#if it was not clear before i'll say it again

[littlespoonevan]

and maybe, just maybe, i'll come home

some post-8x17 fic bc it got me thinking soft thoughts that were then further exacerbated by promise by ben howard (hence the title)

enjoy 💛

-

“Hey, scooch over.”

Eddie gives up the guise of trying to sleep and sits up in time to see Buck rounding the couch in the dark. He pulls his legs back just as Buck sits down on the cushion next to him.

“First he takes my house, now he’s taking my bed,” he grumbles – but it’s fond – as he rearranges himself, bracing his feet against the edge of the coffee table and yanking the blanket out from underneath Buck.

“S’my couch,” Buck quips back, taking the blanket from Eddie’s hands and draping it over both of them before he slouches a little in his seat.

It reminds Eddie of late nights at the firehouse when neither of them can sleep. The pang of longing at the thought is so fierce he clears his throat to force it away.

“Yeah, and it’s making me miss my couch. Yours isn’t as comfortable.”

Buck casts a sidelong glance in his direction, the silence stretching for a second too long until he says, “Yeah. I uh, I like your couch better too, honestly.”

It feels like he’s saying something else but Eddie isn’t going to pull on that thread. Instead he tips his head back against the back of the couch.

“It’s weird,” he says after a moment and Buck hums in askance.

“That you living here doesn’t feel weird,” he clarifies, picking his head back up again.

Buck’s expression doesn’t quite change but it almost seems like he’s holding his breath and Eddie feels like he has no choice but to continue.

“I don’t know…even though it’s all your stuff, I still feel like I’m-”

Home.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t finish the sentence because it feels too revealing. Buck looks like he knows what Eddie was going to say anyway.

Buck looks down, and away, and then back up again, the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth. “Tonight was good.”

It’s a subject change but not quite.

Sitting around the dinner table with Chris and Buck and Pepa. That felt like home too.

“Chris missed you,” Eddie shrugs. As if he didn’t lie in this same spot last night, stewing, until he’d called his son way past his bedtime and asked if he’d come back to LA for a little while to see Buck.

Chris has said yes before the words were even out of Eddie’s mouth and Eddie was booking him a flight as soon as he hung up the phone.

“I missed him too,” Buck says, pillow-soft as his shoulder pushes a little more firmly into Eddie’s. He’s playing with the edge of the blanket, where the hem is fraying just a bit.

And the thought is still itching away at the back of Eddie’s brain. If Chris would say yes to coming home just as easily. He doesn’t dare ask – too afraid of an answer he doesn’t want.

For now, he lets himself lean into Buck, arms overlapping and hips pressed together under the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs after a beat. He knows he’s effectively said it already but he doesn’t mind saying it again. Especially when it makes Buck look at him, eyes wide and vulnerable.

Buck breathes out a hushed, “Me too,” and then he’s moving, slouching even more to drop his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

And it’s-

It’s different. Eddie knows he throws the selfish accusations at Buck but when it comes to this Buck rarely takes.

Eddie is usually the one to reach out, to get in Buck’s space, to find that same spot where the base of Buck’s throat meets his shoulder over and over again. Buck, who is so open with his affection, never asks for more than what he’s offered with Eddie.

That he’s asking at all now reminds Eddie what the root of all this is in the first place. It makes his heart twist inside his chest as he lifts his arm, dislodging Buck for just a second, until he can get his arm around him and pull him in more securely.

Buck’s breath is shaky against his neck and Eddie closes his eyes, turning to press his forehead against the crown of Buck’s head. Buck’s arm slides around his middle – hesitant at first and then in a vice-like lock.

“Can I make it about me for a sec?” Buck asks, the words half-muffled but still loud enough to make Eddie laugh.

He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” As if to prove his point, his fingers twist where they’re gripping Eddie’s t-shirt. “Having you here- having both of you here…Feels like I can actually breathe for once.”

Keeping his eyes closed does nothing to stop them from stinging but Eddie tries anyway. His hand moves of its own accord, sliding from Buck’s shoulder and up so he can drag his fingers through Buck’s hair.

“Yeah,” he croaks. Rueful. Apologetic. “I don’t think I want to leave either.”

And it’s not a promise. It can’t be, not really. Not yet. Because he told Buck he refused to choose between him and Chris and he meant it but maybe-

Maybe it doesn’t have to be a choice.

Maybe it never really was.

Tonight, he lets himself sink into Buck’s warmth, lets their overlapping limbs hold him in place like a weighted blanket, lets himself feel something akin to peace for the first time in weeks.

He’ll hold onto home for home as long as he can.

[guardiansing]

I commented briefly on the original post ages ago but I'll say it again just to make it clear; I dislike the idea of being "thanked" for the cultivation of these foods when that kind of sentiment is absolutely coming from the context of a post-colonial and neocolonial world in which these foods were(and still are) nominally appropriated and exploited from indigenous people. This isn't ancient history, Native Americans still exist and are often the ones most vulnerable to exploitation in US owned agri-industrial sectors throughout Latin America, all to pump out the aforementioned foods (Many of which have been fundamentally changed from their "original" indigenous cultivation by commercial agriculture!) and stock grocery store shelves in the first world.

To put it as I did before; do not thank us for things that you stole from us.

Everyone say thank you american indigenous people for cultivating corn, potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, cacao, pumpkin, squash, and anything i missed. Makes life more meaningful globally

[sahisan]

fem reader. nsfwish. you ride anaxa while stargazing.

i

"you brought me here to see the stars," you say, reclining back on the cool marble of the dome's floor. your crystalline lashes catch the moonlight.

it's cloudy tonight. your fingers trace the edge of the starmap projector.

"no," anaxa answers softly, setting his coat beside you before lowering himself down. "i brought you here to be seen."

you turn to look at him. you never smile wide, but tonight, it’s nearly there.

ii

"you don't need to explain constellations to me, anaxagoras."

"i don't. i know," he swallows, eyes flicking up to the way occasional moonlight wraps around your collarbone. "but I still want to."

your silence isn't permission. it's invitation.

"that," he continues, brushing his fingertip just below your clavicle. you're seated in the way that lets the projector move the constellations onto your body, and anaxa has never been so grateful. "is where orion's belt stretches, when the clouds clear. and just beneath it—" he touches the hollow of your throat "—nebula, shaped like a kiss you forget to return."

you huff softly, low and too close. "you're sentimental tonight."

"i'm... learning," he breathes you in like a prayer. "you're the best proof i have that wonder survives reason."

your kiss him first. he forgets every nebula he's ever known.

iii

anaxa lays flat against the marble floor, stars blinking down at him, and you lower yourself onto him like a prayer.

his hands grip your thighs, thumbs tracing constellations into your skin. you feel like the divinity he is meant to defy.

"go slow," he breathes. "i want to remember every second."

"we’ve had centuries," you whisper. "but this… is the one i'll keep."

iv

"say something," you murmur, brushing a thumb under his eye, where tears threaten but never fall.

he opens his mouth. closes it. then finally:

"you’re beautiful when you look down at me like that."

you let out the gentlest laugh—one he feels in his bones.

"then look up," you say. "and see it again."

v

you press a kiss just below his eye patch, featherlight.

"i've seen you teach ridiculous equations, crush religion, and reject fate," you whisper, fingers threaded with his. "and yet here you are, letting me pull you apart with nothing but me."

"it's always been you," anaxa says, so quietly you almost don't hear. "even before i understood."

the projector flickers, constellations spiraling across the dome. one lands between your shoulder blades.

he touches it with his mouth.

vi

"you don't fall," you tell him, lips against his jaw. "you choose." and anaxagoras—philosopher, skeptic, logician—tilts his chin, bares his throat, and says your name like it's the first law of the universe.

vii

you move slowly, so slowly it’s not about chasing the high. it’s about existing, being, folded into each other.

you press your forehead to his. "say something incomprehensible," you breathe.

"i am completely undone by the weight of you," he replies.

you shudder.

"you’re supposed to say it in logic-speak."

"i did."

viii

you press your palm over anaxa's sternum.

"still composed?"

he exhales shakily.

"only in theory," he mutters weakly.

"and practice?" your lips hover just at his jaw.

"currently unraveling."

ix

he maps you like the stars—carefully, with awe—and memorizes every soft gasp like it's his only truth.

x

you lie still, only heartbeat against heartbeat now.

"so this is the grove's most brilliant professor," you tease softly.

"devastated," anaxa agrees, brushing a hand up your spine. "and happily ruined."

[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.

[moodymisty]

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh! I just saw that your requests were back open and I am SO excited.

I humbly request anything involving our favorite Salamander Sa'kan. I've seen no content for him... and that is a travesty. If I didn't have a million other things planned I would write him myself.

Anyway, I'd love something about him actually being able to save a civilian. A pretty young widow, perhaps? And her baby? (For additional heart-warming cuteness... or angst.) You know I'm never opposed to romance/spiciness, but I'll leave that up to you.

Thanks!

Author's note: Since I have so many smut requests including Vulkan ;3 I decided to make this more fluffy. Relationships: Sa'kan/Fem!Reader Warnings: None really other than brief mentions of an orphaned baby

Sa'kan watched as people hovered around you; Dark red eyes flickered between each any every person with inhuman speed. Each one he could see every movement they made, examined for intent.

They were making sure you- as well as the baby in your arms- were in good health, but he had trouble not reacting to your noticeable discomfort of the whole thing.

He notices your grip on the child tighten and wrinkle the blanket when people get too close. You'd said you only found the child days before the Salamanders cleared the area where you were found, and you've already attached to the baby deeply. Blood had no significance to you.

Armor briefly whirs and clicks in his left ear, caused by the other marine standing beside him. Sa'kan's head turns just slightly to look their way inquisitively just as they open their mouth to speak.

"She could stay with the serfs."

Sa'kan shakes his head at the prospect.

"My quarters is large enough for another cot. It inconveniences me little."

The other Salamander grows a bit stiffer and dark eyes look his directly at him now. The hand that had be resting on his hip dropped down to hang limp.

"She should stay with the serfs. They can help her."

Sa'kan doesn't entirely understand why the idea upsets him so. His brother was right; A gaggle of baseline serfs could help you far more than him.

But then he remembers pulling you from rubble. The way you'd thanked him, hovered so close to him you could feel the heat from his armor- Sa'kan could feel it heavy on his heart like a chain.

He could help you just fine enough on his own. You didn't need a dozen strangers pestering you, of male baselines perusing around the new female aboard.

That particularly makes him tense, especially when he watches you scooch ever so slightly away from someone who had gotten too close for comfort.

Ignoring the commands of his battle brother Sa'kan approaches you and gently puts a hand on your shoulders. Fear tenses you up for a moment, but he sees relief cross your face when you look up and see him. The other baselines quickly begin to back off.

"Oh, it's you. I, I should thank you again. I'll never repay my debt to you for saving us."

Sa'kan doesn't respond to it, but he does acknowledge your heartfelt thanks with a small nod.

"Come with me. I will bring you to a place you can rest."

Your heartbeat is higher than it should be, more than likely stress and nerves. Your lack of sleep however doesn't help, and he can see the dullness in your features. The baby in your arms however has gotten no shortage of rest; Sa'kan had only seen the child awake a couple of times. The age he can't hazard a guess, but they seem quite young. He eyes them curiously, but doesn't gain anything of interest from the sleeping child.

After he begins to walk you quickly scurry to follow him, slightly behind in stride but almost shoulder to shoulder. You don't say a word, but quick glances and Sa'kan sees you examining this unknown place with no small amount of nerves. The only souls in these halls are astartes, and suddenly what little familiarity you had was gone again.

Perhaps his battle brother was right. Though it's too late now to go back on it.

As you trail behind him Sa'kan notes just how much smaller you are than him. His armor makes your body seem more meek than it actually is. You have lost strength over time however; The adrenaline is long gone from your body and it tires, you need the rest before you collapse.

His quarters will suffice for that. The serfs quarters will be too loud and filled with people, he thought you might appreciate somewhere more quiet.

When you enter in front of him, you briefly glance around before getting startled by the sound of the door closing behind him. You don't say anything however, watching him walk right by you with wide eyes. Eventually, you take to sitting on the cot when your movement towards it doesn't get reprimanded. Sa'kan uses the opportunity to speak up when you adjust the dirty blanket wrapped around the baby.

Still asleep. How much of it does a young child need? His brow furrows curiously as he stares, only to see you nervously watching him. He wishes you wouldn't be so nervous about him, but it's understandable to him; Unlike many of his cousins. Underneath the endless respect for the Emperor's Angels, is an innately primal fear of a predator who treads the line between humanity and something else.

"What do you need for the child?" You look down and sigh, pursing your lips.

"A lot. The serfs said they would help me scrounge up what I needed. Food, mostly."

Sa'kan contends to rest his eyes and pick the bits of flesh from his chainsword as time passes, only looking back your way once it's acceptably clean and no longer jammed.

"Can they not eat what is fed to the serfs?"

You shake your head and almost laugh, and his confusion grows.

"Oh, goodness no. They're too young for solid food like that."

With a slight exhale, He ever so slightly smiles at you. Your tension has relaxed significantly.

"Ah. Forgive me on my lack of knowledge."

You laugh a bit more as the child wiggles in their sleep, before firmly shoving half of their hand into their mouth.

Sa'kan recoils a tad- not enough for you to notice. What a weird thing.

"I don't imagine these sorts of things are important for the Emperor's angels to know."

He notices the dirt and mud covering the both of you, and vows to remember to see about getting you a place to clean off.

By the Emperor, he cares too much. It comes too easily. Perhaps his brother was right once again. Salamanders have a bad habit of attaching themselves too deeply and too quickly.

You've fallen asleep on his cot, he instantly notices; Body slumped to the side a bit. Despite the noise of the ship you don't do anything more than shift just a tad. Your fingers are locked together to keep the child firmly in your arms.

The sight stirs something odd in him. There's a tenseness in his upper chest he can't explain.

He'll stay here and tend to his weapons some more until he is needed. With you resting, you need someone to keep an eye on you and the child.

He can fulfill that purpose.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Asking them if they'd let you get them pregnant...part 5?

CW: pregnancy talk, a little suggestive, a little angst(?), drug mention(mushrooms)

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

A/N: I thought about doing some for the ladies where you ask them to get you pregnant since I've started these crack posts but the only ladies I actually like are Beidou and Rosaria soooo I'd probably only do it if requested :o

-------

Aventurine's expression doesn't waver as you ask him if he'd let you get him pregnant using the little dark pink vile in your hands. But despite how calm he looks you're more than aware he's putting up a mask one he uses when he's been caught off guard.

"Now hold on there, my dear lover. Who said anything about me carrying our future child? Why don't you carry them while I take care of you instead?" But you don't budge even commenting on how lovely he would be pregnant with your child explaining how the vile works.

He sighs leaning into the opulent red couch across from you eyeing the vile. It's the only indication that he's a little nervous about this. But as he processes how it would work he recovers a glint in his eye that says he's thought of something good. He takes a single poker chip off the coffee table between you and begins to flip it in the air a clear sign he's come up with a full proof strategy.

"Alright then, my dear lover. Since we're both interested in having children but neither if us can agree on who will carry..." He tugs the dip of his shirt just to see your eyes linger there. This'll be too easy. "How about we make this more interesting?"

Aventurine flips the poker chip between his fingers and hums a smirk on his lips.

"If you win seven different games against me in a row, I'll drink that little vile and bear your children. But..." His hypnotizing eyes trailing your form from top to bottom landing on your lowest part of your belly lingering there then flickering up to meet your eyes.

"If I win. You will be the one drinking that vile and you will be the one getting pregnant." He stretches out his hand for you to shake exuding absolute confidence. "Sounds like a deal?" You shake his hand firmly and the little smirk on his face gets just that much wider.

There's no way he's going to lose.

...He loses every game spectacularly, the odds that should have been in his favor failed him no matter which game you played his composure faltering bit by bit with every loss.

It isn't until the final game, one he rigged a long time ago specifically so he wouldn't lose in thw event he was in a pinch that he silently accepts his fate seeing your winning hand. There's just no beating you and clearly the universe thinks so too.

"Well then..." He lifts the vile in cheers. "Bottoms up." Oh there was a bottom up that night alright.

Kazuha blinks rapidly shaking his head and sitting up from your resting spot on a grass hill overlooking the sea in Inazuma.

"D-Did I hear you right? I know we've talked about children but..." You nod confidently asking him again that if you could would he let you get him pregnant. He sighs. You must be having one of your moments where you ask him something odd in hopes of messing with his composure. He smiles fondly catching a falling leaf.

"If there were a way for us to have a child in the way you are suggesting I would not mind. Though you and I both know that is not possible-" He places his lips on the leaf ready to blow "-Yes it is." "Eh?"

His wide red eyes search your face for answers and when he finds complete seriousness and a strange sakura pink vile in your hand the leaf slips from his hands in shock. He feels his face flush as you explain how the vile works.

"You-" He snorts the entire situation ridiculous."You always know how to make me lose my composure. Though..." He sets the vile onto the grass and takes your hands in his.

"Why don't we wait just a bit more before having children? This isn't something to take lightly after all. And when we're finally prepared..." He leans in to whisper into your ear. "I'll be in your care."

Xiao's expression doesn't change too much after hearing your question except the light pinch of his brow. He sighs shaking his head.

"Ridiculous...you should know that the only known adeptus to have changed their form so readily is Rex Lapis. I cannot alter my form so easily though I do know of some adeptal arts that could do so..." You ask him again if he would be willing and he shakes his head again firmly.

"No. It would be far too dangerous. Not to me but to our child." His looks down opening and closing his hands into fists. "Even if it could be altered and capbable of life this body that has dealt countless slaughter is...unsuitable."

You take his hands in yours and nod in understanding and ask if it'd be any different if you carried instead. He pauses a little hesitant but he nods slowly. "It would be safer for them but..." He stares at your linked hands, hands that have held him so gently all this time never faltering.

"Let me think about this and if you are certain I shall prepare."

Tighnari and Cyno look up at you from the floor where they were playing TCG to pass the time waiting out the thunder storm processing your question.

"Have you raided my mushroom stash again? I told you not to consume any hallucinogenic mushrooms without any guidance unless you want a repeat of five months ago!" He stands up checking your eyes, ears, pulse, and posture while Cyno takes in your form.

"I don't think they've consumed anything and if they did they are remarkably sober." He comments standing up as Tighnari runs a hand down his face realizing your fine.

"Yeah, they're fine, unfortunately they're just crazy, dumb, or both." "Oi!" Tighnari pats your head shaking his head in disappointment. "I'm sure we're all more than aware that our bodies aren't exactly compatible to make children in the way you're determined to."

"We all want children but aren't you thinking about this at all?" You nod your head confidently lifting a rather old tome out of your bag. " I have thought about it that's how I found a way to make this possible."

Tighnari crosses his arms and Cyno joins his side mirroring his posture as they stare at you equally curious and doubtful to the tomes dubious contents. They follow you Tighnari's desk and huddle around it with you as you turn to the section where you found this supposed method.

As they read the pages their skepticism fades into disbelief as you pull out records of this technique actually working and the healthy children that were produced. Tighnari and Cyno look between each other and at you then back to each other. Cyno breaks the silence lifting up a TCG card.

"Best two out of three? Whoever loses carries." "Forget your card games that just means I'm going to be the one carrying them regardless!"

"Ah, so it is a-parent that you'll lose?"

"...Get me my damn deck."

Tighnari does lose but he did pretty well considering they were evenly matched until the final round. He groans as Cyno attempts to make another joke as he rereads the passage making a list of all the ingredients you will all need to gather in order to create life within him.

Now just how will he tell Collei?

[urhoneycombwitch]

I wanna know how husky Eddie would help us feel better about our body 😭👏 pls queen if you have any ideas im all ears

+18 mdni, fat/plus-size reader

my take is that if you're having a rough self-image day/season of life as one does, Eddie does the normal and kind thing to do- reassurances, praise, helping you shift your mindset. etc.

however he would not put up with any negative self-talk. doesn't fly with him. even if you're sneaky about it, he catches stray comments and facial expressions like it's his job.

calls you out on it, challenges every negative belief until you can start bucking them for yourself. helps you re-form those positive neural pathways into self-appreciation.

and i mean it kinda is his job. husky!Eddie knows what he likes and he likes fat bodies and stomach jiggles and big thighs and he can make a career out of loving every inch of you. fr.

also. if you're still really stuck in fucked-up inward thoughts about your image... Eddie will make sure to call attention to what he likes. and makes it blindingly obvious and clear how much he's into your body.

handfuls of your ass cheeks as he fucks you from behind. savoring every slap of skin on skin, every vibration, every wobble.

he loves when he hits into your thighs so hard there's recoil, or when his hand smacks hard enough on the meat of your ass to cause all the fat to keep moving even seconds after the hit. he's mesmerized by the movements of your skin and body.

fave spot to hold is your stomach 100% I've said it before in a husky!Eddie fic and I'll SAY IT AGAIN. loves holding with both his hands, or one big palm spread just under your navel. loves the feeling of that muscle and fat molded to his fingers.

also. filthy as fuck mouth that he uses to his advantage.

hand around your throat so you can't wiggle from the spew of sick fast words while he's actively fucking you. talks about how he can't get e-fuckin-nough of your tits and stretch marks and the plush fat of your ribs and burying himself between your thighs and really, hand to god, wishes to be smothered. epic way to go

husky!neighbor!Eddie mlist for the soul ✨

[blueberrypancakesworld]

John Walker - In a Relationship

John Walker x fem!reader

warning : kissing, hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of war, weapons, no use of Y/n

info : Finally! I saw the movie and omg I loved it, get ready for a lot of fics about sexy traumatized characters. Plus my fav John Walker that taco shield owner and now enjoy reading :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Walker got a second chance after losing those closest to him and being dropped by the system that had wanted to make him great. But just because his wife was no longer in his life and he seemingly had nothing left, the opportunity with the Thunderbolts was all the greater...and on top of that, you, as his girlfriend, gave him hope for something wonderful.

°Walker may be superhumanly strong, but his heart is in the right place, especially when it comes to you. He would never drag you into one of his missions, never expose you to the danger and the past he had lived through. “You are more important than any mission, you won't get hurt like I did, I promise,” he told you whenever you offered to come with him, and he meant it.

°He was so grateful and wanted to show you his gratitude as often as he could for being there for him even in his darkest times. That you didn't see him as a 'dime store' Captain America, but as the soldier and savior of people he always wanted to be. “Never, John, the costume yes, but you no, you are my dutiful, handsome U.S. agent,” she said, John replied with a smile of flattery and truth.

°Those were words of love and respect, and they were rewarded every time with a kiss on the cheek while his rough, large hand rested on your hip to pull you closer to him.

°During the time you got to know each other, it was difficult for him to 'learn' what it meant to no longer be needed. His fear was understandable and his anger sometimes uncontrollable, but no matter how long and how often he disappeared to train to clear his mind, you waited for him, helped him with his training, and above all, it was he who said “Thank you...thank you for all this, sweetheart” every time. During training, he was the one who kissed you and couldn't have been happier when you kissed him back.

°In general, you quickly noticed that after John turned his back on the government, he could be very protective. Whether it was a call to check on you or a message after every mission when he came back to you, “Just one more mission, sweetheart, I'll be back soon. I love you,” he recorded the voice message before putting on his helmet to go on another “official” mission and somehow find that meaning he had almost achieved.

°You were waiting for him, he had someone waiting for him again, someone who believed in him, and that alone was worth continuing for.

°One of the most beautiful sights for the agent was seeing you cleaning your weapons. As cliché and stupid as it might be, he loved your knowledge, he knew you weren't helpless and could defend yourself, but this sight of beauty and lethality made his heart beat a little faster. “My dear weapon nymph,” he commented as he leaned against the doorframe. Your embarrassed smile spoke volumes, and John, as always, either cleaned his weapons or simply kissed you on the head and let you continue.

°When it came to leisure activities as a couple, it always depended on the missions and the time they had in between. Before Thunderbolts, it was rather difficult to find time for each other, but now, in the new team, there was suddenly more time and more understanding.

°Even Bob found tips in a dating book for his friend to give them some new ideas. “Trust me, just let your soft side out.” John heard his girlfriend say as he looked at the unpainted ceramic bowl. He had never been an artistic person, but seeing how beautifully she painted the bowl, he wanted to give it his best shot.

°In contrast to the colorful bowls that were displayed as souvenirs on the shelf, John insisted on playing football with you and the others as a team, which quickly became not only fun but also a battle for “Title and honor,” as Alexei put it, with John scoring every point like a god.

°In the end, he even lifted you up and carried you across the field. “Only the football queen gets that from her king,” he whispered before gently spinning you around and giving you another rewarding kiss. It was something none of you ever got enough of, because a kiss was simple but just as symbolic.

°Intimate yet brief, quick yet full of emotion, it was all the more important to John to always show you that he still loved you after everything.

°After all, he was still human. He may have been a super soldier, but he was only human. That's why his mind wasn't invulnerable and his nightmares about Afghanistan and what the terrorists had done sometimes kept him awake. “A former Captain America, a super soldier, and an agent, and yet I have this weakness,” he murmured, full of guilt and remorse, as he sat next to her in bed and hated himself.

°Your touch calmed him, allowing him to forget the war and the past. He focused on the present, on what he had, and especially when he had you right there with him.

°As you discovered, it was the little gestures and the things you did without thinking that John appreciated. Your hand on his, a kiss on his temple, a hug, or just leaning on him in bed when his mind was tormenting him. John knew he wasn't perfect, but he had learned enough in the last few months to become better, and with your love and his hope and effort, he would manage to improve himself and, above all, be the best boyfriend he could be to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@egotisticaleverything , @brisselfshipping , @hoebrowsalad , @littlebean2905 , @lilbit32 , @neska334 , @lillycore , @crimsonkingart

[catboytenya]

as promised, here's a shit ton of screenshots. like i said before, my ex, @/sentiearksys/@/taysudon was incredibly abusive to me and is trying to rewrite the narrative that i was the abusive one, and quite frankly, i'm not gonna let him push me around any longer, so, here's my final post on the topic.

don't go harassing him, but i encourage blocking.

i had been hoping he would stop posting lies about me when i posted actual proof, which i actually have, unlike him, but i don't think he ever will. so, like i said, this is my final post on this topic.

some of these i feel shy sharing because i don't like how vulnerable i am in them, but i feel a bit helpless that he's going around telling people i was the abusive one meanwhile..... i've put up with this cruel treatment for years. and i have the proof of his treatment, and all he can do is talk shit and lie about me without any evidence.

if he wanted me to stop posting evidence, he should have stopped posting lies about me. after we broke up i was completely fine with never bringing him up again until he decided to start lying about me. like i said before, ultimately, this is about defending myself and clearing my name, as well as warning others about how he really is behind closed doors.

today, i had the luck of talking to some of the people he lied about to me and forced me to block, and i got to finally hear their sides of the story. all these people that he told me were terrible and awful and cruel are the sweetest people i've ever spoken to who did not deserve the terrible things he was saying about them. if i DO make another post, it'll be entirely to defend them and include screenshots of the awful things he said about them. for now, i'll be leaving them out of it. i just wanted to include this paragraph to thank them for taking the time to reply and to talk to me, and honestly, to show my appreciation for them as my new friends.

i'm not only including any screenshots from previous posts, i'm also including new ones, so everything is on one post. thank you for listening.

as i mentioned before on older posts, we're both systems, and use pluralkit to talk. i get that because of this it might be a bit confusing, so i'll spare you the trouble: cloudy creatures, katsuki/kacchan, and shouto are me, the rest is my ex. i explained in past posts that some of these screenshots are old, and that's why some of the timestamps say "today"

this was originally one long screenshot but tumblr destroys the quality, so, here it is in parts:

he voted for trump btw. if his parents made him do it why is he defending his decision so hard over a tumblr post?:

Here's my admitting that he was the reason I didn't kill myself while I was feeling suicidal, followed by (a few of) the times he held it above my head:

there's also.... whatever this incident is. passive aggressive, guilt tripping, ect. typical playing with my emotions while i'm trying to have a serious conversation:

he would also pretend that his headmate(s) were dying or grievously injured to punish me. basically a "your partner is DYING because of YOU" kinda thing:

these are from a previous post but here he is making my cat dying about him and also about choosing either him or my best friend faith:

and here he is barely even giving me a second to grieve my other cat dying VERY suddenly before he starts talking about the mini art fight me and my friends have going year-round. also who says "haha!" to someone who's cat just died?:

the next few screenshots are gonna be censored since they're from a previous post before i decided to stop censoring them, red is my ex, blue is me. anyway he would start talking in morse code during serious conversations to make me have to stop what i was doing to open a translator:

here he is doing his typical "i don't like when you talk about faith" thing:

here he is being upset about my animals as well as being jealous over my theoretical bunny i've been wanting to adopt:

here he is upset about me leaving to go play mario kart with my sibling??:

here he is demeaning my ability to communicate + also just?? telling me that i need to relearn basic english???:

here he is claiming that i didn't give him any recognition in a really demeaning way even though like. idk how else to explain it but we were so head over heels that we excused 99% of his behavior.:

here he is making me feel really shitty about how many songs i put in my character playlists, this eventually culminated in me deleting all of the playlists i had made:

i genuinely have more but i've hit the 30 image limit. thank you for reading, and again, if i make another post, it'll be because i'm doing it for my new friends.

[munnmolads]

What do we know about Rafayel's life before the main story? Theory and Analysis

After Reading Banquet Ablaze, I really got the fire under my butt to write about Rafayel's life before meeting MC in the main story. This has been in my mind a lot, and Banquet Ablaze gave new insights as to what his life was like back then.

Spoilers for Omnipotent Perception, Banquet Ablaze, Rafayel's anecdotes, World Underneath stories and overall main story and his story.

Meeting MC as a child - Year 2034

I'm not going to dwell much on his childhood just yet, because that would be much more broader thing and I still need to collect my thoughts on it on more detail from other cards.

What I can say is that according to the main story Chapter 7, Land Of Secret Flames and Nightly Stroll, Rafayel and MC met first time in this lifetime when they both were children. MC can place their meeting to be before "she was really sick".

I am assuming this actually references to her intense death-resurrection-death-cycle that is described in "Sealed in Dust" World Underneath story. MC was around 7-8 years old during that time and caused her memory loss from the times before her experiments, and the experiments ended in the Chronorift Catastrophe, which happened in 2034. The high fever sounds like an "explanation" her grandma gave her from her memory loss.

In the official "Fish" video released by the devs, it's mentioned that Lemuria was unearthed by an earthquake in the end of 2034. This is likely when Rafayel and the rest of the Lemurians had to flee Lemuria for their own safety. As the game year is 2048 and Rafayel is mentioned to be 24 (most likely by human standard), it would mean he was ~10 years old when he met MC and had to flee Lemuria later.

It could be possible that their meeting could have happened in 2033, but I'm leaning towards 2034 as assumably MC would have remembered to go see Rafayel again before Chronorift Catastrophe happened when they agreed they would see each other in a year. I will make another post some time about the life we know so far in his childhood in Lemuria.

His teens and adult life

I need to categorize this quite differently since there are a few main happenings that we know some bits of, but are still hazy with the details. There are a few, clear sections of his life:

His life with his art teacher and the butler

His life in Verona

His life in Linkon and teaching in the Linkon University

I'll dig in these in a bit, but there's still quite bit of gaps in his story, like the exact moments when he had to flee Lemuria - in his memories, birthday card and birthday event he mentions about spending time in the ocean as a kid, but at some point he had to come to land. It's really hard to place his early teens anywhere really, but I'll continue that point in the next section.

His life with his art teacher and the butler

There is a bit of conflicting information about him living with the old Butler and his old art teacher, it could be that both BA and OP have different cities in them. The first mention about the old butler in in Omnipotent Perception, the "Antique Shop Owner" being the butler he mentioned.

There's no mention about the art teacher in Omnipotent Perception though - or that there would have been another person there. It's difficult to put a duration around this time how long he lived in this unnamed city. He mentions that he walked the one path for three years and being the youngest student in "that" acdemic year. He also mentions spending a lot of time looking people, going into theaters or museums.

The first mention about his art teacher is in his first birthday card, Unforgettable Adventure. The dialogue is too long to screenshot it in from a video, so I linked the timestamp to it. Rafayel tells that his art teacher was a Lemurian as well, and he taught Rafayel that nothing from Lemuria can live on land and nothing in land can live in Lemuria. This sounds one of those lies that adults tell kids to keep in check - they didn't want Rafayel to wander off the ocean to find MC.

Anyway, in BA it's stated that the old art teacher was an alcoholic as well - Rafayel had to sometimes drag him home when he was passing out from drinking. He also mentions that he wasn't out much - which conflicts with the details he says in Omnipotent Perception, especially considering the fact that in BA, it's mentioned this was the time he wasn't painting much and in OP he studied in an art school. Also, he wasn't "technically old enough" to drink, whatever that means. I'm going to assume he's referring by being technically underage to his own reincarnation/slumber cycle, where he doesn't really die, but falls into a deep slumber. But that's another detail for some other day...

Compared to what he says in Omnipotent Perception:

These details lead me to believe the cities mentioned in Omnipotent Perception and Banquet Ablaze are different places, but I am not 100% convinced either way until we get solid information on that, like names for these cities or if any of these actually happened in Verona. Ooor, he's lying his ass off in Omnipotent Perception, which I feel like is not the case.

In Banquet Ablaze, he mentions that the art teacher used his money to get Rafayel and the old Butler out of the city, which could mean 2 different things - he either left with the butler to the city in Omnipotent Perception to study art, or they went to Verona.

His life in Verona

So far we know fairly little about his life in Verona and how long he lived there. Talia lived back then and still lives there. In Siren's Song anecdote we learn he leaves to Linkon just a few days after his concert where he killed Mr. Fallon with his singing voice. Assumably he didn't live with Talia back then considering how they met up in a cafe to exchange the documents Rafayel had asked her to get and she asks if he have got used to Verona yet. It also indicates that he was there for a short time.

During the first birthday event he had in last year. he mentioned that he used to work part time at the opera house to make posters. He isn't exactly truthful about it at that time, but he does mention that he was young back then. Though, In the anecdote Rafayel is described as a man, which could indicate being adult or close to it (18-20).

Something to note that the distance between Linkon and Verona takes several days by boat - and MC took a plane to Verona during Rafayel's 2nd birthday event this year. Also the note about his exquisite gold clasps indicates that he had some kind of money at this time, when in Banquet Ablaze it seemed he was financially dependable on his art teacher. He likely had some time to perform as a opera singer for a while until he set off to Linkon. During this time he still seemed not to be painting, as Talia mentions it in the cafe before they part ways.

His life in Linkon before the main story

In Addictive Pain, Rafayel managed to get his fame overnight with his painting "Illusion". When he got this fame, he wasn't living in his studio yet, as he lived in a hotel room at the time he was planning to take the teaching position.

It's not clear how much time passes between the chapters, but the last chapter indicates that he decided to stay in Linkon during that time he was an art teacher. The position only lasted for a year, and in the anecdote Rafayel thinks to himself that MC is still a college student, so around 18-22. In game he is himself 24 years old, and considering their age 2 years-ish age difference, it could be he was around 20-23 around this time.

He also met Thomas when he got to fame - Thomas being jealous of Rafayel's work, tried to get to know his secrets and ended up studying business to work and open the art gallery with him as mentioned in Unique Vermillion. Thomas has mentioned that he has been in Art management for several years already, so assumably he started his career with Rafayel. This leads me to believe Addictive Pain happened around 2-3 years before the main story, and Thomas's and Rafayel's meeting right after Rafayel accepted the teaching position at Linkon University, unless there's more information about that. Couple bits where Thomas talks about working with Rafayel (Unique Vermillion Anecdote / High & Low Culture WU story)

Assumably after the teaching position ended for Rafayel, he spent the rest of the time painting and waiting for the moment when he will meet MC again where the main story starts. Of course there are small bits we know, like how he tends to travel half the year around the world and him most likely seeking out other Lemurians and ensuring their safety.

I will try to update this post with a follow up post about the next parts if I make them - I want to make more in-depth analysis of his birthday event and card this year which opened up his life a little in the ocean in this lifetime and if we get more concrete information about his life before the main story overall.

[cfdbuckley]

If the idea of showing up in court with his knuckles bruised and Tommy's face black and blue didn't seem like it would get him into trouble, Buck thought he might really like to experience it, for the complete asshole ruining his morning. Was it sort of his fault for starting something with Eddie before he ended it? Maybe, he could see how it could be interpreted that way, but if he hadn't been with Eddie last night, he would have never slept at all waiting for morning to come because he needed to convince Tommy to end things. So in that way, hadn't he gotten everything he wanted? A night and a morning with Eddie and perhaps an expedited end to the trial claim?

He was never, ever going to leave first without turning to Eddie, and while he wasn't necessarily surprised to find him right there when he turned, Buck still felt his heart melt in his chest, all the anger momentarily evaporating from his features as he was pulled in. Wrapping his arms back around Eddie, he held him close and kissed him back, mapping out the covered muscles of his back as he did. His heart rate spiked as he realized he was getting a glimpse of his future right here, unashamedly kissing Eddie out in the open, getting to hold him like this as often as he wanted?

Buck exhaled shakily and leaned in to nuzzle the side of Eddie's face as he was glaring at Tommy, but then he opened his eyes to see the phone and shot Eddie a grateful look and a soft smile. "Of course. I'll be back before you know it." He squeezed him briefly before taking and pocketing his phone, his brow immediately furrowing when he turned to see Tommy staring daggers right back at them. He was giving Eddie a particularly pointed look that Buck couldn't decipher, but he did realize it seemed easier for Tommy to look at Eddie than at him. Really, he wanted to ban him from ever laying eyes on Eddie but he figured Eddie might feel the same way in reverse, so he took what he could and went around to get into the truck, buckling up and barely getting a chance to wave before Tommy was backing up out of the driveway like a bat out of hell and was roaring down the street, probably at a speed not legal in residential areas.

[20 minutes later]

Buck: he's signing the papers now!! i'm free, all urs ♥️

[10 minutes later]

Buck: he says he needs 2 get evryth from mine that he gave me during the claim 🙄 so guess we're going 2 mine 1st. i'll text as soon as i'm omw back!

[A few hours later, without any read messages or answered phone calls]

Buck: Himbo slut is all yours now, though I didn't peg you for liking sloppy seconds, Ed. Got him ready for you, but call me if you decide you want to try a real man next time, yeah?

[IMG Attached: A shot from above, Buck on his stomach, only the back of his head visible, no face. Arm muscles are lax, messily tied above him at the wrist to the bed frame. Photo is of his torso and above, a few angry lash marks across his ribs.]

Buck is vaguely aware that Tommy left, finally. Vaguely aware that he was speaking just before descending the loft stairs. But Buck is mostly aware of the fatigue, the ache in all of his muscles, and the exhaustion that keeps making him feel like he's losing time every time he lets his eyelids slip shut. How long has he been here? Why can't he pull his arms down or turn? He sucks in a weak breath against his bedsheets and tries again to pull at his arms but they feel like overcooked noodles, leaving him huffing as he desperately tries to clear away the brain fog. If he could just think, lift his head, maybe...

Water actually sounded pretty great once Buck mentioned it because his throat was still feeling pretty rough from sucking Buck off earlier. Even though he was tempted, he still declined Buck's offer because, again, that meant Buck would have to leave the room, but he also wasn't quite ready to get the taste of Buck from his mouth. "Nah, I'm good." And he was, very much good that was, but Buck seemed to know exactly what he needed to feel so much better as Eddie quickly found himself on his back with Buck blissfully on top of him. As he felt Buck's head settle in the crook of his neck, Eddie reached up and wrapped one arm around Buck's back while his other hand found it way into Buck's curls to hold him in place. The fact that this was the first morning of many future ones that they would be able to have was not lost on Eddie, and the fact brought a lazy smile to his face.

Eddie was actually thinking about Chris when Buck asked him what time he was supposed to pick up his son. It was just another example of how he and Buck were connected in a way that was almost impossible to explain to other people. While he wasn't ready to tell his family, which included both his work and actual family, about him and Buck, Eddie knew this wasn't something he wanted to keep from Chris. He planned to have Buck around the house for as long as Buck agreed to it, and Eddie didn't want to have to hide showing affection to Buck. Since he knew that Christopher loved Buck already, Eddie knew that it wouldn't be that much of an adjustment for his son to accept. The only major concerns that Eddie had was exactly how to bring it up to Chris and if Chris would be able to keep it a secret from abuela, Pepa, and the rest of his family.

Before Eddie was able to answer Buck's question, their perfect, cozy after-sex bubble was rudely popped by a honking car. At first, Eddie thought that the horn was directed towards a particular house down the street that Eddie had some reservations about, but it became quickly clear that the offending horn was directly outside his own home. His next thought was that obviously someone in his family was having an emergency, possibly related to Christopher, so Eddie tried to scramble to find his phone for any missed texts or calls. Before he could even look, Buck was already off of him and the bed and determined who the annoying culprit was.

Just hearing that it was Tommy pretty much destroyed all the exceptional mood that he was in due to his perfect morning with Buck. He was too busy mentally picking out good spots to bury Tommy's body at to actually get dressed, so by the time he pulled himself from off the bed, Buck was already heading out the bedroom door to confront his ex. That finally got Eddie to start moving faster, so he through on a pair of sweats that were at the top of his hamper before following Buck. Before he was able to leave the bedroom though, Eddie saw Buck's phone on the bed and picked it up.

By the time Eddie made it out the front door, Buck was already at the pickup door. He was able to hear Buck mention cutting ties with Tommy, so he at least had some idea where the two of them were heading off to do. Before Buck could get into Tommy's truck though, Eddie had reached him and pulled him in close so that he could kiss Buck before he left. Even though Eddie knew all his neighbors were watching them due to Tommy's nosy display, he didn't hold back as he licked his way into Buck's mouth to deepen the kiss. Even though part of it was to put on a display for Buck's ex, Eddie also wanted to reassure and comfort Buck before he left. Eddie reluctantly pulled away from Buck's lips and sent a death glare in Tommy's direction as he handed Buck his phone. "Be safe and please call me as soon as you can."

[traincat]

To think I almost missed my Sunday question ☹️ just got done with finals and (massive plot twist I'm sure) I still have Johnny on the mind.

So here's another big question that you can feel free to answer in whatever depth you'd like!

How has Johnny and Ben's relationship evolved through the years? The panel that really made me ask this question is the one where Johnny's asking what he can do for Ben to forgive him. (Also when the rest of the family disappears and they start losing their powers). It just got my brain working. (I also always enjoy their interactions in your fics so I was curious abt how you see their relationship being).

Thanks! ✨

Yeah, I definitely think there's a lot of evolution to Ben and Johnny's relationship, and that Johnny specifically is very, very emotionally dependent on Ben. I'm not saying Ben doesn't love Johnny just as fiercely, he's pretty readily demonstrated he would die for Johnny, but that Ben has other relationships he can rely on in that corner, whereas Johnny tends to self-destruct without Ben's presence.

(Fantastic Four #5)

I think there's a perception that Johnny's teasing of Ben, especially in the early days, is cruel or malicious, and I think that's an unkind reading of the situation. Yes, Johnny does make fun of Ben often, but here's the thing (badumpsh): Johnny doesn't tip toe around Ben's condition. Ben is the one who calls himself a monster, who rages in the early days, who is the one who (in early canon) is the most physically impacted by the cosmic rays. (Later canon will explore Johnny's depth of self-control with his powers, in addition to the Reed and Sue's own control of their powers.) Johnny is sixteen, his sister is frequently busy with her boyfriend and their new responsibilities -- he's in pretty close contact with Ben, probably more so than anyone else on the team. He's teasing him and playing practical jokes to get his attention and to take Ben's mind off things.

Ben says it himself in The Thing #23 (during a period where he and Johnny very much are not on good terms): "Nah, I wuz never really mad at ya, kid... sure wanted ta moider ya sometimes... but I still loved ya."

Ben has the least reason to be emotionally close to Johnny. He's not his girlfriend's kid brother, after all. But it's clear from early on that Ben is attached to Johnny and that he does love him, even if wants to "moider" him sometimes. Early canon Johnny is a magnet for trouble. His Strange Tales run is really where that shines. He's easily manipulated by slick criminals. He's targeted by a fake Captain America. He gets tied to sign posts, the rail road tracks, and a porpoise. He absorbs a bomb's explosion to save a town.

(Strange Tales #112) "If anything happens to that kid, I'll... no!! It can't happen!" Fantastic Four makes it clear very early on that as much as they fight, this isn't a purely antagonistic relationship. Ben loves Johnny, he'd just rather walk through Times Square in the buff before he admits it.

As for Ben being Johnny's rock, literally, there's a couple of big examples of Johnny just absolutely going off the deep end without Ben present. Johnny already generally does not tend to do well when the team is not together.

(FF #191)

The incident you outline, where Ben says he never wants to see Johnny again, is probably the best example of this, although I have two others. For background: by total accident, Johnny once messed up once of Reed's attempts to cure Ben of being the Thing. Reed decides that neither he or Johnny will ever tell anybody about this, especially not Ben. Of course, the truth comes out, and at a terrible moment, when an outside force is trying to tear the team apart. Johnny's powers are gone (something that already puts him in a precarious place emotionally), and Sue and Reed have lost custody of their kids.

(Fantastic Four v5 #7) Gonna blanket rec volume 5 on the whole here. It's the last run before corporate took the book off the market over movie rights for three years, and it's a very good, very cohesive story. (I don't like what it does with Sharon Ventura. But I don't like what any Fantastic Four book has ever done with Sharon Ventura, save for Marvel Knights 4's brief cameo.) But Johnny's been through the wringer here already. He's lost his powers, both of his careers, and his sister has lost custody of his niece and nephew. But he only goes totally off the rails and disappears into his "party boy" persona after Ben cuts off contact with him.

(FF v5 #10-11) "Johnny's a mess." Luckily he's got an incredibly handsome and devoted """best friend""" (canon JohnnyWyatt when) and also Spider-Man to drag him out of it, but Johnny reuniting with Ben is definitely a huge part of what drags him out of this state.

(FF v5 #12) "So you love me again, big buddy?" "Maybe."

There's the more recent example, where after Secret Wars (2015), when Reed, Sue, and the kids were assumed dead, we know Ben and Johnny had some kind of huge fight. Ben went to space, Johnny -- spiraled. Hard. Harder than the above example. This sets up a romantic relationship with Medusa which I feel pretty critical about, in part because the writer clearly didn't actually read Medusa's tenure on the team. (She and Johnny were friends! They were actually really good friends!) I believe it could have happened, not just because I'm an annoying canon purist, but because it kind of falls into previously established territory -- Johnny, in an emotionally vulnerable state and with Ben off planet, gets into an ill-advised romantic relationship with a member of the Fantastic Four's social circle. That's basically the exact setup for when he got into a relationship with Alicia. (Which, as I've previously said, was a relationship that, pre-Skrull spy retcon, was about Ben.) So I buy it, because Johnny does not make good romantic decisions when he's spiraling, I just kind of hated the writing surrounding it. Even after Ben came back, Johnny was too hurt by everything else to really recover. Ben's solution to this was to take Johnny on a multiversal wild goose chase to find Sue and Reed (Ben very much believed they were dead and was stalling for time) that went, uh, bad. Also they both lost their powers.

(Marvel 2-in-One (2018) #8) They made up! Off screen. When Sue and Reed returned. Johnny might have been living with Wyatt at this point, it's really unclear. (Tinfoil hat on, I do fully believe Slott originally intended to soft launch canon JohnnyWyatt. If he didn't do it intentionally, he did it unintentionally, because it's very difficult to read the beginning of his run any other way.)

But I think a bigger example of Johnny going off the rails without Ben is when Ben dies. And, very importantly here, Ben dies because he manages to overcome mind control for only long enough to tell Reed to kill him to save Johnny.

(FF #509)

In the aftermath, Johnny goes running, which is pretty typical for him. Rather than disappearing into a party boy persona, though, he takes Johnny Storm off the map entirely, working in an auto shop and avoiding Sue's calls.

(FF #509) "Hey, squirt, you... you know I ain't really here, right? That ya really are just makin' believe?" "...Yeah. But this is how I get through the day."

Johnny's grief is mirrored by Alicia, who has locked herself in her studio to do nothing but sculpt Ben all day.

(FF #509) "She says it helps her pretend Ben's still with us. Isn't that sad?" Yikes.

Ben gets better, of course, and Johnny bounces back, but I do think about it in context of Johnny Storm's Last Stand, where Johnny bodily pushes Ben out of the way (seconds before Ben transforms back into the Thing) so he can take his place defending the Negative Zone gate.

(FF #584 and #600)

I do think this is a case where Johnny can't let Ben die for him again. It's a relationship with such an intense amount of emotion. Yeah, they fight a lot, and the (mutual) prank war has been going on forever, but they will both sacrifice themselves before they let the other put themselves in danger.

(FF #535) And I don't think it's a relationship where you can point to moments that caused that intense loyalty and love for each other. I think it's a slow slide into it, a result of living in each other's pockets for so long. Johnny was young when he met Ben -- for him, Ben is one of the constants in his life, the person he can depend on. When he doesn't have Ben to lean on, he's lost.

For Ben, Johnny's the little brother he never had, the thorn in his side, his partner in crime. He might be able to get along without Johnny's presence in his life, but he wouldn't be happy, as much as he protests otherwise. He goes to incredible, if misguided, lengths in 2-in-1 to try and protect Johnny, largely from himself. I think, for Ben, the depths of Johnny's self-hatred is something he hates thinking about, but he knows about it, and so he does what Johnny did for him in the early days: he picks on him to him to distract him. It's never malicious. It's their dynamic.

(Marvel 2-in-1 #3) "'Cause you're broken."

For some fun, largely overlooked Ben and Johnny content, I really like the brief period where they were on the team with T'Challa and Storm while Reed and Sue were on a second honeymoon.

(FF #545) "Is Ben going to try and fight him?" "Does Wolverine go through a lot of gloves?"

It's very brief, from #544-550 (although I'd read #543 as well for Ben and Johnny content), but it's fun and it's a good look at them on their own when they're both in a relatively good place.

In conclusion, I love them, your honor.

(FF #570)

[fomfarms]

Hi!

Could you please write headcanons for the romanceables, where the farmer accidentally falls asleep on their shoulder (pre-relationship).

Thank you!

Adeline:

she had asked for your help with some Official Mistria business

but that eventually turned into her scribbling away at paperwork into the wee hours, continuously stating that 'I'll only be a moment more!'

she legitimately didn't realize how long she'd be at it, or how late it had gotten

that is until she felt something on her shoulder

she initially gave another 'just one more minute, I promise I'm almost done!'

but when she still felt something there, she looked over

and it was you

not your hand like she had been expecting, but your head, resting lightly on her shoulder as you dozed off

in a moment she's all blushing and embarrassed

how late had it gotten?? Oh, poor farmer...

she sat there thinking for a moment, looking at your sleeping face

she didn't mean to stare but...

well, you might've JUST fallen asleep

and she still did have some more paperwork to finish up

maybe... she could just leave you there for a moment...

'just a moment!' she thought, as she began toiling away into the night with you sleeping peacefully on her shoulder

Balor:

It had been the usual quiet night at the Inn

well, okay, quiet wasn't really the right word

it definitely wasn't rowdy, but it was bustling

everyone chatting, eating, imbibing

you had made your way next to him, and had nestled yourself into the spot the majority of the night

you were less chatty than usually, but it was obviously your body was drained from a long day

and still you came to enjoy everyone's company

his company

how could he turn such attention away

his conversation had shifted to one with Hemlock, who suddenly looked over at you, then back to Balor with a smirk

Balor was confused until he felt a weight gently plop itself against his shoulder

he glanced over, and there you were, sound asleep, resting your head against him

a faint blush covered his cheeks as he looked back at Hemlock

Hemlock just continued smirking and polishing a glass

Balor fidgeted a moment, looking back and forth between you and anywhere else

eventually he cleared his throat a bit, and draped his cloak over you, letting you stay leaning against him

'they had a long day...' he began, 'P-probably should let them rest a bit...'

Hemlock smiled, and gave a nodding reply, 'yeah, probably should.'

You two spent the rest of the night like that, and Balor tried not to pay too much attention to how nice your presence beside him was, or how much it seemed to comfort him...

Celine:

you had just finished helping her garden

you sat together on the bench outside her house, as she rattled on about the behaviors of the flowers that were set to bloom in the coming season

then she stopped, frozen and shocked in a rigid posture, as she felt something lightly touch her shoulder

she looked over, and there you were, in a peaceful sleep, dozing off at her side

her face blossomed into a full blush, as she rigidly looked away, processed this for a minute, then let out a tiny quiet squeak

she looks as you again, your face soft and warmed by the glowing sunlight

proceeds to panic silently

is flipping back and forth between waking you up and letting you sleep

ends up sitting there for hours in that state before you eventually wake up on your own

when you apologize for falling asleep like that she just replies 'no problem'

legend says she's still blushing about it to this day

Caldarus:

you had asked to join him while he plucked away at his lute on the garden bench

he actually didn't notice your head on his shoulder at first, a little too distracted with his playing

but when he stopped, remembering he was with company, he turned and began 'Sorry, I lost myself there for a moment. Would you--' and then stopped

you were against his shoulder, fast asleep

a light blush crept across his face, and he couldn't help but smile gently as he took in your peaceful face

he huffed out a small contented laugh, feeling a sense of contentment he had not felt in a long while

and began to play a long forgotten lullaby

Eiland:

you two had just finished a dig

the sun was bright and the labor grueling, but with your help, Eiland finally unearthed an old statue

it was about the size of a large table, and was about as heavy

he was brushing away finer details, rambling a bit about what the type of stone and style of the make of it suggested

when he left a small weight on his back

he blushed a deep red as you leaned forward on him

at first he thought it was to get a closer look, but then he heard the sound of you breathing steadily and knew you had fallen asleep

he supposed in your sun baked exhaustion, you just couldn't keep your eyes open

he bit his lip as he pondered his options a bit, an awkward blush still on his face

he quietly decided that, well-- maybe he should let you rest of a moment

and he's not going anywhere for a bit, this statue isn't going to date itself

so--- maybe you might as well rest on him... for a bit...

as your arms slinked weakly around his waist, and you leaned more solidly against him, he decided

yep

he's DEFINITELY not going anywhere...

Hayden:

you two sat in the grass among the animals

you had just gotten done helping him with some animal maintenance-- shoes for the horses, sheering the woolly for the summer weather, giving everyone a brush-- and were taking a much needed break to bask in the sun and catch a bit of the breeze that was picking up

the conversation lulled into silence, as you both watched the clouds rolling in the sky

or at least, that's what Hayden thought you were doing

but when he felt a little bump against his shoulder and looked over

he saw you, eyes closed and fast asleep

he smiled warmly, taking in the sight of you

without even thinking, he was pushing some hair out of your face and gently tucking it behind your ear

then he realize what he'd done and started blushing

he turned his embarrassed gaze back to the sky

and let you rest against him as the wind cooled you both down

this was nice...

Juniper:

she had called you over to try out her latest potion

but when you got there a few things had gone wrong with the brew process, and it wasn't ready by the time you arrived

she told you to wait a bit while she figure this out

that ended up taking a lot longer than you both expected, and the scents of the bathhouse began to lull you to sleep

you didn't mean to fall asleep, or to end up on Juniper's shoulder

and when you did, he first response was to snap out a 'I said just a minute, this is a very delicate process, you can't rush--'

and then she stopped as she heard a snore

her expression turned into a sneer as she glanced over

really?? does she look like a pillow to you??

she was about to shrug you off, but something stopped her

maybe it was your peaceful expression, or maybe it was your dumb dorky snore, or maybe... it was something else...

but for some reason

she didn't mind you sleeping against her

maybe she even... was okay with you there...

she huffed as she blushed, turning her attention back to her work as she tried to ignore you

fine! whatever! it's not like the potion was ready anyway...

she supposes she can let you rest there... for now...

March:

March was in his usual place at the Inn

and you were sitting right next to him

he was being his usual drunken goofy self, smiling and yammering on

then he felt a little bump on his shoulder

and when he looked over, there you were

he doesn't know how long you'd been falling asleep, but you were def asleep now

a blush bloomed across his face, and for a moment he just stared at you with wide, awestruck eyes

then he smiled, patted your head and told you 'goobd night'

later, when Hemlock came over, and have the whole situation a surprised but cheery smile

March had loudly hiss whispered at him

'shhhhh, they're sleeping'

Reina:

after a long day, a bowl of soup at the Inn is just what you needed

and Reina was more than happy to provide company!

the hour was late and the usual crowd had long cleared, so it was just the two of you

you talked about your days a bit, but as the exhaustion and a full belly started to take you over

your eyes began to droop

Reina was flipping through her notebook of recipes, talking over ideas she had for tomorrows lunch special

when she felt a tap on her shoulder

she looked over, and you were fully out

she smiled gently, feeling her face warm at how sweet you looked

she decided to leave you there, going back to her notebook silently

but not before leaning her head on yours

Ryis:

you two were in the woods

watching early morning birds

the sun was still dim and the air was cool

and between the bird's song and Ryis gently noting who he was hearing

you kind of ended up lulled to sleep

your head ended up on his shoulder

he jumped a bit as he froze mid sentence

then immediately eased, looking at you with a fond smile

he continued to listen to the birds

while you dozed away next to him

Valen:

you had come to Valen to have your head looked at

someone had found you fainted in the town square

....again

she was giving you the once over, but she had a feeling she already knew the cause

sleep deprivation

she was giving you a small lecture about taking care of ones health as she held your wrist, watching her watch as she timed your pulse

but then you leaned forward, and your head landed on her shoulder

she sighed, as you fell asleep on her

in your slumber, your hand reached for hers, and she responded to the gesture, taking your hand

'you know,' she said softly into your ear, 'it's not nice to make people worry...'

she sat there a moment, before gently lower you back onto the clinic bed and tucking you in

a days rest would do you some good

and this way she can keep an eye on you

[fernslivers]

A Breeze Blows A Crane Off Course (Pt 1)

--

"A breeze can blow a crane off course. You... are a typhoon."

A dying stranger appears in the shrine where you're reluctantly indentured. Being of little value, they're left in your care, kicking off a series of events that will take you further from home than either of you could have predicted.

--

A//N: Eeee, it's heeeere, I'm so excited to start sharing this multi-chapter piece I've been working on. This is where the Teahouse Jealousy storyline actually starts!

It's going to span the entire length of season 1, and while there's going to be a bit more backstory than I usually write for the Reader, it still won't be anything too specific.

As with the Teahouse fic, this can also be read as a standalone!

This is the only part outside of the canon, and takes place JUST before season 1.

Hope you guys enjoy!

TW: canon-typical violence/death, people being mean to reader, reader is WLW and it's implied their family rejected them for it.

----

It's a funny thing, in retrospect.

Well, not funny. People died.

But you didn't.

Because you were lowly. The lowest on the food chain for the entire shrine.

It’s because you were lowly that you were awake before the other attendants, the one tasked with sweeping the shrine from end to end.

Because you were out sweeping, it's you that found the stranger, slumped over in front of the messha nearest to the entrance, a burned out stick of incense in front of him, a red bloom beginning to dry across his side, his face grey as death. It's you that screamed for the others to come running.

Even that doesn't wake him.

They bed him down in the same little messha where he was praying, and tell you to try not to let him die. They said it was because you knew the rural folk remedies that would help his fever.

But the truth is, because his clothing was patched and threadbare, because he looked like a beggar, because the others resented being dragged from their slumber so early by your infernal shrieking, because you are lowly, because, because, because…that was why you were tasked with tending him.

And because of that, it is you that haggles in the kitchens for extra meat in the broth for him, and holds it to his lips as he mutters in his sleep.

It is you that looks at that red stain, anxiously, then goes back to the kitchens to haggle again for hot water, medicinal ingredients, clean rags, and strips of linen.

It’s you that carefully, blushingly peels back the stained blue cloth, sponging away the dried blood with a rag, stitching up the neat slice across his ribs.

It’s you finds out that your feverish guest is not a him at all.

It is you that falls back with a gasp when his eyes open, not shards of mahogany or ebony, but chips of glowing ice. He–...she shifts with a wince, puts a hand to her side, feeling the stitches. Those startling eyes widen; snapping to you, and as fast as you can blink, there's a sword point in your face.

“Don't scream.”

By the gods.

That voice. Nevermind it, if this is death, fine. You'll accept it willingly as long as it talks like that, all crushed silk and gravel.

You shake your head, indicating that you won't, and try to stop gawping at her like an idiot.

Once it's clear you're not raising any alarms, she immediately stops paying attention to you, looking around at the little hut, glancing on either side of herself for her belongings. “Where am I?”

You name your shrine, the title coming out breathless. For some reason, at your tremulous tone, she rolls her eyes. It really shouldn't make your stomach flip. It does.

“Go and tell your miko that I'm grateful for the assistance. I'll leave an offering on my way out,” she says, so drily that it almost could have been sarcastic. “And say no more than that, girl,” she adds, warningly; you don't know if she means about her eyes or her gender.

You scramble to your feet, stepping back a bit, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. Instead, you study her face, the thin features, delicate and sharp, perfectly honed like a blade. You watch as she slips on those strange, tinted glasses. You wonder if you should tell her the miko has nothing to do with her recovery; you're not sure if it isn't better that she underestimates you a bit, like everyone else does. It's kept you safe, so far.

Somehow, though, you find you don't want her to think of you as something passing. You want her to see you.

“Shouldn't you rest a little longer?” you say, finally, trailing off as she starts to rise, staggers. She looks over at you, dismissively.

“You're still here?” She asks, derision clear in her voice, cold. An eyebrow raises, as strangely appealing as her eyeroll earlier. “Not scared the onryō will get you?”

An instinctive shiver runs through you at the mention of a bogeyman from your childhood, but now it's tempered with something else, something that makes that shiver thrilling. You'll tolerate the coolness of the tone if those eyes meet yours again.

“I don't think you're a demon,” you protest, watching as she tries again to get up, and then collapses back on the bedroll with a grunt, her hand clapped to her side. “I was just startled. I've never seen eyes like that before.” She cracks one eye open through the pain and gives you an extremely unfriendly look. Your brain somehow decides that continuing to talk is the answer, instead of shutting up. “They're so pretty. Like clean water. Were you born like that?”

Silence.

For a moment, her features could have been carved of stone, unreadable, blank. One hand goes out, testingly, to push against the ground again; she lifts only an inch before flopping back with a frustrated huff. She thumps back onto the mat bed, glaring at the ceiling as if it's at fault that she's indeed trapped in the conversation.

She closes her eyes again, and you begin to think she isn't going to answer. But then her hand goes to the place where you stitched her, under the carefully scrubbed haori. She seems to be weighing something, closely; she rubs the cleaned, dried fabric between her fingers, lips pinched tight, raising her gaze to glance over you.

You wait, silent and expectant, every inch of you vibrating with more questions, but wary of the way her brow has furrowed. That cut on her ribs was too clean to be anything but a sword slice; even sitting down, she probably could slice you just as badly.

In the evening darkness, her eyes turn almost orange as she stares into the little campfire.

“I will tell you only as thanks for my care, though little thanks it is.” The ice disappears as she closes her eyes a moment, breathing in slowly, deeply. “I'm…impure. A half-breed.”

“Ohh…” You breath, absorbing this. Half-foreigner. You can see the slight difference in the angles of her features, now that she's pointed it out. But it's subtle; you wouldn't have noticed at all except for those eyes. So many questions queue up; you've never been that far from this locality, and this is the wildest experience you've had. Even before the questions, you want to tell her again that she's beautiful; you would never dare. Not after everything that got you sent here. You have learned the hard way where expressing that side of yourself gets you. Part of you wants to tell her that you know what it is to be seen as monstrous, but, like her, you’ve learned to guard your secrets closely. She seems to expect more of a reaction; but the softening of her features at your accepting response is short-lived.

“So you've seen a white man?” You ask eagerly, leaning forward. Her knuckles go bone-pale against the blankets, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “Are they nice?”

“No.” It's flat, hard as stone. “They are not.” Then, seemingly torn between indignance and genuine curiosity, she adds, “Why would you ask that?”

“Oh… well it's just…” You hesitate, thinking again of yourself, the horror in your family's eyes when they sent you here. Your hands bunch up the fabric of your kimono, feeling the coarse weave of it bite at your palms. “... I've met others that people say are monsters, but I know they aren't. I thought maybe the white men were the same way.”

“Hm.” Is the only reply, but she looks mollified when you glance up. Perhaps there's even a modicum of kindness in her gaze now, though you would prefer hostile respect to the mingled pity and disdain that you can tell is mixed into her gaze. Does she find it naive, maybe? Too sweet, or simple-minded?

She would hardly be the first in your life to think little of you.

Not the purest of the maidens here, nor the best educated. But a pretty survivor, quick and clever, adaptable as a common fox. Skulking at the edges of the buildings, barely tolerated. Willing to survive on scraps, ready to bite, but soft if the right hand pets it.

Always underestimated. Always overlooked.

You might have written off the samurai as another person who can't be bothered with you, even with her striking looks and purring voice.

Except that over the next few days, she seems to be about the only person that makes you want to be petted.

She's not chatty, mind. She shares only a little about her revenge plans, but even less else, not even her name. You get the distinct impression that she's only making conversation to stave off the frustration of being bored out of her skull. That, and perhaps the strange--to her--lack of concern about her impure blood.

She watches you prepare the medicine, propped up on her elbow; she wants to know the ingredients, and then how you know about them. She wants to know the pattern you used on the stitches, says that they feel more secure than what she's used before.

The more you reply, the more you start to feel a budding confidence; you know things. Useful things! How did you forget how much you know, how much you can do?

Every time you look up to reply, those flashes of blue stare through you like you're the only thing they've ever seen. And suddenly it feels…it feels thrilling to be seen.

Even with her questions, there's a lot of silence; it’s tense at first, and you find yourself chattering nervously. You try to keep it light; you don't have any friends here, but being unnoticed, you hear all the drama. It’s kind of nice to have someone to pour it all out for; how the various girls came to be here, that the head priestess is keeping back some of the offerings for herself, that one of the girls is in love with one of the cooks.

One night, as you’re trying to turn the gristly meat the cooks gave you into something edible, she asks,

“So why are you here?”

Your hand slips; some broth sloshes out of the pot and into the fire with a hiss, making the flames dance. In the flickering orange light, your gaze meets hers. The glow of the fire makes both of your gazes the same fire-bright color, equals.

“My… parents gave me to the temple,” you tell her slowly. It's not really the truth, not in full, but it's the most you're willing to say.

Silence falls again, and this time you don't rush to fill it.

“...Hm,” she says softly, and you risk a glance her way. She's looking into the fire, but the habitual scowl on her brow seems softened. You get the distinct impression that she’s more than aware that there’s something you're not saying, but that she can understand the desire to hold your cards close to your chest. She might even respect you more now that she's seen you can indeed keep some secrets.

After tonight, you'll take note of the way the silences feel more pleasant now, almost companionable. You'll chatter less frenetically. And she, in her turn, will appreciate the way you can give her space for her own thoughts.

In this moment, though, you're just glad when she falls asleep without asking any more about your story.

Seen…might be good. But underestimated is safe.

Unnoticed is safer still.

Unnoticed means that when you're taking your usual sneaky shortcut back to the messha, you're missed by the men that round up the other girls. You hear a scream, cut off with a gurgle and a thump, and step around a corner to see the white uniforms hemmed in by a ring of black clothing and naked blades. You duck hurriedly back behind the nearest building with a hand clapped over your mouth.

Someone is sobbing; you know you saw a uniform crumpled on the ground; the red overtaking the white. Over the sounds of distress and protest, the male voice is harsh, demanding to know the location of the onryō with the pale eyes. You cautiously edge up to the corner of the building and peek around, listening.

One of the head priestesses steps forward, says something in a low tone. As you watch, one of the men proffers a jangling bag; the miko takes it. She points in the direction of the little outbuilding where the samurai has temporarily been set up; at least, she points the way in the direction that isn't one of your secret shortcuts. The long way, the way one would walk when they are proud of people seeing them. Not the secretive, faster ways you go.

Nobody here ever looks for you, so, like a common stray, nobody notices when you slip away.

You run like mad down your secret shortcut, as if all the demons you've ever read about were snapping at your heels. The samurai looks up when you tumble in through the door, stammered syllables trailing off into whooping coughs for air.

Her eyes freeze over. She gets the gist of it.

You expect her to start gathering her things in a hurry; there's got to be a dozen of the men at least, all armed, and she's not yet recovered.

“I–...I can-... tell them you already left–...” You gasp breathlessly, but she cuts you off.

“Get on the mat.”

You stare at her. “Wh-...”

“If they find you here alone, you're dead.” Her tone is quiet, blunt. You flinch at the words, but you know she's right. She staggers over against the front wall, tucked behind the doorway. “Get on the sleeping mat. Face the wall. Don't move.”

You stare at her like she's growing another head right before your eyes. She stares back, unmoving, her brow darkening the longer you don't move.

She's opening her mouth to snap at you when, in the distance, you hear stealthy footfalls on the path; your heart leaps into your throat, choking you. You're dead you're dead you're dead plays on loop in your mind. She glances over her shoulder, then back to you, impatient, but hesitates at the naked fear in your eyes.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” her tone isn't gentle, or soft. It's just as blunt as her prediction of your death, harsh, factual. But it's the simplistic straightforwardness that reassures you. She says it like she already knows it's true.

Lying with your back to the door, blanket pulled to the crown of your head, playing at being decoy–it's no less nerve-wracking for all of that, though. It takes every ounce of focus that you have not to flinch or gasp when you hear the steps grow closer, and then cross the threshold, echoing in the silent room. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your jaw until it creaks.

Metal sings out. It's followed by a garbled rush of gasps and grunts, and distinctly fleshy sounds.

There's a thud, an ever so brief silence. A woman screams.

You roll over to see the samurai standing in the doorway, looming over a bloodstained lump in black clothing. You push yourself up from the bed, staring at it, your first dead body. The samurai glances up at you, then down at the body, and then steps almost coincidentally forward, blocking the man’s dead grimace from your view.

Past her, you can see the other men frozen in the act of climbing the steps of the hut, the priestesses behind them. The men look shocked, some angry, while the priestesses look horrified. Many of them have turned their faces away, or clapped hands to their mouths.

“You!” The head miko shrills, pointing an accusatory finger over the men’s shoulders. “I should have known it would be you, helping a demon, you mangy little gutter-fox! After we took you in, despite everything about you!”

You flinch. Your eyes go to the samurai, wondering if she'll query this; she doesn't even twitch. Her entire focus is centered on the people with swords in their hands. Squabbles are clearly beneath her notice; blood is all that's on her mind.

It only takes a few clashes of swords for the men to recognize that they're in serious trouble. A few of them look your way when they see that the samurai is proving more of a challenge than anticipated. As two encircle the samurai, one inches forward, towards where you’re plastered against the hut’s wall, his eyes malevolent. Do they think to use you as a hostage, perhaps?

Always underestimated.

The first man to close his hand around your wrist learns the hard way how impossible it is to hold a frightened animal in a trap. Your complete lack of skill is helped by the absolute wildness of your thrashing, sinuous as an eel, impossible to easily keep a grip on. He swears in frustration, fumbling with you and his weapon at the same time.

It makes him distracted; both of you fail to notice the two bodies thumping to the ground at the samurai’s feet.

A sword tip sprouts from your assailant’s chest like a bamboo shoot, and his grip on your wrist clenches, before going limp. You watch the light leave his eyes, and barely notice the warm liquid spattered on your face. You've never watched a human die before. Now you've had a multitude of examples.

When the last man topples, the miko are already gone, scattered in terror. She doesn't seem to care about pursuing them to wherever they've hidden. Only shakes the red off her blade and lets it sing back into its sheath.

~~

“No,” She repeats.

For a moment, you consider pointing out that you saved her life, but then hesitate. You look around at the carnage, staining the courtyard of the temple, admitting to yourself that as far as saving lives go, you're probably both even on that, now.

“Well I can't stay here.” You try not to whine.

Goodness knows you don't want to, that's for sure. If you could have traveled alone, you would already be gone years ago.

She follows your glance around the courtyard, her face impassive. “So go to another temple.”

“Alone, on the open road?” you protest, though your reluctance has little to do with fear of marauders. You've always managed to slip past watching eyes.

Except hers. She gives you a very skeptical look, then starts to grab her cloak, before pausing with a suppressed grunt. Her hand goes to her side, just for a moment, and then she swings on her cloak with her jaw set. One palm has a faint red stain.

“You've reopened your stitches,” you say as persuasively as you can, cocking your head in a distinctly animal fashion, hopeful as a fox waiting for a handout. “You'll need more medical care if you want to heal up quickly. I could come along just until it heals.”

This time you do see a flicker; her shoulders twitch every so slightly under the cloak. You pursue the tiny opening like it’s quarry.

“Surely swift revenge means getting healthy again as soon as possible.”

She turns, and looks you over again; you can feel the tingle of her focused gaze. Mizu, observant as a survival tactic, and a connoisseur of underdogs, pays attention to the way your soft lashes veil a stubbornness in your gaze, and remembers the quick effectiveness of your untrained thrashing. She sees the potential, and hates that she does.

She points a finger at you–a warning, a rule, a threat, all rolled together. “Just until the next temple. Then you stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, all agreeably pliant, but the gratitude is unfeigned when you follow up by thanking her profusely. She tersely tells you to knock it off and gather your things.

“And wash your face!” She calls after you, irritably, as you scramble to obey, racing off into the temple.

You're back in a matter of minutes. Pale eyes take in the quality of your newly acquired clothing and bag, assuming correctly that they didn't begin life as yours. She shrugs; finders-keepers. She would rather see you with it than the others, anyway.

~~

How unfortunate for her that the next three temples aren't taking new girls on, not for any tasks. For now, it seems, she's stuck with you.

How strange, this abundance of temple acolytes. Yes, indeed.

She doesn’t seem to have caught on yet, an odd thing for such an observant samurai.

So…maybe she's not looking very hard.

Maybe after a few weeks, she's beginning not to mind the extra set of hands at camp set-up, or how few rations she needs to buy in town now that you can forage for her. Maybe it’s even rather sweet to awaken from a mid-day roadside nap to your proud and excited exclamations of having hooked a fish with your cobbled-together fishing pole.

She already seems to be ever so slightly less irritable about the burden of company, though dour remains her default expression. The sudden increase in time to train certainly helps; it's a strange luxury to use the last of the dusk light to train after a day of travel, only to come back to a fully roaring fire with food cooking on it, instead of starting from scratch in a cold, silent clearing. She never asks you for the help. You do it anyway, without a word said between you about it.

That's another thing she likes–though it would be pulling teeth to get her to admit it–that you don't need to be told twice. Usually, not even once. Someone wants a fight? You make yourself scarce. Something odd that she might have missed? You point it out–without crowing about it. You watch her like it's your job, and you keep out of her way without needing to be guided to do so.

Maybe she'll stop trying to shake you off, soon. Maybe you'll be able to stop waiting until she falls asleep first, and waking before her, just to be sure you aren't left behind. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll soften her up enough to let you simply stay.

Before your miko-bribing money runs out.

Maybe, though, you’re the oblivious one. Maybe she noticed a long time ago that you would hurry ahead every time a temple rose into view, even though you never left her side for any other reason. That she would find you already talking to the priestess when she walked in. Maybe, secretly, she finds it funny, a private joke just for her, that such a clever little fox would fritter away the money it pilfered when it was meant to be washing its face, all just to get to travel with a cranky onryō.

If you're that determined, then she really can't be bothered to waste her time fighting with you about it. It's not her job, nor her responsibility. You're only a young woman, it won’t be hard to shake you off when she feels the time is ripe.

Always underestimated.

[backofftubby]

Was very happy with 817, I liked that it was less about the accidents and more about the characters and the family they are. Loven the different character interactions we got. Would have maybe scrapped one of the accidents and given those couple minutes to the stuff that was cut, if I'm honest. Not that I wanted to see more of Gerrard.

I thought this was good continuation form 816 and now we got to see how rest of them were dealing with their grief. It all felt really real to the characters.

Was happy with those Buddie scenes, although with an episode titled 'Don't drink the water', it was a miss not to make any clear reference to 806, although, I guess you could say Eddie chose the juice in this episode.

The Buddie argument was so good. They were kind of off, but the whole situation isn't anything they have dealt before and the fact that they have not been able to confide in each other like they have before hurts and shows. The 'you make it about yourself' always hurts, and I hate to hear it, but I think Eddie was trying to hit the hard spots to get through Bucks hard shell.

And tbh, Buck does make it about himself often. Like when he said 'you don't think I did everything I could to save him'. That's just extremely human. That doesn't mean Buck doesn't have the biggest heart who only wants best for everyone.

And I'm happy Eddie did acknowledge he was being a dick. And also, with an episode focusing on family, they showed Buddie as a family once again, the addition of Tia Pepa just made it even more clear. Buck really is part of the Diaz (LA) family. It was important that it was Tia Pepa, who got trhough to him the most.

Was also happy to see that Athena was a bit better, but to see her grief too, I think we will see that quite a while still. I hope.

I'll put more thoughts about Hen and Chim in another post.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Asking them if they'd let you get them pregnant...part 4?

Cw: pregnancy talk, a little suggestive.

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part five

A/N: I put myself to sleep making crack and I awake to do the same. Felt I had too many agree so I've changed it up. Also Idk how many more of these I'll make I am running out of guys because I'm not caught up in HSR and GI but I do believe that once I am they will suffer the same fate as the rest. There is no escape. :3

-------

Welt is always willing to answer your strange questions that seem to plague you in the middle of the night. But this question definitely makes him pause. He turns around from his desk with a raised brow and uneasy expression.

"Aren't I a bit too old to be bearing children?" But you shake your head asking him to answer the question but he blurts out his own spinning his tablet pen in his fingers nervously.

"Is this your way to say we should have kids?"

"Are the younger express members not enough?"

"Perhaps Joey will be alright? He's young enough, oh, but you haven't met him yet not to mention he's rather far away..."

You cut him off telling him that if there were a way to get him pregnant would he let you and not to think about it too hard. He sighs a bit relieved that you aren't serious...at least he hopes you aren't.

"I'm- Well I don't exactly picture myself becoming pregnant even if we could do so. And given my age it'd probably be best not to for both my sake and this hypothetical child of ours." He nods still spinning around the pen.

"So my final answer is 'no'. And if you'd like to have children in the future we can-" He clears his throat. "-talk about it. But for now no hypothetical pregnancy."

Luocha takes off one glove and presses it against your forehead checking your eyes before moving on to check your pulse.

"Luocha? I'm fine. I'm not sick or intoxicated if that's what you're worried about." He nods solemnly pulling back and putting back his glove. "Then it's worse than I feared: You're just a fool." "Hey!"

He catches your hand that attempts to smack his shoulder at the minor insult. He places a kiss on your knuckles.

"As lovely as having children of our own sounds, now is not exactly the time nor place. We are wanderers after all. They deserve better than what we can currently provide."

"Besides...who said anything about me bearing our children?" Luocha pulls you close embracing you placing a kiss just below your ear and whispering. "I think you would look rather lovely...round and full. Don't you think?" Uno reversed?!

Dr. Ratio sighs deeply flipping to another page in his tome. You sorta expected him to throw a piece of chalk at you at this point but it seems he's refraining focus locked on his book. At least that's what he looks like he's doing but the flush of his shoulders up to his ears gives him away.

"Veritas are you ignoring me?"

"What an astute observation. Perhaps we should give you an intergalactic peace prize for such study."

"Veeeriiiitaaaaaaas. Come ooooon answer the question." He rolls his eyes the tome thumping shut in his hands. He walks past you to put it away and grab another two from the short recently purchased pile of tomes.

"No. I've clearly rewarded your impudent questions far too much." He lightly smacks your hand as you reach for some of his tomes. "You need to learn some restraint."

You whine again flopping on his personal libraries lounge. You keep whining until he throws one of the lounges pillows at your head.

"Fool! If you are so determined to have children then why don't you bear them instead?"

"But I wanted to get you pregnant not me. You'd look so pretty carrying our-GAhk" Another pillow makes contact with your head. He heaves his flushed skin much darker than before.

"My answer is 'No' now get out!"