#it takes a village to create community

[uncanny-tranny]

Not a day goes by where I do not think about the advent of medicine like PrEP and wonder just what the people - especially queer people - who passed from HIV/AIDs during the AIDs crisis would think

And then, I read this survivor's testimony and it just makes me emotional. I think this is the closest answer we have. HIV has changed, and we must always remember the people who didn't see that change before it happened.

[linkedin-offficial]

me when i get the opportunity to think about speculative biology and non-existent game mechanics in media i like

⠀

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Orcs who can’t reproduce on their own as they’re a mono-sex species. There’s no real concept of gender in an orc village, and how humans, elves, and minotaur have different gender expectations baffles them. There’s work to be done! Who cares what’s in your pants when there’s chores that need doing!

Reproductively speaking, it does mean that in order to have kids orcs need people from other species will to carry their kids.

Usually this manifests in two ways. 1) members of a village go out into the world, explore, fall in love, and bring their spouse back to their village to start a family (though some won’t return to their village and will just start their family with their new spouse whenever they are). 2) it’s pretty common for a village to offer someone an easy life of being doted on an pampered in return for bearing the next generation of kids with them.

In these villages kids are raised communally, orcs maybe have a guess which kids might share their blood, but it doesn’t matter, all kids are theirs.

It’s a soft free use sort of set up. If you say no or not now it’ll be respected, though you really will be disappointing all those orcs who just want to spoil you and love you and see you round with their kids. Gently being passed around, fawned over, some days your feet never even touch the ground because they insist on just carrying you anywhere you want to go.

You never have to life a finger, constantly attended to, though they’re also so happy to teach you any skills you want! Always wanted to learn to sew clothes? There’s a tailor teaching you and fawning over your messy stitches like it’s the most beautiful thing ever created? The potter shows off the terrible plate you made with pride, just happy that you wanted them to teach you? Blacksmithing? Hunting? Anything you want.

A pampered life where you’re so deeply loved and treasured.

It takes a little time to get used to all the fucking though. They do their best to let you have time to yourself and enjoy being spoiled, but you did promise that they could have you whenever they want. You don’t know the last time you had a night where you weren’t fucked to sleep, taking load after load in your cunt, ass, and mouth from whoever wanted to fuck you until you were so sleepy you couldn’t keep your eyes open. Your last partner still hard inside you and pumping a few more loads while you rested and then cockwarming them all night. Gently being woken up in the morning because they just couldn’t wait any longer and needed to fuck you again or a new partner sliding into easily as you’re still slick with cum and your own juices.

Walking through the village to be tossed over someone’s shoulder and brought home for them to fuck, or if they’re impatient just being bent over the nearest surface and being fucked in the middle of the village.

You’re rarely with one partner at a time. If you’re being fucked publicly several other orcs quickly join in. Even if you’re in your own home or behind closed doors at someone else’s you’re always quickly overheard and more join in.

You’re always kissed and snuggled after, and usually during. They’re very affectionate and just adore everything about you!

Short fic based on this

[medusas-daughter]

Watching the first two episodes of Yellowjackets season 3 was so fascinating from an anthropological point of view. These girls are experiencing the beginning of civilisation, the way traditions and rituals are born out of necessity, the benefits of having a routine, the holidays and creating a reason to celebrate and make life worth living, the miracle that is spring, the magic of animals both as loving companions and nourishment, the god-like ways of Nature, how it's both giving and deadly in equal measure, the birth of a religion, (Lottie calls it faith and it's not even a funny woowoo moment it is faith how is it any different than the other existing religions?) the searching for meaning the way some find comfort in finding a hidden meaning a bigger picture the way others cope better by accepting there is none and the existential dread of both paths, the social contract between a group and their leader and the balance between power respect and responsibility (adult Nat said it the first time we met her, she had purpose back there and now we see it), what we owe to each other what the saying "it takes a village" means, all things we learn from books and they're learning on a day to day basis. And like Tai said, this isnt something they're learning in parallel to the life or death shit, this is life or death, all of these are aspects of survival as a community, as a species.

And then by the end of episode 2 I thought imagine going through the dizzying highs and lows of that then going back to the "real world" and having to beg nepo babies to do business with your husband so you can earn fake money to be able to put food on your table and put your daughter through college, I'd crash out too, I'd find the mere prospect of it excruciating torture too.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.��

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

[icearts]

Nobody is talking about how Angeal and Sephiroth are exact opposites in EC and it's making me unwell so I'm gonna dump it.

Have some pictures of their 2D renders for fun

Prepare yourself, this rant is a little long (but don't worry there's visual aids)

There's more obvious tells out there, like their body language and overall postures, Angeal is generally more open and Sephiroth is generally more guarded.

However, notably, this carries into how they hold their weapons throughout all of their appearances, even in Crisis Core

Fair warning, my source is multiple Google articles so prepare for some inaccuracy and uncertainty. Feel free to correct me.

Sephiroth carries his sword in an ox guard, which has the purpose of intimidating your opponent while also having the sword protect your vital organs.

Angeal's sword is held in a plow guard, which operates a bit like a fool's guard (I actually thought it was one at first), making yourself look more open to attacks to Provoke an enemy into coming in. Unlike the fools guard, the plow guard gives you a quicker maneuverability to strike first once the opponent comes in.

This is really important for their fighting styles, as Sephiroth is quick and deadly, meanwhile Angeal (i think the game refers to his character type as a Provoke Tank) always stands somewhat in front of Seohiroth and tries to draw in hits, acting as a shield. They have the sword and shield dynamic

BUT ITS ALSO RELEVANT TO THEIR PERSONALITIES you see Sephiroth acts cold and bitter, trying to keep people at arm's length, especially raw after EC Part 1 where he and his past friends had a Not Great Time (I won't give the recap sorry it'll take too long and I'm laser focused rn). Anyways, Sephiroth, much like his stance, tries to intimidate people into staying back. He will not let himself look vulnerable to attacks.

Meanwhile, Angeal is more open and friendly, taking Sephiroth's briskness and impoliteness in stride. He's open and welcoming even when Sephiroth's defense is his offense.

They're also both well trained with swords, so they can probably infer a lot about each other's personalities through how they hold their blade. Angeal seeing Sephiroth as someone who is guarded and closed off, avoiding getting hurt by being the first to lash out. Sephiroth views Angeal as being too open and vulnerable, and may even have a presumption that, like his fool's guard, Angeal is baiting Sephiroth into getting close enough that he can attack him the second he's open. It's good shit.

Next up: the weird purple-vignetted dreams they get in EC

So there's some spooky shenanigans going on in this story. I have my own predictions as to what's going on, but for future's sake, at the time of writing this is am only 2 chapters in. I'll try to be more direct to context and then provide my future game predictions at the end. Cool? Cool.

So we know based on canon that Sephiroth's dream isn't a memory, or an event or anything like that. So by process of elimination, Angeal's is the same way. Plus

Little confirmation here that Angeal always felt unable to care for his parents, which hurts me so bad btw. Anyways, analysis time.

Sephiroth fantasizes about being cared for and reassured. He wants to know what it's like for someone to love him unconditionally, he cannot even imagine the possibility. This dream shows him exactly that, his mother making him food and telling him she's always been there for him and they've always has this. In the dream, he believes it although is confused by conflicting memories. She's momentarily able to convince him that he is cared for and loved by her. In reality, he's never met his mother (her name isn't Jenova either, but that's a story for another day).

Angeal fantasizes about being to care for others. He wants to help his village, create a strong community, care for his parents and make it so they do not have to work so hard. He wants everyone to feel safe, secure, and rested and he is willing to carry all of the work on his shoulders to the best of his ability. His dream shows him doing exactly that, which based on the falsehood of Sephiroth's dream, means it's a false memory and he never was able to care for his parents for whatever reason. Really hopeful the game will tell us soon. Maybe he did try but it wasn't enough. Maybe he was weak because they didn't have enough food. Who knows.

Also, for context, Tetsuya Nomura (FF7 director) did confirm that Angeal's father has a chronic illness and died shortly after Angeal joined SOLDIER, after having worked himself to death. So Angeal dreaming of these memories of helping his dad to support his grateful but guilty mother is likely very much influenced by a sense of grief or guilt.

Then in the next chapter, these dreams happen again.

The Banorans obviously either did not make this promise or did not act on it, seeing the state Angeal's family is in in Crisis Core, his dad having worked himself to death when he was a young recruit and his mother being in a very grief-stricken and detached state.

So this plays into how they view the world. Sephiroth longs for someone to protect him from the world he's observed to be cruel and cold. He mentions this in dialogue talking about how they world views anything different as a monster. Even SOLDIERs to which Angeal promises himself that he'll help Sephiroth see that people are not all like that.

Sephiroth is jaded and distant to protect himself, as he thinks the world will turn on him in a moment's notice. Angeal, however, holds an optimistic worldview. He believes people want to help each other and everyone wants to help each other to the best of their ability.

So they're very much opposites, but they're also exactly what each other needs. Angeal needs to feel needed and helpful, protecting people who trust and depend on him. He is friends with every SOLDIER, able to recognize them at a first glance (ironically he does not do this for Alissa but I may wait to share my theories about her). Sephiroth is guarded but secretly longs to be cared for. See where I'm going with this?

So based on how these dreams are going, they're definitely being influenced by some kind of force or another. Personally I think it's Jenova itself, as Jenova has the power to do this and to transform things into projections of loved ones in order to garner their trust (much like Kadaj does in The Kids are Alright). My prediction for where the climax of this story is gonna go is that Angeal is going to have to protect Sephiroth from these visions, and Sephiroth learns that unconditional love can come from friendship and camaraderie, not just maternity. It's gonna be great. I have entire scenes mapped out in my head about this.

They're a sword and shield, Sephiroth being quick to strike and Angeal always being there to defend. It's one of my favorite dynamics ever. Their appearances also contrast, most notably in their hair color.

They both have a resigned acceptance about the implausibility of their fantasies. Sephiroth does not have a mother to care for him, and Angeal cannot save everyone. The foil of their dynamic is so magnetic it hurts. I will scream if I see Angeal make pumpkin soup for Sephiroth in the future.

My rants getting distracted so I'll cut it off here. Merry Crisis

[inlovewithpandora]

ꕥ — Found Someone Better / A New Tide

Genre — Chapter four: Part One

Artists — Tonowari x fem!avatar!reader

Lyrics — You’re finally adjusting to your new life among the Metkayina and your relationship with Tonowari is progressing into something more. While Tonowari is out in the village, fulfilling his Olo’eyktan duties, he hears some of his warriors talking about you when the topic of mating season comes up, which catches his attention.

Music Advisory — Pre-Atwow, implied timeskip, fluff, comfort, implied courting/courtship, act of courting [acts of service], kissing, mentions of Tonowari’s past relationship, emotional moment, Olo’eyktan!Tonowari, jealous!Tonowari, mention of mating season, secret relationship trope, featuring Ralak [Tonowari’s right hand man/best friend]

Notes — Reader and Tonowari’s relationship is slightly sped up [between chapter three and four] due to the length of series and that I believe the Na’vi (especially a traditional man like Tonowari) wouldn’t take longer than a few months before starting the courting process.

Duration — 5.2k

Index — Kaltxì - Hello・Syulang - Flower

Words From Artist — Chapter four is finally here!! I hope yall enjoy seeing this side of Reader and Tonowari’s relationship! I hope y’all enjoy and always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions!

Current Platforms — Chapter One ・Chapter Two・Chapter Three・Series M.list ・Series Taglist・Main M.list

After months of living in Awa’atlu you’ve finally found your place in the clan, becoming a healer. When you lived in the forest you were a healer, working under Mo’at and learning all her ways and techniques. It’s a position you excel in and you were tired of doing odd tasks around the island so you spoke to the head healer and showed her your skills and after that she was happy to allow you a place in the healing pod.

You’ve learned to navigate the island’s resources, gathering medicinal herbs and understanding the local flora. Some flora is similar to what was back in the forest while other plants were completely different which sparked your interest. The knowledge you gained from Mo’at feels even more valuable here, as you adapt her teachings to the unique plants of Awa’atlu. You can now identify the subtle differences in the herbs and their uses, finding satisfaction in the skills you’ve obtained.

Your relationships with the villagers have grown since you first arrived, the initial curiosity that surrounded your arrival has shifted into friendship, with most members of the clan seeking your advice and sharing their stories. Even though it took a while for most of the clan to come around, Padma, who is now your best friend, is one person you’ve always been able to lean on. The kindness she showed you from the very beginning has helped you feel at home in Awa’atlu and it also helped show the clan that you were a good person and that they could trust you.

In addition to Padma, you’ve also grown close to other women in the clan. They’ve welcomed you into their circles. The camaraderie you share during communal activities, whether it’s preparing meals or participating in rituals, it has created a sense of sisterhood, something you’ve always wished for. Through all these connections, you find strength and support, enriching your experience in Awa’atlu.

While you’re sitting in your mauri, allowing the sun to shine its light into your home as you get ready for the day and start your duties, you can hear a familiar set of footsteps come through the entryway, causing a blush to creep onto your face. “Kaltxì, syulang.” The nickname ‘Flower’ was bestowed upon you a little after your relationship with the Olo’eyktan started to blossom. He thought it was perfect for you after he took you on a walk in the jungle and you couldn’t help but stop at almost every flora to take a whiff of its natural scent and focus on the beauty it held.

Tonowari's voice makes his presence known and soon after you hear a loud thud, making you slightly jump at the unexpected sound. When you turn around to see where the sound came from you see him standing next to a net full of descaled and fileted fish with a smile on his face, making a grin tug at your lips from yet another one of his gifts. You can always see the effort he puts into delivering these packages, whether it’s fish or some sort of meat from an animal that roams in the jungle he always makes sure it’s cleaned, skinned, and cut so all you have to worry about is taking them out of their leaf wrappings and cooking them anyway you see fit. “Another? I thought I told you I could hunt for myself. You don’t have to keep bringing me food.”

“Yes, you did tell me but why would I allow you to when you have a man that is fully capable of taking care of that for you.” Tonowari walks up to you, still wearing his bright smile while his hands rest on your hips once he’s in front of you, making the blush that’s rising on your cheeks even more apparent. “Plus, when I bring them to you it allows me to see the most beautiful woman in the village before I start my morning rounds.”

Tonowari knows exactly the words to use to make you feel swoon, his compliments always make your smile widen, making you feel like the luckiest woman on the planet to have such a loving and kind man. “Mmm, well who am I to deny you from that?” There’s an undertone of playfulness and affection in your tone while you speak and wrap your arms around Tonowari’s neck, allowing you the perfect opportunity to press your lips upon his. The Metkayina wasn’t expecting a kiss but he definitely isn’t mad at it. It's clear that his thoughtfulness and the fact he can provide is noticed by you and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride.

As you pull away from after the kiss, a playful glint shines in Tonowari’s eyes, and the world around you feels a little brighter. The connection you two share has grown effortlessly since the moment you shared on the beach. Since then you both have been spending more time together, going on dates, exchanging gifts, and learning more about each other in deeper ways. Since deciding to explore the potential of your relationship, both of you have prioritized open communication about your feelings. You both wanted to ensure that you were on the same page regarding how things were progressing and to avoid any sense of rushing into the next phase. After a few months, it became clear that you and Tonowari were on the brink of something deeper—courtship.

When the topic came up it felt natural and exciting but you were also nervous. The scars from your past marriage were still fresh and you didn’t want to deal with the same hurt and mistreatment again but you know that Tonowari aren’t your ex-mates, you know that he is so much different than them so it didn’t take too much thought before you agreed with Tonowari that courting was the right choice for your relationship.

“Alright, my mighty hunter.” You say with a teasing lilt, stepping a little bit closer to him while moving one of your hands and placing it on his shoulder. “How about I finish getting ready while you get the fish out of the walkway and into the cooking area? I don’t want to trip over them.”

Tonowari lets out a soft laugh, a hint of sheepishness in his expression as he glances down at the nets of fish he’d dropped right in front of the entryway instead of somewhere out of the way. “I suppose I was too focused on you to think about where I was putting them.” He admits, shaking his head slightly.

With a nod of determination Tonowari separates from you and allows you to finish your routine as he begins to move the fish. You can’t help but admire the sight of him lifting the heavy net, watching the muscles in his arms and back flex as he picks it up and walk it over to another area of the mauri. His strength and charm makes your heart flutter and makes you appreciate that you can have these small moments with him.

As Tonowari bends down to lower the fish in the area you want them to be in, your eyes catch a glimpse of something on his back. A thin dark line carved into his skin, a wound that looks fresh, meaning it could be causing him pain. “‘Wari,” you walk up to him and get a closer look, your voice laced with worry while you inspect the wound, gently running your finger over it. “What happened to your back?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He replies dismissively while he stands straight up and shifts his weight in the process, meaning it’s not ‘nothing’ like he claims it to be.

“It’s definitely something, Tonowari.” Your healer instincts kick in and you walk over to your herbs and grab a salve and a liquid that will act as a disinfectant so the wound doesn’t become infected. “I can tell you're in pain, you must let me take a look at it.” At first, Tonowari wants to tell you that it’s fine and he’ll just patch it up later but he allows you to take a look, knowing you’ll take better care of it than he will. You bring over a wooden stool for him to sit on and you start working on him, cleaning off the droplets of dried blood before pouring a few drops of disinfectant. “How did you get this?”

“Accident from hunting,” He explains, trying to brush it off since it isn’t a big deal to him. “I was more focused on the catch than what was around me.”

A frown casts upon your face at how Tonowari just ignores his wounds and swallows the pain. “Well, you need to be more careful. You shouldn’t ignore wounds, even if they are small.”

Tonowari's expression relaxes as he feels your fingers across his back, a hint of admiration comes across his face, feeling grateful that he has someone in life that takes care of him again. "You always worry too much about me."

"It's my job," you reply playfully, but your tone is serious. "And I care about you."

“I know you do,” The Olo’eyktan murmurs, his gaze softening as he glances back at you, his usual stoic demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. As you tend to his wound, Tonowari’s mind begins to drift, memories of Ronal slipping through his thoughts like the gentle pull of the tide. She’d always been the one to patch him up after his hunting or sparring accidents, her hands steady and sure, her voice lightly scolding him for being reckless. She’d always tell him that his strength didn’t mean he could ignore his injuries, and despite his grumbling, he’d let her care for him, feeling both humbled and cherished in those moments.

Now, as he feels the same careful touch in your hands and hears the same gentle concern in your voice, a pang of bittersweet longing stirs within him. It’s different with you, of course, but he realizes he’s missed this feeling of being looked after, having someone who sees past his strength to the person beneath. In some quiet, comforting way, your presence eases a part of him he thought he’d long buried, reminding him of the warmth he once felt with his widow.

As you finish dressing Tonowari’s wound, you notice that his gaze has drifted somewhere distant, a shadow passing over his usually calm expression. His expression is filled with something you can’t quite name—grief, maybe, or longing, like he’s carrying a memory too heavy to put into words. “‘Wari,” you say softly, catching his attention. “Is something on your mind?” You keep your hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer whatever comfort you can.

Tonowari hesitates, looking at you with an intensity that suggests he’s debating whether to answer. You and him haven’t talked much about your past marriages. Both of you are still hesitant to discuss those parts of your lives, and neither of you want to push the other to share before they’re ready. You both agreed early on to open up when the time feels right. Tonowari has only shared little details here and there about Ronal, he mentions her from time to time but it's usually quick and he breezes over it, not wanting to stay on the topic for too long or his emotions will get the best of him. He’s thought about having a full discussion about her with you before but he always chickens out, not wanting to be vulnerable in front of you but he also doesn't want to continue keeping you in the dark about his feelings.

After a long moment, he sighs, glancing away as though the words are easier to say to the air than to you. “My mate,” he says finally, his voice rougher than usual. “Ronal.” He looks down, his jaw tight, trying to hold himself together to tell you the story as emotions resurface in his heart. “She was… everything to me. Strong, kind, stubborn as the sea,” he continues, a small bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, memories of her reeling in his mind from the years they shared as a mated pair. “She always looked after me, kept me in line when I needed it.”

There’s a quiet, aching pause as he gathers himself, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, trying to collect his words and make sure he correctly phrases them based on how he feels in his heart. “She passed when an illness casted over the clan,” he says, his voice full of sorrow when he thinks about how the illness took over her body in a matter of days and soon after he could barely recognize the woman he fell in love with. “She went to help those who were sick, as she always did. She believed it was her duty as Tsahìk to protect others, even when it meant… risking herself in the process.”

You feel a pang in your chest as you watch him speak, seeing the grief he’s been carrying around all this time, a grief that’s only now finding voice. “After she was gone… I didn’t think I’d let anyone take care of me like that again,” he admits, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “I told myself I didn’t need it. But being here with you now, it… reminds me of her.” It was true, even though you and Ronal are different in many ways there are a few similarities he sees in the both of you. The way you care for others, how fiercely you protect those you love, sometimes when he looks at you he feels like he’s seeing pieces of Ronal again.

Your heart aches for him, you know how hard it was for him to share and you’re so glad that he felt brave enough to say how he feels. To show that you're here with him in the moment and are listening, you glide your hand down his arm until you reach his hand. When he feels your hand wrap around his he glances at you and you notice his expression softening from the painful one he once had. Tonowari’s grip tightens around your hand, a silent appreciation of your presence and support.

You take a moment, letting the weight of his confession settle between you before taking a deep breath and speaking, wanting to make sure you say the right things to him, wanting to give him the comfort he needs. “Tonowari,” you say gently, “I’m so glad you had Ronal as a mate, if you hadn’t had all those wonderful years with her you wouldn’t be the amazing man you are today or have your two beautiful children. She took care of you for as long as Eywa allowed and now she watches over you.”

Tonowari’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods slowly, absorbing your words. “You’re right,” he admits, a soft smile breaking through his sorrow. “Ronal taught me about love, strength and sacrifice.”

“And you carry everything you learned from her with you. You’re not alone on this journey of life, Tonowari. I’m here for you. I want to be that person that cares for you now, the one who always tends to your wounds and keeps you in line if you need it.”

Tonowari’s gaze deepens, reflecting a number of emotions—grief, gratitude, and an unmistakable warmth that radiates from the bond you share. Your words wrap around him like a gentle embrace, showing him that he can be in the present while honoring his past. “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that,” he admits, his voice steadying, though it remains with hints of emotion.

You squeeze his hand tighter, feeling the strength of his grip and the connection that sparks between you. “It’s the truth,” you reply, your heart swelling with love for this man who has faced so much yet he continues to stand tall. “You’re a great father and a leader, and the love you shared with Ronal doesn’t diminish what we can build together.” You know that Ronal will always be a part of him, she’s the mother of his children and his first true love. Ronal will always be in his heart and you’re completely fine with that but you also want him to know that there is enough room for the love you both now share to grow as well.

A soft smile crosses his lips, the heaviness in his eyes lifting ever so slightly. “And I’m grateful for that, for everything.” He pauses for a moment, his earlier playfulness returning to his demeanor. “Besides, I’d be lost without you keeping me out of trouble.”

“Yes, you definitely need me to keep a close eye on you,” you tease, relief flooding through you as the mood lightens, meaning Tonowari is feeling better than he did a few minutes ago. “Just don’t expect me to let you get away with anything.”

Tonowari chuckles, the sound music to your ears. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, causing you to melt in the process. “Thank you for being my light. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Of course! Just keep bringing me gifts, and we’ll be just fine,” you tease once again, a playful grin stretching across your face as you look up at him. The warmth of the moment fills the small space of your mauri. You rise from your stool and begin to organize the salve and healing items, your fingers dancing over the familiar textures of the herbs and containers.

As you tidy up, sunlight shines brightly through the woven walls, casting a golden glow that warms up the air and takes away the coldness from the early morning breeze. The air is rich with the invigorating scent of fresh herbs, mingling with the distant sounds of Awa’atlu coming to life—laughter and chatter drifting in from outside, a gentle reminder of the community that surrounds you.

“You truly have a gift for healing, both the body and spirit.” Tonowari says in a low tone as he fills the space behind you, his presence a comforting weight as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, along with his warm breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine and his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Well, it’s easy when I have someone worth caring for.” you reply, raising your hand and placing it on his cheek, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin while your smile softens at the sincerity of your own words.

“And you make it impossible for me to focus on my duties. I could stay here with you all day,” he admits, using a playful yet serious tone as he starts to trail soft kisses across your neck, making your stomach flip.

“As tempting as that sounds, I think the clan might have something to say about it.” Thinking of the clan brings a familiar sense of responsibility, reminding you both of the lives that rely on your work. If you both disappeared for the day, when you’re both known to be dedicated to your duties, it would certainly raise suspicions.

Truthfully, the idea of spending the day in the quiet of your home with him is hard to resist, especially with the way his lips are brushing against your neck, causing your body to tingle all over. But you know, despite the attraction of staying close to him, that your duties come first, especially his come first. With a soft sigh, you gently pull away from and turn so you can look into his eyes, giving him a lingering look that speaks of how much you’d rather stay wrapped in his arms.

He chuckles, nodding with a sense of understanding, though his gaze still lingers on you with a quiet intensity. “You’re right, as usual,” he says, his tone resigned yet affectionate. “They need us, and I need to get started on my rounds.” Leaning in, he brushes a gentle kiss against your lips, his touch lingering, wanting one last kiss before you have to part ways. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will,” you assure him firmly, your voice resolute. “And you better do the same. I won’t be patching you up twice in one day.” The banter is light, but beneath it lies a genuine concern for his well-being. You and Tonowari walk out of your home at the same time and you both hold hands for as long as possible before you have to take different paths. You and him exchange loving gazes one more time before the two of you start to split off to different places on the island.

As you start walking towards the heart of the village and making your way to the healing pod, the vibrant colors of the village greet you, alive with the sounds of laughter and the salty breeze of the sea. The sun rises higher, illuminating the faces of your neighbors as they go about their morning tasks, a scene of harmony that fills you with purpose.

—

The early afternoon sun cast long shadows over the village as the Olo’eyktan gathered his warriors for a meeting. Tonowari finished his rounds a while ago, assessing the well-being of his people, making sure the hunters were collecting enough food to feed the clan, that the healers had sufficient supplies, and making sure that the warriors-in-training are up to par. Every so often Tonowari calls a meeting with all his warriors to discuss whatever he deems necessary for them to have knowledge of so currently he’s standing in front of a group of seasoned warriors with a steady and focused expression on his face. The warriors listen intently as he speaks, discussing plans for the coming weeks, the new resources they’ve gathered, and trade strategies with neighboring clans and how they’ll be conducted.

Once the meeting is concluded, the warriors begin to relax, their expressions easing as they fall into conversation. Mating season is approaching for the Metkayina, and the topic quickly shifts to the thrill of potential partners and possible courtships.

One of the younger warriors, a grinning Na’vi with bright eyes, leans in toward the group. “So, do any of you have someone in mind? I hear a few of the women in the northern pods are particularly interested this year.”

Another warrior laughs, elbowing his friend. “The northern pods? Well, I have my eye on someone a little closer.”

The group chuckles, sharing knowing looks and nudges. A third warrior, braver and bolder than his peers, leans back against a nearby tree and crosses his arms with a smirk. “Well, if we’re speaking of those who’ve been catching our eyes, I’d say that the newcomer is quite… intriguing.”

Tonowari’s ears perked up at that, his expression carefully neutral as he listened in on what his subordinates were saying. He feels a tightening in his chest as they continue their conversation and he can’t stop the slight clench of his jaw. He knows exactly who they mean when they say ‘newcomer’ and it’s stirring up a nasty emotion inside the Olo’eyktan at the mention of you.

The warriors exchange looks, some nodding their heads in agreement. “Ah, yes,” one said with a grin. “She has a spirit about her. There’s something different. And she’s been here long enough now, I’d say she’s part of the clan.”

Another warrior chimes in, his tone lighthearted but admiring. “She’s smart, too. Not to mention skilled in healing. I think any one of us would be lucky to court her.”

Tonowari’s fists tighten behind his back, his fingertips pressing into his palms as he fights the urge to respond. The mask of calm he wears, cultivated through years of leadership, is beginning to slip, and his tail flicks in irritation despite his best efforts to remain composed. His ears, trained on the voices of his warriors, catch every casual, careless words they speak about you—the admiration in their voices, the hints of desire, the presumptuous confidence they hold in their tone when they discuss you as if you’re an unclaimed woman waiting to be courted.

Each remark feels like a tiny ember dropped into his chest, sparking a jealousy he’s struggling to contain. He reminds himself of the choice you both made to keep your bond private, to protect the quiet intimacy of what you share, away from the curious eyes of the clan. And yet, in this moment, he feels the weight of that choice bearing down on him. These warriors—his own warriors, those who have fought by his side—speak of you like a prize to be won, an object of competition.

The restraint he shows is as much for himself as it is for them, for he knows that one slip in his expression, one moment of sharpness in his voice, would reveal more than he’s currently prepared to share. But with every laugh, every nudge, and every insinuation, the irritation coils tighter within him, a reminder of how fiercely he feels for you.

A laugh echoes from the group, and one of the warriors, with a mischievous smirk, declares his intent to “try his luck” with you, claiming you might need “someone strong to keep you grounded.” The remark brings a sharp, almost feral look to Tonowari’s eyes, a dangerous edge beneath his calm. He reminds himself—again—that they don’t know, that their casual interest is not meant as an offense. But his jaw clenches, and his heart beats faster, wrestling with the possessive surge that threatens to overtake him.

While the Olo’eyktan is having an emotional debate within himself, Ralak, looks across the circle of warriors, reading the slight tension in his leader’s stance. With a small, knowing smile, Ralak excuses himself from the conversation and walks over to Tonowari.

“Walk with me, Olo’eyktan.” Ralak says, his voice calm but with a hint of humor in his gaze. Tonowari gives him a nod, eager for the chance to leave the warriors’ chatter behind before he blows a fuse. They move a few paces away, leaving the others deep in their discussions about their pursuit for future mates. Once they’re out of earshot, Ralak chuckles softly. “You know, it’s quite amusing to see you like this, Tonowari. You, of all people, should be used to admiration. But hearing it directed at her—now that’s something new.”

Tonowari exhales, the tension easing slightly at Ralak’s teasing tone but not leaving completely. “They speak as if she’s theirs to court,” he mutters, his voice barely concealing his frustration. “As if they have any idea who she is.”

Ralak chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans against a nearby tree. “Of course they don’t know. You’ve kept things quiet. They see her as a woman who’s simply here, one who’s… available. And, well,” he smirks, “you cannot blame them for noticing. She’s a rare presence.” The Metkayina have always been curious of what Na’vi from different parts of Pandora look like so now that they’ve laid eyes on you a new curiosity has grown, what it’s like to be with a woman that's the opposite of them.

Tonowari sighs, a mixture of pride and frustration filling his chest as he knows that men in the clan want you yet you only have eyes for him. “I know that. But to hear them talk so casually, as if they could just… approach her, as if she would give them a second glance…” He shakes his head, fighting the urge to march back and make it clear that you shouldn’t be discussed this way.

“And yet, you’ve kept her hidden. Why?”

Tonowari hesitates, glancing toward the village beyond where he’s spent countless evenings with you. “She and I… we wanted something just for ourselves. Something apart from the clan’s expectations, the constant eyes on us. She wanted time to settle in, to find her place here, without everyone immediately knowing.”

Ralak nods, his expression softening as he begins to understand his reasoning for keeping your relationship under wraps. “Then don’t let their words get under your skin. They speak in ignorance, not knowing what you and her share.” He places a firm hand on Tonowari’s shoulder. “But… I would suggest you think about telling them soon. With mating season approaching, the interest in her will only grow.”

Tonowari grimaces, knowing his friend was right. His warriors are respectful, but also persistent when it comes to finding their potential mate. The last thing he wants is for you to be put in a situation where you feel uncomfortable, or worse, pressured by their advances.

Ralak raises an eyebrow, seeing that the Olo’eyktan is still facing an internal battle with his feelings and thoughts so he decides to give him a few more pieces of sound advice. “Or maybe, you should remind her just how deeply you feel. Make sure she knows she doesn’t need to keep your bond a secret if it causes you both trouble.”

A small smile breaks through Tonowari’s tense expression, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “She knows,” he says softly. “But I’ll admit, it’s hard to hide it when I feel this strongly.”

“Then perhaps a little less hiding wouldn’t hurt. You are the Olo’eyktan, after all. You have every right to make your intentions known.”

Tonowari nods, his resolve strengthening. The quiet, private moments with you are cherished by him when he wants to escape from the demands of his role, but he can’t deny the desire to stand by you openly, to show everyone that you are his.

Tonowari takes a steadying breath, the weight of his friend’s words settling into his mind. He knows now that if he doesn’t make his intentions clear, others will continue to see you as someone they could pursue and that is something he can no longer allow. “Thank you, Ralak,” he says, giving his friend a firm nod. “I’ll speak with her.”

Ralak nods with a smile, satisfied with Tonowari’s decision and glad to see him happy. “Good. She deserves to be seen as the one you’ve chosen, not just another face in the clan.”

As the two men part, Tonowari feels a new sense of purpose filling him. His jealousy sparked something that needs addressing, but more than that, it reminds him of how fully his heart has opened up for you. And if claiming you publicly means drawing a few surprised looks, he’ll gladly accept that challenge.

Previous — Chapter Three・Next — Chapter Four / Part Two

If you would like to be tagged in this series click here!

Fanbase — @moonchildxoxx @ikeyniofthetayrangi @unholycheesesnack @luchicm04 @anemonelovesfiction @thebiggestwhorearound @taronyuhunter @hot15936 @v4mp1rr3 @avatarobsessedgirly @ikeyniofthetayrangi @rivatar @avatarsslut @kodzuvk @32saucy-minx @xxannyxx @certainkittenpeach @mimisweetz @eme1hyst @neteyamyawne @scrumptiouslampwobblercop @lexasaurs634 @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @breadnchocolate-blog @reading-doll @trashf0x @avatarloverfrfr @alyssa23145678910 @eywas-heir @neptunesbbby @n7cje @hinekoto @lovedheartsss @introvertednoah @sweetdayme4427 @tenshiasuhara @livvie1512-blog @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @daenerysluvrr @marsymars-world @sassyqueen15 @yawnetu @mudimar @baybaybear1 @yuliya-13 @nia-channel-taylor @lakeli @pitypinkabyss @otakusef @svnnynostalgia

[dunmeshistash]

Do you have any other Ryoko Kui Oneshot recommendations? I just read the last ones you mentioned and i absolutely loved them

Honestly! I recommend all 3 of her published one shot compilations, they are all REALLY GOOD

You can read about each of them on this post, the text is from the english pamphlet of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

A few that really stuck with me other the ones I've already mentioned here (wolves tell no lies, perfect communication and how to be that girl) were these (the order is just the order I remembered them)

The Dragon's School is on Top of the Mountain: The titular story of one of her published works, it makes me think about a few parts of Dungeon Meshi where Laios is trying to find an "use" for monsters in the surface. I really enjoyed the idea of trying to make dragons "useful" so they can continue to exist, it's very bittersweet.

Home: From the same collection as the previous one, it's about what happens to The Hero of the story after he has defeated the big evil, in the perspective of the simple villagers from his hometown. Makes my heart ache. Other stories in this collection have a similar theme of "story after the story" what might have happened after the conclusion of an adventure but this is the one that stuck to me the most

Spring and Autumn: Two oneshots from terrarium in drawer that tell the same story in different perspectives. Quite possibly the best "what if humans were pets" story I've ever seen (I've seen at least 2). I cried so hard, I'm crying right now 10/10 don't let the premise scare you off

Distant Utopia: Terrarium in drawer is AMAZING but here just one more to maybe convince everyone to read, children are tasked with creating a story about "bullying persecution and discrimination", end up realizing things aren't so simple as they first thought

A Modern Fairytale: Ok dragon school might be my favorite one shot collection. This one is about a fantasy creature (centaurs) living in modern times, and the struggles that might cause in society alongside humans. It's a really interesting and grounded take that I don't think I've even seen before (Plus the centaur wife that shows up in short sections is adorable)

Mermaid Sanctuary: From Seven little sons's of the Dragon like wolves tell no lies. A guy finds a mermaid that keeps trying to go into land for some reason. Everyone tells him to leave it be cause "mermaids aren't human, they're just animals that mimic humans" but he decides to help her anyway. It's very interesting with how it portraits mermaids

That's it for my favorites! I really recommend everything by Kui tho, I had to stop myself before I just listed all the oneshots

Btw you can buy Seven Little Sons of the Dragon in english

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Yours and Mine

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst. Mentions of infidelity. Smut. Words: ~6k

Summary: She is bored of her life as the vicar's daughter. Abraham feels trapped in an unhappy engagement that is more obligation than choice. Together they learn that life isn't what you allow to happen to you, but rather what you choose to make of it.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“How many rounds of ham and cheese have you got there, love?” her father asked, wrapping triangles of egg and cress sandwiches in waxed paper, before he placed them in a wicker basket.

She stopped buttering the slice of bread in front of her, stilling her knife as she paused to count the slices of bread piled off to the side. “Eleven so far, twelve once I’ve finished this one,” she said, before continuing to spread margarine out towards the bread's edges.

“I think that’ll be enough then,” he told her, hefting the second, already full basket for emphasis, “ham and cheese, egg and cress, tuna and sweetcorn. That’ll do nicely.”

She simply nodded. Truthfully, it had been enough several sandwiches ago. There was enough food to serve an army, let alone a traveller’s camp. She wouldn’t mind if there was a genuinely charitable act of kindness behind the gesture, but there wasn’t. It was her father’s attempt to be nosy, thinly disguised as a good deed.

The arrival of the travellers in Grantchester a week ago had been the most exciting thing to happen in the sleepy, little village for ages. Ordinarily, it was the talk of the parish whenever someone took down their net curtains to wash them, so a small community setting down caravans in Mr. Ruskin’s field had set the place abuzz. As the village’s vicar, her father had taken it upon himself to take food up to the camp. On the surface, it was Christian kindness, a warm welcome to Grantchester. She saw her father’s actions for what they really were though; he wanted to size them up, to have information to pass back to his flock when they asked. She found the gesture patronising, it suggested they couldn’t look after themselves. She didn’t want to argue though, her father was not a man to change his mind easily, or be reasoned with, so she simply swallowed down her trepidation and continued layering slices of ham and cheese.

As she suspected, they were met with a frosty reception upon their arrival at the farm. Those that were not in their caravans, stopped what they were doing to stare coldly at her and her father as they approached with their heavy picnic baskets.

There were fires lit, and dogs barked and chased each other playfully. Piles of timber laid in neat stacks, having been chopped for firewood, and laundry hung on makeshift lines between fence posts. They appeared self sufficient, and she cringed, casting her gaze down at the mud that was splattered across her olive green wellington boots as her father’s voice rang out in the eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant clucking of chickens and faint crying of a baby from one of the caravans.

“Hello there,” her father called out loudly, “I’m Father Thomas, the vicar of the local church, and this is my daughter.”

Embarrassment blazed against the surface of her skin, making her feel too warm despite the gentle breeze in the air, as he said her name out loud, laying the blame of this obvious insult at her feet alongside his own.

“We wanted to offer you a warm welcome to Grantchester,” he continued, oblivious to the hostile atmosphere he was creating. “These are for you.”

She dared to glance up as he gestured forward with the picnic basket he was holding, and saw that not one of the people standing before them made a move towards them, or reached out to take it. After a moment that felt like it stretched on for an eternity, a tall, slender man with an axe slung over his shoulder, hinged forward at his hips, spitting heavily upon the ground. Her lips parted in shock, icy cold fingers of fear creeping up her spine as she watched him, an obvious answer to their offering - ‘we don’t want it.’ 

She set down her own picnic basket on the muddy ground, her aching shoulders grateful to be free of their burden, and looked at her father with wide, imploring eyes. “I think we should go,” she whispered, low enough for only him to hear, “this was a bad idea.”

He set down his own basket, with a slight nod, before grasping her shoulder and marching her away. She walked quickly, her heart pounding with fright as her father kept a firm hold of her, but it paled in comparison to the second hand embarrassment that made her want to curl in on herself. They had offended them, she knew they had, and she had done nothing to stop it.

“Perhaps once they try the sandwiches they’ll warm up to us a bit, we just need to give them time,” her father muttered nervously, more to himself than to her, as he kept his eyes fixed ahead as they walked back through the village.

“They don’t want our sandwiches, Dad,” she sighed exasperatedly, “I’m pretty sure we annoyed them.”

Her father huffed, finally releasing her shoulder as their house came into view, the tendrils of ivy that clung to its red brick front a more than welcome sight. His voice blustered with annoyance as he spoke. “Well, with that ungrateful attitude, they won’t last long around here. Good riddance to them.”

She pursed her lips, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Of course it hadn’t occurred to her father that perhaps the group just wanted to be left alone. However, in a village that thrived on gossip and needing to know the business of absolutely everyone, they had chosen the worst possible place to settle if it was privacy they were after.

“I’ve made a call to Mr. Ruskin,” her father announced, two days later, stepping into the kitchen as she stood at the sink, washing the plates and cups from breakfast. “You’re to go and collect the picnic baskets from our…visitors this afternoon.”

The word ‘visitors’ came out of his mouth as though it were dripping with poison. She knew the word he longed to use in its place, it made her prickle with annoyance, and she squeezed the sponge unnecessarily tight, watching as soap suds expanded out of it, spreading through the murky depths of the warm water in the sink.

“Why did you need to call Mr. Ruskin to let him know that?” she asked, her voice tight as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I’m doing home visits this afternoon, so I can’t come with you,” he explained, adjusting the white clerical collar of his black shirt as he gazed absentmindedly out of the back door of the house. “Mr. Ruskin knowing you’ll be there will help keep you safe.”

‘Keep me safe from what?!’ she longed to shout at him, but instead she took her frustration out on a teaspoon, scrubbing the silver of it harder than she needed to as she frowned.

“They don’t mean us any harm,” she finally said, raising her head to look at her father as he continued to stare out into the back garden.

“You are kind, my girl” he told her, turning to look at her with a soft smile, “foolish, but kind.”

He turned and walked from the kitchen, his silent way of letting her know there was no further room for argument. It frustrated her endlessly, the way he would silence her, simply by removing himself from the conversation.

When she arrived at the camp later that afternoon, the picnic baskets were both overturned. She thought for a moment that the travellers may have grudgingly accepted the food, until she crouched down to lift them up. The waxed paper inside had been torn to shreds, what little food scraps remained were teeming with maggots. A sharp sound of repulsed shock escaped her throat before she could stop it and she stumbled back from the sight, falling firmly on her backside to the muddy ground.

“Think the dogs have probably been at ‘em,” a gruff voice came from somewhere above her.

She lifted her gaze, meeting a piercing pair of blue eyes that stared down at her. As she looked over the sharp lines of his face, she recognised him as the man that had spat in response to her father offering the sandwiches. He wasn’t carrying an axe this time. He loomed tall over her, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, revealing the tattoos that littered his forearms, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

She quickly looked away, busying herself with righting the wicker hampers. “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, her heart pounding hard against her ribs, “it was my dad’s idea.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, and for a moment she thought he would leave her to it, until he spoke again. “Your dad’s idea for you to sit on your arse in the mud too, or you want a hand up?”

Her head snapped back up to meet his icy stare once more, her jaw agape in shock at how he had spoken to her. When her eyes met his again, he had a hand extended out towards her. She hesitated a moment, then reached up. His hand dwarfed hers as he grasped it; his calloused palm was rough, yet warm against her own as he tugged her easily to her feet. She found she only reached his chest as she stood once more, and she hastily stepped back, tugging her hand free of his, to put some space between them.

“Thank…thank you,” she stammered, looking anywhere but him as she attempted fruitlessly to brush her skirt clean.

A lazy smirk spread across his face as he watched her, before nodding down at the picnic baskets. “You gonna be alright carrying those?”

“Well, they’re mostly empty now,” she sighed, stooping to grab one, “so I should be fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyeing her curiously. “You sure? Would hate for a spoiled little thing like you to fall over again.”

She straightened, her brow furrowing into a scowl as she stared defiantly up at him, clutching a picnic basket by its wicker handle. “I am not spoiled,” she argued, “but you’re rude!”

He grinned at her, the predatory flash of his teeth stirring something warm and uncomfortable within her, before he stooped to grab the other basket. “I might be,” he said with a shrug, as he stood upright once more, “but at least I can admit to my shortcomings.”

She found herself relaxing as he fell into step beside her, walking away from Mr. Ruskin’s field and back towards the village. He had an easy presence, and she felt vindicated that she had been right to insist to her father that she had nothing to fear.

“Well, at least your dogs enjoyed the sandwiches, even if you didn’t,” she offered with a small smile.

He didn’t return it, glancing quickly over at her before continuing to look in the direction they were walking. “It’s the first time anyone’s ever tried to tell us to sling our hook with sandwiches, I’ve gotta admit.”

“We don’t want you to leave,” she said quickly, turning her head to try and meet his gaze, “that’s not what it was.”

“You might not mind us being here,” he said, “but your old man certainly does. We’re not exactly the sort of people that have the welcome mat rolled out for them when we settle somewhere.”

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, but he cut her off, stopping and turning to face her.

“Isn’t it? What did your dear old dad tell you before you came here today? Did he tell you to be careful, warn you we might be dangerous?”

She opened her mouth, she wanted to deny it, but as she stared at him, she found herself unable to lie. She quickly pressed her lips together, feeling her skin grow warm at the memory of her father’s concern for her safety. If only he could see her now.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, almost triumphantly, as he turned and continued to walk. “I’m Abraham, by the way.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Abraham, I’m–”

“I remember your name, Miss. Thomas, don’t worry,” he said with a wink.

That uncomfortable warmth returned and she quickly looked away, blinking as though the action would clear the sight of his crude gesture from her mind.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re skittish?” he asked her, “sort of like a cat. Miss. Thomas the cat…a tom cat!”

He grinned then, and she laughed. “You’re ridiculous,” she told him with a slight shake of her head, “so what are your plans for while you’re in Grantchester?”

“Got a couple of horses we’ve paid to stable with the farmer whose field we’re staying in,” he told her, “once they’re in racing shape, I expect we’ll sell them and then move on.”

She had always loved animals, and her eyes lit up at the mention of horses. She so seldom ever saw any in the village. “You have horses?!”

His gaze softened at her palpable excitement. “Well, yeah, they’re what pull our caravans. But these ones are special. They’re thoroughbreds, trained ‘em myself. You wanna meet ‘em?”

“Really?! I’d love to!” she smiled widely, stopping and turning to face him as her house came into view.

“This home then?” he asked, holding out the basket he held for her to take.

“Yeah, best not to go all the way to the front door, just in case…”

She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, feeling ashamed.

“No troubles,” he came to her rescue, seemingly unbothered by the snub, “swing by tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the horses, if you want?”

“That’d be nice,” she said quietly, her eyes filled with silent apology as they met his.

“Tomorrow then,” he said with a slight nod “see you later, Tom Cat.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the nickname, and she watched him walk away until he was out of sight. Her father had been wrong – it wasn’t Abraham she found scary, just the way he made her feel.

“This is Fergus,” Abraham told her, his voice almost reverent as he ran his palm over the forehead of a large chestnut and white horse, before turning to stroke the crest of an equally impressive grey thoroughbred with a black mane, “and this is Paddy.”

She smiled softly, her wellington boots crunching against the gravel as she moved closer to the open stable door, and reached out a hand to run her palm over the soft, white muzzle of Fergus. It felt like peach skin, surprisingly soft to touch, making her giggle. “Hello, handsome,” she greeted the creature that loomed before her.

Abraham smirked that lazy smirk of his as watched her, his arm stretched over the bottom half of the stable door to rub absentmindedly at Paddy’s withers. “Careful, you’ll make me jealous.”

“Do these ones pull your caravans?” she asked, glancing over at him, an attempt to change the subject and draw the attention away from how his words made her stomach flutter.

Abraham shook his head. “These ones are just for racing, trained ‘em myself. We’ve got vanners that pull the caravans. They’re in the field with us, they don’t like to be stabled, they enjoy their freedom.”

“Bit like you then,” she quipped, turning back to Fergus who had begun to snuffle at her hands as they rested upon the stable door.

Abraham grinned, plucking sugar cubes from his trouser pocket and passing one to her. “Just like me, Tom Cat. You’re good with horses, y’know?”

“I’ve always loved animals,” she admitted softly, watching in fascination as Fergus took the sugar cube from her outstretched palm, devouring it in several loud crunches. “I used to take in injured birds from the garden and nurse them back to health when I was younger. I wanted to be a vet.”

“Don’t you want to be anymore?” he asked, glancing over at her as Paddy took a treat from his hand.

“I do,” she admitted sadly, pushing away from the stable door to lean against the brick wall beside it, “but my dad won’t allow it. Since my mum passed away, I’m all he has, he needs me around to look after the house while he runs the parish council.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Abraham said, frowning slightly, as he stepped towards her, brushing his hands off on his trouser legs.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. She felt trapped in Grantchester, as caged as the birds she once tended to, before setting them free again. Her mother’s illness five years ago had been so sudden, her passing even more so. Since then, her father had clung tighter to her than ever, refusing to let her out of his sight for fear he’d lose her too. She understood, but it was a stifling existence, her dreams snuffed out alongside her freedom.

She gave a slight shrug, eager to be rid of the melancholy that had settled over her like a shroud. “It’s just how it is. But what about you? What are your big plans once you sell these horses?”

He sniffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m getting married,” he said. There was no joy or excitement in his voice as he said it though, it was a fact he relayed to her as though she had just asked him what the time was.

“Oh...well, that’s nice,” she smiled tightly, hating the way her heart sank at his admission “So, what’s her name?”

“Luella,” he replied, and again the response was flat, lacking in any enthusiasm. “Need to brush the horses down, you fancy lending a hand?”

Her brow furrowed at his sudden change of subject and she wondered why he was so cagey about sharing any details of his engagement. She decided against pressing the issue, not wanting to make an already uncomfortable situation worse, and accepted the brush that he held out to her.

She relaxed as she worked, enjoying the presence of the horses, but also the easy companionship and conversation that Abraham offered. He made her laugh in a way that meant that by the time the afternoon was over, her cheeks ached from the tug of smiling.

By the time she arrived home, her cigarette trousers were dusty with hay and horse hair. She left her wellington boots in the porch as she pried them off, not wanting to traipse mud and straw across the living room carpet.

Her father was settled into the high back armchair by the fireplace – the place he always sat when he was home, that had been his designated seat in the house her entire life. He looked up from the book he had been reading as she entered, giving her an appraising look from over the rims of his reading glasses as his brows raised slightly.

“And where have you been that’s brought you home in such a mucky state?” he asked.

“I was up at Mr. Ruskin’s, helping out with the horses,” she said, subtly backing away towards the stairs. It was a vague amswer, but honest enough that she hoped it wouldn’t prompt any further questions that he would be upset by the answer to. She was wrong.

Her father frowned slightly, tucking his bookmark between the pages he’d been reading, before he closed his book and placed it upon his lap. “Mr. Ruskin has no horses,” he prodded, sitting straighter in his chair.

“No, they’re Abraham’s,” she said quietly, placing a hand upon the bannister, as if the very action of touching the beginning of her escape upstairs could save her.

“There’s no one in the village by that name,” he studied her closely as he said it, making her squirm with discomfort.

Finally, she snapped, huffing exasperatedly as she threw her hands up in defeat. “He’s one of the travellers, but you knew that didn’t you? You just wanted to make me feel like I’ve done something wrong!”

Her father sighed, setting his book upon the arm of the chair, before he rose and came to stand before her. His features were soft, but there was something steely in his gaze, the look that meant whatever was about to leave his mouth was final. “Your naivety puts you in danger,” he explained, “I don’t wish to scold, I only mean to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“They weren’t dangerous to you when you were forcing your charity on them,” she argued, before shrinking back as the steel in her father’s eyes became fiery fury.

“A kindness they met with hostility,” he said, his voice raising slightly in anger. “They are not like us, do you understand? You’re to keep away from this Abraham, I won’t tell you again!”

“He’s my friend,” she protested, her voice weak even to her own ears. A sense of helpless desperation clawed at her insides, making her feel hopeless.

Her father turned his back to her, moving back towards his chair – his retreat from the argument letting her know that it was over. Nothing she said would matter. “Get a bath,” he said softly, sitting back down again, “you stink like a farmyard.”

It had been three days since she had seen Abraham, three days since her father had told her to keep away from him. She hated how she had been cowed into submission by him. Her compliance to his demands wasn’t through blind obedience, however, more out of fear for what her disobedience would mean for the travellers currently settled in the farmer’s field. Her father held power in the village, he led the parish council, one word from him and Mr. Ruskin would have no choice but to move them on. Keeping away meant keeping them safe, keeping Abraham here.

Her father had been called away to central Cambridge for the day for a meeting with the bishop, leaving her alone in the house, and she had chosen to spend her morning in the front garden. The sunshine beamed gently down upon her hair, warming her from head to toe as she knelt by the flowerbed, her gardening gloves caked in soil as she gently uprooted weeds, careful not to disturb the colourful pansies that decorated the edging of the lawn. The lurid pinks, purples and yellows were a stark contrast to the bright white of the picket fence that enclosed the garden – a very pretty looking prison, as much to her as it was the flowers.

“You avoiding me, Tom Cat?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Abraham’s voice, her heart pounding as her eyes widened at the sight of him, taking in the way he smirked down at her as he leaned casually against the fence. “You can’t be here,” she hissed.

“Why not?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he stood up straight, almost looking down his nose at her. “Pal says he saw your old man headed up the station road this morning, so I know he’s not home.”

She moved to stand, not enjoying how the imbalance in their positions made him talk down to her, and tugged off her gardening gloves, dropping them into the flower bed. “If anyone sees you…” she sighed, tugging a hand through her hair, hating the way the words felt in her mouth as she said them. “Look, my dad’s told me to keep away, so I am. I’m not doing it because I don’t want to be friends, I’m doing it because I am your friend. He’ll have you run out of the village if I keep seeing you.”

“Alright, so we stop seeing each other then,” he shrugged, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes that set her belly aflutter with nerves.

“What does that mean, exactly?” she asked, folding her arms around her middle as her eyes tightened in suspicion.

He grinned, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over the tattoo of a pin-up girl that adorned his forearm. “Maybe you’re doing something else you’d normally be doing when you’re…not seeing me.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as realisation dawned upon her. “So, you want me to lie?”

“Lie is such an ugly word, Tom Cat,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned forward slightly, grasping the pickets of the fence, meeting her eye line. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I dunno,” she mused, pursing her lips, as she poked absentmindedly at the flowerbed soil with the toe of her shoe. “I enjoy going to the library.”

Abraham hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as he appeared to think for a moment. “Alright, so let’s say you go to the library, you check out a book, you happen to bump into me on your way out. You’ve not lied about where you’ve been, have you? We can spend some time together in secret, and if your old man happens to ask anyone if you were, in fact, at the library then the answer’s a yes, and you’ll have a book to prove it.”

She huffed a laugh, unable to stop the way her mouth spread into a grin as she bowed her head slightly, before lifting her eyes back to his. “You’re a bad influence.”

“And yet I’m not hearing you say no to the idea, Tom Cat,” he grinned back.

And she didn’t say no. Over the two weeks that followed, her and Abraham met up in secret twice a week. She would go to the library, check out a new book – and return the one from her previous visit – always something she had read before, just in case her visits prompted any questions, she could tell her father what the book was about. Then Abraham would meet her around the side of the library building and they’d slip away into the woods together. They had found a clearing, away from prying eyes, with an old tyre swing that they took it in turns to mess around on, while they chatted, joked and passed away idle, sunny afternoons together.

“What book is it today then?” Abraham asked.

He was gently moving the tyre so it spun in slow circles as she sat in it, her latest borrow from the library clutched in her hands. She watched as the woods panned slowly around her, a glacially paced kaleidoscope of browns and greens. An involuntary smile playing upon her lips every time he spun slowly back into view.

“Anne of Green Gables,” she told him, “it’s one of my favourites.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about then?” he asked, placing a hand atop the tyre to halt its movements as she swung to face him once more.

The intensity with which he looked at her was almost too much, and she found herself dropping her gaze back to the floral design of the book cover as she answered. “It’s about an orphaned girl who’s sent to live with a family, and she struggles to fit in,” she explained, running her fingers over the edges of the pages. “She keeps getting into trouble, and there’s this one boy, Gilbert, who she hates to begin with, but they fall in love. They get married in one of the sequels.”

“And is that why you like it?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her eye, making her feel too warm beneath his gaze. “Because of the romance?”

“I guess so,” she admitted, with a slight shrug, suddenly feeling shy, “it’s not something I know much about.”

“No?” he asked, drawing back and cocking his head. “Never had a special someone, Tom Cat?”

She laughed then, finding the very idea ridiculous as she shook her head. “I’ve never even been kissed.”

He stepped closer then, one hand still holding the tyre steady, while the other grasped her chin gently, tilting her face up to look at him. Suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore, and her lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath, the tips of their noses brushing as that piercing stare of his dipped down to her mouth and back up again.

He pressed at her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, tugging gently, and it made her insides boil, simultaneously wanting to pull away, to flee from him, while also longing to lean forward, to melt into him and stay there forever.

“Tom Cat…” he breathed his pet name for her, little more than a whisper, and that was all it took for her defences to crumble, for her to lean the rest of the way in and press her lips to his. It was clumsy on her part, she didn’t know quite what to do with her lips, but he gladly dominated, his mouth moving against her own in a way that had heat licking between her legs as it pooled in her lower belly.

His hand dipping down, moving to grasp the bare flesh of her thigh beneath her skirt was what broke the spell, fear and guilt washing over her like a bucket of ice water. She pushed him away, causing him to stagger backwards, as she leapt down from the tyre, her eyes wild and heart pounding, as she sought to put some distance between them.

“No!” she shouted, trying to sound angry instead of upset as she planted her feet shoulder width apart, gripping her book so hard that her knuckles blanched with the force of it. “No! You don’t get to do that to me. I won’t…I won’t be a part of your adultery, you’re engaged! How dare you?!”

Abraham blinked, brow furrowing in confusion, steadying himself as he stepped towards her. “You said you’d never been kissed before, I was just–”

“Oh, and you just thought you had the right to be my first?” she seethed, too angry to allow him to finish what he was saying. “I’m just the poor little village girl, trapped in her boring life, who you come along to have some fun with before you go off to be free again, and live happily ever after? Is that it?! Am I a joke to you?”

By the time she finished speaking, her eyes burned with unshed tears and her chest heaved with the force of the emotions that boiled inside of her. She had never been so angry, so indignant in all her life.

“I don’t want Luella!” Abraham shouted back, the words exploding out of him the moment she had said her piece. It made her jump, startling her out of her own upset as she watched his face contort into an angry scowl, his nostrils flaring as he continued. “I never asked for her, and she doesn’t want me either. She’s been knocking off that farmer ever since we arrived here. It’s an arranged marriage, neither of us want it. So I’m not making an adulterer of you…I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that to you…”

“Oh,” was all she managed to breathe out, so quiet it was barely audible over the chittering of the birds within the woods. The outrage she had felt had dissipated so quickly, she didn’t know what to do with herself, she felt silly, overwhelmed by the need to apologise, but she held her tongue. Sorry wouldn’t undo any of this.

He exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his coiffed hair, flattening it slightly. “I might spend my life on the road, but I’m not any freer than you are,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost sad. “Meeting you…it’s made me the happiest I’ve been in ages, and if me kissing you has buggered that up, then I’m sorry.”

Her heart twinged at his words, her expression softening as she stared at him with sympathy. “You haven’t ruined anything. It was perfect,” she admitted, “I wish…I wish there was a way for me to make this better for you…easier for us.”

“Run away with me, Tom Cat,” he said earnestly, taking another step towards her, twigs snapping beneath his feet as he narrowed the distance between them. “Just you and me, let’s do it.”

The sincerity in his wide, blue eyes was almost too much for her to take, it was a crazy idea, and she couldn’t help the bark of laughter that forced its way from her throat. “You can’t be serious? That’s a reckless idea.”

She hated herself for saying that the moment she opened her mouth, seeing the flicker of hurt that crumpled his features momentarily, before he straightened, clearing his throat. “Yeah, was only joking,” he said quietly, “it’s a stupid idea.”

Her mind raced as she laid in bed that night. She couldn’t shake the guilt at laughing at him when he suggested they run away together. The more she thought about it, the less silly it seemed. They were both unhappy, trapped in lives that neither of them wanted or had asked for, and truthfully, Abraham coming to Grantchester had been the happiest she’d been since her mum was alive. Surely it couldn’t hurt to explore what their lives might be like if they threw caution to the wind and allowed themselves to pursue what their hearts desired? She would be out from beneath her father’s thumb, and Abraham would be rid of an obligation to a woman he didn’t love.

By the time their next meeting at the library came a few days later, her mind was made up. She returned her copy of Anne of Green Gables, not bothering to borrow a new book, too filled with breathless excitement as she rounded the corner of the building to meet her secret friend.

“How would it work?” she blurted, coming to stand before him as he leaned against the red brick building.

“How would what work?” he asked, eyeing her curiously as he pushed away from the wall.

“Us,” she replied, as they began to walk in the direction of the woods, “if we ran away together.”

“Seriously?” he asked, glancing sideways at her. “I thought you said it was a stupid idea.”

“I didn’t say it was stupid,” she sighed exasperatedly, as he helped her over the turnstile into the patch of woodland that had become their rendezvous spot. “I said it was reckless, and it is, but the more I think about it, the more I want to.”

She gasped as he crowded into her space, walking her back through the scattered twigs and leaves of the woodland floor, until her back made impact with the solid trunk of a tree.

“D’you mean it?” he questioned, grasping her chin, his eyes searching hers for any trace of insincerity. 

She nodded, feeling as though she had forgotten how to breathe as a grin spread across his face, lighting up his sharp features with pure elation.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, making her whine as he pulled away all too soon, just as she’d begun to kiss back.

“I’ll sell the horses,” he told her, before pecking his lips softly against each of her cheeks. “We’ll use the money to buy a little house somewhere. You can get a job at a veterinary office, just as a receptionist until you get more experience. I can get more horses, and earn my living training and selling them on. You could help me look after them, since you’ll be a vet. We could have chickens, and maybe a goat.”

Each statement was punctuated by a kiss, each promise delivered with a press of his lips to her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. It made her stomach flip as the idea of them running away together, building a future together, became more tangible.

“I want that more than anything,” she whispered, her hands balling into fists in the white cotton of his shirt.

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he promised, nipping at her bottom lip.

This time, when his hand disappeared beneath her skirt, she didn’t stop him. Every nerve ending in her body cried out for his touch, and she clung to him, held up only by the front of his shirt, and the rough tree bark at her back.

“We’ll get married,” he murmured, as his fingertips danced along the inside of her thigh, the calloused skin a hardened juxtaposition to the softness of her own. “And we’ll have babies.”

She moaned, the sound foreign to her ears as he toyed with her knicker elastic, before dipping his fingers inside. She had never been touched like this before, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her thighs trembling with the effort to keep her on her feet as Abraham swiped slowly through the wetness that had gathered between her legs. She focused on his voice, and all of the pretty promises he made, afraid that if she dwelled upon the physical sensation for too long then she would bolt like the frightened cat he claimed she was.

“I’ll make you feel like this every day, Tom Cat,” he uttered, his fingers swirling over her sensitive bud, causing her to keen and her hips to buck. “Because I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine.”

As his fingers dipped back towards her entrance, gathering more of her arousal to help aid in the circles he pressed against her, she mewled, the coil tightening in her belly, pushing her dangerously close to a sensation she had only ever experienced at her own touch.

“Would you like that?” he asked, speeding up his movements.

She nodded, her mind too foggy with the impending onslaught of sensation to form a proper answer, but that simply wasn’t enough for Abraham.

“Say it,” he insisted.

“Y–yours,” she keened, before white hot oblivion overtook her. Her body shuddered against the tree as she yelped in surprise, clinging tightly to him as she convulsed against his touch, a pleasant ache bursting forth and making her feel hot all over.

He worked her through it, only stilling his fingers when her hips began to move away from his touch instead of chasing it. “Mine,” he murmured back with a smile.

Read on AO3

More Abraham fics

[plumbieyt]

Planting Plums Legacy Challenge by Plumbie and The Plum Family

Do you enjoy wholesome family gameplay, storytelling and the cosy side of The Sims 4? If so, the Planting Plums Legacy Challenge is for you.

My Inspiration For the Challenge:

My favourite aspect of The Sims is the family gameplay and all the stories that can arise from it. I love using the game as a vessel for telling stories, with that in mind, I thought I would create a legacy challenge built around all my favourite things in the game.

Each generation will have a focus on cosy and wholesome gameplay, primarily focusing on big families, but this doesn’t mean it will shy away from drama. It wouldn’t be realistic if I weren’t to include some sort of tension, so in each generation there will be conflicts but they will be mild and used in order to add depth to the family.

What Makes it Different:

One thing that separates this legacy challenge from the usual one is that I’ll be writing it one generation at a time. I’m doing this because I want to build this legacy with my community (the Plum family) on YouTube so that the Sims and stories will be a joint effort, making it a unique legacy due to the many inputs. It also means the story will grow organically, as it won’t necessarily be planned. This doesn’t mean you can’t take part in this legacy until we’ve reached the final generation because I’ve created the first generation, and we can play alongside as we grow the legacy.

The goal for this legacy challenge is to create a beautiful family that you’ll fall in love with and cherish all the members, even the troublesome ones. If this sounds like something you’d want to be part of, you can always comment, email or DM me your ideas for the legacy, as this is a community effort. So, let’s begin growing the family that will be known as the Plumtrees. 🌱🌸

General Rules & Packs Needed:

There won’t be any rules for this legacy challenge, as I want storytelling to be the focus point of it, but I’d recommend only using cheats if you absolutely need to use them, as sometimes, there is more fun and imagination in the limitations.

As of right now, you’ll need Cottage Living, Seasons and Get to Work. But if you don’t have these packs, feel free to adapt the challenge in your own way so that you can participate. Keep in mind the list of packs needed will grow bigger once the third generation is born.

Generation I: The Plum Seed

Some of your earliest memories were of running around your grandmother’s bakery, helping her bake all sorts of treats. You always said you’d take over her business when you were older, but sadly, when you were a child, she passed away, and your family couldn’t afford to keep the bakery.

As you became older, your passion shifted from baked goods to flowers. You found great comfort in creating all sorts of bouquets and writing down the different varieties of flowers, as they gave you the purpose you lost after your grandmother passed.

Growing up in a city meant nature was scarce; you spent time after school wandering around botanical gardens and finding wildflowers in the concrete, but this wasn’t enough, so the moment you became a young adult, you made the daring decision to move to an old cottage in Henford on Bagley.

Towering buildings and busy streets have been all you’ve ever known, so living in the sticks is going to take some getting used to, but as you stand on the doorstep of a new life, with baskets full of flowers, notebooks, baking ingredients and a dream to open a florist in the heart of the village, you feel that a slip in the mud won’t bother you a single bit.

Aspiration:

Best-selling Author: You want to write nonfiction books about your interest in flowers and bouquets to share your passion with the world.

Traits:

Love the Outdoors

Creative

Ambitious

Hobbies & Skills:

Baking

Gardening

Writing

Career:

Florist & Author: You own a florist business and sell your books.

To-Do's:

Move into a small cottage (it can be in any world, but preferably Henford or a countryside world)

Build from scratch a florist shop

Reach level 10 of the flower-arranging skill

Grow every type of flower in the game (or every flower in your game. For example, if you are missing a pack with a certain flower in it, you don't need to buy the pack just to grow that flower)

Reach level 5 of the writing skill

Write and publish 5 non-fiction books

Complete errands

[patrycarro]

TS3 - LS3SR06 (No CC)

ENG:

Whenever I play with the Supernatural pack, especially with fairies, I always feel like there’s a lack of builds that truly suit their style. Personally, I think placing these magical creatures in a regular house or apartment takes away from their charm a little.

This cozy fairy village features five cottages (four private and one communal), surrounded by countless gardens and spaces where your fairies can soak up the sun and immerse themselves in the pure beauty of nature.

I hope you find this build useful! If you do, let me know in the comments, and I’ll be happy to create more like it.

Features:

Lot type: Residential

Lot size: 64x64

Location: Moonlight Falls

Furnished lot value: 406.049 §

Unfurnished lot value: 223.561 §

Bedrooms: 4

Bathrooms: 5

Packs used in this build: EP01, EP04, EP07, EP08

Terms and conditions:

DO NOT claim my creations as your own.

If you want to use any of my builds in your custom world or save file, you are allowed to do so, BUT make sure to credit me as the original creator.

DO NOT re-upload my content under any circumstances; share it with your friends using my own links.

If you experience any issues, let me know and I’ll try to fix it as soon as possible.

Download it here. 🤍

SPA:

Siempre que juego con el pack de Criaturas sobrenaturales, específicamente con las hadas, echo en falta construcciones de este estilo, porque, personalmente, pienso que instalar a estas preciosas criaturas en una casa normal o un apartamento mata un poco la magia.

Este acogedor poblado está compuesto por cinco cabañas (cuatro independientes, una común) e incontables jardines y zonas donde tus hadas podrán disfrutar del sol y la belleza más pura y natural.

Espero que os resulte útil, y si es así, dejádmelo saber en un comentario y haré más construcciones similares.

Características:

Tipo de solar: Residencial

Tamaño del solar: 64x64

Ubicación: Moonlight Falls

Valor del solar amueblado: 406.049 §

Valor del solar sin amueblar: 223.561 §

Habitaciones: 4

Baños: 5

Packs utilizados en esta construcción: EP01, EP04, EP07, EP08

Términos y condiciones:

NO proclames mis creaciones como tuyas.

Si quieres usar alguna de mis construcciones en tu mundo personalizado o save file, tienes permitido hacerlo, PERO deja claro que yo soy su creadora original.

NO resubas mi contenido bajo ninguna excepción; compártelo con tus conocidos usando mis propios enlaces.

Si experimentas algún problema, házmelo saber e intentaré solucionarlo lo antes posible.

Descárgalo aquí. 🤍

[literaryvein-reblogs]

World Building Worksheet

Time

If you could compare the era of your story to one on earth, when would it be?

In the present? In the past? In the future?

Location

What is the settling of your world?

Does it take place in a parallel universe?

Is it on another earth-like planet?

Does it occur in another dimension?

Population

Who lives in your world?

Are they humans, aliens, animals, insects, hybrids, monsters?

What is the population?

Are there multiple races?

Is there tension between the races?

What distinguishes the races?

Where do they live? Do they live in small villages or large cities?

What type of living arrangements do they have?

Do they live in houses? Tents? Communes?

Society

How does your collective population relate to each other?

What is the basis for society?

Is there a class system? Who is rich? Who is poor?

How do the different classes relate to each other?

Can one go from poor to rich and vice versa?

What is the family structure?

Are couples married? Are they monogamous? Polygamous?

Do they have children?

How many children do they typically have?

What are people’s values?

What is sacred?

What is universally accepted as right and wrong?

How do they deal with old age?

What are the gender roles?

History

What is the history of your fantasy world?

What created the current circumstances of the story?

What is the catalyst for change?

Laws and Government

What are the relevant laws in your universe that the characters must obey?

What is the political environment?

Who are the controlling parties and why?

Is there a struggle for independence? Is there growing dissent?

How does magic affect these laws?

Magic

What type of magic will you include in your story?

Are there wizards? Genies?

Is it mental magic?

Science-based magic, like time-travel?

Supernatural, like superheroes?

Who has the magic?

Is magic only available to a select few? If so, how do they get it?

Is magic banned?

Is magic respected?

What are the rules of magic in your world?

Daily Life

What do people do to pass the time?

What do they eat? Drink?

Do they exercise?

What type of clothing do they wear?

Does clothing reflect their values or their social class?

How are they educated?

What do they learn in school and why?

Sentiment

How do your characters feel about the world in which they live?

What do people agree with?

How do people differ?

Religion

What is the name of the prevailing religion?

Are the characters monotheistic? Polytheistic? Atheistic?

What is their folklore?

What do the characters believe?

What do they value?

Physical Attributes

What does the world look like in a physical sense?

What are the natural resources?

What type of plants grow there?

What type of animals?

What is the atmosphere?

How does the world smell?

What does the night’s sky look like? Is there night?

What is the climate?

Source

Writing References: Worldbuilding ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character

[drchucktingle]

Mr Chuck, wizard of gay romance, I consult ye. Without knowing a damn thing about the plot of the book I'm writing other than it is gay and has themes of hunger, consumption, joy in spite of suffering, and the fleeting nature of life, how should my story end?

well to create we need to consume, this is how we produce energy and multiply and build. since beginning of time from frothing volcanos to tiny microbes CREATION and CONSUMPTION are linked. in addition an act of creation is an act of love, it is filling the empty void with SOMETHING and that is as powerful and important as it gets

i think what confuses MANY buckaroos is they get caught up by the consumption part. they see this equation i have laid out and say 'well if consuming leads to creation and creation is to point then we must consume everything as a moral imperative.' i mean HECK that is capitalism in a dang nutshell right there. if you trot this path it says the bigger fish should eat the little one, and that war and power are sort of innate. you see a lot of goofball conservative philosophers with melted brains stop here and set up shop to peddle their sad wares

THE PROBLEM IS consuming everything that you can DOES NOT ACTUALLY LEAD TO MORE CREATION IN PRACTICE. maybe sometimes in the very short term, but at the end of the dang trot it leads to destruction on a massive scale. if the biggest fish eats ALL the little fish then it is not just the little fish who dies it is BOTH of them. if you seek power through TAKING AND CONSUMING all that you can you will do more harm than good. you may puff up your chest for a little while but eventually you will go beyond your means and crumble.

consuming yields the best results when you do it in sustainable way, when you share with your neighbor, when you build a community. this is because LOVE is the best fuel and love thrives when buds work together to create a greater whole than themselves. even if you use example of TAKING through violence, ten little cave buckaroos as a team will always take down one big cave buckaroo. COMMUNITY PROVES LOVE. TEAMWORK PROVES LOVE. CONNECTION PROVES LOVE.

fortunately, as much as scoundrels want to convince us that fighting and violence and TAKING is the best way to grow as a dang species, it is not. humans thrived not because of some primal hierarchy (as goofball conservatives say) but because we started villages and societies and systems of working together. the buds who put their chips behind the BIGGEST FISH are only seeing one part of the picture. YES sometimes in the animal kingdom the biggest beast will win the fight, but that is why THEY ARE BEASTS AND WE ARE PEOPLE. we evolved to greater heights as we grew bigger brains for sharing and empathy and love and complexity. WE STARTED COMMUNITIES, BECAUSE WITHIN COMMUNITY CREATION AND LOVE THRIVE. THE 'REAL' BIGGEST FISH IS KINDNESS.

so hunger and consuming are ACTUALLY an important part of creation. they are part of bringing joy to this timeline, so long as you are not endlessly hungry even after you are full, and so long as you are not consuming what could be better shared with a bud.

hope that helps with your story buckaroo

[vestaignis]

Одна из новых туристических достопримечательностей Джокьякарты — это живописный водопад Grojogan Watu Purbo.

Гроджоган Вату Пурбо — искусственный водопад с конструкцией в виде шести террасных уровней, где вода падает с высоты около 50 метров. Водопад на самом деле представляет собой плотину на ручьях Кали Красак и Кали Бебенг, берущих начал�� на горе Мерапи. Эта плотина была построена в 1975 году по заказу Центра речного региона в виде плотины Сабо, которая призвана действовать как лавовый карман для размещения вулканического материала и преодоления последствий извержения горы Мерапи, чтобы воздействие потока лавы не наносило вреда местным жителям. 

Видя потенциальную красоту плотины Сабо и усилия по улучшению экономики деревенского сообщества, с 2017 года жители Дукух Бангунреджо начали совместную работу по строительству туристической достопримечательности Гроджоган Вату Пурбо. Эта деятельность осуществлялась непрерывно каждую неделю в течение двух лет. Благодаря инициативе и креативности местных , в конце 2019 года рукотворный водопад стал довольно популярным и начал привлекать множество туристов. Посети��ели могут насладиться красотой шести уровней водопада и если повезет, смогут увидеть вид на гору Мерапи. Водопад окружен тропическими лесами и скалами, что создает неповторимую атмосферу. В Grojogan Watu Purbo туристы могут сделать селфи и снять усталость, вдыхая свежий воздух и слушая шум водопада. Отдыхая на террасовых уровнях водопада посетители могут создать пирамидки из камней , поскольку поток воды не очень сильный. Так же можно принять участие в местных культурных мероприятиях в особые памятные дни, например, в классическом джатилане в честь Дня независимости Республики Индонезия.

One of the new tourist attractions in Yogyakarta is the picturesque Grojogan Watu Purbo waterfall.

Grojogan Watu Purbo is an artificial waterfall with a structure in the form of six terraced levels, where the water falls from a height of about 50 meters. The waterfall is actually a dam on the Kali Krasak and Kali Bebeng streams that originate from Mount Merapi. This dam was built in 1975 by the River Region Center as the Sabo Dam, which is designed to act as a lava pocket to accommodate volcanic material and overcome the effects of the eruption of Mount Merapi so that the impact of the lava flow does not harm the locals.

Seeing the potential beauty of the Sabo Dam and the efforts to improve the economy of the village community, since 2017, the people of Dukuh Bangunrejo began to work together to build the Grojogan Watu Purbo tourist attraction. This activity has been carried out continuously every week for two years. Thanks to the initiative and creativity of the locals, the man-made waterfall has become quite popular and has started to attract many tourists at the end of 2019. Visitors can enjoy the beauty of the six levels of the waterfall and if they are lucky, they can see the view of Mount Merapi. The waterfall is surrounded by tropical forests and rocks, which creates a unique atmosphere. At Grojogan Watu Purbo, tourists can take selfies and relieve fatigue by breathing in the fresh air and listening to the sound of the waterfall. While resting on the terraced levels of the waterfall, visitors can create pyramids of stones, since the flow of water is not very strong. You can also take part in local cultural events on special memorable days, such as the classic jatilan in honor of the Independence Day of the Republic of Indonesia.

Источник:/pikabu.ru/story/vodopad_semi_kamney_indoneziya_11140681,/www.masterplandesa.com/wisata/grojogan-watu-purbo-wisata-air-terjun-buatan-kreativitas-warga-desa/,/visitingjogja.jogjaprov. go. id/en/18177/this-is-the-beauty-of-grojogan-watu-purbo-in-yogyakarta/ /www.idntimes.com/travel/destination/mutia-zahra-4/air-terjun-grojogan-watu-purbo-c1c2?page=all, //www.klook.com/zh-CN/activity/46040-grojogan-watu-purbo-waterfall-borobudur-private-tour-yogyakarta/, /jogjakita.co.id/grojogan-watu-purbo-wisata-air-terjun-hits-di-jogja/.

[holyraconteur]

I am currently bouncing off the walls thinking about Spider forging his own path and creating his own family of misfits and outcasts, both Na'vi and human.

Instead of remaining caught between two worlds that refuse to fully claim him, Spider chooses to carve out his own space—his own home—among outcasts who, like him, never fit into the structures of either the RDA or the Na’vi. These outsiders were either set aside or left.

Imagine this blue-striped human quietly slipping away one night, leaving behind Hell’s Gate and the Omatikaya with nothing but a pack slung over his shoulder and a determined heart. He treks deep into the wilds of Pandora, following instincts honed from a past life, seeking others like him—those abandoned, cast aside, or seeking something greater than survival under someone else’s thumb.

At first, it’s only three of them—Spider, an ex-RDA scientist who defected, and a Na’vi warrior shunned by their clan for challenging tradition. Together, they build a home high in the mountains, tucked between floating cliffs and waterfalls where neither the RDA nor any hostile clan can reach them easily. They hunt, they craft, they survive—and then they grow.

More come. A lone Na’vi mother with her child, fleeing persecution. A human engineer who sabotaged RDA equipment before running into the wilds. A pair of Na’vi twins whose father was an avatar and whose clan cast them out for it. Orphans. Runaways. The lost and forgotten.

Spider becomes their leader, not because he craves power, but because he understands their pain better than anyone. Together, they thrive and live free, far from the chaos of their past. They build something beautiful—a village woven into the mountains, suspended on bridges of vine and wood, with glowing bioluminescent lanterns lighting the bridges and paths at night. Their home hums with laughter, music, and the quiet, unshakable bond of a family built by choice rather than blood.

And when Spider finds orphaned human children—abandoned by war, unwanted by both sides—he takes them in. He raises them as his own, refusing to let another child endure the loneliness and rejection he once did.

By the time anyone realizes what he’s done, his little village is no longer little. It is a thriving community of hundreds, a sanctuary for those without a place. The RDA cannot touch them. The Na’vi clans leave them be. Some fear them, some scoff at them. Others—those who have known suffering and loneliness—seek them out, hoping to start anew. Eywa graces them all with her many blessings, and for the first time, Spider finally has a place to call home. And when the day comes that war reaches their doorstep, Spider stands at the front with his newfound family, no longer a boy without a home but a leader, a protector, a brother to those who were once lost like him.