped. One second, he was frozen in place, your soft hands wrapped around his tail, your fascinated eyes locked onto him, completely oblivious to the havoc you were wreaking inside his chest. The next— He was moving.

Standing up so quickly that the shift was almost abrupt, pulling his tail from your hands with more force than he intended. You startled slightly, blinking up at him in confusion. “I need to go,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, strained in a way he hated.

He didn’t wait for your reply. Didn’t dare look at your face. He turned on his heel and strode into the forest, tail flicking sharply behind him, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. His heart was pounding.

Fuck.

He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his skin, the way your fingers had held him, gentle but certain, like he was something to be cherished. His stomach churned at the thought. He didn’t know why this affected him so much. Didn’t know what it was about you that made him lose control of himself, made him want things he shouldn’t, things that were impossible.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“What was that?”

Neteyam’s ears flicked, catching the words just before he fully disappeared into the foliage. Another voice—yours.

“I don’t know, Kate.”

Neither did he.

And that was the problem.

This part has a 2. volume!

Part 18 Vol 2.: To remember

[our-queer-experience]

Howdy. My therapist suggested I try an reach out to the greater queer community and so here we are.

I'm Ratt, trans since the Bush Administration (no, the First Bush administration). I'm "send a physical check to the underworks company to order a gynecomastia vest" old.

I grew up in a family that thrived upon unhealthy gender expectations. It wasn't great: it was known to both us kids that the only reason my sibling was born was cuz the family wanted "A Boy". I was significantly not the favorite so I made myself useful. The family stopped celebrating my birthday at age 9, I was responsible for 100% of the household chores. Abuse happened on the daily and it shaped me like pruning sheers shape a bonzai.

I never felt like a girl, but hot damn did I try. Being constantly pushed around galvanized me into feminism from a young age and that's been a constant. My family loved to push my buttons and it was seen as a family bonding activity between my mom n sibling.

After I first came out to the family I was sleeping in libraries and the bathroom of Del Taco. I had my first experience with being denied care from a medical provider on basis if transness that year. I got through college in that morass of bullshit.

I had my top surgery what, 14 years ago. Paid 5K for that entirely out of pocket from my first Big Grownup Adult Job. It was super cheap comparatively because it was done semi under the table, being billed as a "reduction". Waking up from surgery was one of the best moments of my life, all the dysphoria was gone.

Eventually I made the realization that as long as the family was in my life I would be living a defensive, shitty life where my autonomy wouldn't be respected. So I packed a duffle bag, moved 2000 miles and started life over with a new name.

Now I'm working with a therapist and making progress every day. I got my hysto about 7 years ago and I'm in the best shape of my life. I'm poor as fuck and criminally underemployed but, I'm happy.

A few months ago mywwa sibling tracked me down n called my cell. Turns out, she transitioned a year ago. The family is taking things better with her, but not great (because they are horrible people: she's not ready to accept that yet tho). I am glad to see how much more accepting and receptive her social net has been here in 2024 as opposed to transition circa 2004. I'm trying to be as supportive as I can while holding my boundaries firm. I am hella proud of her.

Anyway, that's about all I have for ya. I don't expect you to publish this on the blog but, hey, it's been fun writing while pretending to be busy at work. Just a gentle note that after 33 years of transing, things have gotten better in a lot of ways. Peace out

thank you for sharing!!! the whole point of this blog is to foster connection, you’re not alone and i’m happy to listen :]

[starberry-cupcake]

I came back!!! I didn't leave you for 5 months!!! And now I have 3 chapter updates together!!! I'm kissing you all in the brow tenderly like palmolive did to harrow and offering this recap

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

CHAPTER 34

harrow wakes up in a different spot, with camilla next to her and a shuttle with a design she has never seen before

she confirms that palmolive is indeed in his bachelor apartment in the river

camilla is very glad she doesn't have to go back to sweep the floor of canaan house for more palmolive bits

harrowcita does as palm told her and turns the skull into a hand because cam doesn't want a full skeleton reproduction because "it would get her in trouble"

customs are nasty up there in space

harrow goes to check up the shuttle and finds more old pals!!!

there's judith, remember judith?

in harrow's memory, she was dead from the slasher waker sleeper, but in our memory she was close to dead but not quite

turns out she's alive

not great for anyone other than herself, but anyway

there's also regina george twin

harrow remembers her falling to her death in the hands of mayonnaise uncle, but we remember her from crying in a corner last we saw her

after yandere twin had slurped chad the third and all that

this is again confusing me a bit, because clearly harrow remembers the gideon-less narrative but not!dulcinea is included in her memory, so that's still undetermined for me

there's also a poster of a woman harrow takes quite some time looking at

she: 1) looks intimidating, 2) is dressed in black, 3) has red hair

harrow immediately starts bleeding

"that portrait frightened you more than anything you had seen since becoming a Lyctor; it scared the irresolute piss from your body. Yet you had never seen the face before in your life"

my immediate theory is that maybe she's the leader of BOE who went missing about 20 years ago and that I mentally connect to gideon or gideon's mom

without any evidence other than math and a hunch

we'll see how wrong I am in the following chapters

harrow starts taking out her letters for everyone present

past!harrow wanted present!harrow to silence judith (valid) and protect regina george twin, only silence her if necessary

yandere twin had added some annotations on this about not hurting her sister

these letters were google docs

regina george twin has a ninth house rapier

I WONDER WHAT THAT IS ABOUT

harrow does as told (by herself) but wants to know what is going on so she un-silences judith momentarily and judith is an asshole who wants to rat someone out to the emperor

idk how things are at BOE or what is going on but here we don't stan the emperor so anyone who wants to protect him isn't my friend

camilla gives the ninth pledge to convince her to let them leave and says "we're not on the same side anymore"

PROMISING

when asked who took them from canaan house and who they're with, camilla says "you call them Blood Of Eden"

POSTER THEORY NOT CONFIRMED BUT I WONDER

CHAPTER 35

back in gideon-less universe with ortus and his polycule the fifth

abby thinks the lost chambers of the emperor run sidelong to the facility, which is information I very much would have liked her to elaborate on

but harrowcita is spotted listening in on the private conversation

harrow also keeps wanting ortus to do gideon stuff and show gideon behavior

she doesn't know that's what she wants but we know because she keeps being like "ortus doesn't start immediately doing push ups after almost dying, isn't showing his arms to the young ones and hasn't said a single dirty joke, which isn't ninth behavior but she's somehow expecting it".

canaan house is also growing some body horror stuff

sure, why not

abby says "time was always against us", which is pretty intense, knowing what we know

and then in comes teacher acting like he's drunk out of his ass, but he says he's not

it's great for us because drunk exposition is useful

he calls "the devil" a "her" who "bent for god to put a leash around her neck" and how the "disciples were scared" of her

then the lyctors found out what they had to do and they asked doctor reverend emperor john to kill her

but he "put her in a box"

like this

"you worship a monster in a box" "now we have a monster in a box"

I hadn't thought of those parallels, actually, that's my bad

"once that rock's rolled away, once that tomb's levered open, the Emperor of the Nine Houses will never know peace ever again"

CHAPTER 36

there's a bug in this one, like in the illustration

is this the beast?

harrow prays that not!dulcinea's body is tossed out through the airlock

WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT BEFORE??????

OH YEAH, I HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR THAT SAME THING

at first I thought harrow didn't remember her meeting the gang because it said "and why now was one of your letters missing and another two freshly opened?"

but she does remember, so narrator (still unknown) is confusing me

playing games with my mind

they have boring code-names that aren't puns or funny nicknames (which I have a predilection for) but their initials and the initial of their cav

dr reverend emperor john has a g, which I know what word it stands for, but I don't know what it means because it showed up in a dashboard spoiler but thankfully it had no context

so there's AA for Augustine Alfred, GP for Gideon (alleged, we're still not saying that one aloud, I'm still betting on it though) Pyrrha, IN for Ianthe Naberius

which is confusing to me because I call him Chad and everyone else calls him Babs but his name is Naberius but I always read it as Nebarius

he's like a puppy that you name one way but everyone calls differently

augustine hesitates on harrow's name and says "Harrow's H"

harrow says HO and everyone's awkward about it

you sure, harrow? you sure it's O?

turns out the beast is here to get doctor reverend emperor john's sorry ass for, according to mercygirl what "you did to its kin" and "it sees my cavalier's mortal soul burning in my chest"

harrow wants to kiss ice cube barbie but she's not having it and goes "i have to go away for a while"

that's rough, buddy

mercygirl proceeds to draw a cylinder with names of layers and explains the very convoluted and not at all certain sounding plan they've got

apparently ulysses threw sexy parties that mercygirl hated

harrowcita does remember seeing regina george twin and is worried that yandere twin is the traitor that judith was taking about

I think harrow is the traitor but she doesn't know it

I think her forgetting stuff is part of a plan to kill the emperor, but my evidence is circumstantial

as long as we kill this dude, it's all good

mercygirl gives a speech about how much she hates everyone and how she wants to torture the emperor

if we are to spare one lyctor from the guillotine, let it be her

everyone has positions to take in this plan (that sounds like it's kinda doomed) and that the emperor isn't paying attention to at all

everyone except for harrow, because they all think she's gonna die

and we get potential foreshadowing?????? about the stoma

which is "hell" and the emperor says it's "where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless"

AND THAT'S WHERE WE ARE NOW, FAM!!! see you next time!!!

[serejae]

margaret

myung jaehyun x doodler!reader

syno; a pencil lead you to him now

a/n ; uncapitalization is intended, some kissing, inspired on our beloved summer besides the exes factor lol :-), enjoy

it was a late night, jaehyun wasn’t home yet and you couldn’t quite fall asleep yet. so you decided to kill two birds with one stone. ever since you were young you had a hobby of drawing, it was normal for you to get asked from people to draw them. unfortunately for them your drawings don’t focus on people but rather sights. as you organized your old drawings you came across a dusty folder hidden all the way in the back of your shelf, curious to see what it is you grab it and clear the dust off. the cover of the folder doesn’t go unnoticed with masking tape messily on it with the words “DO NOT OPEN. YOURE CRAZY.” written on top. you laugh to yourself slighty and take the risk going against your past self. when opening the folder a tiny pencil falls out and all the memories suddenly flash back. picking up the pencil, you immediately sit down and go through the folder.

-

it was almost 2 years ago. you were sketching in a cafe when you got distracted by your phone that you didn’t notice one of your pencils falling out of your pencil case. someone suddenly diverts your attention away from your phone. looking up you see the most (not even exaggerated) mesmerizing man, his lips turn up slight and he clears his throat “sorry for bothering you, but your pencil fell” he said with a slight blush on his face and reddish ears. you laugh slightly and thank him expecting that to be the end of your conversation but to your suprise he paused for a second thinking about what to say

“are you here alone?”

the wise answer wouldve been no, i mean you dont even know the guy

“yeah”

“can i sit?”

-

while reminiscing the moment you played with the pencil, the pencil was special, not only because it lead you to jaehyun but the steps it took to realize you loved him.

there were 2 drawings of jaehyun. the only drawings you ever drew of a person

-

drawing 1 .

its been 2 weeks since you met jaehyun. you both had been talking regularly and you hated it: not because you disliked him or anything but rather the opposite. you found yourself developing a

crush. :-/

as you sat at your table shaking your good pencil between your fingers staring at the blank paper that seems to be staring at you back. thats when you started imagining eyes, nose, lips, a face on the paper but not just anyones face. it was myung jaehyun’s. you never had the urge or willingness to draw a person but something inside your soul was telling you to. trying to push the thoughts back you starting thinking to yourself

“i don’t even remember his face accurately”

“its been 2 weeks pfft”

*ding*

pausing at the notification you flip your phone over and the screen illuminates.

myung jae !

**ONE NOTIFICATION **

“if your not too busy do you wanna ft?:p”

fuck.

before replying back (a obvious yes) you scramble your desk for the pencil he had handed you that day. the pencil was tiny, you kept it because you kept forgetting to throw it away but once you find it you reply with a

“sure”

cant seem too desperate right?

and as he calls you and the screens connect, your met with a familiar face and start doodling. focusing on his voice and you drew, you looked up every so often studying his face.

after finishing you date the corner and shove it in the back of your drawer.

-

drawing 2 .

your crazy.

its been 9 months since you first met jaehyun and it takes every muscle in you to not draw him. you can’t feed into your delusional or into the thought that you might have a crush on him. at this point its more then a stupid crush. you would say you just really really really like jaehyun but you guys werent even dating yet and thats the problem.

everyday for these past 9 months the two of you have become incredibly close, might i add a little too close.

all you could think about was him and normally in situations like this you would draw things you like to get your mind off of whatever you were stressed about which sadly wouldn’t work in this situation

as he was what you like and all you could think about.

after a hour on debating (3 minutes) you sigh and open your camera roll, opening the album “mjae<{3” your favorite photo of him, one you didnt even know you took but there was something different about the photo

his eyes.

theres no way he couldnt feel the same about you, right?

shut up.

you stopped the thoughts and started doodling, sketching all the details on his face. youve memorized his face probably more then your own now that you think about it.

adding the finishing touches and dating it, you back away from the paper and stare at it

how does he have you wrapped around his finger so well?

grabbing your phones you search variations of questions into google

“why cant i stop thinking of a guy”

“how to know if you like a guy”

“does my crush like me????” you made sure to find one made bv a guy to insure accuracy.

unfortunately the answers didnt help you

they all lead back to love

and thats when you realized

you don’t really like myung jaehyun

your inloveeeeeeee with myung jaehyun.

jumping onto your bed you scream into your pillow and go into a rage. scrambling around your room you find a folder, empty everything inside, get tape from your desk and aggressively put the tape on there. taking your marker you write “DO NOT OPEN. YOUR CRAZY.” you stuffed the current drawing in there as well dug in your drawer for the previous one. once inside you grab the pencil that started it all and put it inside too. then shoving it to the back of your shelf.

-

a year after meeting jaehyun thats when he finally asked you to be his partner, he had asked to meet in the same cafe you 2 had met. you arrived on time while jaehyun was a bit late, you didnt mind too much though. while waiting you scrolled on your phone when you suddenly heard a voice

“excuse me?

i think you dropped this.”

you look up confused and see a bouquet of flowers with a sticky note attached to it

“be my partner? (plz)” as well a silly drawing of you and jaehyun as cat and dog. looking up you see his familiar face that has a reddish tint

“of course.”

-

you hear the door open snapping you out of your thoughts

“baby? im home!”

“at my desk jae”

you hear him shuffe his way to your desk and kisses you on the head before looking at your desk

“oh look! its the pencil i gave back to you when we first met, you still have it?” he laughed, his eyes shift over to the two drawings on the table of no other then, him.

“woah…”

he said as he picked up the drawings seeing the dated marks

“these are amazing babe, but i thought you didnt draw people?”

you look down at the pencil and smile

oh you couldn’t wait to tell him the storied behind the drawings

you looked up at the sticky note on your wall before opening your mouth

“funny story…”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us, pt 10.

Summary: It's been months since their relationship suffered a devastating blow. Can they find a way back to each other?

Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues and suicide, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING and a miscarriage, swearing

Word count: 3.6 k

Author's note: I expect the next part to be the finale. Hope you've enjoyed the story so far.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

It felt like torture, being so close to her yet worlds apart…the distance remained insurmountable and the space between them wasn’t just physical; it was filled with unsaid words, heartache, and the weight of what could’ve been. Wally could’ve reached out and touched her, but he didn’t. Not yet. She had to want that again, and for the longest time, she didn’t. Or so she claimed.

She’d told him there was nothing left to fight for, but she was still here. Still haunting the same hallways. Still tethered to Split River High. That meant something. Her heart is simply too afraid of the pain she’d have to touch if she opened it to him again.

At first, Wally thought it was about Maddie. Y/N flinched at every mention of her, every half-joke he made in passing. But Maddie herself had spoken to her, gently confirming everything Wally had already said. “No one can compare to you Y/N,” she told her.

It should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not because she doubted his words, but because she couldn’t forget what he had done. And as the months bled into each other, Wally realized it had nothing to do with Maddie. It was all him. The lie. The omission. The cowardice. That was the rot she couldn't ignore.

He’d tried talking. Tried romantic gestures. Love letters. Songs. Even poetry, God help him. Once, she would’ve swooned. Now, she just watched him quietly, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

Eventually, he stopped performing. None of those things bared his soul. Not the way she needed.

So when Homecoming rolled around, a night that once meant everything, he didn’t go. First time ever. His parents had stopped showing up long ago. There was no reason left for him to pretend.

Instead, he found her.

Sitting on the cold, tiled floor beneath the library window where the moonlight spilled in soft silver beams. Without a word, he sat beside her. Close, but not touching.

“The year you died was the year my mom didn’t come to the Homecoming game,” Wally begins. “She was at every game before that…religiously.”

Y/N turned her head. Her eyes met his, and her lips parted slightly, like a breeze had just ghosted over them. She wanted to speak, but the words remained stuck in her throat.

“Seeing that empty seat in the bleachers,” he continued, “was the first time I knew she wasn’t in the living world anymore. That’s what helped me find peace. Or... the start of it. And then, when I helped Maddie return to her life, there weren’t any earthly ties left here. None, except…”

He inhaled, eyes dropping to his hands. “Except I wanted to help everyone else find their door. That became my reason.”

 “So, you stayed,” she whispered, more breath than sound.

He nodded. “I thought I was being selfless. But really? It was the most selfish thing I ever did… until I asked you to stay.”

“Explain.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice soft and hoarse. “Afraid of what waited on the other side. I didn’t want to move on and find nothing there. But then I saw you. That day, on the pole... and I knew…there’d be no peace if you weren’t with me.”

Y/N blinked, realization softening her frown. “Which I delayed indefinitely. And you never telling me any of this? Maybe I’d have gone to the scar sooner!”

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” he said quickly. “The door, it’s not something you should walk through because of someone else. You have to feel you’re ready. In your bones.”

“I still hate that you lied to me. I wouldn’t feel pressured, I’d feel comforted knowing there’s a way to get through…knowing you found your way would give me strength and inspiration for when I felt ready.”

“I know that now,” he said, voice cracking. “I love you, Y/N. I never said I was smart, but I love you the best way I know how, with everything I have. Maybe I fuck up from time to time, but the intent is never to cause you pain.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t,” he replied, offering a soft smile. “Besides, you’re terrifying when you’re mad.”

Her laugh burst out before she could stop it, a surprised, genuine sound that made his chest ache with relief. Her nose scrunched the way it always did when she was trying not to laugh harder. He hadn’t seen that expression in too long.

“I mean it,” he added dramatically. “Vengeful spirits? Please. Child’s play. You? Terrifying.”

“Wait, vengeful spirits are real?” she asked, eyes wide.

He leaned in with a mischievous glint. “I have no clue. But if they are, I bet you could out-scowl them.”

Her hand inched closer on the floor, fingers grazing his. A tiny, almost shy movement. Wally didn’t hesitate. He slid his hand over hers, their fingers interlacing with the ease of coming home.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the tension slowly dissolving into something warmer. Quieter.

“How much did you hear?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Huh?”

“When you got to my scar,” she clarifies quietly, avoiding his gaze. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Quite a bit,” he admits. “I was trying to reach you while the cop advanced toward you, but I didn’t manage to break through on time.”

“You know…”

“That the scar played on your deepest regrets, despite none of it being your fault?” Wally interrupts gently, tightening his grip. “Yeah. I know. And so should you.”

She swallows hard. “Logically speaking, I know. My heart is still wracked with guilt. My sister didn’t know she was pregnant until the miscarriage. There’s no way to know if the antibiotics I prescribed caused it. I mean, miscarriages happen often for a myriad of reasons. I just hate the fact I could be one of those reasons.”

“But she’s fine, isn’t she? And she has three healthy daughters! Either way, your sister never blamed you. You need to stop blaming yourself….and your friend…You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved. You can’t carry all this on your shoulders.”

“I don’t,” she leans her head on his shoulder and Wally stiffens. It’s been so long since she allowed him to be this near, let alone initiated physical contact. But then he melted into it, his arm shifting around her waist.

“I’ve put down the weight of it all in the scar…that’s why the door opened, I think.”

“Your door is open,” his brow furrows. “As is mine.”

“Yeah.”

“But we’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Should we…?”

“Leave?” She looks up at him, fear evident in her eyes. “No. Not yet.”

“Why? Why are you so reluctant?”

“Because I don’t want to face what’s on the other side when there is a chasm between us. If there’s any chance we find each other in the afterlife, we can’t be this broken.”

He looked down at her. “You still love me.”

“I do.”

“Then trust that love. Trust it more than the fear.”

 “It’s a risk I’m not sure I’d be willing to take soon.”

“Y/N”, he pauses. “You need to stop thinking and start feeling. There is more to our love, than the mistakes I made.”

“I’ve never been that person,” she reminds him. “I overthink everything, so I’m sorry if me being worried losing you is too great of a risk to take. If you feel otherwise, then go ahead and walk through your door right now.”

“If losing me isn’t a risk you’re ready to take, then I’m not going anywhere,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I’d rather stay forever than leave you behind.”

She smirked faintly. “I’d have Xavier.”

His eyes narrowed. “Never say that to me again.”

“You were fine with Maddie,” she teased.

“Find less entertainment in my suffering, please.”

“If I had to show my crazy, you have to show yours.”

“I have shown mine,” he muttered. “Repeatedly.”

 “You’re so jealous of someone I call a friend, yet you thought I was crazy for being jealous over Maddie.” She laughed again, softer this time. Their foreheads brushed, and they stayed there, eyes closed, breathing in sync. “I like when you’re jealous.”

“Keep talking about staying here with Xavier and you’ll see how jealous I can get.”

Her lips hovered near his. She exhaled, long and trembling, like the air had been trapped in her lungs since the day they fell apart. “I love you.”

His heart stumbled. “Prove it,” he whispered, half a dare, half a plea.

She didn’t hesitate.

She moved forward, lips colliding with his in a kiss that was all heat, all ache, all release. It wasn’t gentle. It was months of silence, of distance, of longing, all of it spilling out in the way her hands cupped his jaw, the way she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, the way he gripped her waist like he might fall apart otherwise.

It tasted like tears and forgiveness, like second chances and unspoken promises.

When they finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, Wally presses his forehead to hers again.

“I missed this,” she whispers, voice shaking, barely holding herself together. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he replies softly, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying not to fall apart just hearing her say that. He was waiting for this, for her, holding on because his world is nothing if she’s not a part of it.

“I’m sorry I made you hurt while figuring things out.”

Wally kisses her again, just a soft brush of lips, like a punctuation mark at the end of her sentence. “All worth it in the end.”

She exhales shakily, curling her fingers into the fabric of his letterman jacket. “What do we do now?”

He opens his eyes, gaze flicking between hers. “Whatever you want.”

A slow smirk forms on her lips. “Dangerous thing to say to a woman who's been repressing all her emotions for months.”

“Yeah?” He grins back, brows raising. “You gonna cry on me or jump me?”

“Why not both?” she teases.

“Okay, now I’m scared,” he says, mock serious, but his hand slides around her waist again, pulling her close. “But like... in a hot way.”

Y/N laughs, full and bright, her forehead falling against his chest as she breathes him in. He still smells like summer grass after rain and old books. Whatever ghosts are made of, he smells unfairly good.

“I swear,” she murmurs against him, “if you’re secretly wearing cologne to seduce me, I’m going to throw you into a wall.”

“I’d never!” he gasps. “This is just my natural undead musk.”

“You’re disgusting,” she laughs, poking him in the ribs.

“You’re into it though.”

“Tragically, yes.”

His hand slides up her spine, slow and deliberate. Not hesitant, intentional. The heat starts again. Not frantic or urgent, but that familiar slow burn ache in her belly whenever he leans in closer. Their noses brush. She swears the room gets warmer.

“You know,” she murmurs, lips inches away from his, “we probably shouldn’t be making out in the middle of the hallway…”

“Oh absolutely not,” he agrees. “But ghosts have no rules, and also, this is the hottest make out session I’ve ever been part of.”

Their mouths meet again, deeper this time. Her fingers thread through his hair. He groans into the kiss, and it vibrates through her ribcage. The feel of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way his hand cups her jaw like she’s breakable and sacred all at once, it floods every corner of her.

“God, I forgot how good you are at this,” she gasps when they break for air. “This should be illegal.”

“Should be,” he pants. “But again…undead. We operate outside the law.”

They laugh, their bodies still tangled together, heat buzzing like static under their skin. It’s dizzying, the whiplash of tension turning to joy, of grief becoming comfort.

Y/N sobers a little, brushing his hair back from his face. “You really wouldn’t have gone without me?”

“I didn’t want to,” he says, the honesty naked in his voice. “I never want to.”

Her eyes soften, lips parting like she wants to say something more but can’t find the words. Instead, she cups his face and kisses him again. Slower. Deeper. Less frantic now, more certain.

They breathe each other in like they’ve been starving.

And maybe they have.

When they break apart, Wally murmurs, “You know what I want?”

She arches a brow. “What?”

“For us to haunt something together. Like real couple goals. That, or possess a vending machine and give out free snacks to grieving teens.”

She snorts. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

She laughs again, because it’s ridiculous, and perfect, and somehow he's become the thing tethering her to hope.

He grins. “So what do you want?”

Y/N looks at him for a long moment. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The way he’s still slightly out of breath. The way he’s willing to wait for her, even now.

“I want to figure it out with you,” she says finally. “Whatever that looks like. Whether it’s haunting lockers or slow dancing in abandoned classrooms.”

His grin grows wide and real. “Then we’ve got all the time in the afterlife, sweetheart.”

“No,” she pauses. “Not forever. A year at most. After a year, we walk through those doors, alright?”

Wally’s smile softens, and something in his eyes flickers, something like pride, like awe. He studies her face as if committing every detail to memory, the sound of her voice saying “a year” and her being willing to do this means everything to him.

Nodding, his plush lips curve in a small smile. “Let’s make it the best year of our lives.”

“Or afterlives,” she corrects, her mouth quirking up in a small smirk.

“Don’t ruin my moment,” he teases, brushing a knuckle down the line of her jaw, gentle as if any pressure would frighten her.

She leans into the touch instinctively, letting her eyes flutter close. The quiet between them isn’t awkward now, it’s full of tenderness. It’s electric. His fingers slide slowly into her hair, and hers rest just over his heart. They sit like that for a while, breathing the same borrowed air.

“I don’t want to go back to pretending you’re just a friend or stranger,” she whispers. “It was kind of hellish to be either.”

“You can’t, because I’m your boyfriend,” he murmurs, forehead pressing softly to hers. “Just because you distanced yourself from me and I missed you like a future I couldn’t reach, doesn’t mean I ever stopped being your boyfriend.”

Her breath catches, lips parting as her heart stumbles in her chest. “God, Wally...”

He doesn’t let her finish. His lips meet hers again, slower this time. Not desperate, devoted. The kind of kiss that says you’re mine, I see you, I’ll wait for you, even in this death.

Their mouths mold together in a rhythm only they understand, months of pain and longing unraveling in every brush of lips, every tilt of head. His hands explore her back in soft, reverent passes, reacquainting himself with the slope of her spine like a song he wants to hum for the rest of eternity.

She shifts, swinging one leg over his lap, straddling him with a confidence that makes his breath stutter. He pulls her closer without thinking, arms wrapped securely around her waist.

“You’re really sitting in my lap right now, huh?” he breathes against her neck, his voice low and rough with amusement.

“Ghost rules,” she shrugs, eyes glinting as she presses a kiss to his jaw. “No one can see us. No one cares.”

“You’re gonna kill me all over again,” he whispers, only half-joking.

“Little late for that,” she murmurs, her lips finding the soft skin just below his ear. He groans, head tipping back slightly, hands tightening on her hips.

Her name slips from his lips like a prayer, like gravity. Like he’s falling all over again and doesn’t want to stop.

“I don’t care if we’re dead,” she murmurs against his skin. “You still make me feel alive.”

That undoes him.

His hand cups the back of her neck as he kisses her again, deeper, hungrier now. Her fingers slide beneath the collar of his jacket, tracing the familiar lines of his shoulders. The tension, the grief, the weight of what-ifs, they all melt between their bodies, replaced by fire.

Eventually, their kisses slow, lips brushing lazily as they breathe each other in again and again. Her fingers trace idle lines on his chest. He draws small circles on her lower back, grounding himself in the feel of her.

“You know,” she says quietly, cheek resting against his shoulder now, “we really have to find a better make out spot. This floor is killing my knees.”

Wally laughs, the sound rumbling through both of them. “I’ve been dead for decades and this is still the most pain I’ve felt.”

“Romantic.”

“Tragic.”

They grin at each other.

“But seriously,” he says, brushing her hair from her eyes, “we can haunt-fuck in the art room. Or the music hall. Or the pool.”

“The pool?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Ever kissed underwater?”

She laughs, tilting her head. “Have you?”

“Almost,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck like he’s confessing a secret. “Kissed a few girls in there when I was alive…and Maddie.”

He barely finishes the name before she levels him with a slow, squinted glare. He coughs. “It was brief! Really brief. You know, back when I was dumb and hormonal and didn’t know you existed.”

“Mhm,” she hums, clearly not letting him off the hook.

“But,” he adds quickly, with a roguish smirk, “I am an excellent swimmer. Even as a ghost.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “That’s the dumbest flex I’ve ever heard.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

And as her smile stretches wide, radiant and real, Wally kisses her one more time, gentle, grateful, grounded in love that’s finally returned to him.

His hand cradles the side of her face as his thumb grazes the hollow of her cheek, the other sliding up her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She melts into him with a shiver, her fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt before gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing tethering her to this world.

Her lips part just slightly, inviting him in deeper. And when his tongue brushes hers, tentative and seeking, she exhales sharply against his mouth.

He feels it, her surrender. Not just to him, but to this. To them.

When they finally break apart, lips tingling and breath tangled between them, her eyes flutter open, dazed and dark with want. She stands, leaving him confused.

“I really should find Xavier now,” she murmurs, breathless.

His brow knits, standing too. “Why the hell would you mention him now?”

“If you got to kiss Maddie in the pool,” she teases, dragging her fingers along the buttons of his jacket, “it’s only fair I find myself a ghost to kiss there first too.”

In seconds, Wally grabs her hips and pulls her flush against him, his mouth ghosting over the shell of her ear. “The only ghost you’re going to be kissing,” he growls, “is me.”

Her fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Jealous again?” she whispers, her lips brushing his jaw.

“Always,” he breathes, his hands slipping under her shirt to splay against the small of her back. His palms are warm, solid, real. Despite everything, the way they feel together is undeniable.

She leans back enough to meet his eyes, her gaze searching, vulnerable. “Wally, do you think there is such a thing as forever in this between space we’re stuck in.”

His face softens, thumb brushing under her eye. “I do.” And he gets an idea.

“I don’t want this to just be passion and kisses and half-spoken promises. I need more than that. I need you to see me.”

“I do.” His voice is firm, unwavering. “I see every damn part of you, especially the ones you try hardest to hide. And I still want you.” And he will prove it to her.

Her breath catches, emotion pooling behind her eyes as she presses her forehead to his once again. “Then don’t let go. Not this time.”

“I wouldn’t even know how.”

Once he shows her what’s on his mind, she’ll understand.

He kisses her again, slower this time, savoring every second like it's something rare. Her question doesn’t leave his mind though and his idea is rummaging through every brain cell he has. There is only one way he remembers a forever was guaranteed, in life and death.

But when she pushes him gently back onto the floor and straddles him with a smirk and flushed cheeks, Wally can only stare, dumbstruck and absolutely gone for her, all thoughts leaving his mind.

“I thought you said this floor was killing your knees?” he rasps, breathless and grinning.

“It is,” she admits, leaning down until her lips brush his again. “But I want to kiss you again. Nothing really bothers me when your lips are on mine and your arms wrap around me.”

He exhales a laugh, head falling back in wonder. “Then I guess I better kiss you often.”

“You better.”

FINALE

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Belladonna - Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - Meaning: Silence, betrayal

Summary: Duke Leto's new wife has been neglected. When the Duke finds her under his Swordmaster, he summons her to his office for a talk but it ends up not being what she expected.

Pairing: Leto Atreides x F!Reader, (past fling) Duncan Idaho x F!Reader

Word Count: 918

Warnings: Slight Hurt/Comfort, fluff, Discussion of marital neglect/politically arranged marriage that leads to infidelity, reader has female genitalia but is otherwise not described, slight language, reader tries to appear aloof, Leto is probably OOC, feelings talk, a little husband/wife flirting at the end

Day 4 my loves! This is my first Dune fic and I have only seen the 2021/2024 films and read through some of the Wiki pages so forgive me if there are horrendous inaccuracies. This takes place pre-Dune by about 10 years, so Paul is a kid and Leto is a little younger but still foxy as hell.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

The thing about Caladan, you had come to learn, is that no matter where you were in the palace you could always hear the ocean. The crash of waves against the cliff below lulled you to sleep every night since your marriage to Duke Leto about two months ago. Sixty days, of which the Duke had only visited your bedchamber twice. The rest he spent, you assumed, in his chambers with Lady Jessica. 

In fact, you had barely seen him other than your weekly dinners since the wedding. The dinners were silent affairs, you on one end of the long formal dining table and the Duke on the other. Conversation extended no further than pleasantries. You didn’t mind too much — a political marriage like yours wasn’t meant to inspire affection and since the Duke had his concubine and his heir, you were only there to solidify the alliance between Caladan and your home planet, Calypso-9. 

Today, you’d been summoned to his office to discuss yesterday’s incident. 

The incident in which he’d found you underneath his Swordmaster Duncan Idaho in the training room. Half-naked. Writhing and crying in pleasure while Duncan pummeled your cervix with his impressive cock. It had been months since you’d been intimate with someone, and during your self-defense training Duncan’s touches while he corrected your form along with the smell of his sweat and endorphins from the exercise had proven to be too much. You’d given in to your baser instincts, and fuck, did it feel good.

Leto hadn’t said anything, only caught your attention with a loud clear of his throat. When he saw your and Duncan’s eyes on him, all he did was about-face and walk out of the room. 

He maintained the same stoic expression now. His dark eyes bore into yours as he stroked his beard. You had noticed how large his hands were during your wedding ceremony, and you remembered how they felt on you while he dispassionately consummated your union that night. All you could hear were the waves crashing. 

“I think we’re both aware of why I called you here,” he finally said, breaking the silence. 

“You found me fucking Duncan. I apologize if you were offended, my Lord, but I’m not sure why you called me here. Were you offended? Jealous?” You honestly didn’t know why he would want to hash this out between you unless he was going to scold you for being so indiscreet, which you supposed was deserved. 

“What if I was?” He asked, gaze softening before he continued without waiting for your answer, “Even though you and I both know I have no right to be. Our marriage is simply a political arrangement and I have Jessica and Paul while you left your homeworld to come here and be ignored by the husband you never wanted in the first place.” 

Gobsmacked. That was the only way you could describe yourself as you picked your jaw up off the floor. To say you hadn’t expected candor of this level was an understatement.

“I…Apologies, my Lord, but-” 

“Leto.”

“Pardon?”

“You are my wife, there’s no need for formalities. Call me Leto.”

You held back a scoff, turning it into a light sigh instead. “Since this is the second longest conversation we’ve ever had, you’ll forgive my hesitation with familiarities, but alright. Leto,” he nodded gratefully, so you continued, “I don’t fully understand your meaning.” 

“What I mean is I am angry about what I saw yesterday but not for the reasons you may think. I’m not upset with you because I understand that I am what drove you into the arms of my Swordmaster. I am angry with myself for neglecting you so cruelly since our wedding and I promise to do better by you. Perhaps not to Duncan’s extent, but-” 

You burst out laughing, which caused his brows to knit together in confusion. His large hands folded in front of him on his desk as you tried to get yourself under control. 

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you said, waving a hand in front of you, “I don’t mean to be laughing, I swear, but…is that all it would’ve taken to get your attention?” 

“Well, no, but-” 

“To think all I had to do was fuck someone else…I would’ve gotten your attention weeks ago.” 

“You’ve…been wanting my attention?”

This time you let your scoff out, “Of course! When my father told me he’d found me a husband I expected some old, ugly lord with at least two dead wives and no heirs. You cannot imagine the relief I felt when we met and you were none of those things.” 

“I’m not not old,” he chuckled, ducking his head.  

“Oh, pish, you’re barely forty, and don’t look it.” 

He looked up at you from under his regal brow and you felt butterflies stirring in your chest. “And you are one of the most beautiful women who has ever stepped foot on Caladan.” 

You couldn’t help the blush that rose in your cheeks, “Are you flirting with me, Leto?” 

“Perhaps. You are my wife after all,” he smirked, standing from behind his desk and coming around it, offering his arm to you. “Would you like to walk with me? A proper tour of the grounds?” 

You accepted, resting your hand in the crook of his arm and subtly stroking his inner forearm. “And maybe we can stop in the training room?” 

His smirk widened into a smile and you were enchanted at the sight. “Whatever my wife desires.” 

[charliehoennam]

home again.

A/N: request made here by @juniebugg and a nonny made here so i decided to mash these two together

Pairing: John Kinley x F!reader

Warnings: Language and smut. No minors, please!

Word count: 2,675

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

The dusty gravel of your driveway crunched under the tires of Declan’s truck. You didn’t need to look out the window to know who it was, but you wanted to see him. Make sure he’s alright.

You’d refused to pick John up at the military base. You didn’t want to be anywhere near it. It’d been months since he’d been away and you hated every single second he was gone.

You missed him more than anything in the world. Deep inside, you were thrilled he was finally home and, most importantly, safe. Part of you wanted to race out the door and throw yourself in his arms. The other part, however, wanted to slap him across the face.

Months of his absence – provided only via letters and shitty connections through phone calls or video chats that could never replace his presence – drove you insane.

The only thing that was worse was zero contact. Not knowing if he was dead or alive; that every car that drove by the house would deliver that dreaded folded flag. Sometimes, you questioned why he would want to be in the army in the first place, fighting a war that he has no fault in. How could he just leave you?

You’d thought it would get easier to live with after you got married. Turned out, it wasn’t.

John called out for you and spotted you by the window where he’d caught you staring out of just before you moved away to hide. He read your resistance right off the bat.

“Hey, honey” he smiled as he set his army green bag on the floor in the hallway. “Don’t I get a kiss huh?”He tried to joke to loosen you up.

There was definitely tension in the air that he’d detected even before walking in, but he wanted to avoid conflict on his first day home. He’d missed you just as much as you’d missed him; there was no doubt the distance was hard on both sides. Yet you felt he was to blame since it was his choice to reenlist. You were there. You’d always be there.

You pulled away as he tried to pull you into his arms and marched back into the kitchen where you’d been making his favorite: Fettucine alfredo with crispy bits of Italian sausage. 

“Something smells real good.” His attempts were getting nowhere. “Come on, baby. Is this how it’s gonna be every time I come home?”

“You could just stay home.” You shrugged as you continued stirring the pot of white sauce before dipping a spoon to taste-test the flavor.

“We’re really gonna do this? Again?” He scoffed running a hand over his tired face.

“Do you really expect me to be all bright smiles when you were literally gone for 9 months in the middle of God knows where? After 11 days of sheer silence, I just found 6 days ago that you weren’t dead, John.”

“I thought that would be something to be happy about.” His brows furrowed.

“I am happy you’re alive, John. But I did also spend 11 days thinking you might have been dead!”

“That wasn’t my fault! We got ambushed by an IED in the middle of nowhere. We lost the RV and had to trek through the goddamn desert. You think I wanted that happen?!”

“Then you shouldn’t have relisted! I just don’t get it! Why would you want to go back to that?!”

“You don’t have to get anything! You’re acting like this is all new to you! You knew I was in the Army before, that it wouldn’t change when we got married!”

“Maybe I’d hope it would! So crucify me for thinking that maybe my husband would want to actually be home with me after getting married!” 

Your argument only escalated after that. John was angry and you were furious. A blur of loud voices, searing tears and fists pounding on walls and countertops. At some point, he had decided to blow off some steam and slammed the front door shut as he left to have a drink at the bar. He didn’t want to get drunk or talk to anybody. He just wanted to get out of there before you’d both said things that couldn’t be taken back.

Sat on a tall stool with a beer bottle cradled in his hands, he stared into nothingness wanting to forget everything. However, his mind found itself returning to you. To your scent that lingered on his clothes after his hug. To your warmth against his chest and arms. Fuck, he missed you badly and he hated that he couldn’t fucking forget it.

After pushing himself off the stool, he drove home in silence and cautiously stepped over the threshold. His eyes scanned the house as he made his way in, searching for any indication that could explain your current state. But he found only silence. A daunting calmness in the shadows of the home as the streets casted their lights in attempt to chase the gloom. But when his eyes landed on a pillow stacked upon of a folded-up blanket, he shook his head and ignored your punishment.

That was his limit. The final drop to overflow the flood he’d spent hours trying to contain.

You tossed and turned in bed, wondering if you had gone too far. You reflected on his words. He wasn’t wrong. You knew the Army was important to him going into the relationship. You knew that when you said yes when he asked you to marry him. You knew that when you said “I do” at the altar.

He felt his blood boil again as he marched up the stairs with his pillow under his arm. The door flew up open and he strode into the room, avoiding your bewildered gaze as you propped yourself up on your elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You questioned angrily. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“The hell I am. I spent nine months away. I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

You could hear the tinge of impatience in his voice. He sat at the edge of his side on the bed to untie his boots and set them aside with a thud muffled by the carpet.

“You’re not sleeping here, John.”

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, but I’m sleeping right here.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“Oh, I am huh? How about you? You’re the one that’s acting like a fucking child.”

You sat up in disbelief, ready for round two of your argument.

“Just don’t. I’m tired and I wanna sleep.” He stated as he laid back against his pillow, back turned to you.

“You think it’s fucking easy? You think it’s easy having you miles away, with no notice if you’re even alive? I thought you were dead, John!”

He was ready to snap back with his defense, but the tears building in your eyes warned him not to. Instead, his jaw clenched as he held his gaze on you.

“I spent night crying my fucking eyes out thinking you weren’t coming home this time! Just to get up the next day and pretend like everything was alright! Do you know how emotionally exhausting this has been for me?!”

He hadn’t thought about that. Guilt settled in his chest and started to build in his throat as he listened to your rant, which soon brought you to sob.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m home…” he whispered pulling you into his strong arms, wrapping them around you.

Any resistance you had melted away against his warmth. You gave in and buried your face into his neck.

“I’m home. I’m with you and everything’s alright. Everything’s alright now.” he repeated as he soothed you with gentle kisses on the crown of your head. His palm rubbed circles against your back.

Your body was yearning for him. He could tell from the way your nails clung onto his shirt. His fingers lifted your chin to catch your gaze.

“Look at me. I’m right here. I’m with you and I’m not going anywhere, alright?” he whispered with a thumb wiping your tears away.

“I got you, hm?”

Sealing his promise with a kiss, your body softened and accepted his kiss. Then his tongue. You could feel it building in your core. That familiar lust that had haunted you during his absence. That craving that couldn’t be quenched.

Like magnets, your bodies had lost against the invisible pull. His hands slipped down to your thighs, guiding them as you straddled his lap.  The heated kiss was unbroken until your hands tugged at his olive-green shirt to release it from the tuck of his camouflaged pants. You helped him pull it off over his head as he helped you remove the Pink Floyd t-shirt that once belonged to him before becoming your favorite nightgown.

 As your lips collided once again – more feverish than before –, your hands roamed down to unbuckle his belt. The metal clinked as it hit the floor. John wasted no time to lay you down against the mattress. You needed him and there he finally was to take care of you. God, how he’d missed your taste.

He whispered continuous praises as his bushy beard brushed against your delicate skin, peppering kisses down to your breasts. His mouth closed around your hardening nipples, suckling them with eyes closed to relish their fullness and warmth.

“My beautiful wife. Missed you so fucking much.”

His hand kneaded each of them as he squeezed your flesh to his face. He could’ve stayed there forever, but he was eager to please you.

He forced himself up as he stood back on his knees, sat against his heels. His gaze on you was loving as if admiring a sculpture he’d carved from his own dreams. “I love you” fell from his lips over and over again, like a prayer in between the tender kisses he pressed against your legs, lifting them to rest against his broad shoulders. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them up your legs and tosses them to the floor. His eyes locked on yours was more than enough to cause your core to puddle. You could feel the slick building with every kiss.

He wasted no time settling between your thighs, trailing his kisses over your outer labia. This was about making you feel good. Making it sink into your brain that he was finally fucking home.

With your legs bent up over his shoulders, he moaned as he buried his mouth against your plush slick flush. One hand slid up to your breast as the other locked its fingers with your own. You moaned and wiggled against him.

He devoured you and smiled to himself as he watched the way your body arched in pleasure. The salty sweet taste of you liquefied his insides. He could feel him twitching as his cock hardened on the bed. After months of bottling in all his desires and having to satisfy himself with his hand and a photo of you in lingerie, his thirst for you was erupting beyond control. He had to remind himself that this was going to be about you.

His hips began rocking against the bed at the sounds your body was making. He was so eager to fuck you, but he had to contain himself to make it last. Yet his hunger for you had his hips grinding against the mattress, aching for any type of friction he could get as he battled with his self-control. His cock spasmed in his pants with every gentle tug on his hair or scrape of your nails on his scalp.  

With his tongue building up your orgasm, it lapped over your folds and concentrated on the overly sensitive nub. He swiped and swiveled over it; the pressure in your depths grew into hot white pleasure. You weren’t going to last much longer.

The hand on your breast slid down your scorching skin to hold your hips firmly in place as you wriggled, wrestling against the implosion and failing terrible to resist until you finally caved in. Your body trembled as your legs shut on either side of his head. He smiled as he proudly admired your reaction, enjoying how quickly your chest rose and fell. The leaking precum from his dick was beginning to sink through his boxers and pants; he was almost certain he’d left a wet spot on the bedsheet.

He lifted himself off and was unable to wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock. Kicking his pants off provided you a moment to regain yourself and admired the way his muscles contracted under his skin. This big burly man was yours, all yours.

As he crawled back between your legs and aligned himself to penetrate, you both watched his head slowly push in through your soaking pussy in burning anticipation lathered with only the spit on his fingertips.

His eyes closed tightly shut as he bottomed out and held himself there for a moment, controlling his own increasing implosion.

You could tell he was struggling a bit between satisfying you both and giving into his own carnal needs. You cradled the sides of his face and gently guided him down to kiss him in an attempt to distract him from the wonderful hug of your cunt on his cock.

With an arm propped on the side of your head, he kissed you hungrily as his hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh and pushed your hips against his. His groin brushing on your swollen nub sent fireworks bursting through your nerves, forcing a shy moan from your throat. He smiled and pulled his head back to look down at you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As his lips latched onto your neck, his hips pulled back and slowly thrusted forward to begin his pace. Slow and gentle, but so deliciously full and stretched. You held your breath with every push and pull of his cock, clenching around it to hold him inside. You’d never let him go if you could. His cock in you made you feel so completed like this is where you both were meant to be.

His pace started to quicken. A sheen coat of sweat glazed your bodies in the cool blue light of the moon that rained in from the tall windows of your bedroom. The searing heat had begun to bubble from the inside out, oozing from your desperate desire to feel each other deeper.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed out the open door and into the hallway. His balls slammed against your perineum as your wetness began coating the bedsheet underneath, staining it with remnants of love and lust.

With labored breaths, he hugged you tightly against him with his other arm. It was building up in you for the second time and you could tell it was building in him as well. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your toes curled against his hips. The tight embrace of your pussy as you came again had him frantically hammering into you as praises flooded out from his lips.

“Feel so fucking good for me. I-I fucking love you, baby. L-love you so much.”

Releasing you to lock your fingers together, he shuddered with a deep moan and slowed to a stop. You milked every drop. The hot load filled you with an incomparable warmth in your depths. Your walls were coated in his pearly white seed.

He panted as he held himself in your cunt for a moment longer until he finally pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him. His hands reached out for you and pulled you into his arms. Perfectly nestled against his hairy chest, you smiled to yourself. His heart beating against your ear was the final reminder that he was home. He was here and he was all yours.