#i'm not tagging all of these people. i'm not sorry

[dduane]

Peter Morwood

I am so sorry to have to tell you all about this. None of you, I suspect, will ever have any idea how sorry.

I am in utter shock and terrible pain to have to inform everyone that our friend, my dear husband and creative partner of nearly forty years, Peter Morwood, passed away suddenly early this morning after a brief illness that as late as yesterday (when his doctor saw him) had seemed to be on the mend.

I'm not in any position to say much more about this situation now, as you'll understand my current mental state is not up to the task. (I keep expecting to wake up from a bad dream, but it shows no sign of breaking.) I will let people know more about this in coming days.

There will be a postmortem shortly to determine the exact cause of his death. I'll share what details of this are appropriate as they become clear.

Meanwhile in the short term I'm very much going to need assistance with the expenses that in the days that follow will inevitably surround what's happened. For those people who want to assist, please feel free to use the Ko-Fi account here, and simply tag the associated messages, etc, "P expenses".

My love will wait for me, I know, however long it takes. He's never minded waiting. (the saddest smile) My job now is to make sure he's not forgotten while I go on.

Meanwhile, can I just say to all of of you: I thank you all ahead of time for all the support and fondness for Peter that I know so many of you will express. He'd blush over it, I know. (He always did.) Please forgive me for being unable to do much in the way of answering messages, just now, in the wake of having to get to grips with this sudden and awful change in my world.

But also let me say, so urgently: Hug your loved ones now, while you can. Eventually a day will come when, expected or not, your opportunities end.

Thanks, friends.

--DD

[gallusrostromegalus]

Your blog is actually so great?? I’m sorry for all the weird notifications you’re probably getting as I browse.

This blog gets an average of 25,000 notes per day. More people than fit in Madison Square Garden come through here every day.

I haven't had the ability to see Likes in any kind of comprehensible fashion since before the porn ban. I've never had notifications turned on.

The ONLY way I will ever know if you've interacted with my work is via replies/reblogged tags and responses, and I FUCKING LOVE getting those.

I'm telling you and everyone here this because there's a very peculiar perception going around lately that liking a shitload of posts or commenting on a ton of stuff is some how rude or intrusive. I am here to say that not only is it welcome, you will have to go to some fairly extraordinary lengths to even APPROACH intrusive, and even then I'll probably be happy to see you anyway.

Ya good, and more importantly, Thank you.

[theyluvivi]

MR. STEAL YOUR GIRL... CHRIS STURNIOLO.

You're so tired.

Mascara running and smudged, wiping roughly at your face to attempt to look like you're fine for whenever gets back from the kitchen getting you guys snacks.

But it doesn't work. As soon as Chris enters the room, he picks up that something is wrong. "What's wrong?" You sniffle, shaking your head. "It's- It's nothing, Chris.."

"Nah, c'mon ma. Tell me." He says, taking back his spot back next to you on his bed. Placing all of the snacks down. You bite your lip, feeling yourself grow hot at the petname. "I... my boyfriend.."

He scoffs, "Him?"

"Chris."

He rolls his eyes, "I'm sorry!— I mean, he's just always doing something... fuckin' loser."

You fiddle with your fingers, hesitant to tell him about what he did now. "He.. he kissed a girl—" Chris is immediately flipping out as soon as he hears this, "B-but it was a dare! At a party!

"I could care less that it was a dare— you don't deserve this, and you know it." He says sternly, stroking your thigh, "You're a sweet, beautiful girl, yeah? He's blind if he can't see that."

It's now how close you guys really are... you can feel his breath on your lips. But you don't wanna move.

"You're perfect... n' funny, n' gorgeous... I can't let you keep being treated like this." He murmurs, getting ever so closer. "Chris..." You whisper, the tension in the room is sticky on your skin.

"Tell me you don't want this, tell me you want this, and we can pretend this never happened, angel."

But you don't want to pretend it never happened. You want all of the sweet words from him that you never get from your shitty boyfriend.

You don't realize you're kissing Chris until he's licking into your mouth, pulling you into his lap.

"So sweet, mama.." He mumbles, slipping his hands under your shirt. "Leave that loser, okay? M' all you need."

a/n: YOU ARE UNDER SPELLSSSS PEOPLE.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @t0riiiis @courta13 @badgallrora @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @cherryswifeyy @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt

[captaindibbzy]

I was typing this in the tags but it got long so sorry if I'm derailing. Please ignore me, I just wanted to get it out.

I really relate to this even though I am white, cause I wanted to be an actress when I was younger but I knew from a very young age that they don't do rolls for people like me.

I'm fat, northern, not pretty enough, not romantic enough, and ND. Women who act must kiss, and be pretty, and delicate, and skinny. They talk in a certain way, and waft from here to there in high heals and they're expected to be subtle.

No one was ever going to cast someone like me as Juliet, or even Lady Macbeth, and I'm a woman so I wouldn't get to play Romeo or Macbeth either. Someone like me might play a witch if no one else was available, or the comic relief. I look like the dame in a pantomime, but that's a man's roll so I don't get to play that.

From a technical stand point my acting has always been fantastic. I got top marks in my practicals, let down often by the written aspect of exams. But to go in to that industry I would have to learn to cut myself up and leave part of me at the door, or get rid of it all together. It's not enough to play someone else, you have to be someone else before you can play the part, getting further and further away from who you are. They want 80% of me, or 70, or 60, or 30. You minus some aspect of you.

It's not the same as racism. But god if it doesn't hit close to my own experience.

[wwinterwitch]

safe haven – bucky barnes

summary: bucky goes back to you after the void incident pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 3.7k tags: thunderbolts* spoilers!, vague void experience on purpose (for the full x reader experience), sam is back and he's pissed, fluff and fluff and more fluff (love is in the air people!), comfort, kissing, things get heated at the end but no actual smut is included (i think i'll make another part exclusively for the smut lovers, so the people that don't read smut can still enjoy this part)

please reblog and/or comment in you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | previous part

You gasp, snapping back to reality after...whatever the fuck just happened, trying to catch your breath in hopes of easing your headache and slow your heart rate. The broom you were using to clean up your apartment lays on the floor next to you, everything looking the exact same as it was when you left.

It cannot possibly be another Thanos situation, right? That time it felt like you just blinked, but now it feels like you've been gone for long tortuous hours. That time your roommate almost had a heart attack when you knocked on the door of your shared apartment because she thought she’d never see you again. And you certainly don't remember anything about experiencing the blip. Now...now you wish you could forget what you saw back there.

You were forced to experience the most traumatizing memories playing in a loop over and over again until all you could do is sit in a corner and cry as you beg for the images to go away. A horrifying display of the darkest moments of your life. The times you felt more unhappy and hopeless. And every time you thought you’d managed to escape, you’d just end up in yet another memory.

But somehow you're back in your apartment now. Everything looks the exact same and it seems like no time has passed.

Still, even when it seemingly feels like you're safe, you can't help but feel uneasy. The thought of what you saw is still very much present in the back of your mind, replaying over and over again, taking over your senses and clouding your judgement. 

What if this is just another trick and you’re about to experience another horrible memory? You look around your apartment, too afraid to move, expecting to see something that confirms that you’re still stuck in this never-ending nightmare. That you’ll have to stay in this place for the rest of your life.

The unexpected buzzing of your phone makes you jump, snapping you back to reality as you frantically search for it. Quickly spotting it on top of your dinner table, you keep wondering what the hell is happening as you read Sam's name on your screen.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? I'VE BEEN TEXTING YOU LIKE CRAZY,” you hear him shout on the other line as soon as you picked up, sounding incredibly agitated.

“I'm sorry, I...I don't exactly know what happened,” you mutter, staring outside the window in hopes of seeing something out there that might give you any clues of what is going on. To your surprise, you can see a few ambulances speeding past your street and you can spot a large cloud of smoke in the distance. 

Bucky and the others are most likely involved in that commotion. You can only hope that they’re okay, still having no updates. You can’t really tell how much time has passed since they left, so you can’t know for sure when Bucky is going to show up.

“The entirety of New York just went black,” he explains. “It just looked like darkness.”

“What?” you ask in disbelief. “I don't remember anything about it. I was just cleaning up my apartment and then somehow I was in...I don't even know what it was. It was like purgatory or something.”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, not really wanting to go into too much detail about the stuff you had to witness. Honestly, you wish you could just forget it. “It was like being tortured, Sam. I don't know what it was, just that it was awful. I was cleaning my apartment and that's pretty much the last thing I remember before waking up in that place.”

There's a brief silence and for a second you thought perhaps the call was disconnected, but you suddenly hear Sam's voice again. “Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me!”

“What happened?” you say, evidently confused.

“Put on the news,” he sighs, muttering something else under his breath you can't quite hear correctly. “I gotta go, but I'll talk to you later, okay?” he says in a ruther rushed voice, sounding both pissed and worried. “Take care.”

“Sure. Bye, Sam.”

You hang up the phone as you sit on your couch, TV remote in your hand as you search for any news broadcast that's on. As soon as you find one, you stare at it in disbelief. There, in the middle of a street, is Valentina giving some bullshit speech you don't really care to pay attention to, and behind her stands the entire group of people that were in your apartment just seconds (or minutes? Hours?) ago, joined by a blonde guy you have never seen before.

They look exhausted and visibly confused to be in front of so many cameras. Bucky and Yelena look particularly pissed. But what matters the most to you is that they're all alive.

The next thing that really catches your attention is the text on the banner beneath the image. 'Introducing the New Avengers'.

What the hell is really going on right now?

The broadcast finally ended, and it doesn't take Bucky that long to arrive. All he wanted to do was to get away from Valentina and all the press that just kept taking pictures of him and the others. He barely even acknowledged the rest of the group, leaving as soon as possible. All he wants right now is to see you and make sure you're okay. He knows you're probably safe– of course you are, but he won't be calm until he's standing before you to make sure you really are unharmed.

He walks inside your apartment and immediately walks towards you, grabbing your face with both of his hands as soon as he's standing in front of you, frantically scanning your face for any sight of hurt or discomfort. It's almost as if you were the one out there fighting.

“Are you okay?” he asks, slightly out of breath, still not letting you go.

“Yes, I'm okay,” you reply with a reassuring smile, and he immediately pulls you in for a hug. “How are you?”

“Uh...as good as I can be.” 

His arms are still tightly wrapped around you, not wanting to let you go any time soon. Yes, he’s holding onto you because it’s a huge relief to confirm that you’re safe, but it also brings him an enormous amount of comfort, which is what he was craving ever since he stepped foot into the void.

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I don't know. It's been a lot. I was so worried about you.”

“I was so worried about you!”

He pulls away just enough, and you almost want to roll your eyes at the playful smirk on his face. “Don't try to make this a competition.”

“I won't make it a competition because I would obviously win,” you reply, exasperated. “I wasn't the one who was out there fighting...what was the guy's name again?”

“Sentry.” There’s a brief pause, his expression hardening considerably. “Were you there too?”

You get even more exasperated because you still don't understand shit. “Where?”

“The void.”

Realization hits you right there. The entirety of New York being consumed by darkness as Sam explained over the phone, the horrible things you had to see...of course a place like that would have such a fitting name. It felt exactly like it. You just felt empty and alone.

“So that's what it was. And the entire city was experiencing the same thing?” you ask, still in complete disbelief at the idea of one person having that much power. It certainly is a terrifying and dangerous ability to have. 

Then, after a quick pause, you realize Bucky had to experience that too, immediately hating the idea of him having to endure that. "Were you...?"

Bucky notices the shift in your expression, offering you a weak smile. “Yeah, we were all there.”

You don't know what to say at first. If you thought you had a hard time in there, you can't even begin to imagine the horrors Bucky was forced to watch over and over again. It breaks your heart to think about it. Even when he has made a lot of progress when it comes to healing from his past and learning to forgive himself, it doesn't mean the pain and guilt are not there.

“I'm so sorry,” is all you can say, feeling completely useless at that moment. Sorry doesn't make it better in any way.

“It's okay. It's not like this is the first time I've been there.”

His last statement absolutely crushes you. If you could find a way to take all of that burden off his shoulders, you'll do it in a heartbeat. Still feeling completely useless, you decide to pull him in for another hug, because at least that’s doing a little more than just saying you’re sorry.

“I wish I could do more to make you feel better,” you whisper, feeling his fingers gently running through your hair in an affectionate manner, kissing the top of your head.

“Being here with you is more than enough,” he whispers back. “You are more than enough."

“Oh, please don't make me cry now,” you warm him with a soft giggle, feeling like a few tears might actually come out any second now.

The sound of Bucky's laugh makes you feel just a hundred times better about the entire situation involving that stupid void, loving to hear it under such circumstances. It's impossible not to feel overwhelmed right now. That place really left you feeling like an emotional mess.

You move back from the hug just enough and Bucky takes that as his opportunity to pull you in for a kiss. The type of kiss that makes your knees weak and leaves your mind completely blank. A kiss you see in a movie with fireworks adorning the night sky, right before the end credits roll. One that feels like he's been dying to give you a kiss since he closed the door of your apartment before New York was consumed by darkness.

A kiss that shows you he really does mean it when he says you are more than enough.

“I'm really happy you're okay,” he mutters right after the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

I love you. That's all you can think of in this moment, and it takes everything in you not to say it out loud because how fucking insane would that be? To not even be an official couple and already say such a thing? Perhaps it wouldn't be so crazy given you've been best friends for so many years (and you've had a crush on him for most of them), but still. It's just too soon. Too weird. Too intense.

The fucking void really did numbers on you. Just get it together, please!

“I'm happy you're okay too,” is what you say instead, which sounds appropriate. And not weird. And not intense at all.

You offer to make him a snack after all that happened, forcing him to take a seat when he said he could do it himself. As you prepared a few sandwiches, he tried to explain as much as possible about everything that's been going on.

“So Bob doesn't remember anything?” you ask once he's done, just as you're handing him a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Apparently,” he replies, right before leaning over the counter to give you a quick kiss as a way of thanking you for the food.

“Well, that's probably for the best, right? I mean if the Sentry part returns, it's only a matter of time until the Void part wants to have a bit of fun again too.”

He practically devours one of the sandwiches, looking like he hasn't eaten in centuries. “Probably,” he says nonchalantly, clearly more focused on eating. It's impossible to blame him for it, especially considering everything he's been through today.

You can't help but smile at the image of him eating the sandwiches like he's been deprived of food his entire life. So much so that he can barely hold a conversation.

I love you. It's like you just couldn't hold yourself back from wanting to blurt those three little words once again. Like it's physically impossible to hold them in. It doesn’t matter if he’s saying cute things to you or if he’s eating like a caveman. You love both sides of him. 

But you can't say it. You can't be weird.

Instead, you try a much more appropriate approach once again. “You're so cute,” you say with a smile, moving closer to run a hand through his hair affectionately. Then, you suddenly remember something that you two haven't discussed yet, and your 'I'm-so-down-bad' smile turns into a 'just-thought-of-the-best-joke-ever' smirk. “Might as well start calling you the cutest Avenger, huh?”

He turns to look at you with a soft grin on his face, immediately shaking his head. “Please, tell me you didn't see that.”

“Oh, but of course I did!” You take a seat next to him on your kitchen counter, getting more comfortable to continue teasing him. “The news called you ‘The New Avengers’. Who would’ve thought!”

“It was all Valentina's plan to save her ass.”

“So you guys are not going to accept the title?”

“We are, but we still need to have a few meetings to set some rules if we plan on working together…and boundaries.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re so irritated by the idea! I can tell you’re starting to feel more comfortable around them.”

He’s completely silent for a few seconds, knowing he can’t lie without you noticing. “Okay. They might be growing on me.”

“Awwh,” you reply, but not with the intention of making fun of him. “I thought they were very nice. And I'm glad you're making new friends.”

“You're never gonna stop teasing me about any of these, aren't you?”

“Well...yeah, but I actually mean it when I say I like seeing you meeting new people,” you reply, changing your tone and demeanor to let him know you're serious. “And yes, I'll tease you about the whole Avengers thing, but that doesn't mean I'm not excited to witness this new chapter in your life.”

You begin gently caressing his arm as you offer him a sincere smile. “You deserve it. You deserve to be recognized for your kind heart and your willingness to help others,” you continue. “I'm so proud of how far you've come. And I'm sure Steve is proud of you too.”

The mention of his childhood friend brings a melancholy to his expression that is both sad and beautiful to see. It shows he still deeply misses him, but has learned to think of him without breaking down. It's the type of expression you have when you've finally found peace with the fact that someone you love is not around anymore...not entirely around, at least. He'll always carry a part of Steve Rogers with him.

"Thank you," he says, genuinely meaning it. 

I love you. Those three words threaten to make their way into your conversation again, but this time it's not you the one fighting back the urge to say them.

But It's just a little too soon, right? Last thing he wants is to make things awkward between the two of you. So he decides not to say anything, just like you have decided twice already.

You smile, standing up from your seat. “Finish eating, okay? I have to clean the mess the New Avengers left in my living room earlier.”

“Yeah, you'll have to get used to that, unfortunately.”

“Like I haven't had to deal with that before,” you joke, hinting back at all the times you had people like Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton randomly showing up at your place.

Bucky stays in your kitchen while you finish brooming until you’re sure the floor of your living room is impeccable, familiarity slowly setting in after everything that happened today. You could faintly hear Bucky having a phone call with someone, but you couldn't quite make the words out over the music you had playing on your own phone to make the cleaning much more entertaining.

You go back to your kitchen to throw away the dirt and dust you collected from the living room, just in time to see Bucky standing up to wash the dish he used, sandwiches long gone.

“I just got a call from Sam,” Bucky says as soon as he notices you, his tone letting you know it wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation.

“What did he want?”

“For us to immediately backtrack and not go through with the whole Avengers thing.”

“Yeah, he called me just as it was airing and he didn't sound too happy about it. What are you going to do?”

Bucky sighs, exhaustion visible in his demeanor. “I'll talk to him later. I don't think anyone in the team feels like backtracking right now. Most of them looked pretty excited actually.” You can't help but smile, which makes him let out a soft chuckle. “What?”

“You said 'the team'. I just thought it was cute,” you shrug, crossing your arms across your chest. “I should invite them for a pizza night or something. Get to know them a little better. And meet this Bob guy too.”

“You'll invite John?” he asks, half-joking.

“Please don't call him John,” you immediately reply, squinting your nose in disgust. “I'll have to warm up to him...very slowly. I still feel like punching him in the face when I see him.”

“That's fair,” he agrees with you, perfectly understanding where your discomfort with John Walker's presence comes from. Perhaps that might explain some of the reasons as to why Sam seems so against the idea of this team being a thing.

You notice Bucky walks towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Even when the possible pizza night sounds exciting, I kind of just want to think about the two of us spending time together alone,” he says, grinning mischievously. 

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers near your neck, gently pulling the fabric of your hoodie to the side, exposing more of your collarbone. He places a few kisses there. Slow and careful.

“Perhaps I can stay here with you for a few more days?” he suggests, right before leaving another kiss on your skin, using his other hand that’s firmly placed on your lower back to bring your body closer to his.

“Of course you can stay,” you reply in a soft voice, trying not to let it show just how much his actions are affecting you.

He practically hums against your skin. “Do you want me to stay?” he whispers, definitely making you shiver now that his metal fingers are tracing lazy patterns on your skin, underneath your hoodie. What a teasing piece of shit.

It’s almost impossible to speak now. “Yes.”

His fingers trail further up your spine, but not that much higher. Just enough to allow you to feel his touch in a slightly different place, making you crave for more. A silent reminder that he can just move his fingers wherever he pleases, but he deliberately chooses not to grant you that pleasure.

“Then say it properly.”

It’s not a suggestion or a plea. It’s straight up an instruction. And he sounds like he’s absolutely certain that you’ll do exactly as he says. 

And you do. “I want you to stay here with me.”

The kisses on your neck continue and it feels like a reward, so you just stand there and enjoy it, allowing him to worship your skin with his lips until you're practically trapped between his body and the counter.

You can feel your cheeks burning red, the warmth spreading to the rest of your body with each kiss. “Don't you want to take a shower?” you try being a voice of reason, your brain just doing whatever it can to help you feel less nervous.

“Why? You're thinking about joining me?” he whispers against your skin, which immediately makes you regret ever opening your mouth because what the fuck is wrong with him and how does he dare to say something like that?

Okay. To justify your growing nerves, you've technically never been fully intimate with Bucky yet. You've been pretty close because a girl can only hold back for so long, but the two of you have been mainly focusing on your emotional connection and that one is just so mind-blowingly special that there hasn't been a need to immediately jump to the physical aspects of your relationship.

But oh, is he tasting your limits right now...

“How you even have the energy right now is beyond me,” you comment again. You're not against the idea of something happening, but your nervous brain gets the best of you so you find yourself blurting out random things yet again.

Finally, Bucky moves away just enough, a playful smile adorning his lips. “I'll always have the energy for you,” he replies, and the implication behind his words has you blushing even harder.

You immediately hide your face in his chest while he wraps his arms around you, laughing at your reaction. “I hate you,” you mutter.

“No, you don't.”

That's true. You really don't hate him at all. It's actually quite the opposite, but you can already picture him walking out the front door if he hears you say how you truly feel about him. The thought of daring to confess you love him is a thousand times more terrifying than the idea of having sex with him for the first time.

You look up, smiling up at him when he kisses your forehead. “No, I don't.”

“Glad to see you're agreeing with me for once in your life,” he comments playfully.

“Don't push it,” you warn him, making him laugh once again.

“How about I take a shower like you suggested and then we take a nap together,” he suggests casually, still keeping his arms around you. “I think we can both use a little sleep.”

“Yeah, a nap sounds good.”

“Wow, two in a row! What has gotten into you?” he jokes yet again, trying to get you to stay in his arms when you start to push him away after that little comment, but he doesn't put up that much resistance, so you're eventually getting away from him.

“You're insufferable,” you comment in an obviously fake tone of annoyance, right before leaving the kitchen to head towards your bedroom.

“And you're beautiful,” he replies with a genuine smile, following after you.

[blackbat05]

Opposites Attract

Congressman Bucky x Library Staff Reader

Plot: You were never really one for politics, but when Congressman James "Bucky" Barnes and an Avenger comes to grace the library for work, he may just prove you wrong...

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Super self-indulgent (yet again). Watched Thunderbolts over the weekend and despite being very partial to the MCU, this movie seriously impressed me! I love my rag-tag team~ Please excuse the subpar writing as I feel like I'm still in a funk.

He absolutely regrets this.

Yeah he should have never agreed to this.

“Congressman Barnes?”

The secertary snaps him out of his anxiety hazed stupor. “Sorry Linda, you were saying?”

“As I was saying, your appearance at the public library has been shifted up to 2pm. There’s a kid’s program and they’re hoping you’ll be able to grace them with your presence.” Linda informs.

“Thank you.” Bucky dismisses the secretary, immediately taking out his darned notes that Gary insisted he had to read.

“New York Public Library recently had their children’s library go under redevelopment…”

***

“Y/N!” Darcy rushes over. The young girl drags a chair to sit beside you as you’re pouring over the story time you planned for the kids coming in for the reading session at 2pm.

“Someone’s awfully cheery after lunch.”

“Congressman James Barnes is coming! To our library!” She hisses with excitement. “Gosh he’s so cute, I hope he gets to interact with the kids because that would just make me explode!”

“Okayyy, someone needs to calm down on the caffeine.” You swivel your chair to face her. “First of all, he’s doing his duty Darcy, second of all aren’t you being too vocal with your fantasies?”

“A girl can dream.” Darcy singsongs. “Good luck!”

You sigh at her enthusiasm that was bordering on naivety. The congressman was probably going to be the same as the rest, they always are. They’ll come and show their faces for photos and leave without truly understanding what they had to be here for.

Though a part of you can’t help but to agree with Darcy. Those good looks are wasted in politics.

The clock read 1.15pm. You should start getting ready for the session.

***

“You seem very engrossed in that packet, sir.”

“I find it tough how we can fund billions for weapons and nuclear warfare but it takes almost six years to refurbish the children’s section of the New York Library.”

“I can’t say anything else apart from my need to agree with you, sir.” Linda crisply responds.

Bucky stays silent, thinking about his own memories as a child in the library. A library was meant to be a safe space, away from the ruckus of life.

The car rolls to a stop and Bucky gets out with two guards trailing behind him.

“What am I? An invalid? I don’t need bodyguards, Linda. This is a Children’s Library. I don’t need them to have more things to be scared of.”

“Apologies sir. I’ll speak with the Director and make other necessary arrangements after the event.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

The trio departs from Bucky who decides to take the chance to explore the library that was as every bit as he remembered it.

He takes a random book and finds a spot that is hidden away from the public eye to do some people watching at the Children’s Library.

Mothers take this chance for a reprieve and catch up with their friends while the little ones try to flip big picture books with much effort. The older children roam around the series section, discussing in excited hushed voices the latest book that they had each read. Bucky’s heart oddly feels satisfied when he sees a little boy nose deep into a Geronimo Stilton book. Ah, a timeless classic for kids.

“Congressman Barnes?”

Bucky turns around, slightly apologetic that he had been people watching for too long.

“I’m the children’s librarian- well, technically support staff. I’m working towards becoming a librarian but of course you didn’t need to know that.” You inwardly cursed at yourself. He’s definitely going to think you’re bonkers.

Then, he chuckled.

Actually chuckled.

“I’ll be sitting in your session later? I promise not to stare as much.”

Before you can get a good word in, the charming congressman strolls away, leaving you in a mess.

***

"Good afternoon children!" You put on your best enthusiastic voice, as you greet the crowd.

"Good afternoon Ms Y/N!"

Even after doing this for too many times to count, being in front of children who were waiting to be impressed still gave you the jitters. Nevertheless, you were proud to say that you had build rapport with them steadily over the past six months.

"So, we've been reading books about values and I thought we could continue our discussion with a short but humorous story that I know will promise a good laugh." You show the book, eliciting a couple of giggles from the children.

“Today’s story is by Jon Klassen and it’s titled - I want my hat back…”

***

By the end of the story, the children were throughly amused at the simple but larger than life visuals that told a clear message. You were also glad that all that practice of different animal voices came in handy.

“Thank you for listening so well! For the last part of our session as we won’t be seeing each other for two weeks, we can do something fun! We’re going to create our very own paper hats!” You continued. “That’s not all, we’ll be doing it with a very special guest so I want all of you to help him along okay?”

Once you introduced Bucky, you offered him to roam around the tables where the children were already planning how to design the best hat.

As you helped a boy add stickers to his hat, your attention is diverted to a mini commotion at the table ahead.

“What’s all the buzz about?” You moved closer, almost bursting into unruly laughter yourself when you see the Congressman sitting in tiny plastic chair wearing a red cone hat similar to the character while the kids fluttered around to add sparkles and glitters, blissfully unaware of your presence.

Not Bucky though as his eyes widen at the sight of you. You give a slight cough to get the attention of the children.

“Alright now, let’s not crowd around Mr Barnes.” You ushered the children away, giving a couple of soft apologies on their behalf.

“Don’t be. I enjoyed it.” He appeared to have snapped out of his momentary embarrassment of being covered in glitter, back to his charming self that you had the privilege of experiencing firsthand.

The rest of the session went smoothly (and glitter free). Bucky watches you bid goodbye to each kid in a unique and special way, from fist bumps to hugs and sometimes just a simple wave of the hand to the quieter kids. The children's section is quiet once more and he is amazed how you flutter around the tables, cleaning up effortlessly.

"Can I help?" He finds himself speaking up.

"Oh, that's alright. Wouldn't want to get your suit all messed up." You respond airily, trying to ignore the close proximity with Bucky.

"I insist." He says firmly and starts helping you to gather the scissors. You can't help but to notice how there's a butterfly sticker on his metal hand.

"A little girl - Lucy, she put this on me." He explains fondly. "Can't bear to take it off, at least not today."

Lucy. She never failed to turn up for every library session. Although she wasn't the loudest in the room, she participated with a quiet determination. Which was why you found this revelation particularly surprising.

"That's amazing. She takes a while to warm up to strangers. Well, not that you aren't a complete stranger. You're an Avenger- oh I'm doing it again aren't I?"

"That's okay." Bucky reassures you calmly. "I like it."

His straightforwardness throws you off, leaving you flustered but oddly pleased.

"Hey-"

"No, you go first."

"Do you want to get a drink?" Bucky asks. Before you could respond, loud voices could be heard from the adult's section, slowly becoming much louder.

"Oh no..."

"There you are!" Bucky spots Alexi from a mile away with that strikingly bright red suit. The rest of the team hushes him collectively, with Yelena attempting to make herself as small as possible.

"We've been trying to call you! Then your assistant- and she said you were in this place of knowledge! Oh, and who is this lady?" Alexi stares at you, intrigued. Bucky steps in front, feeling protective.

"Alright, can we focus, please?" Bucky shoots you an apologetic look that you clearly understood.

You'll have to reschedule.

***

“So! Are you not going to tell us who she is?” John is the first to broach the topic. Bucky gives him one of his famous death glares. However, this only encourages him and the rest of the team more.

"She seems lovely." Yelena teases, "Though I'm not sure why she would be attracted to a grump like you."

"Opposites attract." Ava adds helpfully (or unhelpfully in Bucky's opinion).

The jet flies across the ocean, making its way back home. Bucky taps his foot impatiently. Any longer with this group and having to endure their teasing might just make him commit daylight murder.

Bucky feels a buzz in his pocket and he fishes out his phone to read the message.

"Oooooh! Someone's texted back!" The team is in sync with their onslaught on their leader.

"Someone just kill me now." He mumbles under his breath.

*** You tug on your cardigan, waiting for Bucky on the steps of the library.

"Doll!" You hear a familiar voice that made your heart skip a beat. Though you must say, you were a little shocked to find out that he wasn't alone.

"Hello! Miss Librarian!" Alexi booms.

"Oh my god Dad she has a name." Yelena groans.

"Yes but she is proud of her job no?"

"Sorry about these idiots. Hi, John Walker." The man extends his hand for a handshake before being brushed aside by Bucky.

"Hi," you decide to make yourself known. "Bucky's told me about all of you."

"Whatever he's told you, don't believe all of it. The man's too grumpy for his own good." Yelena pipes up as Ava nods.

"Ok! And it is time for you to all go. The jet does not need a parking ticket." Bucky interjects pushing his teammates away from you. "Bob's waiting!"

With a couple more goodbyes, the jet zooms away, leaving the two of you still standing on the steps of the library.

"Not everyday my date is late because he's keeping the world safe from bad guys and outer space threats." You joke.

Bucky doesn't say a word and you're suddenly afraid that you may have fried his internal circuits.

"Sorry, I wasn't mad-"

"I'm your date?" He says with a grin and your words slowly sink in.

"Oh, well... I thought... um..." You scramble for words much to Bucky's amusement and he takes a step closer towards you.

"Would it be weird to say right now that I was thinking exactly the same thing?"

The both of you laugh and your stomach takes this moment to grumble loudly.

"Someone's hungry. I know a good Japanese Restaurant."

"I'm always down for good food."

He slots his fingers in between yours, holding on to your hand firmly.

"Great, then Sushi awaits."

"You are a god send."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (2)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The store is dead. Usually, you don't mind a quiet shift but it's really dull. You come up the aisle of toiletries and watch Mikayla and Nour suddenly part and feign interest in the shelves and tags. Shoot.

Drew sends them a side-eye as he continues through the section, nearing your own. You put a jar of body scrub back on the proper shelf then turn to him and smile. "Hello sir, how are you?"

"I'm not good. There's no customers." He snips.

"Oh, right. I was using the down time to tidy--"

"Down time? Do you know the cost of down time? Do you realise what it costs to run these lights? The AC?"

"Sir, uh, yes," you stammer. "I'm sorry it's slow--"

"And your pay? What good is that if you're doing nothing?"

You gulp, "sir, I'm--"

He looks at his watch and sighs. Is it a real Rolex? It looks real but you wouldn't know one logo from the next.

"Go home."

"What?"

"Clock out," he drops his arm. "Gotta send you home." He pinches the button on the wire of his headset and you hear him through your earpiece as an echo. "Joe, send Sandra home. Place is a ghost town."

"Please, sir, I need the hours--"

"Don't you have another job?" He curls his lip. "Not my problem. Head office is gonna cut back hours next week. We gotta bank what we can for the full-timers."

You pout. Some weeks you work just as much as the full-timers and you put in twice the effort. You need this twice as much. They get benefits and you get the scraps they throw your way.

"Sir--"

"I don't have time to argue with you. I have a budget and a meeting with the regional manager. Things you can't understand," he turns and strides away, snapping his fingers at Nour. "You too, go home."

You recede into the aisle of soap dishes and bath mats. No matter how much you do, it's just all sliding back on you. You slump and shuffle to the back of the store, dejected but not yet defeated. Look at the plus side, it's only four. You have some time to spare.

You go to the back and punch out. You grab your bag and take off your name tag and radio; you put the former in your pocket and slide the other into a cubby on the wall.

You don't go straight to the bus stop. You wind around the back of the plaza and to the next block. A few streets back, past the boys and girls centre, and residential street. The food bank is still open but it's the end of the day. You'll not get the best but it's something.

Inside, they give you a box of non-perishables and a loaf of bread. Powdered milk, a bag of instant oats, some canned soups and beans, tuna, and a box of rice. You thank them and head off, straining under the weight of the box.

The bus comes an hour after that. You can't find a seat so you stand and struggle to balance your load. You get off as first drops of rain start to fall. It's funny sometimes how the world can change to mirror your life. It's not so bad. The moisture will be good for Colleen, Coraline, and Cordelia; the three chrysalis waiting to hatch in your hamper.

You're damp as you get into the apartment. Your mom is on the couch but not asleep. The television hazes over her as she stirs and groans.

"Honey, you're early." She says.

"Sorry to crash your alone time," you say as you set the box down and slip off your shoes. "Sent me home early but I got to the food bank."

"Yay," she gives a monotone whoop. After treatment, she always gets a bit dull around the edges.

There's more mail on the mat. You pick it up with the box of food. You carry it into the kitchen.

You leave the envelopes on the counter and focus on putting away the boxes and cans. Rice and some of the discount pork will be good. You have enough brown sugar for your special sauce.

The prep keeps your mind on point. Marinate on the pan then slide into the pre-heated oven, get the rice in the cooker, and put some frozen veggies in the steaming basket. Easy peasy.

You bring a cup of water to your mom. She has her forehead against her palm, leaning into the armrest. Her eyes are glassy as she stares at the TV.

"Thanks, hon," she murmurs. You pull the throw blanket over her lap.

"No problem. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Sure," she blinks sleepily.

You touch her shoulder softly then retreat. You hope she gets some sleep. You can always save the food.

You go back to the kitchen. Your stomach flips as you stare at the envelopes. The red paper visible through the window is dread-inducing. No point avoiding it.

You step forward as the smell of starch thickens the air. You tear through each envelope and slide out each paper. You lay them out. Three new ones. Big bold letters at the top in that 'Amount Owing' box. You look them over one at a time and stand in silence. You can't even pay one in full.

You stack them and fold them and shove them in your back pocket. You finish cooking dinner. You set aside your mother's portion in a container. She's asleep. You eat in the living room as her soft snores rise from her frail figure.

You wash your dishes and return to her. You help her down to her back and put her legs up. You tug the blanket higher and kiss her scarf.

You go to your room. You sit and the paper crinkles in your back pocket. You huff and reach for your laptop. If it wasn't so old, you could sell it.

You scroll through your activity. Lots of likes. Not too shabby on the followers. People are sharing your videos too. Even just the ones of the butterflies you saw near the pond on your way home.

You wish life could be as happy as that. As those little wings fluttering over the soft ripples. The breeze warm and wilting. The birds singing, the bugs humming.

You scroll through your feed. It's careless things like crochet patterns or painting videos. People are so talented. Your mom used to paint. She did the picture of butterflies hanging over your bed, a fair sitting among the swarm of colourful wings.

There's one post that gives you pause. It's a creator that makes clay earrings. She has a little donate button. Just a dollar or two for people to support her videos. That's awesome but you don't think your stuff is cool enough. You just watch cocoons.

You open a new tab. You fingers move without thinking. Thousands of results come up. You've seen these things before. People in need.

You're in need. No, your mom is. You promised you would do everything you can. You've done everything. This is that last thing. It's a long-shot. You doubt it will get anything but she always said you got to try at least once before making up your mind.

You search through your old photos. You and your mom at your graduation. It's one of your favourites. You start with that.

You stare at the text box. A story? No, that's not what you would call it.

The words pour out of you and you end with a final plea. 'You don't have to give but it would be nice if you could. Take care.'

You leave the page in draft for an hour before you post. You hit the Insta share icon and click through. Then you shut the laptop and push it away from you.

You get up and take the bills out of your pocket and leave them on the desk next to the hamper. You peer through the mesh. Soon.

🦋

The local coffee shop has free wifi. Your internet was shut off at the beginning of the week. It's at the bottom of the priority list. You have the old DVD player and your mom only ever watches the same things over and over. Who needs the news, it's all so grim.

You sit in the corner and hope no one notices that you haven't purchased anything. It's business enough and most people are on their way somewhere else. It's a rare moment where you're not doing the same; rushing to or from work, or to an appointment.

You wish work would call. As much as you need the money, you need something else to think about. Something besides your mom and the hospital bills.

You lean your head in your hands and stare at the phone's wallpaper. It's your mom with a butterfly on her nose. That was an amazing catch.

You blow out through your lips. You can't make it. Worse, because you can't, she won't. How can people put a price on health? On treatment?

An envelope icon pops up on the screen. You don't often see that one. You don't get too many emails that you don't send to junk.

You sit up and tap the screen. 'Yay! You got your first donation'. At first, you think it's a scam. Then you remember what you did. Your username is right there; butterflygirl738.

You open the email and tap the link to your profile. You log in through the browser and nearly choke at the dollar you see on screen. It can't be real. You're delusional. You've finally detached from reality.

'$10,000'. That can't be. It can't.

Below it reads. 'thank anonymous donour'. You have to. You have to make sure they didn't make some sort of mistake.

Your hands shake as you pick up the phone. You type into the chat. 'Thank you so so much <3 Are you sure?' You hit the arrow and lower the phone. They probably won't answer right away. They sent the money this morning. The email must have been caught.

An employee approaches your table, "um, miss, I'm sorry but uh..."

"No, it's okay," you stand and knock the table. "I get it. Sorry. I was uh... waiting for someone but they changed their mind."

You hurry out as your lie hangs in the air. You doubt they even believed it. You stay close enough to keep the signal as your phone vibes in your hand. You check the screen. A reply.

'I'm sure. I hope your mother is well. You too.'

You send a heart emoji as your whole body starts to tremble. Your eyes fill with tears, of disbelief, of gratitude, of joy. It's not a cure but it's an ounce of hope. It's a drop of relief in a bucket of doom.

You sit on the curb of the parking lot as the tears stream out. You keep yourself from heaving, letting the emotion trickle out until your face is cold and sticky. You wipe your cheeks and check your phone again.

'I'd like to help more. Can we talk?'

The message is confusing. More? Talk? They already did so much. It won't wipe away all your debt; not even close; but it will keep you from drowning.

'What do you mean?' You type back. That little circle with the featureless avatar floats ominously on the screen.

'WhatsApp? Audio call?'

Your lips form an O of realization and surprise. You cradle the phone. Uh oh. This might be a mistake. Should you give the money back? What do they want?

'You can think about it.' They type.

You ponder. Ten thousand dollars. You can't hope for more than that. You could never dream of this. And you can't say no. You have to think about your mother. She needs this money, it's not about what you want.

'When?'

You wait and watch the screen. Three dots pop up then disappear. You frown.

You get up as you nearly get kicked by another customer. There's the burger place across the street. They have wifi and you can hide behind the dumpsters.

You run across the road and past the drive-thru. You barely miss a bumper as you do. It's embarrassing but better than being hounded at the coffee place. The employees at the restaurant only offer to share their joints with you as they step out for their break.

'Now.' The reply blips up as your connection is restored. Below, a link to WhatsApp.

You stare at the blue text. Now? Right now? What do you say? You're not ready? You're steel reeling from that number. Who is this person? This kind kind person? What could they possibly want from you?

[anniflamma]

In response to that "Christian" anon you got (sorry it's kinda long)

First, do you really think sending anon hate to someone is in line with the teachings of Jesus Christ? No. You could have quietly blocked the tag.

Now to the main point:

As a Christian myself with a ministering license (not a practicing minister though) I'm actually glad there's a Bible fandom as opposed to the Reddit Neckbeards that openly hate on it and intentionally take Bible verses out of context to make it look as bad as possible. Why are people who don't necessarily believe in The Bible but can still appreciate it and it's teachings a bad thing?

Also, you can say the Bible is real history...if you acknowledge there are over 45,000 different Christian Denominations globally and many different versions of the Bible, some of which have books the others don't accept as canon.

And that's before we get into:

All the mistranslations that some denominations refuse to acknowledge exist

Song of Solomon being a bunch of love poems

The speculation that The book of Job was most likely intended to be a parable rather than history

The debate over which parts are symbolic and which parts are literal

The Lost Sea Scrolls

Some parts are meant to be wisdom, not history

All the important historical context that a lot of preachers leave out when teaching The Bible

Whether Satan is a literal being or symbolic

etc.

There's a lot more going on in Bible Academia than most people realize.

And it's not like we don't do the same things with other religions. Every "mythology" is actually a theology that is still worshipped today. Why is it ok to have a Greek Pantheon fandom or a Norse Pantheon fandom, but not a Bible fandom? Should the Norse Pagans be offended by the MCU and all the fangirls thirsty for Loki?

These points are really interesting, and I’m going to read up on some of the mistranslations. I love this stuff because it reveals so many different perspectives!

Also, YES! Why can girlies fawn over Loki, but I can’t swoon over Samson?!

[baocean]

𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪

⤷ chapter seven - happy wife, happy life

tagged: johnbroutledge, popeheyward

jjmaybank: thx for havin us @kustudentnewspaper

popeheyward: 😁😁

kiaracarrera: i have to deal with this aftermath

↳ kiaracarrera: ME. YOU HEAR ME JJ?

↳ jjmaybank: whoops love you 🤗

kustudentnewspaper: come back anytime!

johnbroutledge: ok thx for posting the worst one of me

rafecam: i was also there btw just for all of jj’s flings to know i’m also relevant

↳ jjmaybank: i have no such thing

↳ rafecam: you’re lying we share a roster

↳ jjmaybank: what if i deleted your comment

sarahcam: ok campus celebs

cleoanderson: oh jesus christ jj 😣

her phone

as soon as the door to rafe's apartment opens, kie walks into the space and looks at her best friend, shaking her head. "you've really done it this time, jj."

jj leans back, propping his arm up on the top of the couch.

you push through the door, eyes landing on the blond. your heartrate spikes, all the feelings from watching him perform his stupid bit during the interview flood back, anger shooting through your viens.

he’s been waiting for this, he knows exactly what’s coming, but he’s in no rush to give you the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.

instead, he's grinning, cocky as always. “uh-oh. you look mad. did i do something to upset you?”

“you think it’s funny, huh?” your voice is low, the irritation bubbling to the surface. you cross your arms as your gaze sharpens.

“depends, you know, because, i like to think i’m a pretty funny guy.” he's still smiling, completely unbothered.

"what's funny is that people are only interested in you when i'm involved. no one cares about jj maybank until he's blowing a kiss to his future wife." you smile, but the last part comes out bitter.

it's not true, not really. jj is practically a god on this campus. he's probably got eighteen dm's in his inbox right now telling him how hot he is. he'll probably have ten more by tomorrow morning asking if he's actually taken. but, it lands how you want it- makes jj's eyebrows raise, just enough to know you've got him.

rafe lets out a loud snort, taking a long sip of his drink afterwards, clearly enjoying the show.

"so you admit it? you're my future wife. see, i knew it. i knew you liked me." jj nods, pointing a finger a you as he smiles. your leverage on him doesnt last long, because he leans back like he's won this.

"you don't know shit." your shoulders move as you speak, voice dipping back down.

"i know enough." jj raises an eyebrow, his grin faltering for just a second.

you tick, practically shaking. “you know j, you’ve got some weird obsession with pretending you know everything about me. but you never do, you never will.”

jj's grin disappears completely now, and he shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans foward. his mouth opens to say something, then closes again.

then, "okay. i get it, that was a dick move. i'm sorry."

you don’t say anything at first, just crossing your arms tightly, your gaze unwavering. he shifts again.

"it was just what we do, you know? light banter, right- um, okay, i crossed a line, it won't happen again. i am sorry, though."

"holy shit, yn. i think you broke him, i have never heard jj maybank apologize, not once." rafe sits up, looking between the two of you with a glint of humor in his eye.

you stand there for a long moment, processing the unexpected sincerity in his words. the anger doesn’t fully fade, but you can’t deny that his apology, no matter how bad it came out, was genuine.

you exhale, shaking your head as you step back, rolling your eyes. "you're such a pain, maybank."

he lets out a small, relieved laugh, though still a bit awkward. "yeah, well...it’s kinda my thing."

despite your frustration, a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. you turn toward the kitchen, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you softened by his apology.

when he's sure you're busy in his kitchen and won't hear him, rafe leans towards jj. "no happy wife, no happy life. first rule, jj."

jj is still watching you from the couch as you pull open the fridge. he eyes rafe for a second, his mouth twists a bit, shaking his head. "shut the hell up, man.”

xoxo, mimi

masterlist | next chapter

taglist (taglist is open!) - @babyamors / @jombies / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @cassiewritessalot / @rottinglexi / @certifiedjjsimp / @str4wb3rrym1lkl0v3r / @cinderellieeeeeeeeeeee / @isinpfortvdmen / @doesnt-care / @dylsdaily / @wasiasproject / @chuuuchuuutrain / @dr3amgrlll / @4jjsbank / @abigailovesz / @lmaowhatt / @idli-dosa / @papercranesandinkstains / @dramagodesss / @ayy1234567 / @wrtzia / @reeseswirl / @mrrayjay / @cokewithcameron / @moonywhisp3rs / @acidfeens / @78kate / @lillell467 

[dontcallpanic]

The absolutely incredible @teencopandthesourwolf who wrote something so deeply amazing I'm still recovering, tagged me to do the WIP Wednesday. Diolch yn fawr iawn cariad!

So happy Thursday, here's something small from the post apocalypse au where Stiles has a radio show and Derek realizes he's in love with the idiot while road tripping across America with his dad. Or something like that.

I do have funnies to share at some point but you can have some drama for a change instead. This is how Derek meets the Sheriff.

-------

"Where is my son?"

Before Derek can so much as blink the man - the Sheriff - is in his face, the long barrel of a pistol jammed beneath his jawbone.

"I won't ask again," the man says deadly quiet before he sucks in a deep breath and roars into Derek's face. "Where is my son?"

Derek flinches back instinctively but he can't go far, the wall is at his back and the gun is shaking where it's digging into his throat. Despite this Derek still manages to stand tall, pushing back as a wild, feral grin pulls at his lips.

"I don't know where your fucking son is," he growls out, pitching his voice low and menacing. "But if you don't get your gun out of my face, I guarantee you'll be in no position to find him."

And he means it, every word. He would even welcome it. He can feel the bloodlust singing beneath his skin, the ache to his jaw and the itching in his teeth. He wants to feel the flesh give beneath his bite. The satisfaction of the kill.

Give me a reason, he thinks - begs. Give me one fucking reason.

The sheriff's wild, searching eyes rake across his face, looking for any sign of deceit or weakness where there is none to find. He reeks of alcohol and desperation and the stench assaults Dereks senses, forcing themselves into his awareness like a desert storm. In this moment, the Sheriff is not a man who can be reasoned with and Derek feels his claws itching at his fingernails, his snarl growing deadly. He should rip him apart. He wants to rip him apart and put him out of his misery, but something deep inside him makes him hesitate, recognising with bitter familiarity, the recklessness of a man who has nothing left to loose but hope.

The second he feels the Sheriff loosen his grip on his shirt, he shoves the man roughly away, knocking the pistol out of his face with a snarl.

The gunshot echoes across the street as a bullet slams into the stone beside his head, but Derek is already clear, holding up one hand to stop the response, even as he hears the tell tale snick of at least five people thumbing the safety off their weapons.

The Sheriff staggers, intoxication making him unsteady on his feet but the hand that levels the pistol at him holds unnervingly steady.

"Tell me what you know," he demands and his voice is surprisingly firm and resolute. There's no tremor. If it wasn't for his heightened senses, Derek would be doubting his initial assessment.

All around, he can feel the watchful eyes pressing in on them. The whole town seems to be watching now. The chances of the Sheriff leaving here alive, should he choose to shoot Derek, are non existent.

"I don't know shit," Derek spits, taking a step forward, fingers reaching to curl around the gun at his hip. It's grounding and familiar and it gives him the illusion of still being human.

"Bullshit," the Sheriff spits back, jerking his pistol to the side to add emphasis to his words. "That's his dog."

-------

As always the biggest thanks go to @greyhavenisback (look!! It's Muttley!)

And then Very gentle no pressure whatsoever tags to @violetfairydust @patolemus @gege-wondering-around @novemberhush

Sorry If you've already been tagged!

[gotaksboyfie]

Hi, could you please do something about a reader who had a toxic relationship in the past and is now dating Gotak, but she still has some trauma. If you feel comfortable, I loved your writing and I love Gotak!

undoing scars

gif creds @slytherinshua

paring go hyuntak x female reader

summary after a toxic ex, you struggle when hyuntak keeps coming to dates late because it reminds you of unpleasant memories. but through his love and actions, you learn to heal from your past.

word count 2.1k

warnings/tags past verbal + physical abuse, hurt/comfort, insecurities, angst

a/n the toxic ex is just a male oc, not a character or intended to be anyone

hyuntak🩷: will be late 15 minutes. wait for me!!

you read hyuntak’s message with a heavy sigh. you guys were supposed to go eat at a restaurant, but it seems like hyuntak was running late.

a small tendril of fear started to bloom in your heart. this was how it started with minseok. he gradually started coming later and later to dates, eventually just canceling them last minute.

that was just the beginning of your horrible relationship. you shuddered slightly at the memories, burying them deep down again. hyuntak was different, you knew that. do you really?

staring at the tablecloth, a waiter stopped by your table.

“miss? are you dining alone today?” he asked, preparing to take your order.

“ah no,” you grimaced slightly, “i’m just waiting for my date. he’s running late, you see”

the waiter widened his eyes in surprise and apologized. “i’ll come back when he’s here,”

you checked your phone again anxiously. what was hyuntak doing that was taking him so long? you bounced your leg up and down, hoping to will all thoughts of minseok away.

hyuntak is different. he will always better miles better than that piece of shit. he'd never treat you like that. you reaffirmed yourself repeatedly in your head, watching the minutes on your phone tick by.

"reader! i'm so sorry," hyuntak panted, slightly out of breath. he looked down at where you sat, with a concerned glance.

you were frozen with an unreadable expression on your face. your eyes held some fear, and hyuntak hoped it was just because he was late.

"i brought you these flowers as an apology," he nervously held out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. you blinked and your expression did a total 180. you beamed brightly, and took the bouquet while complimenting it.

"hyuntak this is so pretty! thank you so much! also, it's really okay if you're late a couple minutes. i can handle it," you rambled on, complimenting the flowers.

hyuntak sighed, "reader, i promise this won't happen again. i'm really sorry about being late,"

you shook your head at his apology, "i already told you it's okay, stop apologizing,"

taking a sear across from you, hyuntak watched as you flagged down the same waiter from before and began ordering. he smiled softly, admiring you. you continued the date as if nothing happened, but there was a small pit growing in your stomach—unknown to hyuntak.

the next time it happens, you can't help but shed a tear or two. hyuntak was supposed to be at your house 30 minutes ago, but he said he was running late. again.

sure, the last time it happened was a few weeks ago, and hyuntak's allowed to be late sometimes. but it doesn't stop the anxiety from creeping in. you've been through this before, you know what's going to happen.

arguments, screaming matches, a few slaps here and there, and then suddenly hyuntak will show up with a new girl and you're tossed aside the second you become "boring"—

you breathe in and out, nice and slow, to stop yourself from hyperventilating. nothing good will happen if you work yourself into a panic. your doorbell ringing knocks you out of your spiral.

you rush to the door, opening it to see hyuntak slightly bruised up—but other wise fine.

"hyuntak! are you okay? oh my god, come in," you panic slightly, dragging him to sit on your couch. "what happened?"

hyuntak exhales softly as he sits down, "some people tried to pick on juntae, and he called me for help. i'm sorry for being late,"

you chastise yourself for being so stupid. of course hyuntak was busy doing something else, you're not the only person in the world.

"is he okay? i hope he's not hurt." you pull out some ointment and a few bandaids, carefully applying them to his face. "are you hurt anywhere?"

"not really, just a little sore. nothing some rest won't fix."

the second you finish, hyuntak bear hugs you and tackles you down to the couch to cuddle. "put a movie or whatever you'd like on, i'm gonna take a nap,"

you inhale sharply at the sudden movement and you find yourself frozen for a moment before you remember that this is hyuntak. he wouldn't hurt you. you recollect yourself quickly before hyuntak can notice.

you bring a hand to his scalp and start lightly scratching, before reaching for the remote to turn on a show. "goodnight baby," you mutter, and hyuntak's out like a light.

the next 2 months pass without anymore incidents, and you've managed to quell that nagging feeling in your head. but it happens a third time.

once was fine, twice is just coincidence, but a third time has to mean something's up. right? it's been nearly an hour of you waiting on a bench near a night market. unshed tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you look at your phone screen.

hyuntak🩷: baby i'm so sorry i was working on a project with juntae and sieun and it completely slipped my mind i'll be there soon - 6:44

hyuntak🩷: i think i'm gonna have to stay a little longer because our progress is really slow right now - 7:02

hyuntak🩷: just 10 more minutes and i'll be omw!!get yourself something to snack on in the meantime 😋 - 7:25

hyuntak was supposed to meet you at 6:30. it was 7:26 now. was it that easy for him to forget about you? what if he's not even with juntae and sieun—and he's really just with some other girl and they're laughing about how oblivious you are to everything.

the tears cascade down your cheeks like a waterfall, attracting the attention of some people near you. you sniffle and wipe them, but it does little to stop you from crying silently.

you can't stay here any longer, you have to leave. you pick up your things and start speed walking home. the tears don't stop, not even for a moment.

why would hyuntak do that to you? he was supposed to be different than.. than him. the painful reminder makes you choke on a sob. you fumble for your phone and hurriedly dial juntae, noticing that the time was well past the 10 minutes hyuntak said he'd by done by.

"oh! reader, why are you calling?" juntae asks. he's clearly shocked to see you calling, and he makes a noise of concern when he hears you sob.

"wh- where's hyuntak?" your voice is shaky and small as you barely gasp out your words.

juntae swallows and tries to put a comforting voice on. "ah, he just left right now in a hurry. don't worry, he's on h-" you hang up the call before juntae can finish his sentence.

why are you crying? why did you automatically assume the worst of hyuntak? you fumble with your door code before slamming it shut and collapsing on your bed.

hyuntak would never do that, he's never done anything to make you think he would do that. you cry harder knowing that you were a bad girlfriend for instantly assuming the worst of him.

a memory of minseok arguing with you appears in your head, and you can't stop it from replaying in your mind.

"why are you making such a big deal out of nothing? it's just one fucking date, i don't get it," minseok scoffs in your face with an annoyed expression.

you blink away a few tears and try to reason with him again, "i'm just upset that you waited 30 minutes to tell me. if you knew you couldn't make it, why did you make me wait so long? also you always do this, it's not a one off thing."

"do i have to tell you everything? seriously, it's not even that bad. you're lucky i'm still with a pathetic bitch like you," minseok's words stab into your chest, and you can't help a small sob that bubbles out of you.

"minseok, it's about the principle of it. you don't respect me or my time-" a stinging sensation on your cheek interrupts you and you realize that minseok has slapped you.

"respect this and respect that. why can't you just fucking shut up and respect my ears? nobody wants to listen to your feelings, okay? get it in your head, god. so fucking annoying for what," minseok walks away from you and leaves your house, slamming the door behind him. before he's out though, he looks at you and you hear him mutter "such a crybaby."

you hold your cheek in shock. did minseok just slap you? remembering what he said, you burst into more tears. he was right, you really were a crybaby.

you're too worked up to notice that hyuntak has opened the door to your house, and that he's standing in your room's doorway.

hyuntak freezes, not knowing what to do.

"reader.. are you okay?" he tentatively asks, slowly approaching you. you look up at him but all you can see is his vague silhouette through your tears.

you can't see his worried expression, and you mistake it for annoyance.

"'m sorry for- for leaving the night market." you hiccup slightly, "'m okay i promise, i'm fine,".

hyuntak steps closer to you and moves his hand to your face to wipe away your tears, but you flinch and block it with your forearm.

something in hyuntak's heart breaks at the amount of fear you held towards him. "reader, you're not fine and we both know it. can.. can i touch you right now?" hyuntak wants to hold you in his arms and let you vent out all your worries but he's scared you'll flinch again.

you nod shakily, scooting over on your bed. hyuntak sits next to you slowly, making sure you're not scared. the tears still haven't stopped and you furiously wipe at them as if that would stop it.

"you're going to hurt yourself, stop it." he says softly and lightly grabs your hands. your face hangs low, too ashamed to face him.

hyuntak gently you into his arms, letting you cry into his chest. he starts rubbing your back soothingly. he doesn't know what happened, but he needs to comfort you first before anything.

"reader, it's okay. i'm here for you,"

taking in what he said, you hold onto his hoodie a little tighter. hyuntak was too good for someone like you. even if it was selfish, you wanted to hold onto him so tight he would never leave.

after minutes of constant reassurance and soothing from hyuntak, you've calmed down to small sniffles and hiccups.

hyuntak takes a breath in before asking, "do you want to talk about it?".

you contemplate it. you guys have been dating for 4 months now, and he still has no idea of minseok. deciding it was time for him to know, you started to tell him about what he was like.

the entire time, hyuntak is listening with rage brewing in his veins. he hugs you more protectively, as if he's shielding you from a ghost of minseok. when you finish speaking, hyuntak swallows carefully.

"he would hit you?" he asks through gritted teeth, "and would do all that while cheating on you?".

you nod slowly into hyuntak's chest, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "i just.. let him. it's my fault," hyuntak shushes you quickly.

"don't ever say that, it's his fault to begin with. he was actively manipulating you, and you still blame yourself?" hyuntak rants, becoming increasingly upset.

he was angry that someone treated you so badly, and how he wasn't able to protect you.

"thank you for telling me reader. i love you so much," hyuntak pulls you away from his chest so you can look at him directly. "please, never forget that. you will always be the most beautiful, strongest girl i know."

your eyes start to water before you know it, but this time it's from happy tears. "i love you too hyuntak, i'm sorry for being so.. insecure," you admit.

hyuntak shakes his head, "never apologize for that," he moves his hands to cup your face and wipe your tears, "whenever you feel like that, i will always be here for you. talk to me, please."

"i will, i promise." it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. knowing that hyuntak will always support you makes you tear up again, but this time from happy tears.

"i love you, hyuntak"

"i love you too, reader."

fin

a/n sorry for the wait! i hope this fits what you wanted <3

[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: @fanchonfallen, @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple, @420slvtt, @zimerycuellat

Part 22: To Lost

I'm sorry it took me almost a month to post the new part. Unfortunately, I barely had time to write. I'll try to post the next part within 2 weeks. <3

Part 23: To break

He knew he was overthinking.

Knew he was being that kind of mate again—the one who hovered when you adjusted your mask before you leave the outpost, who always walked one step too close on forest patrol, who checked the wind three times before letting you climb even one vine. You always laughed at him for it.

“Overthinker,” you’d whisper with a smirk, your fingers brushing his arm as you passed. “You’re worse than Norm.”

And maybe you were right.

Maybe today would be like any other. You’d spend one day in the field—just one. Collect some roots, catalog glowing spores, get a few weird cuts from a plant that looked deceptively soft. Then tomorrow… you’d come back. He could bury his face in your neck again, arms locked around you under the morning sun, and feel your laugh rumble against his chest.

He didn’t say it out loud then at the outpost. But he’d wanted to.

Stay.

Just one word.

So why did his gut feel like a knot pulled too tight?

He touched down in the clearing just outside the village, his ikran letting out a low, familiar screech as he dismounted. The breath he exhaled felt heavier than it should’ve. His feet barely hit the ground before a voice drifted from behind him.

“Dad saw you leave at dawn.”

Neteyam turned fast, shoulders tense, already expecting judgment—but it was only Kiri, crouched beside the roots of a flowering tree, her hands working through a bundle of herbs. She didn’t look up, but her brow arched with quiet amusement. “He didn’t say anything, though. Just asked me if you were going hunting.” Her golden eyes lifted. “I didn’t correct him.”

Neteyam exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

Kiri hummed, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “She stayed with you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Kiri rolled her eyes with a grin. “You’re so predictable. Honestly, it’s amazing no one else has caught on.”

“Maybe they have, Kiri,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “Maybe they just pretend they haven’t.” He glanced toward the central hearth, where the rest of the village was beginning to stir. “She just... didn’t want to be alone before heading to the pit.”

His sister sobered slightly at that. “The old mining zone?” she said. “I thought they weren’t sending anyone back there.”

“Bridgehead changed their mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a tension still coiled beneath his skin. “Only for a day. She left with the others at sunrise.”

Kiri nodded slowly, brushing a loose braid from her face. “And now you’re pacing around like your tail’s on fire.”

“I’m not pacing—”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “You’re thinking. And thinking for you means worrying. About her.” She tilted her head. “You know, sometimes I think Eywa gave you a human girl just to test your patience.”

He barked a soft laugh. “Sometimes I think She gave me to her just to test hers.”

A small giggle cut through the morning air behind them. “You always sneak her away!”

Neteyam stiffened and turned just in time to see Tuk stomping across the grass with a fierce little pout on her face. She jabbed a finger up at him like he’d personally insulted her bedtime story.

“Tuk!” Neteyam half-laughed, half-grunted as his little sister slammed into his legs.

“You sneaked her away again!” she pouted, fists pressed to her hips. “I didn’t get to say goodbye!”

“Shh!” Neteyam and Kiri hissed in unison, both crouching to bring her volume down to something less announcing.

Neteyam pulled her close, brushing back her hair. “Tuk, you cannot shout about that.”

“Why not?” she frowned, lower lip trembling like she might cry. “She’s my favorite! She always braids my hair when I ask. And she said I could help her plant the glowing beans next time at the outpost—!”

“Tuk…” Kiri cut in gently. “You know she’s not supposed to be here at night.”

“But she always sneaks in anyway,” Tuk whispered, conspiratorial, “so why can’t she just stay?”

Neteyam sighed. “Because not everyone understands,” he murmured. “It’s not safe. Not yet.”

Tuk blinked. “But… if you love her, can’t you tell everyone?”

Kiri choked on a laugh, covering it with a cough.

Neteyam flushed, glancing at the trees. “It’s not that simple.”

“But you do love her,” Tuk said, wide-eyed. “I see the way you look at her. Like Dad looks at Mom when he thinks we’re not watching.”

Kiri snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Neteyam laughed then—low and warm, the tension in his shoulders finally unraveling. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Eywa… give me strength.”

“You’ll need it,” Kiri snorted. “Because when Mom finds out? You’re dead.”

Neteyam only smiled. And for the first time since that morning, the weight in his chest didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe you were right. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you’d be back tomorrow with your arms full of samples, cheeks smudged with dirt, and that stupid glow in your eyes like you’d just found the answer to the universe in a glowing vine.

And when you were—he’d be waiting.

With his arms open.

Just like always.

“You’ll see her again soon, Tuk,” he said, gentler this time. “Maybe even tomorrow.”

Tuk narrowed her eyes, arms crossed. “She better braid my hair first.”

“Deal,” he said with a smile, ruffling her curls. “But only if you don’t tell Mom and Dad that she is with me at night.”

She grinned, all sharp little teeth and sunshine. “I won’t tell. Promise.” And then—just like that—she darted off down the path, chasing her friends with a squeal of laughter.

The forest was quiet again.

Neteyam stood slowly, watching the direction she’d gone, and exhaled. He didn’t realize until now how tight his shoulders had been. Kiri nudged his arm.

“She’s okay,” she said softly. “You’d feel it if she wasn’t.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s just… a feeling.”

Kiri tilted her head. “Is it your feeling? Or hers?”

He looked at her. She gave him that look—the one that always made him feel like she knew more than she should. He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the trees, towards west, eyes scanning the horizon. Tomorrow, he told himself.

Just one more night.

The sun had risen full by now, casting long, amber shadows across the training grounds. The younger warriors-in-training were already gathering in loose clusters, pa’lis tethered nearby, their sleek grey hides shimmering beneath the light.

Neteyam stood at the head of the clearing, arms crossed as he surveyed the group. He let the morning air fill his lungs—wet grass, sweat, the distant scent of roasting rootfruit from the hearth. He could still feel the weight of your absence like a bruise behind his ribs. But work helped. Structure helped.

“All right,” he called, voice steady. “Listen up.”

The warriors fell silent as he approached, straightening instinctively. It showed in the way they looked at him, the way they leaned in when he spoke.

He cleared his throat. “Today’s hunt is different,” he said, voice steady, carrying easily across the courtyard. “No ikrans. We move on pa’li. You need to feel the earth under you again.”

The warriors exchanged quick, eager glances. The hunt needed to be smooth today. No ikrans—only pa’li, as his father had insisted. Grounded hunting. Riding with bow in hand, tracking and striking as their ancestors had before them. He didn’t mind. It built discipline.

He paced a slow circle around the group as he spoke, voice even but sharp with focus.

“We ride south,” he began. “The talioang herds passed through two nights ago. We follow the trail by the river and push them into the shallow basin where the ground is soft.” His eyes skimmed the gathered warriors, young but capable. “We strike from the flanks. No lone riders. Pairs only. And we do not chase the herd once it splits. If you lose your target, you regroup. No hero runs.”

There were some nods. Some sharper grins from the more hot-headed ones. Neteyam crossed his arms, leveling a look at them. “The point is not to show off. The point is control.”

That earned a few guilty shuffles of feet. “They bed down near the water in the heat. We stay mounted—always. We strike from the saddle. Clean shots. We do not separate from our pa’li. If you fall, you are out.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the warriors. Some of them bumped shoulders, grinning like fools. Neteyam almost smiled himself. This was what he was made for. Not diplomacy. Not marriage arrangements. This. “First group will form a half-circle on the northern side,” he continued, drawing a shape in the dirt with the tip of his spear. “Second group will drive them forward. Push them into our trap.”

He crouched lower, marking out the movement with quick, clean strokes. The warriors leaned in, listening sharp and hungry. He could almost forget the rest of the world standing here—almost forget the way his heart twisted whenever he thought of you.

Almost.

He stood, brushing the dirt from his fingers. “Questions?”

A few moments of heavy silence hung over the clearing—then, predictably, the questions started.

“What about you, Neteyam?” one of the younger warriors piped up—a boy named Tanawa. “Will you ride alone?”

The group chuckled lowly. Even Neteyam smiled a little. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No one rides alone today. I’ll pair up, same as the rest of you.”

That earned a few more nudges and sly looks, some of them glancing toward K’shi, who lingered too neatly at the edge of the gathering, pretending to check her bowstring. Neteyam pointedly ignored them.

Another voice called out—this time from Ärengko, a sturdier boy who already had the heavy shoulders of a future warrior. “Will you take the kill, Neteyam? Or leave it for us?”

A few of the younger ones laughed at that, jostling each other with mock offense. Neteyam’s mouth twitched at the corner. Good. They’re excited. “I’ll only take a kill if you fail,” he said simply, stepping around them again. His eyes gleamed with quiet challenge. “And I expect you not to.”

That lit a fire under them. A few stood a little taller, puffed their chests. Young, yes—but hungry. Determined. He liked that.

Another question—this one laced with a grin from Pakxo, older and always one to stir trouble: “And if you fall from your pa’li, do we leave you in the mud, Neteyam?”

The others chuckled under their breath, looking toward their leader. Neteyam let a rare smirk curl at the edge of his mouth. “If I fall,” he said dryly, “you will laugh at me for the rest of your lives.”

The warriors howled with laughter at that, a rough, warm sound that echoed across the clearing. Neteyam rolled his eyes fondly, about to signal the end of questions—when he caught it.

A flicker of movement at the edge of the clearing. K’shi. Standing half in shadow, half in the golden morning light, arms folded in an artful pose that was definitely meant to look casual but wasn’t. And she was watching him. Only him.

Neteyam set his jaw and looked away sharply, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But of course, the warriors had. He heard the low hiss of whispers passing through the group like wind through tall grass: “She’s watching him again…”

“Maybe she’ll ride with him.”

“Lucky Neteyam, huh?”

He stiffened slightly, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he answered a few last questions about the tracking formations. Pretending he didn’t hear the teasing. Pretending he didn’t feel the weight of those knowing looks pressing at the edge of his patience.

Ignore it. he told himself sharply.

One last hand lifted—Txo’ma, earnest and practical. “Will we be setting traps too, or only the push?”

Neteyam seized the question like a drowning man grabbing a vine. “No traps,” he said briskly. “The basin terrain is too soft. It would slow the pa’li and risk injury. We drive them with pressure alone—noise, speed, formation.”

More nods, more thoughtful looks. Good. They were settling now. Listening. Ready to move.

Neteyam took one last breath, letting the morning air fill his chest and steady him. He didn’t look toward K’shi again. He didn’t have to. He could feel her gaze clinging to him like burrs caught in fur.

And as much as he tried to focus on the hunt ahead, a small, sour thought coiled low in his gut: How many more times will I have to smile and nod while others decide my future for me?

Still. Work first. Always work first. He was about to move on when another boy—Ja'yen, always the smart one—leaned a little closer to his friend and muttered just loud enough for others to hear, “Looks like someone else wants to pair with Neteyam, anyway.”

A few others snickered. He could feel the weight of her stare from across the clearing, like the sun itself had focused into a single burning line aimed straight at his skull.

He gritted his teeth and turned back toward the warriors, pointing. “The trail should be easy to find. Fresh tracks. Broken reeds. Watch the wind.”

But even as he spoke, the snickering picked up behind him—because now, from the corner of his vision, he saw K’shi. Striding closer. Trying very hard to pretend it was casual. Neteyam braced himself.

She approached the group slowly, her steps light and measured, her smile a soft curve as she tucked a loose braid behind her ear. She was tall, confident, hair braided with feathers and bone—obviously skilled, beautiful in the way the clan valued. The kind of mate every parent dreams of for their eldest son. A few of the younger boys elbowed each other. Someone actually whistled—quick and low, but Neteyam caught it anyway.

He wanted to scream.

K’shi stopped just a little too close, her smile tilted coy. “Neteyam,” she said, voice like warm honey, “I heard about the hunt. I would be honored to join your party.” She placed one hand lightly on her hip, tilting her head just so. “You could use more skilled riders, could you not?”

Around them, the warriors pretended not to watch—but he heard the soft chuckles, the low whistles under breath.

"Girls chasing him like ikran on a hunt."

"K’shi too—lucky bastard."

“Next Olo’eyktan won’t even need to choose a mate. They’re lining up for him.”

Neteyam gritted his teeth so hard he thought his fangs might crack. He offered K’shi the barest, tightest smile. “Your skills are known, K’shi. But today’s hunt is for the training of the younger warriors. You are beyond that.”

Flatter her. Make it sound like a favor. Keep it professional. Keep it safe.

But K’shi only smiled wider, leaning even closer, her shoulder almost brushing his. “Still,” she murmured, “I could help... oversee. Assist you. You should not carry the burden alone.” She lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling. “You could... lean on me. If you needed.”

Neteyam bet his whole soul—and his ikran, and the next storm season—that his mother had a hand in this.

He could almost hear Neytiri’s voice now: “K’shi is strong. She is clever. You should speak to her more. Get to know her.”

This was what she wanted. Some nice, respectable Na’vi girl. One from a strong family. One who could give him strong sons. One who wasn’t a human scientist always scribbling in a datapad and laughing at the wrong jokes.

I would rather count every blade of grass from here to the floating mountains, Neteyam thought grimly. Twice.

And still—still—he forced himself to answer gently: “Your offer honors me. But today, I ride only with the trainees.”

“Oh, but I would not distract them,” she said quickly, stepping even closer until the distance between them was barely polite. “I would stay by your side.”

Eywa, take me now.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, just a flicker. But she smiled again, smooth and poised. “Perhaps another time, then.”

He opened his mouth to politely, firmly reject her when—

“Brother!”

Lo’ak crashed through the gathering with all the subtlety of a charging thanator, grinning like he’d just gotten away with something. “Dad’s calling for us,” Lo’ak said casually, jerking his chin over his shoulder. “Wants to see us before we leave. Now.”

It wasn’t a lie. Neteyam knew it wasn’t. But it had never sounded more like a lifeline.

Neteyam almost dropped to his knees right there. Instead, he grabbed his spear, turned to K’shi, and gave a short, stiff nod. “Forgive me. Duty calls.”

He barely waited for her polite nod before he was striding after Lo’ak like the devil himself was on his heels. They left behind the warriors, the gossiping, the stifled laughter.

When they were finally out of earshot, Neteyam let out a breath like he’d been holding it for ten minutes.

“I swear,” he muttered, “I will build you a shrine.”

Lo’ak laughed. “She had the look, bro. Like she was about to start carving your mating beads for you.”

Neteyam groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Mother put her up to it. I know it.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I’d rather wrestle a palulukan naked than sit through another forced conversation like that.”

“You poor thing,” Lo’ak said, dramatically patting his shoulder. “So tragic. All the pretty girls want you.”

“I’m going to throw you into a tree.”

“You’d miss,” Lo’ak grinned.

Neteyam gave him a sideways glare. “You sure Father wants us?”

Lo’ak nodded. “Yeah. But I just figured if I didn’t get you out of there soon, you’d throw yourself into a strumbeest stampede.”

“I considered it.”

Lo’ak grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Neteyam exhaled again, this time with a softer smile. “Seriously. I owe you.”

“Eh,” Lo’ak shrugged. “I just know your girl wouldn’t like it if you got stuck riding off with K’shi into the sunset.”

Neteyam paused, then smirked. “You think she’d be jealous?”

“I think,” Lo’ak said, “she’d braid your ears together while you slept.”

Neteyam laughed—and this time, it reached his chest. Even if just for a moment.

They walked together through the village paths, the packed earth still damp underfoot from the early morning mist. Neteyam and Lo’ak moved quietly now, the energy from earlier bleeding away with each step closer to the kelku.

Their family home loomed ahead—woven high into the trees, broad-leafed and strong, shaped with care by many hands over many years. It was home, and yet Neteyam felt the tightness coil back into his gut the closer he came to it. As if the walls themselves carried expectations heavier than any armor.

Lo’ak shot him a sideways look, reading his tension easily. But—for once—he didn’t tease. Maybe he knew this wasn’t the time. At the entrance, Jake’s voice reached them first.

“—need to move fast. Before the storm.”

Neteyam ducked through the low-hanging vines first, Lo’ak close behind. Their father stood near the center of the room, shoulders tense, arms crossed, that permanent set to his jaw that said something was wrong. Neytiri was beside him, quiet but sharp-eyed, her bow leaning against the wall within easy reach.

“You called for us?” Neteyam said, straightening.

Jake nodded, curt. “We have a situation.”

Neytiri shifted slightly, her tail flicking. She was uneasy too.

Jake nodded, still looking at the map. “Lo’ak said you were just wrapping the briefing for the hunt. Good. You’ll still make it out before eclipse.”

Neteyam stepped closer, his posture shifting into the straight-backed, chin-lifted stance he always used around their father now. “What’s going on?”

Jake tapped a spot on the map. “Here. Northeast. Just beyond the old mining pit.”

Neteyam’s heart sank. Northeast. That was close. Too close.

“You think it’s the RDA?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Already fearing the alternative.

“I don’t think anything yet,” Jake said. “Could be Norm and his people—got turned around, maybe. Maybe got cut off. Maybe some old drone reactivated. We’ve seen stranger things. But I want eyes on it before the eclipse. We’ll scout tonight. On ikrans.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think it’s Norm’s team.”

Jake frowned. “And why’s that?”

Neteyam hesitated just a beat too long. Neytiri turned her eyes sharply toward him. “You are certain of where Norm’s team is?”

He nodded once, too smoothly. “I saw them. Days ago. On patrol. The xenobotany team said they’d be collecting data at the old pit on this day.”

“Since when do you forget to report something like that?” Jake asked, the words calm but clipped. “You’ve been thorough lately.”

Neteyam met his father’s gaze evenly. “It slipped. My focus’s been on the warriors and the southern border.”

A long pause stretched between them—Jake still watching him like he was trying to hear what wasn’t being said. Neteyam held the silence, refusing to flinch. Eventually, Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “All right. We’ll know for sure once we’re in the air.”

Lo’ak stepped in, arms folding. “So it’s us three?”

Jake nodded. “We fly in after the hunt. Before the eclipse hits. I want a clean look before the storm rolls in. If it’s nothing, we’re back before mudnight. If it is something—”

“We deal with it,” Neteyam finished.

“Good,” Jake said. “You, me, Lo’ak. Fast and quiet. I don't want a whole war party unless we find something real.”

Lo’ak shifted, looking like he wanted to crack a joke and wisely deciding against it. The air was too heavy for it. Neteyam nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the request. This wasn’t a father asking his sons to tag along. This was the Olo’eyktan giving orders. Orders you didn’t refuse. Not that Neteyam would. Duty came first. Always.

They hadn't really talked in weeks. Not really. Every word between them now was duty, hunting formations, patrol rotations. Nothing else. Not the unspoken pressure about finding a mate. Not the arguments, the ones that simmered under every glance, every stiff nod of dismissal. Neteyam had grown colder to it all these past few months—more stubborn. More silent. It was the only way he could survive the suffocating weight of what they wanted him to be.

Jake must have felt it too. But neither of them said it out loud. Across the room, Neytiri stirred. Her voice was quiet but firm. “I am going as well,” she said firmly.

Jake turned to her, brows lifting. "Neytiri—"

“I go,” she said again, eyes hard and full of something fierce and ancient. “If humans are there—if they come near what we have lost again—I will see it with my own eyes.” 

Neteyam knew better than to argue. When his mother decided something, not even Jake could move her.  Jake hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. We’ll all go.”

“Alright,” he said. “We leave before eclipse. Just after Neteyam returns from the hunt.”

Neytiri looked satisfied. Lo’ak looked a little too eager. And Neteyam—Neteyam felt like his bones were wrapped in thorns. If you were still out there… If you were caught up in that movement… If your path had taken you anywhere near the northeast—

He didn’t let the thought finish. He just prayed to Eywa that you were still safe. Still tucked deep in the pit, buried in your plants and your data and your weird, wonderful focus.

Because if anything happened to you out there— He didn’t know what he’d do.

“You two prep your gear,” Jake said, already turning back toward the map spread across the floor mat. “This one needs to go clean. No mistakes.”

Neteyam gave a sharp nod and turned, walking out with Lo’ak on his heels. The moment they were outside, his brother leaned in.

“That was smooth,” Lo’ak muttered. “You saw them ‘on patrol,’ huh?”

Neteyam didn’t break stride. “Drop it.”

“I’m just saying,” Lo’ak said with a grin, “you’re getting better at lying. I’m proud of you.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be.”

Neteyam stepped out into the light once more, the sky now high and bright above the village. The weight of the conversation with his parents still pressed against his shoulders, but he pushed it aside. One thing at a time.

The hunt came first.

As he moved back toward the gathering grounds, he could already see the warriors-in-training assembling again. Pa’li pawed at the ground nearby, bows slung over shoulders. A few of them greeted him again with eager nods, standing straighter as he approached. Neteyam offered a few curt nods back, but didn’t speak yet.

Lo’ak moved beside him silently, then elbowed him with a small, dry smirk. “Heads up.” Neteyam followed his line of sight—and felt his stomach twist.

Neytiri stood near the edge of the training ring, clearly followed them, in low, hushed conversation with none other than K’shi. The young huntress smiled, graceful and poised, and stood a little too close to Neytiri. Her braids gleamed in the light, feathers carefully arranged, and her expression was full of that infuriating mix of humility and expectation.

And then—Neytiri looked up. Right at him. Their eyes locked for a second. Long enough to know it wasn’t coincidence.

Neteyam turned sharply on his heel before either of them could say anything, jaw tight, and mounted his pa’li in one clean motion. “Mount up,” he called to the gathered warriors. “We ride soon.”

The others hurried to obey, the energy rising again as they prepared. Neteyam leaned forward, gently tapping the creature’s neck, trying to focus. Just get through the hunt. But before he could move so much as an inch, a quiet rustle of footsteps came from the side—soft, deliberate. He didn’t need to look.

“I see you are leaving without her,” Neytiri said calmly, her voice close now.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose and looked down at her from his mount. “The hunt is for the trainees. She’s not needed.”

Neytiri tilted her head, unreadable. “She is skilled. They could learn from her.”

“She is not one of them,” he replied, too quickly.

“She is more experienced than half of them.”

“She is not needed,” he said, voice tighter now.

His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You do not trust her to lead?”

“I do not want her here,” he said finally, biting the words before they grew too sharp. “This hunt is about them. I do not want distractions. I do not want…” He hesitated. “Complications.”

Neytiri studied him for a moment, searching for something in his expression. “You are the future Olo’eyktan,” she said gently. “You must learn to lead alongside others. Especially those who may one day share that future.”

Neteyam looked away, gripping the reins a little too tightly. “This is not about leading,” he muttered. “And it’s not about training. It’s about you wanting me to choose.”

Neytiri’s silence said everything he needed to know.

He glanced back at her, his voice low. “You’ve already chosen for me.”

“I have not,” she said, quieter now. “But I know the path that brings strength. That brings peace. That brings balance to the people.”

He shook his head. “She is not my balance.”

Neytiri’s expression didn’t change, but her voice softened. “She would stand beside you. She understands this life. She would not drag you into the sky and away from your people.”

His throat tightened. “And what if I don’t want someone who stands beside me because it’s expected?”

Neytiri’s eyes flickered. “Then you risk standing alone.”

They stood in silence for a breath, the air around them heavy. Warriors shifted in the background, unaware of the quiet storm brewing at the edge of the hunt. Finally, Neteyam leaned forward on his pa’li, his voice steady but cold. “Then I stand alone.”

Neytiri’s expression didn’t waver. “And yet she came. She offered. Do you think she does not notice how you dismiss her?”

“She doesn’t need to be here just to be dismissed,” he muttered.

His mother narrowed her eyes. “You speak as if she is a burden.”

“I speak as if this is a training hunt,” Neteyam bit out. “Not a matchmaking ceremony.”

That caught her. A flash of surprise—and then something colder beneath her gaze. “She is Omatikaya,” Neytiri said, low and clipped. “She is strong. Loyal. Respected. You would be wise to know her better.”

“I know enough,” Neteyam snapped before he could stop himself. They stared at each other in silence for a moment—warrior to warrior, but also mother to son. “I do not need help managing this hunt,” he said, voice dropping to something quiet and final. “And I don’t want her there.”

Neytiri’s jaw tensed. “You would let a girl from the clan feel cast aside, when she offers her strength?”

Neteyam’s hands tightened on the reins. “I would let her know that not every gesture must be accepted just because it’s offered.”

Neytiri stepped back a fraction, the corner of her mouth twitching with disapproval. “You forget your place.”

“No,” Neteyam said, looking forward now, his voice flat. “I remember it. Every day.”

For a moment, Neytiri looked at him like she didn’t quite recognize him—then she turned away, silent as a shadow, and walked back toward the path where K’shi waited. Neteyam didn’t watch her go. “Move out!” he called, clicking his tongue as the pa’li surged forward beneath him. The hunt began. And he didn’t look back.

The hunt stretched long under a darkening sky.

By afternoon, the air had thickened—warm and damp, the kind of sticky humidity that clung to your skin and promised a storm before nightfall. Thunderhead clouds crawled along the horizon, low and brooding, casting a dull, silver-gray sheen across the plains. The sun was still above the trees, but the light had shifted. Softer. Dimmer. A warning.

Neteyam rode at the edge of the formation, his pa’li moving in smooth, quick strides through the tall grass. The riders flanked him, young warriors tense with anticipation, bows gripped in uncertain hands. They had followed the herd south, just as he predicted. The strumbeests had crossed the shallow riverbed and bedded briefly in the softer basin ground before moving again, likely stirred by the charged air.

It was Lo’ak who spotted them first—five thick-necked beasts, moving through a narrow glade beyond the last ridge. The warriors tightened ranks.

They split into pairs just as trained, two by two, fanning into a wide arc to push the herd back toward the clearing. It was a good plan—smart, simple. But the pa’li were nervous. The wind had shifted. Distant thunder cracked once above the trees.

The strumbeests sensed it too. The biggest one, a bull with jagged horns and a wide scar across its flank, reared back suddenly and broke into a charge before the others could react. It crashed through the shallows and made for the open field.

“Hold the formation!” Neteyam shouted.

But one of the younger pairs panicked. Their pa’li reared; their arrows loosed too soon. The beast took one in the shoulder—only a graze—but it was enough to enrage it.

It turned. Snorting. Charging straight at them. Neteyam was already moving. He spurred his mount and galloped low, weaving between riders. His bow was in hand before he even registered the motion.

He nocked an arrow. One breath.

The wind cut across his cheek.

Another breath.

The beast roared. He loosed.

The arrow struck deep, straight into the strumbeest’s chest right into its operculum. It stumbled, let out a terrible sound, then fell hard into the shallow creekbed with a splash of mud and water. Silence followed. Only the soft shuffle of hooves and the slow panting of the pa’li. Neteyam sat still for a moment, shoulders tense, bow still half-raised.

Then he exhaled. The warriors regrouped, their expressions sheepish, winded, wide-eyed. Lo’ak trotted up beside him, letting out a low whistle. “Well,” Lo’ak said, glancing at the fallen beast. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Neteyam didn’t respond right away. He looked back over the young hunters, watching them dismount, some already approaching the strumbeest to prepare the body for transport. When he finally spoke, it was with quiet conviction. “You held the line,” he said, turning toward them. “You didn’t run. You missed—but you tried. That’s what matters today.”

Some of them looked relieved. Others are embarrassed. But all nodded. “First time hunting from pa’li isn’t easy,” Neteyam added, quieter now. “You’ll do better next time.”

That earned him a few smiles. A few straighter backs. The mood lightened, if only a little, as the warriors set to work. The strumbeest was cleaned swiftly, tools pulled from saddlebags, hands practiced if not yet graceful. The smell of blood mixed with the coming rain.

Neteyam let his pa’li walk toward the edge of the clearing, where the creek still ran shallow and clear. He dismounted, stepping into the cool water, its surface rippling softly around his feet. He stood there for a long moment, the sky above beginning to change with the eclipse’s approach. The light was getting stranger now—dimmer, gold-tinged, almost dreamlike.

He looked down. Among the stones and moss, something caught his eye. A shimmer. He crouched, brushing water aside, and plucked the object from the streambed.

A stone—small, smooth, and iridescent. Its surface shimmered in the shifting light, catching greens and blues and soft, smoky purples. Not just light. Color. Like the glowing spores you were always chasing, laughing with that wild-eyed joy.

Neteyam turned it over in his fingers, frowning slightly, and then… a small smile tugged at his mouth. It would make a good pendant. A small one—simple. Nothing elaborate. But something he could shape with his hands. Something he could give you. Something only you would understand.

He imagined your reaction—eyebrows lifting, a laugh just under your breath, fingers brushing it like it was made of starlight. Maybe you'd tease him. Maybe you'd say something clever, something human. But you'd smile.

And he wanted that smile. That look. He slid the stone into the small pouch at his side, glancing skyward. The light had changed again. The first sliver of eclipse was creeping across the sun, shadows sharpening, strange and long.

You said they’d return before the eclipse. The xenobotany team had strict protocols—they had to be back before nightfall, before the storms, before the high-altitude winds made flying unsafe.

You promised. He reached up absently and touched the pouch again, grounding himself. You would be safe. You would come back. He would see you again—soon.

The storm cracked the sky in half.

Rain battered the canopy above, fat and warm, pouring in sheets against the woven walls of the kelku. Wind howled through the upper branches, shaking the structure with each gust, and thunder rolled so loud it made the bones in Neteyam’s chest rattle.

But he sat still.

The flickering firepit cast low light across the room, embers pulsing red and gold, shadows dancing up the curved wood beams. The flames guttered now and then when the wind snuck through a gap in the walls, sending sparks skittering across the floor. Beside him, a knife gleamed dull in the firelight, and scattered bones sat in a tidy pile, pale against the dark pelt beneath him.

In his palm lay the small iridescent stone. He turned it slowly between his fingers, watching how the firelight danced across it—blue, green, violet, a hint of silver. The color shimmered, ever-shifting like the sky at twilight. It reminded him of you. Of the way light clung to your skin when you leaned over your datapad, eyes half-lit with wonder. Of the way your smile always hit faster than your words.

Neteyam let the stone settle against his palm and reached out, grabbing a small curved knife from the floor near the hearth. Beside it, a bundle of thin, pale bones—sanded down, dried clean—lay wrapped in leather cord. Notched, old, but strong. He unwrapped them slowly, eyes flicking to the shadows cast by the lightning flashing through the walls. The fire hissed as it caught one of the storm’s exhalations.

He smiled.

He could already see how it would look—the stone wrapped tight with sinew, flanked by bone beads shaped with simple curves. Clean. Natural. Something for you alone.

You would fidget the moment he gave it to you. Look down at your hands, smile crooked, mutter something about how “you didn’t have to,” even while your fingers curled around it like it was the most precious thing you’d ever touched.

And then you’d wear it. Always. Just like you did with the bracelet he gave you half a year ago. You wore that bracelet like it was a badge. Like it connected you to something deeper than science.

To him.

He began to carve.

The knife moved easily—clean strokes shaving thin curls from the bone, his fingers steady despite the storm. Each small bead he shaped was smooth and purposeful, the rhythm of his work syncing with the fire’s crackle and the beat of rain above. Outside, thunder cracked again, and the whole kelku flashed with white light for a moment—then fell back into flickering amber.

The beads came slowly. One at a time. He lined them up beside the stone, imagining how they’d rest against your collarbone. His expression softened, pride flickering behind his focused eyes.

But as his hands worked, his thoughts wandered. To the flight earlier.

The storm hadn’t broken yet when they left. He’d returned from the hunt—drenched in sweat and the stink of blood but satisfied—and barely had time to drink before he was saddled again, flying into the darkening sky on his ikran beside his family.

Neytiri. Jake. Lo’ak. And him. The four of them had flown north as the first eclipse shadows stretched over the trees, their ikrans soaring low, wings skimming the high canopy. The forest grew stranger in the eclipse light—half-night, half-day, colors muted to bronze and gray, as if Eywa herself were holding her breath.

They reached the clearing in silence. And there it was. The unmistakable hulking mass of a dragon assault ship, half-buried in the tall grass. Its hull was scorched in places, but intact. Nearby, a Scorpion—parked for safety, rotors folded back. There were crates nearby. Scorch marks in the dirt. Trampled underbrush. All the signs of a deployment zone.

But no people. No movement. No sound. It was like they had landed… and vanished.

Neytiri had crouched at the edge of their perch, her entire body tense. She stared down at the ship with a look Neteyam had only seen once before.. Her voice, when she finally spoke, had been sharp as obsidian. “They are back. And they are close.”

Lo’ak hadn’t said anything. Neither had Jake. Not right away. The silence stretched, the only sound the distant churn of the approaching wind. Neteyam could still feel it—the pressure, the burn of it behind his ribs. They didn’t see a single human. But there had been movement recently. The soil told that story. So did the discarded wrappers, the markings on the crates. Tools and sealed gear. The kind no recon team left behind.

Neytiri had wanted to destroy the ships. Set fire to the clearing and let Eywa decide what remained. But Jake had held her back. “We don’t know why they’re here yet,” he’d said. “We don’t make the first move unless we have to.”

Neteyam hadn’t disagreed. But as he glanced at the empty ship, something inside him had turned cold.

Why now? Why so close?

And the look she gave those ships… Neteyam knew it by heart. Grief, buried under rage. She’d lost too much to sky people. She didn’t trust coincidence. And neither did he.

They’d left soon after, under strict silence, flying back into winds that threatened to tear them from the sky. Jake said he’d speak to Norm in the following, see if there were signs anyone had passed word of this movement. But Neteyam had his doubts.

Did Norm know? Did you?

He knew you didn’t lie well. If you'd known something this big, this dangerous, you would’ve told him. Wouldn’t you?

He carved another bead. This one thinner. Smoother.

His fingers moved faster now, catching the light as the beads began to stack beside him—each one small, perfect, shaped to slide on a leather cord. He had no design yet, not really. Just a feeling. Something that reminded him of the moments he treasured most: your hands brushing his as you passed tools, the way your eyes lit up under bioluminescence, the sound of your breath when you laughed in the quietest part of the forest.

Neteyam clenched his jaw and set down the bone shard he’d been carving. He picked up the iridescent stone again, turning it over in the firelight. Lightning flashed through the kelku, and for a breath, your face filled his mind—smiling, lit from below by a bioluminescent spore cluster, skin smudged with dirt and joy.

You were already back. Safe at the outpost. Behind its shields. Surrounded by Norm, Max, and the others. You were smart. Careful. And you never broke your word.

But the world was different now. He glanced toward the woven wall, where water slipped down the fibers. The sound of rain had changed—harsher now. As if the storm had teeth. The forest wasn’t just dangerous now. It was hunted.

And if the sky demons were moving again—if this was the start of something—he’d do anything to keep you from it. He set the stone carefully between the beads and reached for the knife again. The next bead would be smaller. Closer to the stone. Delicate, but strong.

Just like you.

The storm outside howled louder. But in the warmth of the kelku, surrounded by firelight and bone and purpose, Neteyam carved. And the gift he shaped was not just a pendant.

It was a promise. He’d see you again. And when he did—you’d wear this against your skin. And you’d smile.

It was bright. Too bright. The forest shimmered with golden sunlight pouring down through the thick canopy. Every leaf, every vine, every stone pulsed with life. The air was fresh and warm, the scents of flowers and damp earth so vivid he could almost taste them.

Neteyam moved through the trees with growing urgency, heart hammering against his ribs. He called out, but the sound of his voice was swallowed by the forest. Everywhere he looked, there was color—bright birds flickering through the trees, insects buzzing in lazy circles, the river ahead gleaming like a ribbon of light.

But you weren’t there.

He searched. He searched until the ground blurred under his feet and his breath came sharp and shallow. He checked the vines you liked to climb. The caves you liked to explore. The meadows you would lie down in just to watch the suns drift by overhead.

Nothing. You were nowhere. Panic gnawed at him. That cold, sharp panic he rarely let himself feel. Not in battle. Not in hunts. But now.

He was losing you. He staggered through another wall of green, nearly slipping in the wet moss—and stopped. There. By the creek.

Colourful fishes flitted around your fingers, nibbling curiously. You wiggled your fingers at them with a soft, delighted laugh, your hair falling in messy strands across your face. The sunlight kissed your skin, and for a moment, you seemed almost made of it.

Relief hit Neteyam so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. He exhaled, a raw, broken sound he barely recognized as his own, and started toward you. Of course you had wandered off. Of course you were chasing something curious and beautiful. It was who you were. And how could he ever stay mad at you for it?

He walked closer, the ground cool beneath his feet, his voice soft and cracking at the edges. “There you are,” he said.

You looked up at him, your face splitting into a huge, radiant grin. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight—alive, mischievous, full of everything he loved and everything that scared him to death.

Without a word, you pushed yourself upright and reached toward him with wet, dripping hands. Before he could react he was already leaning down to your level, your palms cupped his face—cold, slippery from the water—and he froze, wide-eyed. Your grin widened. “You found me,” you said, like it was the most obvious, wonderful thing in the world.

Neteyam swallowed, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders all at once. “I always will,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You laughed again, bright and easy, and gently dragged your thumbs across his cheeks, leaving damp streaks behind. “You were worried,” you teased, your eyes narrowing playfully.

He huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a groan. His hands lifted to cover yours, pressing your palms firmer against his face, grounding himself in the feel of you. “You don’t listen,” he muttered, his forehead brushing against yours as he closed his eyes. “You never listen.”

You only laughed again, tilting your face up so your mask bumped his head. “That’s why you love me.”

And Eywa help him, it was true. Neteyam exhaled against the glass panel, the warmth of your hands cradling his face still grounding him—when something shifted. He blinked.

And the world was no longer bathed in gold.

The sunlight vanished, swallowed by a heavy, oppressive darkness. A cold rain lashed against his skin, the roar of the storm all around him. The trees groaned under the weight of the wind, their branches thrashing like wounded creatures.

Neteyam realized he was crouched on a high branch, slick with rain, the bark beneath his hands cold and wet.

For a moment, disoriented, he looked around—searching, heart pounding against his ribs. Then he saw you. You were there, only a few feet away, clinging to the branch, your body trembling with cold and fear. Your hair, soaked and tangled, stuck to your mask and neck. Your clothes clung to your small frame, and you pressed yourself low against the bark as though trying to disappear into it.

Before he could call out, before he could even breathe your name, you turned your head sharply toward him, eyes wide with terror. You pressed your small fingers quickly to his lips, shaking your head with urgent ferocity.

Be quiet.

He froze instantly, obeying without question. Your lips trembled as you leaned in, close enough that he could just hear your whisper over the rain: “They’re here,” you breathed. “Viperwolves.”

Neteyam’s blood turned to ice.

Your eyes darted downward—and he followed your gaze. Far below, weaving through the underbrush like dark, restless shadows, the viperwolves prowled. Their sleek forms slithered through the misty forest floor, low to the ground, muscles rippling under soaked fur. Snarling. Sniffing the air.

Hunting.

Hunting you.

You pressed closer to him, your body rigid with fear. He could feel the way you shivered, not just from the cold—but from terror. Real, paralyzing fear. And Eywa, he had never seen you like this. Not you. Not the girl who laughed at storms and climbed higher than any scientist had any right to. Not the girl who would poke at a thanator’s pawprint just to marvel at how big it was.

He felt something hot coil inside him—a fierce, protective anger. His hand moved automatically, sliding down across his chest, fingers brushing the hilt of the knife strapped there. His instincts roared awake.

Protect. Shield. Fight if you must.

He leaned in closer, so their shoulders touched, so you could hear him even through the rain. His hand brushed lightly over your arm, steadying, grounding. “Hey,” he whispered, voice low and steady. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

You shook your head slightly, your wet hair clinging to your cheeks. “They’re hunting me. They followed me. I ran, but—”

“You did good,” he cut in gently. His hand pressed against the small of your back now, warm despite the rain. “You climbed. You got out of reach. That’s smart.” You blinked up at him. He could see the doubt, the terror clawing at you. He shook his head firmly. “I’m here now,” he said. “They won’t touch you. I swear.”

Slowly, very slowly, he moved his hand up and cupped the side of your head, shielding you from the worst of the rain, shielding you from the fear. Your forehead leaned instinctively into his palm, seeking the warmth and safety. “I will protect you, yawne,” he murmured. “Always.”

Another snarl echoed below—but Neteyam didn’t flinch. His whole focus narrowed to you—to the way you trembled under his hand, to the way your heart raced against his side. “We’ll wait,” he whispered. “Let the storm cover us. Then I’ll get you out. You trust me, yes?”

Your lower lip trembled, but you nodded. Pressed your forehead against his shoulder. Neteyam’s arms tightened around you instinctively. Nothing would take you from him. Not rain. Not fear. Not viperwolves. He closed his eyes, feeling your small form against him, the storm raging around them—but in the hollow space between you, there was something stronger. Something steady.

And he held onto that as he planned the way down—already thinking of how to move, how to shield you, how to make sure, no matter what, you would make it out safe. You were his to protect. And he would never let you fall.

Neteyam woke with a sharp breath, like he had surfaced from deep water.

For a moment, he just sat there in the dim morning light, blinking blearily at the woven ceiling of the kelku, his heart still pounding dully in his chest. The storm had passed sometime during the night; he could hear the steady drip-drip of rainwater sliding from the leaves outside, the soft hum of the waking village in the distance.

He dragged a hand over his face, his palm rough against the skin still damp with sweat. The dream still clung to him—sticky, heavy, colder than anything he'd ever dreamt of you before.

Normally, dreams of you were warm, sweet things. Quiet laughter. Whispered words. The soft brush of your fingertips against his chest. Sometimes, dreams he woke from with his cheeks burning, your smile flashing in his mind like a secret only he was allowed to carry.

But this... This had been different. Dark. Terrifying in a way that gnawed at his gut even now. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the tight knot of unease coiled low in his belly. It was just a dream. Nothing more. You were safe. You were fine.

Probably hadn’t slept all night, though, he thought with a small, dry smirk. He could practically picture you now: bouncing from workstation to workstation at the outpost, hair a mess, goggles pushed up onto your forehead, muttering rapid-fire notes into your recorder as you tested the new spore samples the xenobotany team had pulled from the pit.

You lived for discovery. You never slowed down. And Eywa, he loved you for it. Even if you wore yourself to the bone sometimes. You never could resist new samples. He chuckled under his breath. His relentless, unstoppable little human.

He sat up slowly on the edge of his pelt, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. Already, his thoughts were drifting to you—how your face would light up when you explained some new discovery, how your hands would wave wildly as you tried to describe some chemical reaction that made absolutely no sense to him but sounded beautiful all the same because it was you saying it.

He missed you. Even though he had seen you the morning before. Even though it hadn't even been a full day. He missed you enough that a new idea slipped into his mind, quiet but insistent. I should see her tonight.

The thought settled there like a promise. He would find an excuse to slip away after the evening duties. Maybe just watch you work and listen to your ramble yourself into laughter. Anything. He just needed to see you. To remind himself you were real and alive and safe.

Just as Neteyam started to push himself up from his pelt, thinking about slipping away quietly to start his day before anyone could catch him, a soft sound made him stiffen — the faint swish of vines parting.

He looked up sharply.

At the entrance to his kelku stood Neytiri, her silhouette outlined in the pale morning light. Her expression was calm. Too calm. Neteyam immediately felt the tension return, settling deep in his spine like a coil ready to snap.

“Ma’itan,” Neytiri said, stepping lightly into the room.  It wasn’t a mother checking on her son. It was the Olo’eyktan’s mate arriving with duty. Expectation.

He said nothing. He only straightened where he sat, waiting.

"You will go with Sa’nari today," Neytiri said without ceremony. No greeting. No kindness to soften the blow. Just the words, heavy as stones.

Sa’nari. Another one of the “chosen” girls. A skilled healer, yes. Gentle, wise, kind — all the things a good tsahìk might look for in the future mate of an Olo’eyktan. Exactly the kind of girl his mother and grandmother would favor. Exactly the kind of girl that wasn't you.

Neteyam blinked slowly at her, forcing himself to stay still when every part of him wanted to groan, flop backward into his pelt, and will himself into nonexistence. Eywa help him, he had barely survived yesterday being paraded around like a prize calf for K’shi—and now this?

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at her, jaw clenching tighter. Neytiri stepped inside a little, her expression softening just barely. "Sa’nari is skilled," she said, as if that explained everything. "A healer. Gentle, but strong. Mo'at sent her to gather herbs today by the western basin. The creek." Her eyes met his pointedly. "You will go with her." A pause. "Guard her. Learn from her. Know her."

Neteyam’s fists curled against his thighs. He knew better than to speak quickly—but the words came out anyway, sharper than he meant. "I don’t want to go."

Neteyam stared at his mother, a muscle ticking in his jaw. But Neytiri’s gaze pinned him where he sat. Calm. Expectant. Unyielding. She wasn’t asking. She stepped closer, folding her hands neatly. “She needs protection.” Her tone shifted slightly, almost too casual. “And... time to be known. To you.”

Neteyam let his head fall back slightly, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Of course. Of course it wasn’t just about guarding. It was another push. Another quiet pressure disguised as duty. He fought the heavy sigh rising in his chest. “I have patrols,” he said tightly. “Lo’ak can go with her.”

“Lo’ak is needed elsewhere,” Neytiri said swiftly. “You are free this afternoon.”

He gave her a look — flat and unamused. “Mother—”

She lifted her hand in a quiet but firm motion. “You already hurt K’shi’s feelings yesterday,” Neytiri said, her voice sharper now. “You will not behave like a reckless boy again. You are a grown man, Neteyam. Start acting like one.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because they were the same ones Jake always used too, whenever he wanted to twist the knife deeper. Grown man. But still being told who to speak with. Who to walk with. Who to consider worthy.

Neytiri turned away before he could say anything more, already moving toward the kelku’s entrance with the quiet, predatory grace that she carried everywhere. “This is not about what you want,” she said over her shoulder, soft but cutting. “It is about what you owe to your people.”

Neteyam looked away, jaw clenching, fighting the urge to argue—to shout. To say that the only hands he wanted to hold were already too small, too human, too forbidden. That the only future he could picture smelled like earth and lab-ink and laughter.

Instead, he said nothing. He just stared at the floor until Neytiri sighed quietly. "You will go," she said, final and heavy.

Before she slipped through the hanging vines, Neytiri’s voice floated back to him, quieter now, but still unrelenting. “She leaves within the hour. Meet her by the eastern path.”

And then she was gone. The kelku was silent again, except for the steady drip of water from the leaves outside. Neteyam sat there, unmoving, for a long moment. Eywa, he wanted to scream. Instead, he dragged both hands down his face, groaning low into his palms. Another wasted day. Another charade. Another moment spent pretending he didn’t already know where his heart belonged.

And it wasn't with Sa’nari. It was with the small, stubborn, relentless human who was probably covered in soil and glowing spores at that very moment, laughing to herself in a lab somewhere far too close to danger. Neteyam dropped his hands into his lap, exhaling hard.

Fine. He would go. He would guard Sa’nari. He would play the good son. The good warrior. The good heir. And then, when it was done, when he could finally slip away into the cover of night—he would find you.

He would find you, and maybe—just maybe—he could finally breathe again.

The scent of crushed herbs and damp moss filled Mo’at’s tent, rich and grounding. Bundles of dried roots hung from the ceiling, swaying gently with the morning breeze, their shadows dancing across the floor. The old tsahìk sat near the hearth, her fingers busy weaving a new binding cord from thin, water-soaked reeds. Her movements were slow, methodical—yet even in her stillness, her presence commanded the air like a quiet storm.

Neteyam stood at the edge of the space, tense and unblinking. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “You know.”

Mo’at didn’t look up, but the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth told him she’d been expecting this conversation. “I know many things, ma’itan,” she said evenly.

“You know about her.” He stepped forward, not angry—yet—but tight with confusion. With frustration. “You know what she means to me. You’ve helped us meet here. You said her learning from you gave her a reason to stay in the village at night.” He gestured around the tent, to the walls where his human had sat cross-legged for hours beside the old tsahìk, soaking up knowledge like the forest soaked rain. “You said—”

“I said it made sense,” Mo’at interrupted gently. “Not that it would last forever.”

Neteyam’s mouth opened, then closed. His hands moved unconsciously to the stone in his fingers—the iridescent one from the creek. It had been resting in his palm without him realizing since he left his kelku, shifting slowly between his thumb and forefinger as if it had grown attached to his skin.

Mo’at’s eyes followed the movement, her gaze landing on the stone for only a second before she resumed her weaving. “She will not be harmed,” she said softly, as if sensing the darker thread beneath his words. “Not by me. Not by this.” Then her eyes lifted again, sharper now. “But your mother is not so patient. And she sees your future clearly, as I once did with hers.”

“That’s the problem,” Neteyam muttered, jaw clenched. “She sees a future. Not my future.”

Mo’at set the half-finished cord aside and leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “You are not wrong to feel it,” she said. “But you are wrong to think you can ignore it. Your mother… does not yet understand how deep your bond runs.” Her eyes met his squarely. “But she fears losing you. To a path she does not know.”

Neteyam looked down again, his grip tightening slightly on the stone. His chest felt too small. The air too thick. “So I just go?” he said. “Pretend? Smile? Spend the day walking beside someone I don’t want, when the only person I—”

“—is probably halfway through cataloguing a leaf sample and humming to herself,” Mo’at said mildly, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Neteyam blinked. He couldn’t help it. His lips twitched. Just barely.

Mo’at smiled. “Then make this journey useful,” she said, gesturing toward his hand. “You will walk by the creek, yes? The vines there hang strong. Good for bindings.” She nodded toward the stone. “That one would suit a thread of river-hanger vine. Smooth. Durable. Fitting for something meant to last.”

Neteyam stared down at the little stone in his palm, light dancing across its surface in soft hues of purple and blue.

Mo’at leaned forward slightly, voice dropping low, wise and wicked all at once. “Gather what you need. Pretend for your mother’s sake. But weave your own path, ma’itan. Quietly, if you must.” She smiled, eyes gleaming. “Even a Tsahìk cannot bind the heart.” Mo’at's voice was gentler now, like wind brushing over leaves.

“You do not have to give them your heart, ma’itan. But you do have to give them your presence. For now.”

He swallowed thickly. “And after?”

Mo’at only smiled again. “After? You will return to the outpost. And someone very small and very stubborn will probably throw herself at you the moment you step through the door.”

Neteyam barked a quiet laugh, low in his throat.

Mo’at’s smile turned sly. “And you may give her that stone. And perhaps she will kiss you. And perhaps your mother will still be angry, but perhaps… that kiss will be enough for a little while longer.”

He closed his fingers around the stone, warm now from his touch. “I hate this.”

“No,” Mo’at said, rising to her feet slowly. “You just love. And love is always heavier than duty.”

Neteyam stood silent for a moment longer, the stone clutched in his palm like an anchor. Then, reluctantly, he nodded once and turned to go. Outside, the path toward Sa’nari waited. But so did the creek. So did the vines. And later—so did you.

The forest was quiet in that damp, post-storm way—leaves heavy with lingering droplets, the underbrush glistening under the muted morning sun. Birds chirped high in the canopy, but otherwise, the air felt still. Waiting.

Neteyam walked behind Sa’nari in near silence, his steps measured, his bow strapped loosely across his back. The light played across her shoulders as she moved, her braid trailing down the center of her back, her satchel bouncing softly against her hip with each step.

She was speaking softly to herself as they went, fingers brushing certain plants, occasionally pausing to tug a leaf or run her thumb across a petal. Her hands were deft—gentle but sure. Trained. She didn’t fumble or hesitate. Every movement had purpose.

She had always been like that, even as a child. Smart. Precise. Focused. She finally broke the silence after they passed a patch of sun-drenched ferns. Her voice was soft, careful. “You do not have to look so tense, Neteyam. I will not bite.”

He huffed a small breath through his nose—not quite a laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Sa’nari nodded slowly. “Storm?”

“Something like that,” he said, eyes flicking ahead toward the path, unwilling to give more.

They walked for a while longer in quiet, the creek now murmuring somewhere ahead, just past a dip in the terrain. Birds rustled through the canopy. The wind carried the scent of water. “I heard the hunt was a success,” Sa’nari said lightly. “Even if some of the younger ones panicked.”

He allowed a small smile. “They’ll learn. They did well enough.”

She glanced at him sidelong, her eyes sharp and warm all at once. “You sound like your father when you say that.”

Neteyam grimaced slightly. “Let’s hope not too much.”

That made her laugh softly. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she walked—a quiet confidence in her, not unlike Kiri’s, though less wild, more restrained. Everything about her was composed. She reached out to pluck a sprig of redroot from the moss, tucking it neatly into her pouch. “I’ve gathered here many times,” she said, “but it’s nice to have someone with me this time.”

Neteyam offered a noncommittal sound.

“Redroot, five clusters,” she murmured now, mostly to herself. “Three more of the silvercap. And I’ll need river moss if it’s still holding—” She paused, then glanced back at him, eyes shy but bright. “You can tell your mother I am not wasting the day,” she said with a faint, sheepish smile. “Mo’at will have more than enough herbs when we return.”

Neteyam gave a quiet huff, not quite a laugh. “She doesn’t think you’d waste it.”

Sa’nari smiled again and turned back toward the creek. They kept walking for a while, the sunlight filtering through in soft shafts, their shadows stretching long. Eventually, she slowed as they reached the low western basin, where vines hung down in heavy coils from the upper branches and the water ran cool and shallow. Dragonflies buzzed lazily along the surface, their wings catching in the light.

Sa’nari knelt beside a patch of flowering reedgrass and began to work, carefully clipping stems and tucking them into her pouch.

Neteyam stood nearby, gaze drifting to the vines overhead. River-hanger. Just as Mo’at said. His fingers itched slightly.

But then Sa’nari spoke again, her voice quiet. “You’ve changed, Neteyam.”

He looked at her slowly. “How?”

“You’re quieter now,” she said without turning. “Heavier.”

He didn’t answer. Not immediately. It was the kind of observation only someone who’d known him a long time could make. And Sa’nari had. She’d been there since they were children—never loud, never pushy. Just always there. A quiet presence in the village. The girl who knew how to stop a bleeding wound faster than most warriors could draw a bow.

She gathered a bundle of moss into her palm and stood, brushing her fingers together. “Your mother wants what’s best for you,” she said gently. “We all do.”

He turned to look at her fully then. And she met his eyes. Sa’nari glanced at him again. This time, her eyes lingered. He knew that look. Longing. Quiet, hopeful longing.

He had seen it a hundred times before, in so many girls’ eyes. He’d caught them watching him across the hearth fires, smiling too brightly during training, lingering too long during blessings. At first, he hadn’t known what to do with it. Now… now he just felt tired.

Because he knew the truth. Knew how cruel it was. Sa’nari would make a wonderful mate. Any warrior would be proud to walk beside her. But she would never have his heart.

Because someone else already held it. And Sa’nari didn’t even know she’d never had a chance. “I’m glad to have your company,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “Truly.”

He swallowed, the weight of her sincerity pressing heavily in his chest. “You’re easy to walk with,” he said honestly. “That’s a gift.” Her smile flickered, then steadied.

They reached the creek shortly after, the water trickling over smooth stones, reeds swaying gently at the banks. Sa’nari moved to the edge without hesitation, beginning her work—snipping, sorting, murmuring the names of each plant she gathered.

Neteyam stepped away slightly, eyes scanning the trees, but really… he was searching the vines. His hand slipped to his pouch. The stone waited there, quiet and warm.

He would find the right one. A strong, supple strand of river-hanger vine. Enough to cradle the stone, to let it rest where it belonged—over your heart. He moved silently along the edge of the creek, scanning, gathering, his fingers brushing over the vines one by one. And as he worked, the ache in his chest softened slightly.

Because he wasn’t just here to follow orders. He was weaving something of his own.

Neteyam knelt some paces away, his fingers brushing over the heavy strands of river-hanger vine dangling from the branches. He tugged gently on a few, testing their strength, his mind already moving through the steps. The stone in his pouch would hang best from something soft and braided. He could reinforce the base with fine leather, maybe add some carved bone or seed beads to make it more personal. She liked when things told stories. Maybe he’d carve a small pa’li figure, or a little sprig of that glowing fern she’d once fallen in love with. His lips twitched faintly at the thought.

“You’re making something,” Sa’nari said suddenly, her voice calm but perceptive.

Neteyam froze just briefly, then resumed his work. “Maybe,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “Something for someone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a soft grunt that could’ve meant anything. She smiled faintly to herself and stood, brushing the dirt from her knees and moving toward another patch of herbs. “Can I ask you something?”

Neteyam glanced up, wary but open. “You can.”

Sa’nari’s fingers hovered over a cluster of blossom-fronds before she spoke. “Do you ever wish… someone else could choose for you?” Her voice was soft. Unassuming. But the words carried weight.

Neteyam straightened slowly, letting the vine fall from his fingers. “No,” he said. “I think… I’ve always known what I want.”

Her back remained to him, but he could see the stillness in her spine. “That’s rare.”

He considered her carefully, then asked, “And you? Did you ever love someone? Or did you just wait… for your parents to choose for you?”

She turned then, her eyes thoughtful and open. “I used to think I would wait,” she said. “Until someone was chosen for me. It seemed easier. Simpler. But…” She gave a small shrug. “I learned that simple things don’t always feel right.”

Neteyam looked away, down at the vines, at the way they curled like veins along the branch. “You’re kind,” he said after a moment. “Gentle. If you wanted to be chosen… you would be.”

Sa’nari smiled faintly. “Maybe I was.” Her gaze was steady. Not pressing. Not accusing. Just honest. “But sometimes I think we are all just trying to be someone our families can be proud of. Even if it means hurting ourselves a little.”

The words settled in him with an uncomfortable truth. Sa’nari knelt again to gather a flowering stalk, but her voice carried across the hush between them. “I’ve seen the way you walk with humans. How you speak with them. The way they trust you.”

Neteyam blinked, glancing back toward her.

“I think your father must be proud,” she continued, “that you never turned bitter. That you never resented those who were worthy of our respect—even if they shared blood with those who hurt us.”

Neteyam’s fingers curled unconsciously around the vines in his hand. He thought of you.

Of how you always apologized for things you never did. Of how you looked at Pandora like it was a sacred book, not a prize. Of how your hands trembled the first time you touched a glowing tree and whispered, “I don’t want to break anything.”

You were human. But you had never been a sky demon to him. You were his little star. And stars, he thought, don’t destroy. They guide. “They’re not all the same,” he murmured finally, voice low. “She never hurt anything,” he murmured under his breath, not even realizing he said it aloud.

Sa’nari tilted her head slightly, but said nothing. Just listened. After a while, she smiled. Soft. Knowing. “You will be a wise leader, Neteyam,” she said. “When your time comes.” He looked at her, caught off guard. “You carry many things quietly,” she added. “And you do not speak hate, even when your heart is torn.” After a moment, she said, “Your father must be proud of you.”

Neteyam huffed a breath, not quite agreeing, but not willing to argue.

The path back to the village was quieter than the one they had taken out.

The basket slung over Neteyam’s shoulder was heavier than it looked—overflowing with herbs, moss, and flowering stalks, the day’s careful work bundled tight. Sa’nari walked a few steps ahead, her pace light despite the long hours, her head tilted slightly as if still listening to the songs of the forest.

Neteyam didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t awkward, just… still. Like the earth had settled again after the storm. As they passed under the heavier canopy near the village’s outskirts, he felt it. A gaze. Heavy, focused. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. Still, he glanced once—and immediately regretted it.

Neytiri stood just beyond the main clearing, near the tsahìk’s tent. Her posture was proud, her arms folded loosely over her chest, her head tilted in that quiet, pleased way that said she was already imagining the future—one where he and Sa’nari stood together, mated under the eyes of Eywa, strong leaders for the Omatikaya.

Neteyam turned his head away sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He didn’t want to see that look. Not when it wasn’t meant for the life he wanted. They reached the slope where the healers’ supplies were sorted, and Sa’nari slowed, finally turning to face him. She reached out carefully, taking the heavy basket from him with a small, grateful nod. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For today.”

Neteyam managed a small, genuine smile. “You didn’t really need guarding.”

“No,” she agreed easily, adjusting the basket against her hip. “But it was still... better. Having someone there.”

He inclined his head slightly. At least, he thought privately, she hadn’t been as pushy as K’shi. Sa’nari had let the day breathe. Let the spaces between words stretch comfortably. That counted for something. He turned to go, but her next words stopped him.

“I’m grateful you walked with me,” she said, her voice lower now, almost hesitant. “Even though your heart is already... elsewhere.”

Neteyam froze, blinking once. He almost did a double take—almost stumbled.

He turned slowly to look at her. Sa’nari only smiled up at him, shy but calm. No accusation. No anger. Just a quiet understanding. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Neteyam,” she said with a soft chuckle, her eyes bright with kindness. “Whoever she is… she must be very special.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure what to say. His hand twitched at his side, almost reaching instinctively for the small stone still tucked safely in his pouch.

Sa’nari’s smile softened further, and she stepped past him, the basket swinging gently at her side. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said lightly over her shoulder. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Neteyam watched her go for a moment—watched the way she disappeared into the crowd gathering near the healers’ tents—before finally exhaling.

The knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. She understood. More than he had given her credit for.

And even though the path laid out for him still felt impossibly narrow, impossibly sharp, at least there was someone else who knew he was already walking another one. Quietly. Stubbornly. Truly.

For you. Always for you.

Neteyam turned away from the gathering crowd, slipping quietly back toward the edges of the village, where the trees grew thick and the sky opened wide.

Tonight, he would find you. Tonight, he would slip through the outpost’s barriers, find the light in your window. And maybe—maybe—he could hold you again and remember that, no matter what the world tried to make of him, he was still yours. Yours first.

Yours always.

Later that night, after the suns dipped low beyond the treeline and the village fires began to burn soft and golden, Neteyam found Lo’ak lingering near the kelku.

He moved quickly, keeping his voice low. "If anyone asks," he said, tightening the strap on his bow, "tell them I'm on patrol."

Lo’ak turned, catching the tone immediately. “To her?” he asked, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.

Neteyam gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t deny it. “If anyone asks, I’m on patrol.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, but there was understanding in them. “They always ask. Especially Mom.”

“Then lie better,” Neteyam muttered.

Lo’ak sighed, raising his hands. “Fine. You’re deep in the southern trail. Dangerous patrol. Very heroic.” Lo’ak smirked, flicking a pebble into the ring. “You’re getting worse at sneaking out, you know.”

Neteyam just raised a brow. “You gonna rat me out?”

“Please. I’ll say you were wrestling a palulukan bare-handed if it helps,” Lo’ak grinned. “Tell her I said hi. And not to throw you out if you fall asleep mid-sentence again.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes but gave him a quiet, grateful nod. “Irayo.”

He turned and made his way to the high perch just beyond the village, where the ikran rested. His bonded mount, Tawkami, raised his head the moment he approached, eyes bright with recognition. He let out a sharp, echoing chirp, already rising to his feet and shaking out his wings. Neteyam reached up to press his forehead against his, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You can feel it too, can’t you?”

He warbled low, nuzzling against him with excitement. The bond snapped into place with ease, tsaheylu weaving their thoughts together. Tawkami’s wings lifted with anticipation.

They launched into the sky together, slicing through the rising winds. The world stretched beneath them in darkness and silver moonlight, but Neteyam’s heart was steady. He knew exactly where he was going. The anticipation of seeing you again, of slipping into the quiet safety of your light and your laugh, filled him with something electric.

He hadn’t seen you in almost two days. And even though that wasn’t unusual for you—especially during sample analysis—it had still gnawed at him all day. He needed to see you. Hear your voice.

But when he reached the outpost, it was not the calm haven he had imagined. As the outpost came into view—a small glint of artificial light tucked between the trees—he felt the anticipation swell. Tawkami descended in a tight spiral, and Neteyam leaned into her rhythm, expecting quiet. Calm. Maybe your soft humming from inside the lab tent.

But something was wrong. The outpost wasn’t silent. It wasn’t calm.

The floodlamps along the wall were on, buzzing faintly in the humidity. The front gate was open, the interior glow flickering through the plastic panels of the lab’s main structure. But more than that—Neteyam’s eyes narrowed as he landed beside the Samson.

Its engine was still warm. Freshly used.

He ran a hand along the metal, frowning. That ship had returned with the xenobotany team just yesterday. If they were testing samples, they wouldn’t be flying again. They had protocols. Safety rules.

Why had it been used?

He dismounted in one swift motion, his instincts sharpening as his boots touched the packed soil. Tawkami shifted behind him, feathers twitching as she sensed his tension. Neteyam stepped into the main yard—and that’s when he saw them.

Norm. Max. Brian. Kate. And few other scientist whose names he didn't bother to remember.

All in full field gear—vests, boots, packs still strapped across their backs. They stood around one of the large plant containers near the far wall, a datapad held between them, its screen glowing faintly with a map.

A map of the mining zone. They didn’t look up right away. But Neteyam saw their faces—drawn tight with stress, eyes shadowed, clothes rumpled like they hadn’t slept in two days.

And she was nowhere. His chest went still. Cold. At first he thought—maybe she’s inside. Maybe she's working late again. Maybe— But then Max turned. Saw him.

And froze.

That look.

Neteyam knew it instantly. Something happened. He took three steps forward, voice low but hard. “Where is she?”

Norm looked up then, his face pale, jaw tight. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a beat. Neteyam’s heart thundered in his chest. “Where is she?” he demanded again, louder now.

Norm exchanged a glance with Max. Kate stepped back slightly, rubbing at her brow. Brian whispered something under his breath. Something that sounded like “shit.”

Neteyam’s stomach dropped. “She’s inside… is she?” he said, even though he already knew the answer.

No one spoke. Not yet. The only sound was the quiet hum of the datapad and the soft, electric whine of tension rising in his blood. Then Max finally stepped forward, slowly. “Neteyam,” he said, voice low, careful. “We need to talk.”

The world tilted. Cold and sharp. And Neteyam already knew:You were gone. And he had no idea where.

Kate was the first to break the silence. “You should’ve come earlier!” she snapped, voice sharp with frustration and something deeper—fear, maybe. “Maybe then we could’ve found her!”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”

But Kate didn’t stop. Her words tumbled out too fast, like she’d been holding them in for hours. “We waited too long. We split up twice. The ridge was already washed out by the time we circled back, and then we couldn’t pick up any signal—not from her tag, not from the datapad. That fucking flux vortex… If you were here—if you’d just come earlier—”

“What do you mean find her?” Neteyam asked, the word catching in his throat. His voice was low, dangerous, but laced with disbelief. “Why would you need to find her?”

His breath was shallow now. In his mind, up until this moment, you were safe. You were in the outpost. You were maybe inside the lab, maybe reading, maybe sketching those new plant samples you found. You were waiting for him.

But the way they looked at him told him otherwise. He turned to Norm, needing to hear something—anything—different.

The man had known him since he was a baby. He’d patched his wounds, watched him take his first steps, taught him human words when Jake had refused. He had never looked at Neteyam with fear.

Until now. His lips parted. “Neteyam…” Norm said gently, like one might speak to a wounded animal. “She disappeared.”

The words didn’t land at first. Didn’t make sense.

“Disappeared?” Neteyam echoed, the syllables dull and foreign on his tongue. “No. She’s not—she wouldn’t—she was supposed to be here.”

“She went missing yesterday,” Max said, quietly stepping in. „But it was already near eclipse, and the storm rolled in faster than expected. We stayed until we couldn’t see anymore. We searched for hours.”

“You left her?” Neteyam growled, his voice raw now, cracked wide open.

Max stepped forward, raising his hands. “We didn’t want to—Neteyam, listen. We stayed as long as we could. But visibility dropped to nothing, and the eclipse was setting in fast. The storm was—”

“You LEFT her!” Neteyam shouted now, taking a step toward them.

“We marked the area!” Brian snapped back, frustrated. “We left signal markers! We planned to return at first light!”

“And what did you find?” Neteyam hissed.

The silence that followed was the worst part. Nothing. No one looked at him. Max rubbed his temples. “The rain washed everything. No tracks. No trail. No broken brush. Her comm is dead. Or damaged. We don't know.”

Neteyam’s chest heaved. His breath burned in his lungs. You weren’t here. You haven't been here since yesterday. You were out there. In the forest. Near the old mining zone. You had been out there during the eclipse. Alone. During the storm. During the night. And he—he had spent that night thinking you were safe, warm, maybe curled up with your datapad and tea.

But now—now he remembered the dream. You, trembling, soaked, clinging to a high branch in a blackened forest, lightning flashing around you. He thought it was just guilt. A stupid dream. He wanted it to be just a dream. But now— Now it felt like truth. You were still out there. His mate. You were still out there. “I’m going after her.” His voice was low, guttural. He turned on his heel.

“No, Neteyam, wait,” Norm stepped in front of him. “It’s dangerous. There’s another storm rolling in tonight.”

“I don’t care.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll find her.”

“You can’t see anything out there in the dark,” Max said. “We can barely navigate that terrain in daylight, even with scanners.”

Neteyam was already moving toward Tawkami, who growled low as if sensing his rider’s boiling fury.

“Neteyam!” Kate shouted. “If you get lost too, what good does that do her?”

“I won’t get lost!” he snapped. “I know that forest. Better than any of you. I know the pit. I know how the water runs.”

“But you can’t help her if you’re dead,” Norm said firmly, stepping between him and the ikran. “You go out there now, in this storm, in the dark, we may lose both of you.”

Silence followed that. Tawkami hissed softly behind him, restless. His heart roared in his ears. His whole body was screaming to move. But Norm stood there like stone. Unmoving. Max beside him, rain starting to tap on the Samson’s hull. The others watched, hollow-eyed.

Neteyam's breath came hard. He hated it. Hated waiting. But some small part of him—buried under the panic—knew they were right. Still, he turned his back on them and walked several paces away, just far enough to breathe, to feel the air against his skin.

“She was alone,” he whispered, barely audible. “All night.” No one answered. The wind picked up again, as if the forest itself mourned with him. And in his heart, something curled—tight, angry, and aching. Because waiting might be wise. But every second was agony.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain beginning to pick up again—slow, steady drops on the metal roof of the outpost. The tension in the air was thick, almost electric, like a storm itself was standing in the room with them.

Then, from behind the group, a quiet voice broke through. “She didn’t have anything with her,” Raj said. His voice was small, almost hesitant. Neteyam turned slowly. His stare locked onto Raj’s like a spear thrown mid-flight. “Just… just her satchel. And a field knife. That’s it.” His voice cracked. “We thought… in the morning, with the storm and all—”

Kate hissed, “Raj, shut up—”

But it was too late. The words had already landed like knives in Neteyam’s chest. His vision tunneled. He stepped toward Raj slowly, his entire frame radiating something primal. The heat of fury rolled off him like smoke, barely contained. The others tensed as his shadow fell over the smaller man. “You thought you’d find her corpse?” Neteyam repeated, voice deathly calm.

Raj paled. Kate whipped around to stare at Raj. “You fucking idiot! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Raj flinched, clutching his side. “I didn’t mean—I was just saying—”

Neteyam was already walking toward them. His face was unreadable, but the way he moved—deliberate, quiet—set the hairs on Max’s arms on end. His eyes locked on Raj, dark and wild like a brewing storm. “Say one more thing,” Neteyam said lowly, his voice like thunder before the strike. “Say one more word that implies she’s dead.”

Raj swallowed, suddenly very aware that Neteyam, standing tall and furious, was ten feet of trained warrior who could break him in half without even trying. “You thought you’d find her body?” His voice was so quiet it was nearly a growl. “So you left her out there. You left her—with nothing but a knife—while the storm was coming.”

Max tried to step in, his hands raised. “Neteyam, listen, we—”

“No,” he snapped. “You listen. If anything happens to her—” he jabbed a finger at the group, his chest rising and falling with fury “—if she’s hurt, or worse, because you left her out there… I will make every single one of you regret the day you set foot in our forest.”

His voice dipped lower, deadly calm.

“I’ll burn this outpost to the ground. I’ll drag each of you into the forest and leave you to survive with just a knife. I don’t care what deal my father made. I don’t care about your research. If she dies—your lives mean nothing to me.”

The group fell silent. Pale.

“You think you’re here because Eywa allows it?” Neteyam’s voice rose like thunder, snapping around them like a whip. “You live in our forest because my People lets you. Because we chose to trust you.”

He pointed sharply toward the map still glowing on the datapad. “You call yourselves scientists, protectors of life—but you left one of your own behind.”

Even Norm took a step back, his hands half-raised, trying to de-escalate. “Neteyam, I get it—she’s important to you,” he said carefully. “But threatening us won’t help her.”

Neteyam bared his teeth—not in a snarl, but something close, his tail lashing behind him. “You think this is me losing control? You haven’t seen what happens if I do.”

Raj looked like he wanted to disappear. Brian wouldn't even meet his eyes.

“We did what we could,” Max insisted, voice tense. “We stayed as long as we could. We waited as long as we—”

“You’ve done nothing!” he shouted.

The air went dead quiet. Even the machines around them felt silent.

Neteyam loomed over them, muscles tight, his chest rising and falling like a warrior before battle. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Couldn’t. The only image in his head was you—cold, trembling, bleeding maybe, hiding from viperwolves or worse. Maybe still curled on a high branch, like in his dream. Maybe already—

No.

No.

“You think scanning empty ground and waiting till morning counts as doing something?” Neteyam hissed. “She’s not a sample. She’s not data. She’s my mate.”

The silence that followed was stunned. Max’s mouth parted slightly. Brian swallowed hard. Even Kate looked like she’d been slapped. Norm’s expression changed. Not surprise—but realization. Quiet and heavy. Finally, without another word, Neteyam turned, storming toward Tawkami.

“Where are you going?!” Kate called after him, but he didn’t answer.

Tawkami crouched low at the signal, sensing his rider’s fury like a second skin. As soon as Neteyam swung into the saddle, the ikran launched upward in a burst of wings and wind, scattering dust and fear in every direction.

The outpost vanished beneath him like a bad dream. But the fire stayed. The forest was vast, and yes—he could search alone. He would search alone. All night if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He needed help. Real help. His family.

Kiri could hear through the forest better than anyone he knew. And Lo’ak—Lo’ak would fly through a hurricane if he thought it would help Neteyam find her. He tightened his grip on the harness, heart hammering.

The woven walls of the kelku were bathed in a flickering gold from the fire pit outside, but Neteyam didn’t feel the warmth. His steps were sharp, restless, pacing tight lines across the floor as he moved back and forth between his storage chest and the saddle pack laid out on the mat.

Bow. Quiver. Rope. Flint knife. Water skin. Another blade strapped across his lower back.  Everything he could possibly need—and none of it would be enough. He dropped a folded tarp into the pack and buckled it shut just as the flap at the entrance rustled open.

Footsteps sounded behind him—quick and uneven. Lo’ak. “Bro, I thought you’d be back at dawn,” he said, pushing aside the kelku’s curtain with a lazy grin. “What, she kick you out this time or—”

He stopped dead when he saw Neteyam’s face. The smile fell off his mouth instantly. Neteyam didn’t even look up. Just secured the pack with a tight pull and dropped it near the door. “She’s not at the outpost,” he said, voice hollow and flat.

Lo’ak’s brows pulled together. “Wait—what?”

Neteyam finally turned, his eyes sharp, glowing like coals beneath the low firelight. “She went missing yesterday. During the field run.” His jaw flexed. “They lost her. Eclipse was setting in. Storm was rolling. They left her.”

Lo’ak’s eyes widened, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “What do you mean, left her?”

“I mean she never came back. And they abandoned the search after dark.”

Lo’ak stared at him, stunned—then his hands curled into fists. “Eywa…” he muttered. “And you didn’t kill them?”

“Not yet.”

Lo’ak looked at the pack, then at Neteyam’s gear. His brother. Always calm. Always in control. But now? He looked like a blade waiting to snap. “Who else knows?” Lo’ak asked.

“No one,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. And I want to keep it that way—for now.” He stepped forward, grip tightening on his bow.

Lo’ak stood frozen for half a second—then swore under his breath and stepped inside. “Eywa. Are you—shit. That’s why you’re back. You wanna go after her.”

Neteyam nodded once. “I need someone I can trust with this.” He grabbed the pack again and slung it over his shoulder. “Where’s Kiri?”

Lo’ak didn’t hesitate. “Still in the healer’s tent. She was helping Grandmother with the vision sap harvest.”

“Good. Get her.” Neteyam glanced up sharply. “We need her. You know how she hears things—how she feels things. She’ll help us track.”

“When do we tell Dad?” he asked after a moment.

“Not yet,” Neteyam said. “Not unless we have to.”

Lo’ak didn’t argue. He knew what it meant—for their father to find out. For their mother. “I’ll get Kiri,” he said quietly, then turned toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he paused, looking back. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “We’re not letting the forest take her.”

Neteyam didn’t answer—he just nodded once, eyes burning. Because she wasn’t gone. Not yet. And he would tear through the jungle with his bare hands to bring her home.

The storm had returned with a vengeance.

Wind howled through the trees outside the kelku, rattling the woven walls like angry spirits. Rain lashed the leaves in sheets, the forest moaning under the weight of wind and water. Thunder cracked above like a whip, and still Neteyam stood near the doorway, his pack at his feet, ready to run into it.

He was shaking. Not from fear—but from the raw, unbearable need to move. Then the curtain pulled back again.

Lo’ak stepped in first, face grim, and right behind him came Kiri, her braids still damp from the rain. She stopped when she saw Neteyam—really saw him—and her expression faltered.

Her eyes were wide the moment she entered, searching the space for something—anything—that might change the words her brother had just spoken. But all she saw was Neteyam, fully armed, jaw clenched, chest heaving like he hadn’t stopped since the second he landed. “She’s gone?” Kiri whispered, her voice cracking.

Neteyam didn’t answer at first. Kiri already knew. Lo’ak had told her everything. Kiri crossed the floor quickly, rain dripping from her braids, and stopped in front of him. Her hands were trembling, but she was trying to keep it in—trying to be calm. Trying to be steady. “She’s one of us,” she said, barely above a whisper. “She’s my friend too. Don’t shut me out.”

Neteyam closed his eyes briefly, nodding. “I’m not.” He opened them again, looking at her with raw, carved honesty. “I need someone I can trust with this. That’s why you’re here.”

Kiri walked further in, standing beside Lo’ak. “What are we doing?” Kiri nodded once, lips pressed tight.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. “We find her.”

“Without telling them?” she asked, but it wasn’t judgment—just clarification.

He nodded. “If Mother and Father find out… they’ll demand answers. They’ll ask why I’m ready to tear apart the forest for a human girl. We don’t have time for that.”

Lo’ak gave a tired snort from near the door. “You say that like she won’t smell the panic coming off you tomorrow.”

Neteyam shot him a look. “Then we don’t give her time to. We’re out before sunrise.”

Kiri’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. She understood. They all did. Neteyam’s jaw clenched again. He didn’t answer. Kiri rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to stop the shiver that crept through her. She moved to sit beside the fire pit, staring into the flames, letting the silence stretch until she could breathe again.

Neteyam took a breath and moved toward the corner of the kelku where a small pile of scattered belongings rested. He crouched down and moved aside a folded cloth.

Lo’ak beat him to it—his fingers brushing against the cracked, black casing of a datapad half-buried beneath a pelt.

“Is this…?” he asked, holding it up.

Neteyam nodded once. “She left it here. A few weeks ago.”

Lo’ak sat on the floor, thumbing the cracked screen. “Still works.” He tapped a few controls, the screen flickering weakly to life.

Kiri leaned in. “She kept maps on it, didn’t she?”

“She kept everything on it,” Neteyam said, unable to help the faint smile that ghosted his mouth for a second and then turned back to Kiri.

Lo’ak tapped the screen, and it flickered to life, dull and sputtering—but functional enough. The blue-white map display shimmered into view, blurry lines tracing the jungle in grainy detail.

Kiri stepped closer, kneeling near his pack. “We’ll need a plan. Not just charge out there and hope. She’s smart,” she finally said. “If she knew she was lost, she’d look for shelter first. Not run around like a fool.”

“She has nothing but her satchel and a knife,” Neteyam said. “But she’s not helpless. I taught her what to do. Where to hide.”

“So do I,” Kiri said. “I trained her. Every herb I know. Every sign in the trees. She’s not Na’vi, but she listens better than most of us.”

“She’s smart,” Kiri said, voice tense. “She wouldn’t just wander aimlessly. She wouldn’t panic. Not after everything we taught her.”

Neteyam looked at her. “So where would she go?”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful now. “If she realized she was being left behind… she’d go high. Somewhere dry. She wouldn’t risk the waterline in a storm.”

“I know.” Neteyam crouched beside her. “We start at the mining zone. She was lost somewhere near the old ridge—right where the western shelf starts to collapse into the basin.”

“She’s smart,” he said. “If she got turned around, she’d know better than to stay near the pit. Too exposed. She’d move.”

“To where?” Kiri asked, kneeling beside him.

“Would she go east?” Lo’ak asked. “Toward the outpost?”

“She’d try,” Neteyam said. “She’d want to get back. But not in a straight line—not without direction. Not without light.”

Lo’ak crouched beside Kiri, turning the tablet so she could see. “There,” he pointed. “The pit. And the outpost. She’s somewhere in between.”

Kiri leaned in, her eyes scanning the terrain. “You think she’d try to go east?”

“But even if she did,” Lo’ak said, voice hesitant, “she’d have to stay hidden all night. Through a storm. She must’ve been so scared…”

Neteyam looked away. He didn’t need to imagine it. He dreamed it.

“She’s smart,” Kiri added. “But that’s still days of walking. Through unfamiliar terrain. Alone. It’s full of palulukans out there. Lanay’kas too.”

“But look,” Lo’ak pointed. “These creeks—there’s a few between the pit and the outpost. If she found one, maybe she followed it. Water leads somewhere.”

“We’ll need more hunters,” Kiri said finally. “Even just two. If we split the area, we’ll cover more ground.”

“No,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. I don’t want anyone else involved. Not unless we have to.”

Kiri glanced at him, eyes sharp. “Neteyam—”

“She’s mine,” he said quietly. “They wouldn’t understand. I won’t let her name be whispered through the clan like a curse.”

Lo’ak looked at him, the weight of that word—mine—settling deep between them.

Kiri exhaled. “Fine. Then we do this ourselves.” Neteyam nodded. “But not tonight.” He looked up sharply. “You know we won’t find anything in this storm,” Kiri said gently. “It’ll bury any trail she left behind. If we go now, we’ll waste energy. We’ll miss signs.”

Neteyam hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed go. Every heartbeat was a drum pounding now, now, now. But he also knew Kiri was right. She always was. He dropped the charcoal and let his hands rest on the mat.

“You need to rest,” Kiri said. “Both of you. We’ll go at first light.”

Lo’ak sighed. “She’s right, bro.”

Neteyam sat down hard on the edge of his mat, burying his face in his hands. The rain thudded against the kelku like a war drum. His heart beat in time with it—furious, aching.

“Get some rest,” she added. “You need to be strong. For her.”

He didn’t argue. No one spoke for a long moment. He just stared at the storm outside, praying—begging—that you were out there, still fighting. That somewhere under all that rain, you were waiting for him to find you. And he would. No matter how long it took.

The night held no peace.

Outside the kelku, the storm raged—rain battering the woven walls like distant drums, thunder rolling across the canopy in great, groaning waves. Inside, Neteyam sat still for hours, legs crossed near the entrance, unmoving, listening to the wind and the rise and fall of his own breath.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged him down. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. But he dreamed. Again.

He found himself in a clearing. It wasn’t like before. Not rain-soaked branches or shadows full of teeth. This time, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The air was soft and heavy, the storm strangely absent here. Everything was quiet—too quiet. No insects. No rustling leaves. Just the sound of creaking metal and the slow moan of something swaying in the wind.

Between the trees, a Samson hung broken from the high branches. Its tail section was caught on a twisted trunk, the body dangling at an awkward angle—like a forgotten toy. The wind stirred it gently, letting it creak and swing in slow arcs. Half the cockpit window was cracked. Panels torn away. The metal gleamed wet and sharp.

And in the grass below it— You.

You sat curled on the damp moss, your knees drawn in, your satchel spilled to one side. Your hair was a tangled mess, stuck to your cheeks and brow. And your hand—your small, shaking hand—was cradled in your lap, slick with blood. A deep, angry slice carved across your palm, oozing fresh and vivid.

You were crying. The sound hit him like a spear to the chest—soft, trembling sobs, the kind he’d never heard from you before. Not in the labs. Not in the field. Not even in your worst moments.

He stepped forward slowly, his feet soundless on the moss. Your head jerked up. And when you saw him—saw Neteyam—you didn’t speak right away. Your lower lip wobbled, and you blinked hard, trying to clear the tears.

Then you reached out toward him. You showed your hand to him like a child might, small fingers shaking, your palm smeared with blood. A jagged cut sliced from the base of your thumb to the edge of your hand, the skin torn and pulsing.

“It hurts, Neteyam,” you whispered. Your voice was soft. Broken. Like a child. He dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your wounded hand, cupping it gently in both of his. You winced. “I climbed… I thought maybe I could reach the comm system,” you whispered, not meeting his eyes. “There was a shard of metal—I didn’t see it until…”

You trailed off. He gently turned your hand over in his, examining the wound. Deep, but not fatal. Not if it was cleaned. Not if it didn’t get infected. But the way your fingers curled inward told him you were in pain. Real pain.

And not just physical. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He looked up sharply. “For what?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over your lashes. “For being scared.”

He froze. You never said that. Not in the field, not in the labs, not even when he warned you of creatures in the trees. You’d always smiled and said you’d be fine. “You’re here, aren’t you?” you’d say, like that was all you needed.

But here, now, you were trembling in front of him. And you couldn’t look him in the eye. Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “Stop.”

“I just—” you exhaled shakily, still not looking at him. “You’re a warrior. You wouldn’t be afraid if you were alone like this. You wouldn’t cry.”

He gently tilted your chin up with two fingers. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to die out here,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Not alone.”

Neteyam felt his whole chest collapse inward at the sound. You finally looked up at him. And your eyes—those bright, curious, maddening eyes—were rimmed with red, filled with something raw and terrifying. “I want to see you one more time,” you said, barely audible. “Even just for a minute.”

His hands slid to your face, cupping your cheeks with infinite care. “You will,” he said fiercely. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”

“But what if I don’t—”

“You will.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “You will, yawne. You hold on.”

You nodded, tiny, trembling. And then—

He woke. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as he sat up straight, drenched in sweat, the woven mat beneath him cool from the night air. The storm had passed sometime before dawn. His heart still thundered in his chest.

Outside, the sky was turning faintly gray.

First light.

Neteyam ran a hand down his face, dragging air into his lungs as if it might slow the pounding. He looked around, the kelku still and quiet, Lo’ak and Kiri probably preparing already, waiting. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his trembling hands.

What was that?

A dream. Just a dream. But it hadn’t felt like one. It felt too sharp. Too vivid. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his fingers. Still hear your voice in his ears. He clenched his jaw. His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be. Showing him things—fears, nothing more. You were smart.You knew how to survive. You would survive.

And they would find you. He stood, shoulders squaring as he reached for his bow and strapped on the pack.

The morning brought a break—just enough light to fly under—but the forest was soaked, the canopy still weeping. Everything beneath the trees was washed clean. Or, at least, clean enough to make tracking impossible.

They flew out before the sun fully crested the ridgeline, a trio of silent shadows on their ikran: Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Kiri. No one else. No word to their parents. Not yet. Neteyam wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t take the weight of Neytiri’s disapproval—not when every second was a scream echoing through his bones.

They swept past the cliffs in tight formation, their path following the old scar of the mining pit—a stretch of land long since swallowed by vines and forest, but still raw beneath the surface. The ghosts of what had been done there still lingered, in broken stone and blackened soil. Neteyam hated this place. And now it hated him back, swallowing the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

They searched for hours.

Kiri guided them in long, looping arcs, dipping down every time she felt something—movement, a wrongness, even the softest disruption in the silence. Lo’ak stayed close to Neteyam, knowing better than to let him veer off on his own. Not now. Not when he was wound so tight he looked ready to snap his bow over his own knee.

Neteyam didn’t speak much.

Every few minutes he’d dive low, scanning the mud for a boot print, a scuff, a sign. But the rain had done its work. Nothing remained. Every root was clean. Every patch of soil was untouched. The forest was too quiet. As if it was hiding something.

By midday, they regrouped at a narrow ridge above the northern basin. Lo’ak circled overhead once before landing beside his brother. “Nothing,” he said, breathless, frustrated. “Not even a broken leaf.”

Kiri landed just behind them, her braid plastered to her neck with sweat. Her face was pale. Tired. “It’s like she vanished,” she said softly.

“She didn’t vanish,” Neteyam growled, pacing along the edge. His steps were sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. “She didn’t just disappear.”

“Bro…” Lo’ak tried gently. “The storm—”

“I don’t care about the storm,” Neteyam snapped, turning sharply. “She had to go somewhere. She’s not stupid.”

Kiri approached carefully, her voice even. “And maybe she went west. Or south. Or climbed high to stay out of the water.”

“You saw the map,” Neteyam said, voice low and fierce. “There’s no shelter past this point. No caves. No high ridge that would hold her weight in that storm.”

Lo’ak glanced toward the trees. “Then maybe she backtracked.”

“We would’ve seen it.”

“Maybe not,” Kiri said. “Maybe she covered her trail. Or maybe Eywa covered it for her.”

Neteyam’s jaw worked, his fists clenched at his sides. “Or maybe she’s lying out there somewhere dying, and we’re here talking about maybes.”

That was the first moment they saw it—really saw it. The crack starting to form. Neteyam had held himself together through everything—through duty, through pressure, through the endless push and pull between his family and his own secret love. But now? Now he looked like a cliff edge after the rain. One more tremor, and it would all fall.

“Neteyam,” Kiri said softly, stepping forward. “Please.”

He didn’t move. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to go back. Just for tonight.”

“No.”

“Neteyam—”

“No,” he snapped again, but this time his voice cracked at the edges.

Lo’ak stepped in next, placing a hand on his other shoulder. “We’ll come back. At sunrise. Just like now. But you have to rest.”

“I can’t rest.”

“Then fake it,” Lo’ak said, eyes sharp. “Because if you collapse out here, we’ll be dragging both of you back to the village.”

Neteyam hesitated—but his legs trembled just enough to give him away.

Kiri tightened her grip. “She’s alive,” she whispered. “I know it. Eywa hasn’t taken her. I would feel it.”

Neteyam turned toward her then, finally, his eyes wide and hollow. “What if I can’t? What if we’re too late?”

“You won’t be,” Kiri said. “Because we’re going to find her. Together.”

Neteyam stood there, trembling, for a moment longer. Then finally—finally—he let his shoulders fall. “Fine,” he whispered. “But we leave again at dawn.” They left in silence. The rain had started again, light but steady, soaking through their clothing as they mounted their ikran and soared back into the grey.

It felt like defeat. But it was survival. Just barely.

Day Four

They left again before dawn. This time, the light was clearer. The storm had finally passed in the night, leaving the air cleaner, cooler. The sun broke through the canopy in soft gold streaks as they returned to the last known location, the wind carrying birdsong and the scent of wet bark.

And it was Neteyam who saw it first. They were passing the northeastern edge of the basin, gliding above a ridge when something below snagged in his vision—a shape, tall and gnarled, rising from the slope near the ravine.

A tree. But not just any tree.

It stood out from the others—its bark weathered and dark, limbs twisted like old hands. One of its roots had grown high over a rocky outcrop, forming a natural hollow. Shelter. High enough to escape floodwaters. Thick enough to shield from rain.

He nearly dropped from his saddle. Lo’ak and Kiri followed without question, their ikrans diving after him. They landed on the ridge beside the tree, and Neteyam was off his ikran before her talons touched the earth. He ran straight to the trunk, sliding to his knees beside the hollow.

It was there. Neteyam didn’t answer at first. He just stared. There, halfway up a steep, moss-covered rise, was a tree.

A thick-barked colossus with roots that rose like spires around its base, and a hollow carved into the trunk high above—just large enough to shelter a body. Neteyam’s heart slammed against his ribs. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the one.”

Lo’ak frowned. “What?”

“I saw this tree,” Neteyam said, already dismounting. He stepped through the mud, pushing toward the roots. “In my dream. The night she vanished. I saw her—shivering—in the hollow. And there were viperwolves circling the base.”

Kiri followed fast behind, her voice cautious. “Are you sure?”

“I remember the shape of the branches. The tilt of the roots. The way the light cut through here—” He pointed to the canopy above. “It’s the same.”

Lo’ak followed, brow furrowed. “You think it was Eywa? A vision?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He was already climbing. The roots were slick but solid. He hoisted himself up with quiet, practiced movements, and when he reached the hollow—

He went still. Inside, the tree was dark, lined with old nesting leaves and bark. But near the back, half-buried under a clump of moss, was a shape.

His hand trembled as he reached for it. A single white button. Round. Stretched along the edge. It was from the shirt you wore the morning you left. He remembered the way it sat just beneath your collarbone. You’d complained the buttons were old. He’d joked that he’d just rip them all off next time. Now it lay in his hand.

“Neteyam?” Kiri called from below.

He turned slowly, clutching the button so tight it nearly cracked in his palm. “She was here,” he said, voice hoarse. “She was alive. She made it through the storm. She climbed up here to escape.”

Kiri and Lo’ak stared up at him, eyes wide. “And the wolves?” Lo’ak asked.

“No blood,” Neteyam said. “No bones. No torn cloth. She wasn’t attacked.” He dropped to the ground in two swift motions, landing hard.

“She survived. And she moved on.”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “That hollow’s old. She might’ve only stayed a night.”

“But she was alive when she did,” Neteyam said, voice full of urgency now. “We’re close.”

Lo’ak looked around. “So what now?”

“We switch tactics,” Neteyam said, breathing fast. “We stop flying. From now on, we track on foot. She’s not in the trees. She’s moving through the ground. We need to see the forest the way she would.”

Kiri nodded. “Pa’li, then. No ikran. Ground only.”

“She’s not far,” Neteyam whispered, clutching the button like a lifeline. “She’s not far. And she’s still alive.” And this time, he was sure. The forest hadn't taken you yet. And he would find you. Even if it took every step, every hour, every last piece of himself to do it. He would bring you home.

The kelku was quiet, lit only by the flickering fire pit. The smoke curled lazily toward the open vents in the roof, but Neteyam barely noticed. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his sleeping mat, spine rigid, head bowed. The white button lay in the center of his palm, resting there like a fragment of bone. Small. Insignificant.

And yet it felt like it weighed more than stone. It was the only thing he had from you since you vanished into the forest. The only proof that you were still out there. That you hadn’t just… disappeared. He turned it over slowly between his fingers, rubbing the edge with his thumb.

Now it was the only thing he had. Not your laugh. Not your touch. Not the way you’d wrinkle your nose when you concentrate too hard or hum that one off-key Terran tune you swore was “meditative.”

Just… this. A button. The first sign you had survived that storm. That you had made it through one more night alone, in a world that wasn’t made for you.

His eyes drifted down to the half-carved neckpiece at the side of the pelt. The one he’d started for you, the one he couldn’t finish because the day he picked up the stone was the day you went missing. He reached toward it, slowly, running one hand over the notched bone beads already strung. The river-hanger vine rested beside it, partially braided, the iridescent stone glinting faintly under the firelight. It should’ve been done by now. Should’ve been around your neck, warm against your skin, fingers brushing it every time you laughed.

Instead it lay unfinished. Empty. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his eyes, breathing slow, deep, strained.

He couldn’t lose you.

He should finish it. That was the plan. When you came home, he’d give it to you, watch the way your cheeks flushed and your fingers fidgeted, and you'd mumble something about how you didn’t deserve something so pretty.

Couldn’t let that dream become a prophecy—the one where he’d seen you sitting in the tall grass under a low-hanging Samson, blood dripping from your hand like petals. He hadn’t told anyone about that one. Not even Kiri. Not when it felt so close. Too close.

But now…

He clenched the button tighter in his palm. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the chance. The fire cracked softly. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees. And then, without warning, the curtain at the entrance shifted. Neteyam’s shoulders tensed instantly. A tall shadow stepped in.

Jake.

His father.

He stood there in silence for a breath, just watching. Neteyam said nothing. Didn’t even try to hide the way he bristled. Jake’s eyes flicked once around the kelku. The gear piled neatly by the wall. The bones. The carving tools. And the half-finished pendant resting beside his son’s pelt.

His gaze narrowed. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said finally.

Neteyam didn’t move. “You found me.”

Jake stepped inside, brow furrowed. “You’ve been gone every day since the last hunt. Always out before dawn. Always coming back after dark. And your siblings are with you.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His fingers twitched around the button.

Jake took a breath. “You’re going back to the clearing, aren’t you?” he said, tone low. “Where we saw the assault ship. You think there’s movement there.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. “No.”

Jake raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply. “You want to talk about recon? Ask anybody elsei. I’m not wasting time going back there.”

Jake crossed his arms, watching him. “Then what are you doing?”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched.

“You don’t answer to no one now?” Jake asked, stepping forward. “You disappear for days at a time. Avoid your mother. Duck out of every gathering. Refuse every invitation to meet with Sa’nari. You don’t even look at K’shi anymore. Your mother says you haven’t shown interest in anyone.”

Neteyam laughed, bitter and low. “I wonder why.”

Jake’s brows lifted.

“I’m out there,” Neteyam said, rising slowly to his feet, “doing what you raised me to do. Surviving. Working. Leading. And suddenly, you’re interested in my love life?”

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m interested in what you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

Jake’s eyes flicked again to the pendant beside the pelt. ��What’s this?” he asked, reaching out.

Neteyam was on his feet in an instant. “Don’t touch it.”

Jake looked up, startled. Neteyam’s face was drawn tight, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Is it for Sa’nari?” Jake asked carefully.

“I’m not telling you.”

Jake’s expression darkened. “That’s not how this works.”

“Funny,” Neteyam said bitterly. “Because nothing about this has worked for me.”

Jake took a step forward. “Neteyam—”

“I’m doing what I have to do,” Neteyam said, voice low and tight. “I’m trying to do everything right. And still—it’s never enough. I’m either too stubborn, or too cold, or not enough like you.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” Neteyam barked a laugh. “Because it sure as hell feels like it.”

Jake’s tone shifted, quieter now. “I get it. You think I don’t? I know what it’s like to carry too much. I became Olo’eyktan before I was ready. I led a war before I understood what leadership really meant. And every day after that, I had to prove I was good enough to stand in the place I’d taken.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched—but he didn’t speak.

“I know it’s hard,” Jake said. “I know it feels like you’re being crushed from every angle. Like you have to carry the future while everyone tells you how to live it. But you don’t get to shut me out when things get hard.”

Neteyam finally looked at him.

Neteyam’s throat worked. He wanted to scream it. That you were missing. That you were alone. That every breath he took without knowing where you were was agony. That he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe without seeing your face somewhere in the trees. But if he said it—if he said your name—it would be over. He turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “Try me.”

Neteyam froze. The silence stretched. Then finally—slowly—he turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “There’s someone out there,” he said. “Someone who matters.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Neteyam didn’t elaborate. His eyes flicked to the pendant. The button. The fire.

Jake took a breath. “You’re scaring your mother.”

“I’m doing what you taught me to do,” Neteyam said coldly. “Protect what I care about. Even if it means breaking the rules.”

Jake stared at him for a long time. Then, finally, he stepped back toward the entrance. He paused at the curtain, one hand lifting it just slightly. “You’re keeping something from me, Neteyam. I know it.”

Neteyam didn’t look at him.

“I just hope,” Jake said quietly, “it’s not something that gets you killed.”

Then he was gone. The curtain swayed. Neteyam stood there for a long time and every breath felt like a countdown.

You were out there. And he was out of time.

The day was already thick with heat when they rode out.

The air clung to Neteyam’s skin like oil, humid and oppressive beneath the canopy. Their pa’li moved steadily over the forest floor, hooves squelching in soft earth, rain still dripping from swollen leaves. Kiri rode ahead, her eyes sweeping the ground. Lo’ak flanked behind, quiet for once.

Neteyam said nothing.

He hadn’t spoken since before dawn—not after another restless night spent staring at the unfinished neckpiece beside his mat. Not after his father’s visit. Not after pressing the white button to his lips and swearing he would not return without you.

They moved past a low stretch of reeds near the creek when Kiri reined in sharply. Her pa’li snorted. “Wait,” she murmured, swinging down. She knelt beside a clump of ferns, brushing her fingers through the damp leaves.

Neteyam dismounted fast, landing beside her. There, wedged under a moss-covered rock, was a shred of something pale. Kiri carefully pulled it out—a torn corner of paper, stained and softened by the rain.

Lo’ak squatted beside them. “Is that…?”

Neteyam grabbed it gently, turning it in his fingers. It was some kind of book—standard RDA stock, crumpled and torn, the ink smeared into illegibility. And stabbed through the center? A thorn. Clean. Deliberate.

“She marked it,” Neteyam whispered. He stood fast, scanning the trees—and then he saw another one. Farther ahead, tucked into the crook of a low branch: another scrap of paper. Pierced through and fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“She made a path,” Kiri said, eyes wide. “Eywa…”

Neteyam didn’t wait. He was already mounting. “Let’s go.”

They followed the path for half an hour—scraps hidden under stones, wedged behind bark, clinging to vines. Each one was like a heartbeat. A pulse. A whispered sign that she was still fighting. Still alive.

And then the trees opened. A clearing stretched before them—tall grass swaying in the midmorning light, golden-bright and deceptively peaceful. But it wasn’t the clearing that made Neteyam’s breath catch. It was the shape above it.

Suspended between the high trees, caught in a web of vines and roots and gravity’s slow mercy, hung a Samson gunship. Rusty. Broken. Twisted with age. Just like in his dream.

His pa’li halted with a soft grunt, sensing the shift in his rider’s pulse. Neteyam didn’t dismount. Couldn’t. He sat frozen, staring at the hanging craft like it had dropped out of his nightmares.

It was the exact same clearing. The exact same spot. The tall grass. The angle of the trees. This was where you had sat in his dream. This was where he’d seen you bleeding. “Eywa…” he whispered.

Behind him, Lo’ak was already moving, climbing up the low branches toward the side of the Samson. “I’ll check the cockpit,” he called.

Neteyam barely heard him. His vision swam. Please no. Please. Then, above him—

“Shit,” Lo’ak said. Neteyam’s head snapped up. And then the words came, sharp and terrible: “There’s a corpse up here.” It was more of a statement.

It was like getting shot in the chest. Everything inside Neteyam dropped. He was moving before he realized—bolting forward, leaping onto a twisted root, scrambling up the tangled vines as if his body no longer belonged to him.

He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

She’s gone. She’s gone. You were too late. You should’ve gotten here days ago.

His hands slipped on rusted metal, vines tearing under his grip. He hauled himself up over the edge of the broken ramp, eyes wild.

He was going to see you.

Dead.

Cold.

Eyes closed.

Face slack.

Gone.

The metal groaned beneath his weight as he pulled himself into the dark interior of the Samson—and stopped.

There, slumped in the pilot seat, was a corpse.

But not your corpse.

The uniform was faded tan. RDA insignia still barely visible on the shoulder.

The body was long decayed—just bones and sunken fabric, held together by rot and time. Probably had been here for twenty years, left behind after the war when this Samson crashed and never recovered.

Neteyam sagged forward, pressing one hand to the wall, breathing hard. He hadn’t realized how certain he was that it was you. How much he had already braced himself to see you—cold, broken, gone.

But it wasn’t you. It was some ghost of the past. A pilot who hadn’t made it out of the war. Neteyam didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes began to move across the interior.

The cockpit was rusted, yes—but solid. It had held together over the years. The control panels were useless, the wiring fried, but the frame was intact. It could have held weight. A person.

You.

He crouched lower, eyes scanning the corners, the dust-covered floor— And then he saw it. A helmet. Not the soldier’s.

An RDA exo-mask. Propped on its side in the corner, just beneath the pilot’s seat. Inside it… was liquid. Red-brown. Thick. His heart jumped. He reached for it, carefully, lifting it with both hands. The inside panel had been cleaned, smoothed out into a curve—used like a bowl.

First, he thought it was blood. His chest went cold. But then—he brought it to his nose. And stopped. Herbs.

Rulvansip.

Medicinal.

It smelled like the inside of Mo’at’s tent. It smelled like healing.

You have been here.

You used this.

You had treated a wound.

Just like the dream. A wound in her palm. He ran a shaking hand over the glass. “She was here,” he said hoarsely. “She stayed here. She used this.”

Kiri and Lo’ak looked up from below. “Then we’re still on her trail,” Lo’ak said. “Right?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He just sat there, holding the mask, staring into that rusted cockpit, knowing that for one moment—one terrifying, beautiful moment—he was sitting exactly where you had once sat.

And it meant one thing.

You were still moving.

You were still fighting.

You were still alive.

The fire burned low, its glow soft and unsteady as it crackled in the center of the kelku. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering in slow waves across Neteyam’s face as he crouched near the hearth, unmoving, eyes locked on the flames. The broken screen of the old datapad lay between them, its display cracked and stuttering—sometimes showing the trail map, sometimes just static.

Lo’ak sat cross-legged, turning a dull knife slowly in his hands. Kiri leaned back on her palms, eyes scanning the glowing map projection as it flickered. They’d been going in circles for hours—marking paths, arguing possible turns, retracing your steps in their minds.

Maybe you’d doubled back. Maybe you had turned east again, toward the outpost, following the sun like Neteyam had taught you—head low, wound bleeding, stubborn and alive.

Lo’ak lay on his side nearby, one arm folded under his head, his voice hushed but tense. “We could backtrack to the outpost. If she was trying to follow the sun east, she might’ve tried to stay close to old trails. Even if she veered north, that whole quadrant’s easier to move through.”

Kiri nodded, sitting cross-legged near the fire, frowning in thought. “I’ve been thinking the same. She wouldn’t have gone north. Not with a wound. And the forest gets denser out there—steeper, more dangerous.”

Lo’ak added, “From the Samson to the outpost is not far. We can ride straight in from the creek basin. Be there by midday. But for her on foot…”

Neither of them looked at their brother. Because Neteyam hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

He crouched by the fire pit like a statue, shoulders taut, tail flicking in short, restless motions. His breath moved slow—too slow—and his eyes… weren’t really watching the flames. Not anymore. He was somewhere far deeper.

Inside.

Spiraling.

The heat licked his face, dry and too bright. But it was the only thing anchoring him now. I can’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed properly since the day you went missing. Not really.

For a year, you were just another human—just another voice in the outpost, tucked behind a datapad with dirt under your nails and stubbornness in your voice.

For two years after that… you were a strange ache in his chest. A curiosity. A spark. Someone who saw Pandora like it was made of wonder, not war.

Then you started saying his name like it mattered. In time, you stopped being a scientist to him. And then—somewhere in the quiet moments between shared glances and too-long conversations—you became something more. His distraction. His gravity.

His little star.

You burned so differently from his world—so strange and stubborn but gentle with every living thing. You weren’t Na’vi. You weren’t meant to belong. But you did.

To him.

In the last half year, since the first time you kissed him—messy, laughing, breathless—it had become unbearable to be apart. He’d never been meant for hiding, for secrets. But with you, he would hide forever if it meant keeping you. If it meant waking to your touch, even in silence. If it meant you were still his.

And now?—now you were gone.

He clenched his jaw, nails digging into the skin of his palms as he stared into the fire.

íYou have become part of him.

Every day they were apart since that first kiss had felt wrong. Empty. He needed you near him—needed your laugh, your warmth, your hand brushing his. He didn’t care that it had to be secret. Didn’t care that no one would understand. He needed you like breath. Now, all he had left was a trail of torn paper. An old dream. And the smell of herbs in a mask you’d used to heal yourself.

If I’ve already lost you…

He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t let it live inside his head. His throat felt tight. His chest burned.

I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when you are finally mine.

He reached toward the flames without thinking—just close enough for the heat to bite his skin—and curled his fingers inward, as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. Kiri watched him, her voice faltering as she trailed off mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward.

“Neteyam,” she said gently. “You’re doing it again.” He didn’t blink. “You’re slipping,” she said, softer now. “You’re going too deep.”

Still nothing. Kiri moved toward him, settling beside his crouched form, her hand brushing his arm. “Neteyam,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

His breath came out as a shudder. Then, slowly, he turned toward her. “I need to find her,” he rasped. His voice cracked on the last word. Kiri nodded, her grip tightening. “I need her, Kiri. I can’t—I can’t lose her. Not when… not when she’s finally mine.”

It slipped out of him, barely above a whisper. And that’s when the curtain at the entrance rustled.

Neytiri stood in the doorway, framed in firelight. Her eyes were sharp. Her expression is unreadable. “What did you say?” she asked, voice like a drawn bowstring.

Neteyam froze.

Kiri went still beside him.

Lo’ak straightened slowly, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud against the floor.

Neytiri stepped further inside, eyes narrowed, locking onto her eldest son with slow precision. “Neteyam,” she said again. “Who is… ‘yours’?”

The fire snapped. The datapad flickered. And in the suffocating silence that followed, Neteyam didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because everything—everything—was about to break.

And he didn’t know if he could stop it.

Part 24: (Soon)

The next part will be again from reader's pov.

[godslush]

For fear of jamming up the tag over and over again (sorry, the brainworms are STRONG with this game), I'm just gonna ramble a bit under cut about thoughts I have regarding Jeanne.

A lot of people love her. She's a woobie. Her struggle is easy to empathize with, and anyone with half a heart generally wants to help her.

But what if that's not who she really is?

While a lot of transformations are pretty random, many of the major participants share a common theme of transforming into something related to their mental state or where their attention was at the time of transforming. Edwin and his telescopes. Lyle and his camera. Even Baby Teeth was probably looking outside with no thoughts in her little baby brain aside from how much her teeth hurt as they were coming in.

So wtf is up with Jeanne?

We get a small idea of what kind of person she was from the things you grab in her apartment; she was a biker. Possibly a pretty rough one, given the jacket is studded.

It's... very possible that she's actually a very angry individual who hated most other people and saw them as nuisances. However, due to social constructs, she was forced to keep it in... to mask her disdain for people under a facade of amiability. After all, it's easier to get along with people in a close-knit apartment complex if you're not the asshole stirring up trouble.

Once she starts transforming, she doesn't want to leave her apartment, and therefore needs help, so she'd be putting her all into masking and coming across as a nice person.

Meanwhile, her body is rejecting the kindness and breaking out, doing what she really wants to do in her mind, which is kill everyone (the eating part is likely just because monster)... but her 'mask' persona is also its own 'head' and becomes a separate entity. But it has no control over the others until you sever them.

And since it's easier to empathize with the 'nice one' - with the 'mask' - most people are going to assume the nice head is the 'real Jeanne' and help that one, even though the evidence is that the violent, 'evil' ones have the majority.

The nice Jeanne we love might just be a lie...

But it's okay, because killing off the 'bad' parts of her is better for everyone else involved.

Right?

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

#is that. allowed?#like i get all my groceries delivered bc disability#but at least everywhere i've shopped in nz there's a limit to how much they can increase your cart's price by#and i find shoppers are much more likely to go sorry out of stock :( and grab nothing#if they can't find anything for the same price or cheaper tags from @atalana

In the UK, if they make a substitution that costs more than the thing you asked for, they give you the difference back as a coupon, so you can deduct that money off your next shop, but it's normally a difference of a few pence, maybe a quid.

They used to sometimes get around this by giving you a similar thing in a less cost-efficient way but smaller - so if you asked for a 2l bottle of something, they might give you two 500ml bottles of the same thing, and the cost would be the same/close. But you've only got half of what you asked for. I'm guessing a lot of people complained about this because I've not seen them do it in a while.

Normally, substitutions are something that's reasonable and similar. E.g. I asked for X brand wholemeal bread, they gave me Y brand wholemeal bread. I asked for red pepper, they gave me yellow pepper, etc. But every once in a while you get a substitution that makes you want to track the person down and asked to know their thought process because it's utterly incomprehensible. Like the time I asked for toothpaste and got deodorant as the substitution.

Bro excuse me

[honey-bitch]

bye

tw: death, suicide, ed, sh. Me going over my problems so that's that - take this as me being the victim idc (if you're tagged skip to the bottom)

I've always had these issues lmao. It's always been there and tumblr and astrology was a means of a way to help me gain confidence and have something to be proud of. Since my real life isn't that amazing.

You can't imagine how it felt in the begining to read people's charts and listern to their story and geuinely feel so much happiness when people said that I've helped them in a way heal their trauma.

But as time went on and the real world kept dawing on me, tumblr was a little magical place where i could make friends and have fun.

Because the real world does suck ASS, bills, debts, school life sucks. I've always been into escapism through one way or the other and ultimately tumblr became an unhealthy coping mechanism, in replace of pior ones,

(saggitarius jupiter tinggssss) 🤪

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Hey guys, i hate to be this person and it's weird to be here. But as time has gone by I've been enjoying tumblr less and less and being here has become more of a pain. As the real world dawned on me.

... but after I've been recieving constant death threats and harrassment online. And it makes me sick that my actions have caused the same thing onto others and they're now also in pain.

I don't know everything but the things I've read and the hate people are recieving because of me. I feel so bad, like no one deserves this and no one deserves their trauma and pain to be used as a catalyst for others to hate.

Like all of you guys are adults and are cyberbullying people! Like these people are in their 20s to 30s harrassing and telling others to kill themselves. LIKE ARE YOU FR, WHY ARE WE ACTING LIKE SCREENSHOT WARRIORS AT THAT GROWN ASS AGE!

Like it's pathetic of me to be saying this because it's tumblr but I swear not even blocking the notifications, inboxes. It hasn't stopped, I've been now getting fucked up emails now.

I've done everything, and it's been affecting me.

Like again ... I'm a cap moon i should have thicker skin but idk i haven't been able to eat for like the past week and have lost a weird ammount of weight- AYEEE SKINNY QUEEN. 💃

Again these problems existed prior to tumblr and everything ... so yeah.

But the people in my real life have now become worried for me.

So I think it's better if I leave tumblr.

I love everyone and you don't understand how happy it made me that people like my observations and content in which i poured my heart out to make. Like i geuinely have so much love for you guys in the astro community.

Hopefully this page provided you with a little bit of happiness in this fucked up world. It definately did for me, however I don't think I'll ever find happiness if i don't fix whats fucked up with me. Lmao

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I'm sorry for leaving and I wanted to give thanks and all the love to my mutuals and people who have supported me. ( there are more people ofc )

@mxrcurysb1tch - lmaooo i remember when we first met through one of my free giveaways and i was shocked that i got so many things right. Talking to u was always a pleasure and I love you so much and good luck with your next step in life.

@1010-ase - again we met because of the free giveaway and i really love talking to you. I hope you find a place in life with ur new boo lmao where you're safe and happy aswell. You're so smart and so lovely i'm so grateful to have met you.

@danihodgs - mwah mwah love you so much. You're such a kind and caring person who deserves all the sweetness in the world. I'm so happy that what i wrote made you so happy

@kitkats444- mwah mwah you're also so very lovely and kind and sweet and you do deserve the best in life and stand your ground on thoes matters.

@astrology-by-sita - your work is so gooddd and you have helped me and the people around me grow. AND YOU SERIOUSLY UNDERCHARGE. LIKE EVERYONE GO BUY A READING AND FOLLOW HER.

@bitdemonic, @aphrodicci, @nihilisticking and people in the server - despite everything you've been so kind to me and I'll always remember that. Again i'm so sorry for all the pain and harrassment that came your way, you all don't deserve any of that.

@profoundmiraclebanana - good luck with your sci-fi novel/movie you've been planning on - you never told me but I've stalked ur accounts lmao. You've always been good and kind to me and you're really smart. All the love.

@emmasyn-ew-no - LMAOO the first time we met we overshared. But i geuinely do love your brain and how wonderful it is. Good luck with your life and how astrology will guide you. Although we do have moon opp saturn I support you 1000%.

@milkcavities - you're a sweetheart and an aquarius stellium queen. your page is so pretty and thank you for always being so kind to me

@thoewe - you're too kind and i'm so happy and glad that my readings resonated with you so much and helped you. <333 Wish you the best in life and you deserve the best.

@karmicbitchastro - you've been reblogging my content from day 1 and i appreciate you. <3333

xoxo honey-bitch

[noodledrawsandstuff]

(Tag dump/long post warning) Appreciation Post !!! Big ups to my gang

Felt like being nice today >:) This year hasn't been all that good to me, but these wonderful people have been a great help! (Even if I don't talk to/interact much with some of them) They're all sweethearts and if you like me for whatever reason then you should follow them if you don't already! (Sorry if I get repetitive but hehe + sorry if I forget someone... there's a shit load to go through here, I might need two posts-)

Of course I have to start with my all my fellas: cotton_candylover (watch-through buddy!), bara_kid_pirates (helped make my strawpage!) and purple_rainfrog (my co-writer in the dark ages...), you lot are great and I love watching through anime and being little shithead weirdos with you :3 why don't you have tumblr 😠 I'm going to skin you

@drago-is-me You are my lil guy and I want to grab and throttle you, also I love your art I want to kiss you platonically and then fight you to the death

@fortheloveofkiller I love your art sm!!!! You are greatness, and I will always respect a fellow Killer lover

@wyvernslovecake Shriek is my daughter and I love her dearly, you're very silly and I love you for it, also your writing is 👌

@perhapsrampancy Lovely friend of the worm (FOTW!!!) I want to give you a nice hug and a head pat and a big platonic kiss :3

@lxshoxk Your op bulls are yummy yummy and you are magnificent, you deserve all the best things you could want (and you're a FOTW for bonus points)

@d-angel00 Good FOTW and a very talented artist!! I adore you sm I wanna give you the biggest hug I can muster

@schwazombie Another lovely FOTW I adore you ty for the beautiful Killer on my straw page I love him

@baby-xemnas Peak lawbepo/luzo/kidkiller, incredible artist I want to kiss your art mwah it gives me life

@mekachu04 Incredible amazing showstopping artist, and a FOTW!!!

@shipshinablog Your art is absolutely delicious, I adore how you draw Heat and Wire they are just so beautiful I want to kiss them

@thamaris Another incredible artist!!! I adore your art, especially your gorgeous Wire he is yum

@a-killer-obsession Another one!!!!!!! Your art is adorable and your fics are just ough 5-star meals + fellow Killer enjoyer >:)

@nethhiri I adore your art/fics too ough I wanna devour it!!! (I'm repeating myself a lot but trust me I mean it! You're wonderful and very talented!!!)

@don-mellow Hehehe your art is scrumptious I love your big juicy muscular big titty men especially your Wire he is so fine

@magnuspirate I absolutely adore your art, your Heat is magnificent ty for showing him the love he deserves, plus your designs for the crew are so peak ough *eats* (ty for grey haired Wire I want to kiss him he's so pretty)

@toonsparks Your art is so fun and cute and ough I love it sm I need it more than oxygen bc its just so mmm it makes me joyous

@gratefulcheeses Your art makes me so feral, the way you draw my favourite beautiful boys is so ough delicious I will devour it

@moedesparta Another incredible artist, your art is so scrumptious I want it injected into my veins

@lfypj Your art is so fucking good oml I am in love with how you draw Kid and Killer they look so damn fine

@swampstew-stories (I cant tag your main lol-) I am feral for your writing ough it is just immaculate (personal shoutout to the Kid OnlyFans AU and Killer Tiktok AU they both give me life in very different ways)

@misaneeragoni FOTW!!! Your art is wonderful it makes me all giddy, also you are wonderful too!

Alright I think that's it.... unless I make a part 2 then it isn't- Either way, ty for sticking around if you got this far! You're a real trooper (insert name here.) Go follow the people above they're all wonderful and they deserve the world! All their art and fics and beautifulness has helped me at a time where I felt like the water in the Thames, this post doesn't even begin to describe how much I appreciate them and love what they do but I hope its at least something!