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dolicekiss · 6 months ago

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Hi I'm not sure if you're taking requests (i don't know how the request work so sorry)

Could u write a one-shot, where Reader and Duncan have a mission and them go to the place but before do the work, they arrive at a hotel and them only rent a room with one bed (obviously) Duncan tells her that he'll take the bed and she'll sleep on the floor, then he go to take a shower and she doesn't care about his request and takes the bed, Duncan comes out and them start to fight because she didn't listen him, until she suggests that both take the bed (Duncan don't like the idea but don't decline and just does it) after a while she stars to tempt him at first he's angry bout all the situation, but the moment takes another path and u alr know (smut) if u r comfortable with ofc. (And sorry my english isn't great sorry for the type errors)

This is an idea of one chat with a bot of c.ia but the bots r not as good as a writer <3

♡: anon i know about this bot and i have done some freaky stuff w it 🤭 i love this request

Contumacious

PAIRING: Duncan Vizla x Bratty!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), unprotected sex, age gap (reader is in her twenties), bratty reader, dominant duncan, tension, oral (male receiving), duncan calls reader ‘little girl’, overstimulation, choking, hair pulling, biting, slight blood, degrading, talkative duncan, slight (very minor) fluff at the end.

SYNOPSIS: On a mission, Duncan decides to stay at a hotel room for further planning and to rest. But when he orders you to take the floor and decides to stake his claim over the bed, things become heated between the two of you.

Duncan didn't expect to see a single bed in the room when he stormed in, along with you, who carried your own bag of basic necessities.

Frustration was as clear as water on his rough features when he realized he'd have to sacrifice a good night's sleep if he were to allow you slumber along him.

So he didn't sacrifice shit.

The man dropped his duffle bag over the bed, in a way branding it as his. “I get the bed, you get the floor.”

You couldn't even oppose because he'd already left for the bathroom, assuming to take a shower. Your lips formed a frown, brows furrowing. Just who did Duncan Vizla think he was? You both were equals on this mission, sent by Damucles to strike down a Mexican mob boss.

Duncan being older didn't mean he could do as he wished. You stood firm on give respect in order to receive it, age had nothing to do with it. You also placed your bag on the bed and slipped off your boots, sprawling across it.

If you had to take the bed forcefully, then so be it.

When Duncan was finished with his shower and came out, he was the least bit pleased with the sight afore him. You on your stomach, laying on the bed, feet up in the air and oscillating.

His bushy eyebrows scrunched in irritation. The man stormed towards you, standing right in front of you and you lifted your gaze up fron the pistol in your hands. Only to acknowledge him before going back to toying with the weapon in your hands.

That only worked to raise his anger more.

“I told you the bed is mine. Get your little ass off it.” You lifted your head, to face him and then slid off the bed. Now standing right in front of him — gaze unwavering and posture strong. Duncan knew you were one hell of a stubborn brat. He'd come across you before and he hated every bit of it.

You placed your hand on your hip.

A pose that struck him with a lash of irritation.

“It is a big bed and who are you to claim it first? Just because you're old, you think you can come in here and order me around?” Duncan’s eyes flared up. Nostrils expanding and the anger on his face was like embers swirling in lava.

He took a step forward. “Listen here, little girl. I might be old but you could never reach the amount of missions I have been successful at, nor do you know real struggle. Try sleeping in the Siberian Winds with no clothes, not a single thread to cover your damn body.”

You couldn't believe it.

He was rubbing his life experiences in your face as if he didn't himself chose to work for Damocles.

He became the black kaiser because he wanted to.

In the heat of the prickling anger, you also stepped forward. Your chest brushing against his. “You chose that for yourself but I won't let you choose the bed. Either we both sleep on it together or you take the fucking floor. There's no way in hell I'm sleeping on the floor.”

Duncan groaned.

He knew of the abundance stubbornness you possessed. There was no way you would back out, knowing that the way you got yourself snuck into his mission was by being completely adamant and demanding money if not allowed in.

But he too couldn't retreat, as his pride was on the line. “I could easily throw you on the floor, little girl.”

You snickered. “I'd like to see you try.”

Duncan stared at you. Drinking in your petite form and how small you were in comparison to him. Primal and dark was what stirred within the base of his abdomen when his mind finally grasped on how pathetic you were. Indeed you were a trained killer, amazing at martial arts too but Duncan knew against him you stood no chance.

Due to the diligence of your work and mission, Duncan never really focused on your features.

Your challenge nearly caused him to pick you up and toss you on the damn floor. Duncan raised his hand — fingers opening to wrap around your throat. The inside of his fingers brushed across your throat and you swallowed tightly, waiting for him to act out his aggression.

Duncan’s hand fell.

Your brow raised at his defeat. “Fine but you better keep at your side. If I see a damn leg or arm of yours on my side, you best believe I'm choppin’ it off.”

You dismissed him with your hand and Duncan’s hand formed into a fist. He really wanted to teach you a lesson. Hating how you paraded around Damocles like you were the only one, an egoistic but skilled assasian.

Just for the sake of the mission, Duncan let it go.

He settled on the bed on one side and watched you take out your own clothes from the duffle bag, making your way to the bathroom. In your hand were some panties and a loose, button up shirt. It was what you'd managed to pack in a hurry when you were told about your mission with Duncan.

Honestly, you sort of looked up to him.

No one was as heavily respected in Damocles as he was.

The Black Kaiser.

Aim perfect and sharp. He knew so many ways to discard the enemy and you'd only witnessed a few of them on this mission. It filled you with unbridled excitement when you'd finally landed yourself with him.

Your shower was relaxing. Warm water soothing all your strained muscles — the combat sure taking its toll on you. Slow hands caressing the skin, ridding of it any dirt that lingered. After done shampooing your hair and washing your body, you dried yourself and changed into your clothes.

The outfit was sultry to say the least but you knew Duncan was a man who would never find you attractive.

You knew of his irritation and annoyance aimed at you. It was honestly adorable at times how he got pissed, finding joy in pushing at his buttons.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Duncan’s head snapped into your direction and his expression hardened. There you sauntered towards the bed with bare thighs and plush breasts peeking out from within the confines of your shirt.

He swallowed, his adjustment of himself not slipping past you.

You laid down on the bed and let out a sigh, finally finding peace. A good night’s rest was surely needed and this bed could provide it all. As you shifted to find a comfortable position, your shirt rose up in the friction exposing the black lining of your panties.

Duncan caught a glimpse of it.

His eyes darkening.

“Could've worn something warmer.” Duncan said, not looking at you. A scowl made its way across your face as you sat up, body strength on your palms. Leaning forward made your loose shirt fall by your sides, cleavage revealed.

“You got a problem with everything, old man.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Is that your only retort? Calling me old?” He snapped, staring at you. For a moment his gaze lingered to your lips and then back up to your face. Eyes filled to the brim with frustration and something – dark too. Lust or maybe anger.

“Are you not old? I bet you can't even get it up anymore.” You chuckled and that seemed to have crossed the line. Duncan reached for you, hand entangling in your hair. You felt him tug on the roots and pull you closer, face only a mere inches away from yours.

Your breath hitched.

Fighting him right now could get really dirty and you wanted to see how far Duncan was willing to go. His action only working to entice you. “You really should watch your damn mouth, little girl. I don't take nicely to such disrespect.”

You let out a chuckle. “Accept it. You cannot get it up, old man.”

Duncan’s fist tightened, nostrils flaring at your impolite words. You stared at him, your tongue slithering out like an enticing snake and running across the plump of your lips in an attempt to seduce him. “Or can you? I've heard older men fuck better. Is that true, Duncan?”

Duncan growled.

He tugged you down, to between his legs. Duncan nuzzled your face against the tent in his trousers. His bulge protruding as he shoved your face against it. “Does that look like I can't get it up, little girl?”

You shook your head slowly, hands hastily moving to pull down his trousers, paired with his briefs. His cock sprung out, nearly hitting you in the face and a soft gasp escaped your lips. It was big — fucking massive and you hadn't expected a man of Duncan's age to have such a big cock. Precum sheened over his tip.

It was thick and you knew the pain of the stretch inside you would be delicious. Veins ran from its base, disappearing underneath the pink tip. Your mouth watered at the sight, fingers gently wrapping around the girth.

A sweet hiss fell from Duncan’s lips.

You parted your lips and pushed out your tongue, running it in little licks over his tip, managing to taste his salty precum. Duncan’s breath grew heavier along each lick — chest moving in a slow rhythm.

His fingers still drowned in your hair. Duncan tugged harder, an indication for you to pick up. So you did, wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking it in, taking his fat cock all the way into your tight mouth until it had fully disappeared. You could feel it slip past the little uvula hanging in the air of your mouth, the warm flesh feeling like embers over your tongue.

“Jesus, you're pretty good at taking a cock.”

A giggle almost slipped — you attempted to breath through your nose and salvated around his throbbing dick. Your eyes met Duncan’s drowsy ones and as you whimpered, the vibrations from your throat shot straight through his abdomen.

His hands guided down your head furthermore, burying your nose into his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Duncan pulled you up, only to slam his cock back inside your mouth. A repetitive action, his thighs shaking and flexing whenever the wetness and constriction of your throat welcomed him. Panting like a hungry beast, he fucked himself into your mouth.

Hips snapping up in desperate thrusts to gain his release.

“Good little girl. This is what your mouth is made for—what it's supposed to do.” He grunted when your struggles began in the form of small hands lightly punching at his thick thighs. “You're only a cocksucking little bitch.”

Tears stung your eyes from how horribly you gagged all over him. His tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat while moaning out loud. Divulging his pleasure to the people outside the hotel room.

Duncan loved the way you gagged around his cock. Tears sitting prettily in your beautiful eyes and he couldn't help but feel himself come near at the sight of you, this weak and pathetic underneath him. If he'd known sharing a bed would lead to this, the man would've given up in one single breath.

“Fuck—fuck. I'm close, I'm so fuckin’ close, my little girl. Keep suckin’ my cock like that, like the filthy bitch you are.” Duncan was vocal.

That was for sure and you enjoyed every bit of it.

After fucking your mouth for quite some time, Duncan finally shot loads of warm fluid down your throat. You struggled, kicking and thrashing everywhere but he didn't let go. He only continued to ride out his orgasm, feeling his own cock lubing up in the process of fucking his cum down your throat.

When he let you go, you promptly pulled back with a loud gasp. A sharp intake of oxygen. Cum and saliva dribbling in rivulets down your chin, tears wetting your cheeks. Duncan watched as your tits rose up and down, bouncing down slightly whenever you dragged in air.

Your eyes widened when you saw how Duncan’s soft cock suddenly became hard again, rising up. Curved and strong — tip caressing his abdomen. It was embarrassing for you because you'd called him out for not being able to get it up, here he was. In his late fifties, ready to fuck you dumb.

“Fuck you lookin’ at? Hop on.”

Your pussy throbbed. An insatiable ache that only his delicious cock could satisfy. You tossed one leg over his waist, while holding his cock with your hand. Aligning it at your hole, you finally sunk down on it. Duncan and you groaned in unison.

Feeling his cock enter you was such an indecipherable feeling. He filled you all the way, his tip reaching your womb almost. You placed both your palms over his chest, running your nails into the grey and black hair on his chest. Your lips parted, eyes rolled as you fully consumed him.

“Such a hungry fuckin’ pussy you've got. Taking me all the way in.” Duncan raised his hand and smacked your ass. “Cmon, move now.”

You obliged — beginning to grind your hips. In a slow back and forth rhythm. Duncan’s head was thrown back, pressed into the headboard while both his hands settled at your hips. Helping you grind down on his cock. You didn't even want to move, that's how much you fucking relished in him filling you up but then he lifted you, slamming you back down on his cock.

“Yeah, just like that.” He growled when you started to slide up and down. Hopping like a damn bunny in heat, feeling his veiny thick cock rub at your sensitive walls. Your whines were loud and prominent through the room as you held tightly onto his broad shoulders.

Lips agape and hair wet from the shower, it made you appear ten times prettier than you were. Duncan’s cock only hardened more, if possible inside you. The tremor in your whole frame was slowly becoming known to him and he scoffed, a breathty grunt leaving his lips. “Can't even fuck yourself on my cock and you have the audacity to speak to me with disrespect.”

“I'm sorry,” came a whimper from you. Nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, dragging them down into tiny slits.

Duncan helped you ride him, both his hands tugging at the flesh of your rear. He drove himself into you, in and out, in a fast rhythm. It was all too hot. Your body felt like it was boiling up and Duncan’s hands moved up to hold your breasts, thumbs flicking the nipples.

Dark brows furrowed and lips fallen apart, he let out aggressive grunts like some hounddog that couldn't have enough of you. “Pathetic whore. Jus’ a pathetic little whore who needed to be fucked. If—fuck,” he grunted, balls throbbing. “If you craved a cock this badly, you could've said so.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and walls gripped him like a vice. Duncan leaned forward and bit down on your shoulder, teeth digging into the skin hard enough to draw blood. He continued making you ride him, loving the way your tits bounced in his hands. A feeling driving him delirious.

The sound of skin against skin grew.

A languorous heat spread in your lower stomach. An indicator of your upcoming orgasm. Duncan’s hands kept playing with your soft mounds — his teeth littering bite marks at where your neck and shoulder became one and the way his hammered his cock inside your cunt was enough to push you over the edge.

Your arms flew to his shoulders, holding him tightly. “Duncan, ‘m gonna cum. ‘m so close, please.”

He looked up at you, loving the warmth you produced when you'd clung onto him like a koala to a tree. He pressed his lips over yours, something he himself was in shock at. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, sucking on it and as the kiss warmed, so did your cunt.

Duncan groaned as you slammed down on his cock repeatedly. A strong and soul chilling orgasm tearing through you. Eyes rolling back to your head and whimpers of sensitivity echoing in the room. He held you tightly as you came, enjoying how your little frame suffered from convulsions under his hold.

Duncan didn't give you a chance to even register your climax. He'd already began thrusting up your cunt, arms wrapped around your waist in a bone crushing hold. “Wait—wait! I still— oh my god.”

He didn't let you relax.

After all he too needed to cum.

Duncan could feel the throbbing sensation in his balls and the pulsating of his fat cock inside you. With a few, harsh strokes delivered inside your pussy, he released himself and your head buried in his neck from the feeling of being filled to the brim. His hot cum shot out, rope by rope, decorating the gummy walls of your pussy.

You could feel all of it.

Heightened sensitivity.

Your body went limp over his, leisurely dropping and Duncan held you. Both of you panted like wild animals who'd just got done finishing their preys. Your breathing was uneven and your throat was parched. Duncan heaved out, his low groans sending waves of sparks to your aching cunt again.

Thick fingers running up and down your bare back, with his other hand he caressed your hair. He wasn't rough when it came to sex but at times he felt like destroying your cunt whenever you'd speak to him in that stuck up, vicious little tone.

Duncan’s hand that played with your hair suddenly tightened, fingers pulling on the soft locks and you whimpered.

You were thrown off his lap on the bed. Appalled at his actions, you turned to look at him but Duncan only pressed your head further into the bed with his large hand. His other hand pulled your lower body, bending your knees.

“Wh-What are you doing?” You gasped out, the question coming out muffled.

Duncan let out a chuckle. “You thought we were done, hm? There ain't no way we're done with one round, little girl.”

You couldn't even resist as Duncan sunk his cock into you. Back arching and spine curving, a muffled whine of need and satisfaction echoing. He held you down as he thoroughly fucked you, his hips colliding with yours. Balls hitting the swollen stripe of your cunt.

“Look at you.” His bated breath increased your libido, as you were also speechless at his. Duncan was still ready to go on meanwhile you were struggling with staying still. Tired and drained from all his harsh strokes.

His grip on your hair tightened as he pulled you up to his chest, locking you firmly. Duncan pulled out then pushed right back into you, his tip reaching your womb. A small bulge forming on your stomach everytime he slammed back into you. Tears of overstimulation dropped like pearls on your face and Duncan moaned in your ear.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He praised.

Your walls clenched.

Duncan hissed and felt his strokes become steady, dragging across your spongy walls to feel them. Then he climaxed inside you, filling you up again once more. This time his cum dripped out of you, making a mess on his own cock and your thighs. Pussy glistening from the slick, cum and your own climax.

Duncan pulled out and pushed you back down on the bed.

He also collapsed next to you.

Chest rising up and down, breath a broken rhythm. You sniffled into the pillows, thighs shivering the overstimulation you'd suffered at the hands of Duncan. He wasn't as cruel as you'd depicted him to be. Duncan reached for you, pulling you closer to him and wrapping an arm around your waist.

His large arm covering the expanse of your chest.

“Sorry, little girl. You piss me off a lot.” He whispered and you flipped to face him, burying your face in his chest. “And I'll continue to piss you off.”

Despite the fact that he'd pretty much blown your back out twice, you still held on to your defiant traits. He let out a laugh, reaching over to grab a cigarette and light it up.

Dragging in a smoke, he brought the cigarette to your lips and your parted them, allowing him to settle it between them. You pursued his actions and released the smoke through your nostrils.

“That feels good.”

Duncan smiled. “Better than my cock?”

“Oh shut up.”

#duncan vizla smut #duncan vizla #duncan polar #polar fanfic #polar smut #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen smut #duncan oneshot #mads mikkelsen fanfic #Duncan vizla x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter smut

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samitostuff · 1 month ago

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ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART DUMP ART-

a little angst, otherwise it wouldn't be a DC AU, ofc

in this drawing, i was thinking about p&f reader's arrival at wayne mansion and how alone she must have felt since no one really cared to spend time with her and, if we go the route where her mother died, she just went through a traumatic event and has literally no one to support her through her grief

and I can even see people around her just brushing off her feelings, since she was adopted by a rich family, so it doesn't matter if she lost someone important for this to happen, she should be grateful that she isn't in a worse situation yadda yadda

in this one I was just having fun with the idea of the crossover between gravity falls and this au, which is a brilliant one! I literally can't stop giggling while thinking about how dangerous, big, incredibly bizarre and probably traumatizing adventures these three would get into

(and if you saw what I did there, you did it, If you didn't, you didn't)

ohohohohohohoho this one

I kept thinking about p&f reader helping this alternate version of Batman solve the vampires case while stuck in their dimension, and then waddling away as soon she's done with it and still making It in time for dinner

I just hold this scenario very dear to me

I might move this one to digital, I still don't know if it's worth the sleepless nights I'll probably have, but we'll see...

I also remembered our our lord and savior @yanmuffins mentioned once that these two versions of damian were going to end up fighting once because of p&f reader and that information just stuck in my brain in a way I just can't get rid of it

aside from that, maybe I should make vampire!reader with a mullet, I feel this would make her hotter-

It will probably never happen, but imagine if jon manages to confess and it ends up being reciprocated? or p&f reader just found out some very important things about herself, like an allergy or smth

I couldn't do an art dump without tim being paranoid about perry, sorry, it was stronger than me

more crossovers, mORE, MORE, MORE

(and again, if you saw It, you did it, If you didn't, you won't)

It doesn't look like It, but the thing in the ground is a book... the journal kinda book

and last but not least, the p&f reader in the vampire!reader dimension, but she got yoinked outta the mashine she builted by her own father who immediately recognized the extremely intelligent and problematic genius in her blood, which was all the fucking confirmation he needed to confirm that she was, infact, his daughter

the fifty seven hours without sleep didn't help his case either-

#yandere batfam #gravity falls #platonic yandere batfam #i fckn loved this so much actually #yandere batfamily #it made me giggle #can u hear me screaming in boredom while i did these?#yes?#good.#medraw

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

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Hi, I noticed (mainly bc u read a lot of your work) that you write a lot of dark/ self harm based/themed fics so I was wondering if you would be comfortable with writing a lestappen x reader with an Ed. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to so ofc feel free to ignore

(Your work is always very well written and I look forward to reading what you post next)

One for you and One for me

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: Angst/hurt comfort

Summary: Nobody is immune to the toxicity of social media, Charles and Max help their girl through it

Warnings: HEAVY ED, toxic media, body dysmorphia, sexual acts are mentioned but nothing happens

Notes: You must be psychic because I you sent this while I'm struggling with my own ED. I hope this helps you as much as it did me! 😊

Masterlist

Social media is something that everyone seems to revolve around. In theory, it could be great. Getting to see photos of friends and family and updates from celebrities you wouldn't otherwise interact with.

But here's the catch: in practice, the entire thing falls apart. People are left with images of things that are unachievable. Photoshop and filters have become everyone's new best friends. People put only their best foot forward and try to look as perfect as possible.

And those who don't? The ones who are criticized? The ones who will never meet that expectation? They are left trying to swim to the surface of a never-ending ocean. Drowning under the weight never being enough.

So, they do what they can. Nothing can be that bad if it makes them feel better, right? What's one meal skipped every day to cut back on calories?

In her case, she'd cut it all out. The idea of perfection and control weigh heavy in the pit of her stomach. The one that is currently growling as she weighs herself for the fifth time that day alone.

It's addicting, really, the feeling she gets from having gone another hour without a meal. The elation of seeing the scale drop in number.

The media and fans had been all over her appearance after going public with Max and Charles. She'd tried to ignore, but there was a piece of her looking for an excuse to dive back into the habits of her teenage years.

Her mother said she never looked like she had an eating disorder. Her father only started compliment her on her appearance once she was significantly underweight.

Max and Charles had been there for the fall. Her habits finally catching up to her when she started working with Redbull. She didn't have the energy to keep up with the schedule and one day had simply collapsed.

She'd gotten better. Promised the two boys they would never be on the verge of losing her like that again.

Now here she is, breaking that promise over the triple header by not eating at all. She'd started slowly, but now she has a chance to speed things up before the two boys notice anything. Too busy to really pay attention to her weight.

Maybe it would've been better if they hadn't been caught eating together. The fans might have a little less leverage to use on her. Maybe if she wasn't wearing something more revealing to a party in Monaco then they wouldn't have noticed how she looks.

The number on the scale is far from perfect, but it'll do for now. She slips on her teamwear that is looser than it was a few days ago. A satisfied but tired smile plays on her lips as she walks out the door.

The paddock is busy prior to the race. cameras are everywhere and she does her best to avoid them. Thankful her job is away from the majority of people. The less the cameras see of her, the better. A small part of her wonders if it would simply be better to disappear or become invisible. Maybe if she's thin enough, she'll be invisible from the side.

The day seems to drag on. The race is good and ends with both Max and Charles on the podium. It's the last race of the triple header meaning they will want to celebrate properly tonight. Maybe they will compliment her more now that she's lost weight. There is a prominent gap in her thighs and maybe will even be light enough for them to carry. The though makes her swoon.

The cheery conversation in the car quickly turns to logistics. Plans for dinner are made and she claims to have eaten while finishing up her work. To hungry to wait any longer.

There is a hesitant pause. They like knowing she ate with visible proof. That being the reason they eat together or at least someone is there to tell she ate if asked. Even if it's a bite.

They don't mention it. Charles orders in while Max drags her out of ear shot. She assumes it's because he is pent up, nothing surprising after a race. But nothing happens and she is left mildly disappointed.

Max cups her face. "I'm sorry we've been so busy."

"That's not your fault."

"No, but-" Max looks hesitant. "We know you haven't been eating. You're exhausted and your clothes don't fit. We can feel your bones when we hold you at night." She looks at Max in horror. "We thought maybe if we just made sure you felt comfortable that you would come to us but it's bad again."

Charles puts hands on her hips. "We'll take it slow, like last time. But please, we love you too much to see you become a shell of yourself again."

They say in that embrace until there is a knock at the door. Max is quick to answer it. He comes back holding their dinner. An extra box sits on top. One she assumes is for her.

"We got you a small salad. Nothing massive, no dressing, just vegetables." Max sets it all out on the table. They keep up casual conversation, so she doesn't feel horribly uncomfortable. Until they notice she is just playing with her food.

"How about, we continue talking, but we take turns taking bites? If you manage three, we'll call it a night," suggests Charles. Goal setting was helpful last time around. One week she took one bite of every meal, the next was two, and so on.

She manages three bites. Each of her own followed by one of theirs.

They all clamber into bed afterwards. Exhaustion hits her hard.

No, it's not perfect or straightforward. Relapses happen but healing is full of ups and downs. But she has people who care and who love her for who she is, not what she looks like. They'd rather her be healthy then bringing herself to the brink of collapse. And she loves them enough to try her best which is all they can ask for.

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definitelynotshouting · 2 months ago

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Hi I’m obsesseddddd with your hunger au and after reading the lore doc and the fic I have a couple questions if you don’t mind

Ok first off this isn’t really a question and more like a “huh wouldn’t that be fucked up” thought but uhhhh. So og grian was pretty much trapped in a box and constantly watched while the larva developed right. Did the watchers ever feed off him? Bc I imagine being trapped and just waiting to die wouldn’t be great for your emotional state. Or would they not since he is hosting the larva and that point so they can’t/wont feed on a host? Oh also you said that he made the deal to become a watcher while under duress. I imagine that duress could easily be heightened by some hungry watchers. And having your brain lightly fried would probably make you more susceptible to agreeing to a fucked up situation

And for my second question I was curious how aware the general populace/the hermits are of watchers?? Like are they a known thing and ppl just aren’t sure how they work or what. Because the rescue group had to puzzle out that grian was benefiting from their suffering in some way, but pearl seemed to have some idea of what grian was with the whole “eating our brains” bit so I’m curious what levels of knowledge they’re operating with here

Anyways thanks for reading my silly little thoughts on your amazing au!! It’s so fun I’m having such a good time with the horrible things happening

Im so glad you like the fic, anon!! :DD im always so touched when people tell me they enjoyed it enough to read the lore behind it-- gods ive gotta update that, there are a sizeable amount of newer asks i havent added to it yet, plus my beloved friend @/corvidaearts made a proper carrd for it on my birthday that i plan on replacing the google doc with!!! Just, uh, as soon as i add aforementioned posts dkcjsjdjfj

That would be super fucked up if they fed on him while he was trapped, OUGHHHH.... id say in canon probably not, because feeding off of one Player is really really dangerous for them, and Grian was now a host for their experiment to see if they could bring their population back up. If anything, nobody touched or interacted with him beyond the bare minimum it took to keep him safe from any potential respawns, and it was likely only the colony elders who even had direct access to him in the first place. THAT BEING SAID..... GODS THATS FUCKED UP I LOVE IT. And, well, i suppose one Watcher did feed on him.. which was Grian himself, as he emerged from his Player cocoon. Player!Grian's final moments of agony and terror were amplified to the max as his Watcher-self's very first meal, and that haunts Grian a lot late at night if he lets himself think about it

The duress he was placed under to become a host in the first place involved a significant amount of heightened emotional leverage though, thats for sure. One of these days i need to map out how exactly that went down, but i know that it involved an offer that was not actually an offer, several lies through omission, intimidation tactics that spanned the entirety of Evo in the first place, and using Grian's own fear-- both of them, and for his friends-- against him. Real fucked up situation all around 😔😔😔😔

General populace does not know much if anything about the Watchers!! The Watchers are, aside from this one colony, pretty much extinct; even before that, they relied quite a lot on camouflage and secrecy to keep their presence from being discovered, both by their prey and by the Seekers that hunted them.

Some very very old Players might know whispers of information-- rumors from the tail end of a game of telephone, as it were. And there are for sure a few individuals here and there who know of them due to personal experience (including the entire Evo crew, which was ofc a special case), but because Player information is not centralized in any capacity in this universe, the vast majority of Players have zero knowledge that Watchers even exist, let alone what they do and how they feed.

Pearl, with her previous knowledge and experience with Watchers and how they operated while involved with the Evo server, made some really good educated guesses about how Grian works and what's going on with him. And ofc everyone on Hermitcraft, plus all the lifers, knows that Grian at the very least can manipulate Player emotions to an extreme degree-- putting those context clues together, you can piece together quite a few connections. She doesn't have the full picture, but at this point in time she's basically figured out a good chunk of it. The rest will have to come from Grian himself >:]

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #grian #evo watchers #watcher grian #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft #life series #THESE WERE VERY GOOD QUESTIONS THANK YOU :DDD #i hope these are satisfying answers!!!#txt

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foundtherightwords · 15 days ago

Text

Fallen Empires - Chapter 5

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: domestic violence, physical abuse

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Daphne watched her patient across the table. He was bending over two flat boards, gouging out a shallow square in each of their centers with a chisel she'd borrowed from her youngest brother, Mikkos, claiming she needed it to fix a window. Mikkos, ever the dutiful sibling, had offered to fix the window for her, but she insisted she could do it herself, saying she didn't want to take him away from his regular carpenter work. It was such a bad lie that she feared Mikkos might turn up anyway, but it looked like he believed her.

Romulus was trying to make a wax tablet. It had all started the other day, when Daphne came back from her usual rounds in the village to find out her goat, Amalthea, had broken into the garden and was contentedly munching on some of the seedlings she'd just planted. Daphne had given Amalthea a stern talking-to and planned to raise the garden wall so the goats couldn't jump over it—she didn't have to worry about Midas, who was a good boy and knew the garden was off-limit—but what really worried her was that she didn't know what Amalthea had eaten exactly. Some of the medicinal plants were poisonous or at least harmful to a goat, and the poison could pass into Amalthea's milk, harming the kids as well.

"Don't you remember what you've planted?" Romulus asked, when he heard her scold Amalthea.

"Well—yes, usually," she stammered. "But I've been busy taking care of you so I wasn't paying attention." She ran an irritated hand through her hair. "Time like this, I wish I knew how to read, so I can label my plants and medicines."

Romulus stared at her. "You don't know how to read?"

Now it was her turn to stare at him. "Of course not. Around here, one doesn't need letters to be shepherds." The only person in the village who knew how to read and write was the chief, Master Kavos, and even then, only enough to write down thei villagers' names in the tax roll. Daphne had always wanted to learn, but she knew she shouldn't get ideas above herself. She had once been courted by a scribe in the nearby town of Adala, and when she suggested to him that she should like to learn to read, he had only laughed at her, thinking it was a joke.

Thankfully, Amalthea was none the worse for wear, but Daphne had a stressful day watching the goat for signs of poisoning or bloating. That evening, over their meal, Romulus suggested casually, "I can teach you to read, if you want."

"Why?" Daphne asked warily.

"It'll be something to do," he said with a careless shrug.

In the end, Daphne had agreed. She could see no harm in it, and she rather liked the idea of having neat rows of labeled jars and jugs, like the apothecary's shop in Adala she often visited. And Romulus was right, it would be something to do in the long hours when it was too hot to work outside. He was still pushing himself too hard with his exercises, and often Daphne had to remind him to go into the shades and rest or he would have a sunstroke. He struck her as a restless sort of person; no doubt he was tired of being cooped up inside. This would give them both something to fill their time.

So now he was making a wax tablet for their lessons. She could tell he was not used to woodworking, as he held the tool awkwardly and his chiseling was uneven, but he seemed determined to get it done. He frowned over the chisel, sweat dripping down his forehead, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. The expression contrasted with his usual scowl, giving him a rather childish look, and Daphne had to turn away to hide a grin.

She wondered why she kept him around for so long. It had been a month since she brought him back, half-dead, from the Balikh, and he had made a remarkable recovery. Perhaps not enough to walk all the way to Edessa, but certainly enough to leave on a cart or a wagon. Yet she kept putting off his departure, telling him—and herself—that something could happen to him on the road, that his wounds could open up again, that his fever could come back. She could never live with herself if she let her patient die from negligence. But other than professional pride, there was another reason she kept the soldier around, the same reason she'd saved him in the first place—for companionship.

In the years since she received the message that Galen was not coming back from Caledonia, and since she moved into the hut following her grandmother's death, Daphne had been on her own. Of course, the villagers were always around, but they never stayed for long. The only time Daphne had had a patient stay with her was when Ione, the little girl who lived on the next hill, broke her leg running down the hill after her father's goats. After Daphne had set the bone, the little girl had become so taken with Amalthea that she'd insisted on staying, and for the next three weeks, Daphne had had a rather chatty housemate who hobbled around, got underfoot, and made a mess of all her herbs and potions. Daphne had rather enjoyed it. Even now, whenever she had to leave the village for longer than a few days, she still entrusted the care of Amalthea and her kids to Ione.

It was hard being alone. It was the one thing that her grandmother, for all the wisdom she had imparted to Daphne, had failed to teach her. When she first moved into the hut, Daphne had thought she would enjoy it, after years of growing up with two younger brothers and never having a moment to herself. But the novelty had worn off quickly. Sometimes, on winter evenings, when dusk fell early over the hills, her own fire giving up little warmth, she would sit and watch the smoke from the huts down in the valley blend in with the gray clouds, feeling so lonely that she might even risk her father's wrath to come back to the village. But in the end, fear of her father always won out, and she remained in her hut, wondering how her grandmother had managed it all those years.

Now, it was a comfort to return to the hut after a long day to another person, who was waiting for her. It was a comfort to hear a voice other than her own and see another face across from the table during mealtimes. It was a comfort to fall asleep knowing there was another person just on the other side of the wall. A simple sort of comfort, perhaps, and it would not last, but she would take it for as long as she could.

One might say that an irascible, arrogant, and quarrelsome legionary did not make for a very good companion, but Daphne didn't mind. Had he been courteous and good-humored, had he asked for her help with politeness and accepted it gladly, it would have made her nervous, afraid that she would offend the noble patrician with her coarse peasant ways. His roughness put her at ease. It was simply that he, like most men, was used to having his every order followed and his every whim catered to. His undoubtedly high status only made it worse. She had had her fair share of men like him, men who insisted they were perfectly fine until the moment they tumbled over from pain. Patrician or plebeian, at the end of the day, they were all the same. She knew how to deal with them.

The only thing that bothered her was Romulus's reticence. After a month, she knew nothing about him except for his name, and that may not even be real. To all of her questions, he answered none and only gave questions of his own. He'd stopped making her taste his food and medicine, but she knew he still slept with his dagger under his pillow. Well, she couldn't blame him for being suspicious after having so narrowly escaped death. Who was she to judge anyway? She hadn't been exactly open with him either.

That day he walked around and got himself lost on the hillside, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Galen. When she turned around and saw him sitting at the door with his back to her, dressed in Galen's old tunic, for a heart-stopping moment, she'd thought he was Galen. They had the same build, sturdy and broad-shouldered, the same dark curls and eyes. The difference was that Galen had been quick to jest and to laugh, while Romulus was always scowling. But for some reason, she felt shy about mentioning Galen to Romulus, and so she had kept those memories to herself.

After the boards had been chiseled out, Daphne melted some beeswax and poured it into the hollows, while Romulus fashioned two styli out of twigs, and the lessons began. Daphne took to it with an enthusiasm she didn't know she possessed, and soon learned to write her name, the names of her animals, and the common names of the medicinal plants in her garden. Romulus seemed to enjoy the lessons as well, and she often caught him watching her with a curious expression, without his usual wariness. When they tired of the writing and reading lessons, Romulus made another board, marked off a series of squares on it with his knife, and gathered a handful of pebbles from outside—half of them black and the other half white—and placed each of them on a square. It was a Roman game called latrunculi, or draughts, he said, and proceeded to teach Daphne to play. In this, she proved to be a quick learner as well. Once she'd grasped the rules, it only took her five games to beat Romulus. This brought on another scowl, while Daphne laughed at him for being a sore loser.

With such occupations, the long, hot days of early summer went by quickly. Romulus seemed calmer, though he remained wary, watchful of every little movement outside the hut. One afternoon, Daphne was coming in from the garden with some vegetables. She had just stepped through the door when an arm yanked her into a corner and a hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her half-formed scream. It took her a moment to realize it was Romulus, who was standing with his back against the wall. His eyes were enormous in the dimness of the hut, and sweat was pouring down his face. Daphne tried not to notice how tightly he was holding her, how his arm was circling her, pressing her back to his chest. He smelled of sweat and leather, and for a confused moment, she was reminded of evenings when she went to the edge of the pasture to meet Galen coming back with the goats. They had been courting then, though they had always known they would marry, so it wasn't as if Galen had to do anything to woo her. She would throw her arms around him and press her face into his neck, and he'd smelled just like this...

She twisted out of Romulus's arm and hissed through his fingers, "What in Hades are you doing?"

"Shh!" He held up his dagger, precariously close to her face. "There's a man coming up the path." His breath was hot against her ear.

"One of the villagers?"

"No. I've never seen him before. He looks shifty."

"Stop being so damned suspicious!" she snapped. "You haven't seen everybody from the village. Just go into the bedroom and let me see who it is."

Reluctantly, he lowered the knife and let her go. Once the bedroom door had closed behind him, Daphne picked up the vegetables that had fallen out of her basket and looked out the door to see who the mysterious visitor was.

Her stomach dropped. Staggering up the path was her father, Timon. His robe was disheveled—more disheveled than usual, his head bare, his face bruised. Each of his feet was having a very different idea of where it was going, and she could practically smell the wine on his breath from where she was.

Silently cursing, she went out to meet him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Chaire to you too," said Timon, sounding friendly for once. "You're looking well, daughter."

Her guard was instantly up. Whenever her father was being nice, it was because he wanted something. She eyed his bruises and had a pretty good guess what it was he was after. She asked anyway. "What do you want?"

"Can't I just visit and see how you're doing?" He sat down by the front door and looked up at her with bleary eyes. "Your mother misses you. When was the last time you came to see us?"

"I just saw Mother the other day," she said coldly. She wished he would just get on with it and leave.

Timon peered into the hut. Daphne followed his gaze warily, hoping Romulus hadn't left the wax tablet or the latrunculi board lying around. She knew her father would come down on her with all the wrath of Zeus if he found a man living with her. There were two cups on the table, but thankfully, Timon didn't seem to notice.

"Looks like you're doing well," he said. "Lots of patients, lots of coins..."

"What coin? When have you ever seen any coin around here?"

"I don't need much." And there it was. She knew it had to come out sooner or later. "Just a few coins to tie me over." Always the same. If she had saved all the coins she'd given her father "to tie him over" throughout the years, she would've been rich by now.

Daphne sighed. "How much do you owe?"

"Ten drachmae," said Timon. Daphne groaned inwardly. Ten drachmae was a large sum even by the standard of a sizeable town, where a man could subsist on half a drachma a day; here in their village, where they lived by bartering and some had never seen so much as an obol, it was practically a fortune. "Those snakes at the nomad camp tricked me!" her father snarled. "They said it was just one game, for fun, and before I knew it, they've taken everything I got! It wasn't my fault!"

"It's never your fault, is it?" Daphne snapped. "Mother and Mikkos work their fingers to the bone, and Attikos sends home everything he can, but it's never enough for you, because you insist on falling in with every low-life and criminal you come across!"

"You're one to talk!" Timon stood up, and Daphne had to turn her face away from his wine-sour breath. "You'd never have this place if it wasn't for me! And here you are, living in the lap of luxury, while your family starves!"

Daphne grimaced. Her father's drunken insults were nothing new, but they never stopped grating. He made it sound like she was dining on roast mutton and fresh fish every night. "Go home," she said. "I have nothing for you."

"We'll see about that!" said her father. He stormed into the hut and started going through her herbs and potions, searching for where she might have hidden some money. Jars clattered to the ground. They didn't break on the soft earthen floor, but their contents spilled out, leaves and roots scattering everywhere. Daphne trembled in terror, not of her father's wrath, but of him opening her bedroom. If he burst upon the knife-wielding Romulus, it would be catastrophic.

"Stop it!" she shouted, trying to shove him outside.

"Perhaps I ought to take your goats," Timon said, staggering out the door. "Or that donkey. They should fetch a pretty sum."

"No!" Daphne went cold all over. Knowing her father, her animals would end up at the butcher's right away. She grabbed the back of Timon's robe, and he went sprawling on the ground.

"Is this how you treat your father, you ungrateful whore?" he slurred, scrambling to his feet.

"I will treat you as a father when you start acting like a father!" she shot back.

This earned her a backhanded slap across her face. Timon was so drunk that it didn't hurt much, yet Daphne could feel hot blood dripping down her cheek. Putting her fingers up, she realized the slap had caused the cut on her cheek to open again. She glared at her father. This was routine for him. Once he failed to appeal to her sense of filial duty, he would resort to violence. It had always been the same way in their family, even when she was a child. When one of them didn't do what he wanted, he would hit their mother or one of the children until they submitted to his will. Her grandmother had been the only one standing between them and Timon's beating, and it was only after she took on her grandmother's mantle that Daphne found the strength to start standing up to him. In fact, Daphne was surprised her father had made the trip up here himself. Usually, he would force her mother to go in his stead, knowing Daphne could never refuse her mother anything. Perhaps this time he had realized, and rightly so, that her mother's bruised and battered face would only infuriate Daphne and get him nowhere.

Daphne pressed a corner of her stole to her cheek. If there had only been herself, she would have fought harder to drive her father away. But she wasn't alone. No doubt Romulus had heard their struggle. She had to get her father out of the hut before Romulus became even more agitated and did something foolish.

Going back inside, she gathered up some amphorae of wine that she'd just picked up from the village, a payment for curing a shepherd of his toothache. She dumped them into a basket and pressed the lot into her father's arms. "Here," she said. "It's the only thing I have that is worth something. Take it. Treat your gambling pals to a drink and maybe they'll give you an extension on your debt. Or you can drown in it for all I care."

Timon raised his hand again, but this time Daphne had foreseen his intention and ducked. Losing his balance, her father had to hold on to a boulder to keep from falling over. It took the fight out of him, and he took the basket from her with a brightening face.

"You're a good girl, Daphne," he said as if nothing had happened. "I know you'll take care of us." He reached out to pat her cheek. She flinched away. "Speaking of which, have you given Izkur's proposal another thought? He's very keen, you know."

"No," she said, trying to keep calm. "I've told you, I'm not going to marry again, and certainly not to that old lecher. Go home now. And try to stay out of trouble this time," she added, knowing it wouldn't happen.

Daphne watched until his stumbling figure disappeared down the path, before returning to the hut. She was cleaning the blood off her face when Romulus emerged from the bedroom, still holding his dagger.

"That was your father?" he asked.

She sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

"You've never mentioned him."

"What's there to mention?" she said with a shrug. "He's the terror of the village. If it wasn't for my grandmother, our whole family would've been driven out of this place years ago because of him."

"Is that why you insist that I hide?"

"Yes. I would not have him accuse me of misconduct." She didn't say that the secrecy was for her father's protection as much as hers and Romulus's. Then suddenly she realized what she was implying by "misconduct", and her cheeks grew hot even as the pain from the cut subsided. Romulus didn't seem to notice.

"What did he mean when he said you wouldn't have this place if it wasn't for him?" he continued.

Daphne wrung out the bloody cloth and hung it up. "This was my grandmother's place," she explained. "She left it to me on her deathbed, even though I can't inherit. My father is her only son, so it should've gone to him. But I convinced him to let me stay here and continue my grandmother's work."

Romulus was quiet for a moment. "I have some money," he said. "You could've given it to him."

"I'll not touch your money!" She had seen the pouch on his belt since the first day and heard the clink of coins inside it, but had refused to even open it on principle. Then she added, in a softer voice, so he wouldn't think her ungrateful. "Besides, it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough for my father."

Romulus looked at her strangely. She turned away, not wanting him to see the bruise forming on her cheek, and started gathering up the spilled jars.

"My father—" Romulus began.

Daphne turned back to him with interest, for this was the first time he had ever mentioned anything relating to his personal life. Only whatever it was he had to say seemed stuck in his throat. She waited, but he closed his mouth again. With a sigh, Daphne returned her attention to the jars.

Without another word, Romulus put the dagger away, got down on his knees, and helped her.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, as he handed her a jar.

Her smile seemed to startle him. And then, slowly, hesitantly, a corner of his mouth lifted in return. It was the first smile she'd ever seen from him, and brief though it was, it still lit up his face and wiped away his scowl. It made him look younger and friendlier, and Daphne no longer wondered why she kept him around.

Chapter 6

As you may know, in the "Gladiator II" script, there is a deleted line that reveals Geta and Caracalla's father was abusive. While this has no basis in history (same as much of the movie), it does align nicely with what I already had written about Daphne's own abusive father, so I had to add a little moment between Daphne and Geta as a nod to that. I'd like to think that Geta's childhood trauma made him more sympathetic toward Daphne, though he may not be ready to admit that yet.

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #gladiator 2 fic #emperor geta fic #geta #emperor geta x ofc #geta x ofc

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anticanonsposts · 11 months ago

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heyyyyy

can you do sum with the task force 141 going out to train in a BIG ASS field but Yn used to be a cheerleader so she starts busting out handspring’s and the 141 is just flabbergasted

also I LUV YOUR HEAD CANNONS SM

mwaaa !!

ok yes ofc babe, i did make it slightly könig centric, but still included a few of the other guys

Cw: none?? sfw allusion to sexual behaviors at the end a little bit so a little nsfw

Sooooo

141 gets to the newest training facility and there happens to be a very large open several acre sized field that you can only imagine is going to be used for some horrific suicide runs or drills of some sort

after everyone gets settled, and trained on what they will be doing when recruits arrive the next day you all go out to the field for lunches

you ofc sit with your affectionately named ‘bunk buddy’ König, who you weren’t officially dating because of fear it might negatively affect your jobs but you guys banged like bunnies and he was completely enamored with you

anyways

you’re minding your own business, eating your sandwich, listening to König ramble on about some new obstacle drill he wants to try out when you hear maybe the cockiest out of the 141, Soap, get a little too noisy

‘Mate there is no way you could do backflips on this terrain….My arse soap!!!’

clearly the men a few feet away were having a heated debate on each other’s skill sets

getting a wicked idea, you continue eating your lunch, listening to König, tell yourself that you won’t go there, its not worth it

that is until Ghost gets a little too boisterous saying ‘oh you really think anyone here can do that? That would take years of training dumbass’ he was directing his speech towards Soap and Price but he did say ‘anyone here’

calmly you ask König if you can show him something cool, and of course he says yes

So you get up and try to remember a combination that you often did when you were younger during cheer practice

Taking one last deep breath you perform a mix of front flips, back handsprings, twists, turns, you name it before landing dozens of feet away from where you started

when i say it was silent

it was deafening

peripherally you could see nearly everyone’s mouth completely agape, other than Ghoast whose jaw is clenched out of what you can only imagine is pure jealousy

it felt good, you won’t lie, to be envied, for your skills to be on display

you felt like you were still having to prove yourself, your worth, your skills for the group

then with a shit eating grin, not looking at anyone else you sauntered back up to König who had stood up at this point, grabbed his hand and started making your way back to the facility

all you could hear behind you were explanations of ‘bloody hell, oh my god, I can’t believe it, eat shit ghost’

‘You truly are a marvel’ könig says looking down at you, shyly grinning

‘Why don’t i show you other ways I can be that flexible’ you reply which makes this man audibly gulp as you skip with him to your room

hehe i hope this was at least kind of what you wanted (i truly don’t know shit about the other characters lol)

that being said, my requests are still open <3333

#könig smut #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #konig smut #konig x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty modern warfare #cod smut #cod mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig blurb #könig imagine #könig x you #konig blurb #konig imagine

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 months ago

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i love your meadowlark headcanons sooooo much😭😭

if you’re looking for ideas for more headcanons, may i present:

the lark and their love languages

the lark coping with stress/upset

what an average day around the home/sanctuary looks like for the lark!

the lark and their most surprising talents and weaknesses

the lark and their favourite things; foods, animals, seasons, etc!

don’t feel any pressure btw!! <3

thank you!!

there’s a lot here, but i’m an overachiever SO

The Lark and Their Love Languages

Cole- Quality time! They love to spend time with hers and engage in their hobbies!

Clémentine- Physical touch ofc! They’re SO cuddly and snuggly. I believe it’s also been stated that they like to give kisses, so they are the CEO of forehead kisses to everyone!

Kingsley- Being a nuisance lol

Perrine- Also quality time! I don’t see her as the type to be only affectionate or to use terms of endearment, but she likes to spend time with the others whenever she can, doing whatever they like to do.

The Lark and Coping With Stress

Cole- Singing and songwriting. You know how some people make vent art/writing? I feel like they would do that with songs! They write vent lyrics to get out their feelings.

Also aggressive scream-singing in the middle of the woods!

Clémentine- I feel like Clémentine is the only one who actually sits down and talks about their problems like a normal person. They don’t like to keep things bottled up and when they try, they just end up blurting it out eventually.

Kingsley- Might be a bit strange, but Kingsley gives me the vibes of someone who runs to get stress out. Like, he’s just like “i’m gonna go for a run” and then just prances around the woods.

The forest calms him, and he likes sitting among the trees when he’s upset to just breathe and be my himself.

Perrine- Compartmentalizing lmao

Average Day

Perrine wakes up first and goes downstairs to make breakfast for the others. Clémentine is usually up next, then Cole, and then Kingsley, who likes to get his beauty sleep.

I feel like they don’t all spend every waking minute together, so after breakfast, they all chill, doing their own things.

They try to do some rehearsing at some point, but usually SOMEONE (mainly Kingsley) won’t focus, and they end up doing something else entirely.

Sometimes Perrine makes lunch, other time she lets them fend for themselves. She makes dinner, though, make days! Otherwise they have leftovers.

The Lark and Their Favorite Things

Cole

Animal: Cat

Color: Yellow

Season: Spring

Weather: Sunny

Clémentine

Animal: Fox

Color: Yellow

Season: Spring

Weather: Rainy

Kingsley

Animal: Frog

Color: Green

Season: Summer

Weather: Sunny

Perrine

Animal: Crow

Color: Purple and blue

Season: Autumn! Unlike the others, she really loves the cooler weather and the pretty colors the trees become.

Weather: Snowy

#ask #the only one i didn’t do was the talent one because i couldn’t think of anything 😅#yaelokre headcanons #yaelokre #cole yaelokre #clementine yaelokre #kingsley yaelokre #perrine yaelokre #the lark #meadowlark

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heartshapedbubble · 6 months ago

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Can i request an Matthias Czernin x Fem Hunter Reader scenario: Where he was in a match against her (known as a new Hunter with a pet wolf that helps her hunt down survivors, including attacking them) and during a chase, he accidentally knocks her mask off, which he expected something terrifying at first after the reader's face was revealed, but turns out that her face was surprisedly normal and pretty. When he called her beautiful, it caught the reader off guard and gets flattered?

ofc!! i was a bit out of ideas but i think it ended up okay ToT

also MY FIRST MATTHIAS ASK YAYYY

matthias czernin: scenario...🪆

cut for length!

the ciphers are popping at a disturbingly fast pace. it must be the prisoner's doing - you roll your eyes in annoyance. that zapping pest was too smart for his own good. he trips over his own feet during a kite but when sat in front of a cipher machine it's like his brain starts working out of a sudden.

however, the prisoner was not your current priority. you were more focused on getting the first kill - and your target for these past 3 ciphers has been the puppeteer.

one of the (relative) newcomers, the puppeteer, fit into the category of survivors that just made you pity them in a match. half of his face has been tattered and covered in what seemed to be ashes, from his left eye only the eye socket remained. not to mention his brutally chapped lips, still unhealed wounds ripping his skin apart and the general state of the left half of his body. it made you think about how he's even allowed to compete.

you quickly found out the answer today, when you decided to chase him first. despite how disheveled he looked he held himself up well, albeit distressed compared to the older survivors - getting used to the games is a process. he barely looked back while kiting, only stealing a few shy looks at you as you destroyed the pallets or vaulted the windows. he kept on resisting, using that creepy doll to his bidding. whenever you thought you'd finally land a hit - wrong! it would sacrifice itself for him, even if it meant risking a chip of damage.

he couldn't loop you forever. he quicky deplenished all of the resources in the kiting area he transitioned to. the windows? blocked with your confined space. there was no other option but to transition again. in this moment, you saw an opportunity - now that he's in the open, it's the perfect chance to catch him off guard. you pat the wolf following your tracks, your trusty companion who didn't have time to shine in this match yet. you crouched down slightly, pointing at matthias who was trying to reach at the pallets in front of him. it took merely a second, and the giant wolf was already pacing, eyes on the prize. the puppeteer wasn't the only one with toys at his disposal. his speed was no match for the wolf's, and, in panic, he turned around and started running towards you instead.

you furrowed your brow. is he going for a juke? he didn't have any remaining chips of health to spare. you swung at him, he took a step back. it looked like a silly cat-and-mouse game, you desperate for the first kill, matthias clinging onto every remaining second of his kite as if your victory wasn't already at low odds. the fourth cipher popped - damn you, balsa! you grit your teeth and started swinging more aggressively. with your other hand, you pulled your mask down a bit. this might get messy.

it seemed like matthias was starting to give in. his jukes now became more luck than skill. you massaged your right arm, tired from constant swinging. it was a green light for the kiter - he started to run right towards you. the last cipher is definetly being primed! you weren't going to bite the bait now. you must trick him somehow and force a bad cipher pop. you abruptly stood up - your first mistake - and turned without looking, having lost sight of matthias. then you took a step back - second mistake - and bumped straight into him, him who was running circles around you. you waved your hands in attempt to find balance, but your weapon was too heavy and pulled you to the ground along with it.

it was a relief it wasn't a veteran who kited you, because a scene like this would become a thing of legend on the survivors' side. a comical sight, indeed. your body splayed on the grounds of the arms factory, weapon thrown aside, your pet wolf crying with its tail between its hind legs. and most importantly, your face was now fully bare, your mask now probably lost in the ruins around you. you made an attempt to sit up, but there wasn't a single bit of energy inside your body that would make that possible. honestly, you just wanted to curl up and cry right now. this has been such an embarrassing match.

the puppeteer didn't budge an inch. he looked at you from a distance, a concerned expression on his face. to be fair, a sight like this was one of a kind, even for the older residents. after seeing you're not a threat to him anymore, he started creeping towards you slowly. newfound courage ran through his body as he bent down, placing his shaky hands on his knees. the one remaining eye of his slowly ran its course from your legs up to your face. he seemed fascinated and even relieved. you noticed how his stare lingered on your face. an asymmetrical smile appeared under the stitches and slits covering his lips. it's a rare opportunity for survivors to see the hunters up close, especially the masked ones - you and jack to name a few. and without their mask, to top it off? he shall savor a moment like this, especially once he realised the mask wasn't hiding gnarly, bloodied scars or a mauled face.

"pretty." this or a similar word escapes matthias' mouth, obviously intended for himself and himself only. to his dismay, he was too close to you for that to be kept private. you turn your head in surprise at the bold remark, not expecting that at all from the silent, sheepish brunette. he jumps at your reaction and puts his gloved hand over his mouth, realizing you heard him loud and clear. you finally prop yourself up with one hand and cover your face with the other - both to conceal your identity again and hide your flustered expression. matthias draws back just in case you decide to attack again, but you turn away from him. you'll get the puppeteer next time, there's a tie that has to be clutched... and hopefully those mouth stitches of his will do their job properly.

if they don't, you might as well spend every upcoming dinner inside your room.

#identity v #idv #idv headcanons #idv imagines #identity v headcanons #idv fanfic #idv scenarios #identity v x reader #idv scenario #idv matthias #identity v matthias #idv puppeteer #identity v puppeteer #matthias idv #matthias czernin #puppeteer idv #puppeteer

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morallysuperiorlips · 3 months ago

Text

How I Come Up With Compelling and Fun Characters!

Back at you again with another TedTalk.

Coming up with well-rounded characters is my favorite part of the writing process. I like to come up with convoluted plots, so ofc convoluted characters have to follow. While I am someone who is VERY guilty of injecting my own traits/experiences into my characters (because I like to live vicariously through them or use them to cope don't @ me), I try to do that once I've established them as their own people. Because then they just end up being other versions of me, and we don't want that trust me

The adage I like to live by is "when the character feels real to you, they'll feel real to the reader," so I try to go out of my way to know as much as I can about them before I start to put them down on paper.

I know full names, birthdays (down to the hour), exact heights, blood types, favorite colors, foods, etc. and I try to know most of the surface-level things. I'll try to delve a little deeper but I do like to let my characters breathe when I'm writing them because sometimes they do things that make me stare into the camera like I'm on the Office and I want to give them the room to do so because that's like 60% of the process (in my humblest of opinions as a self-taught/ professional hybrid)

When I first started writing my novel, I could tell you off the top of my head that my protagonist, Odette Harmonie Cinq-Mars, was born in the little fictional town of Pendulum Province, France on December 14th, 1997 at 8:16pm, her blood type is AB+, she's 5'0, she's left-handed, and her favorite color is royal purple. I could also tell you she has anger issues, is hyper-observant, is a classically trained singer and dancer, and is kind of cold as a person. That last trait ended up writing most of itself out as she developed, but it's how she started, and I never got much deeper than that until I wrote her.

But, rewinding a little bit, I like to come up with ideas for my characters from tropes and stereotypes. My truest formula for coming up with characters is:

Trope/Archetype

- Some tropey traits

+ Traits you might not normally see in that trope/archetype

+ As many details as possible

+ Putting them in random situations that come to mind and watching them figure it out (even if it might be unrelated to the plot)

+ A little bit of yourself (always optional)

For example:

My "tropiest" character's name is Noel Masse; he was heavily based on the archetype of the peacocky gay theater kid who kinda has a hoe streak. Before you come for my neck, hear me out.

What are traits of this trope I could erase (or heavily modify) for him? From my experience theater kids get kinda cliquey--not all, but some--Noel has his friends, but he's the type who wants to be friends with everyone. He doesn't like to judge unless people give him a reason to. Theater kids might have their heads in the clouds all the time, and Noel airs on the side of keeping himself grounded when he needs to.

What are some odd traits I could add to him? What can I expand on? Noel has severe indecision--he's a theater kid who doesn't know if he wants to be theater kid. He has dedicated his life to being a musical theater star, but he has a calling in mystery solving, coding, and all things tech. This indecision often cripples him, and even seeps into his love life, which leads to some promiscuity~

What are the little details I know about Noel? Noel Coretyn Masse is a natural born witch, born in a little (fictional) city in France called Athamera on September 9th, 1997 at 12:11am. He is 6'0, 175 pounds, blood type O-, ENFP-T, right-handed, his favorite color is royal blue, and he has a gifted vocal octave range (3.8), and is very good at most forms of dance.

What scenarios have I put him in that helped him build? This was actually how I decided he was good with technology and all things coding, hacking, computers, etc. I figured out he was good at this stuff when I needed a character to hack something later on in the story and I threw him into the mix just to see what would happen and it stuck IMMEDIATELY. So, this category can also help build category 2 for sure.

Bits of me? His dedication to the arts and his desire for a large friend group hope I didn't just roast myself lol

DISCLAIMER: I want to make a note for anyone who thinks that this is overkill: yes, it probably is. But, I also want to note that I have been told time and time again that my characterization in my stories is my strongest point. So, clearly I'm doing SOMETHING right here.

I also want to note that this is NOT the "correct" way of coming up with characters. In fact, I don't think there is a "correct" way (as is with most things artistic and creative). This is just MY way of doing things. If you have a way that you come up with characters that works for you, I'd love to hear about it!

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vivid-ink · 1 year ago

Note

okay since ur req is open rn i have an idea and ofc i don’t mind waiting, take ur time w it! basically it’s a neteyam x reader angst + fluff (oblivious idiots + opposites attract trope) whereby reader is loak’s bestfriend, who also has a crush on neteyam but keeps it a secret bcs she thought neteyam sees her as another troublesome little sibling like loak but what she doesn’t know is that neteyam also has a crush on her but he thought she sees him only as loak’s boring and non adventurous older brother. idk how it should go from that but can you please PLEASE ends it w fluff 🙏 thank you in advance! feel free to change anything and take as much time as you’d need bby 💓

Thank you for your request anon! 😁 I got on to this a lot quicker than I thought as my ideas for it came to me & boy did it just flow! I thought it was going to be a quick drabble, but holy moly, how have I ended up with 11.3k words of angst, drama, romance & sweet, sweet fluff! I hope you love it, anon! And I hope everyone else enjoys it too!

"Your Best Friend's Brother"

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya Reader No warnings apply - Just a boat-load of angst, drama, protective & possessive Neteyam, romance & toe-curling fluff. Again, I personally do not like the use of 'Y/N' so your name in this is 'Kalia' (pronounced KAA-lee-yah). Language note - paskalin means 'sweet berry' and it's a term of endearment.

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

~~ Neteyam’s POV ~~

Neteyam trudged through the verdant underbrush of the woodlands following the sound of playful slapping and squealing in the distance where he was sure he would find you and Lo’ak. He rolled his eyes with a sigh, wondering what mischief and hazardous activities you would both be getting up to today. Fiddling with the string of his bow across his front, he readjusted his bow to sit more comfortably across his torso. The little leather pack that contained his carving implements and bow oil bounced lightly at his hip as he walked.

Granted, it was nice having days off from his warriors’ duties. Group hunts and patrols could be strenuous depending on the game being hunted and the distance travelled, so the days where he could just relax on home ground and let loose were appreciated. Until his parents foisted the responsibility of keeping Lo’ak out of trouble on him…

Lo’ak was only a year younger than him, but Neteyam often ruminated and marvelled at how his brother’s maturity level was still leagues behind his own. Of course, being the oldest child did force one to grow up a little too quickly, but at already seventeen years of age, one would think that Lo’ak would have a better compass and not such a huge proclivity for getting into trouble.

If Neteyam was honest, the only thing that made the days he had to babysit his brother bearable was you.

You and Lo’ak might as well be joined at the hip. The best of friends since you could both walk, everywhere Lo’ak went, you went with him. Every stupid little game or dangerous stunt Lo’ak pulled, you were right there beside him. You had always tagged along with Lo’ak and his other siblings. So, for the longest time, Neteyam had not thought much of the way things were and it had not bothered him; you and Lo’ak, the disruptive duo.

However, things had begun to shift ever so subtly for Neteyam as he grew older, as you all did, growing and maturing into young adults. The older he got, the more he noticed you. His body started to react and respond to you in a way that made him increasingly aware that he was a young man and you were a young woman.

Neteyam began to notice the way your beautiful braids brushed the small of your back. He began to notice the enticing way your slim waist flared out to the curve of your hips and your bottom; the soft rounds of your breasts behind your clothing…

It had hit him quite suddenly one evening and things had never been the same since.

*** FLASHBACK ***

“Kalia!” Neteyam heard Tuk cry gleefully. His little sister bounced through his family’s shelter to throw herself at you, uncaring of the thumping impact she made against your thighs. Your laugh was jovial as you bent to give Tuk a hug, expertly balancing the wooden platter you held in your other hand.

Neteyam watched as you greeted his parents politely at the threshold, stepping into the space only when his mother welcomed you in with a wave of her hand. Neytiri embraced you affectionately and returned your greeting, “Oel ngati kameie, Kalia. Come in. What wonderful food have you brought to spoil us with today?”

The wooden platter held two mounds, one much bigger than the other, both wrapped in cooking cloth. You gently set the platter down in the centre of the space where the food mats were, “Mother and I have been practising making tumpasuk (red-orange berry) sweet bread. This batch was quite successful so we thought we’d share.”

“Ah, you know your cooking is always welcome in my household.” Jake sniggered, patting his belly enthusiastically.

Reaching back towards the platter, you picked up the smaller wrapped mound of bread and rose to your feet. Neteyam saw you scan the vicinity and his heart gave an involuntary skip when your vivid green eyes eventually landed on him and your gazes locked. A small smile played across your lips and he was suddenly drawn to how succulent they looked, a thought that made his ears heat in embarrassment.

You made your way towards him and Neteyam had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth and school his expression into one of nonchalance, lest his face betray the sensual thoughts that his brain had begun to annotate about you as you approached. You had grown very pretty in recent years and despite the nuisance that you and Lo’ak always presented, Neteyam realised that you had always been a very sweet girl. A very sweet, very pretty girl.

“Hey Neteyam,” Your voice was a tender lilt in his ears and he lifted his hands to receive the small mound as you held the sweet treat out to him in both of yours, “This one is for you.”

Neteyam swallowed tightly, hoping the heat in his cheeks and ears were not colouring his skin too obviously, “Thanks, Kalia. I’m sure it’ll taste amazing, as always.”

The soft peal of your giggling tickled his ears then and Neteyam had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke your cheek. Your cyan skin looked so smooth and he was willing to bet that it would be warm and silken beneath his fingertips. The little points of your canines peaked out endearingly from behind your upper lip as you grinned and Neteyam’s nose was suddenly perceptive of an alluring scent that he knew was not the sweetbread in his hands.

“I put more dried tumpasuk berries in yours, as well a little extra rock sugar. I know you like yours sweeter.” You murmured quietly to him.

Neteyam returned your smile, silently allowing himself to bask in the feeling of being looked after specially by you. “I do, you’re right. Thanks again.”

“Hey!” Lo’ak’s voice grated from off to the side, “Why does Neteyam always get his own special treat? I thought I was your best friend!”

“You are, which is why it’s you and I that always get up to no good together.” You agreed heartily, “But your poor brother is the one who has to put up with our shit, so I figured we better thank him?”

Neteyam’s heart sank a little. Oh, was that why he always got his own treat? You were just thanking him as Lo’ak’s babysitter big brother. He suddenly felt a lot less special than he did a few moments ago…

*** FLASHBACK END ***

That had been just over a year ago and ever since then, Neteyam had grown more and more critical of your friendship with Lo’ak. Your spirited friendship with his brother seemed more at odds now to him than it ever had before. You had matured into a young woman who appeared to have her head screwed on the right way, kind-hearted and generous with good instincts. Yet all of this seemed to vaporise into thin air the moment you were around Lo’ak.

Neteyam did not understand why you persisted on accompanying his brother on his silly little escapades, playing stupid games like seeing who could pinch and punch the other the hardest. By Eywa, Neteyam had wanted to punch Lo’ak the day he had seen the bruises and marks he had left on your shoulders and arms. The thought of someone intentionally causing you pain and marring your beautiful skin made his blood boil, even though he knew that you had willingly participated in the ridiculous exercise.

But most of all, Neteyam hated the way Lo’ak’s recklessness endangered you.

Not that this meant he cared any less for Lo’ak’s safety than yours. He loved his brother and all his other siblings immensely and there was a natural desire on his part to keep them all safe. However, his impulse to protect you felt different. It was not rooted in the same place of familial love and affection he felt for his siblings. Instead, the strong urge he felt to protect you rather stemmed from his attraction to you as a male was to a female he was interested in.

If Neteyam had his way, you would never go on another irresponsible adventure with Lo’ak ever again. And this put him at odds with his brother. However, he acknowledged that getting in the way of your friendship would be wrong and he knew it would sour things overall for all three of you.

Neteyam had to find a way to curb this newfound possessiveness that he felt for you. You were not his and he was nothing more to you than your best friend’s older brother. His role was to keep an eye on Lo’ak; keep Lo’ak out of trouble and he would keep you out of trouble by default. Simple as that. Nothing more.

Your squeals and peals of laughter became clearer as Neteyam rounded the corner of a lush coppice into a glade of fyìpmaut (squid fruit) trees. Sure enough, as expected, there were you and Lo’ak, chasing each other round the glade with bits of squashed fruit in your fists, stained almost from head to toe in bright pink squid fruit residue.

Perhaps this was a good time to tell you both that fyìpmaut fruit juice stained almost permanently on whatever it came into contact with…

~~ Your POV ~~

“Lo’ak, you sucker!” You yelled out, darting out of the way as Lo’ak attempted to grab hold of you to smear you further with squid fruit, “I’ve got way more fruit on you than you have on me!”

“Yeah? Well I beat you earlier at seed-spitting, so we’re even.”

The glade of squid fruit trees were in high season currently, the trees around you bursting with bright purple fruit. The fruit hung in bunches, much like utumauti (banana fruit). Each piece of fruit was like a long, squidgy antenna, full of magenta coloured flesh that had five or six stony seeds in them.

Fresh from your run through the woodlands earlier with rumbling stomachs, it had been Lo’ak’s idea to stop and feast on your find. What had begun as a sweet and innocent snack-stop had soon turned playful when Lo’ak had challenged you to see who could spit the seeds the furthest. Seeds were spat, a winner was crowned and then you, against your better judgement, had decided to hurl a handful of pulverised fruit at him. War then ensued, which led you both to the present moment, sticky, breathless and dyed bright pink.

Lo’ak flung another piece of squashed fruit at you, which you only just managed to duck out of the way of, laughing, “Ok, alright! Truce?”

Your best friend snorted at the sight of you, “You’ve got it all up in your hair. You’re going to have to scrub your braids out and re-do them all!”

You launched yourself at Lo’ak, tackling him to the ground in a jumble of mock hisses and snarls, before a familiar voice plucked you both out of your tussle.

“Mum is going to twist your ears so hard they’ll fall off, Lo’ak.”

Startled, you shot to your feet at Neteyam’s voice. Self-consciousness overwhelmed you and you avoided meeting his gaze. Great Mother, you must look a mess… Did Lo’ak just say you had fruit in your hair?... You began a futile attempt to clean up by swiping at the bits of fruit on your arms and legs, trying to flick and rub the tacky mess from your skin and clothing.

“Ah, here comes the killjoy. Why is Mum going to twist my ears, bro?” Lo’ak queried, joining you at your side, following your lead and partaking in a fruitless attempt to clean up.

Neteyam’s toned legs came into your downcast view as he stepped up to the pair of you, and you instinctively looked up to acknowledge him. Your saliva dried up in your mouth as it always did when you laid eyes on him. Your quiet crush on him was getting rather out of hand in the confines of your own consciousness. You would never admit to all the times you had daydreamed girlishly of Neteyam, of all the things a girl wanted a boy she liked to do to her; holding his hand; a slow dance in the fading light of a dying bonfire; a kiss…

You had never admitted your feelings to anyone and especially not to Lo’ak. He would never let you live it down, crushing on his older brother. Though you knew Lo’ak had his suspicions about the way you felt.

Lo’ak thought his older brother was a dull and uninspiring killjoy, but if you were honest, you found that Neteyam’s maturity only added to the already large number of reasons you found him attractive. He was gentle, thoughtful, extremely loyal to those he cared about and one of the most skilled warriors the Omatikaya had ever seen. And he was very handsome… compassionate, intellectual, with a lovely deep voice… Your list went on.

“Squid fruit juice stains.” Neteyam stated matter-of-factly, “It’s going to take a lot of scrubbing to get it off your skin. As for your clothing, the stains will never wash out of cloth. These clothes you’re wearing are ruined, both of you.”

You heard Lo’ak bite back a curse as he fiddled with the fabric of his loincloth. It had been a lovely moss green before, but thanks to the addition of the squid fruit juice, it was now a rather unappealing shade of splotchy browns. You sighed, looking at your own ruined chest covering and loincloth. Your clothing had been a shade of lilac and while the magenta-coloured fruit juice did not contrast quite as jarringly against the fabric of your clothing as it did on Lo’ak’s, the stains were still clearly stains. There was no way the splodges would ever pass for artistic embellishment.

“At least, we didn’t get up to any dangerous shit today.” Lo’ak mused, elbowing Neteyam who sprang away lightly from his juice-covered brother with a chuckle.

“Good. We don’t need a repeat of the rock slide incident from the other week.” Neteyam cautioned, pursing his lips, “You could have both gotten really hurt from that.”

“Eh, it was fine. Kalia rolled out of the way in the end, didn’t you?” Lo’ak slapped you heavy-handedly on the back and you winced slightly in pain.

“It was a very close shave. And watch your strength, bro. Don’t be so rough with her.” The rebuke from Neteyam was delivered in an even tone, but there was an authority behind it that made Lo’ak roll his eyes.

“We should probably go and wash as best as we can before heading home.” You exhaled, feeling the stick of the fruit juice between your fingers, “The juice is starting to dry and it’s getting itchy.”

Neteyam was eyeing you up and down with an insouciant expression that betrayed very little of what he might be thinking and feeling in that moment. You were used to this. Neteyam very rarely displayed strong emotion or had dramatic reactions. He was always calm and collected. If Lo’ak was a jaunty and splashing stream, Neteyam was a deep and tranquil lake.

However, his intent gaze only fired the coals of your self-consciousness and you began to pick worriedly through the soiled braids of your hair. You realised then that there were small, drying bits of fruit still clinging to the backs of your fingers, and you stuck your fingers into your mouth one by one, trying to the best of your efforts to suck them clean.

You heard Neteyam suck in a deep breath through his nose and he spun away from you, beginning to amble back the way he came, “There’s a split in the stream farther back where you can both wash. Come on, we want to get back before eclipse.”

Heat flushed your face and ears and you swallowed the lump of shame in your throat. You probably looked absolutely feral, covered in gummy fruit bits and your hair all dishevelled. What girl ever wanted the boy she had a crush on to see her like this? You cursed your short-sightedness. You had known today was Neteyam’s day off and that you would likely see him.

You took a lot of pride in your appearance usually. Your mother always ensured your braids were impeccably done and you had an array of jewellery and clothing that you enjoyed picking through, deciding what you wanted to wear from day to day. Part of the reason was because you enjoyed being well put together, and the other reason was that you wanted to look good for your best friend’s older brother.

Following Lo’ak and Neteyam as they began their walk back to the stream, you mentally chastised yourself. Neteyam probably thought of you as a second nuisance. He already had Lo’ak to contend with from day to day and there you always were, getting into messy situations right along with him. You knew it did not make you look good, but you loved hanging out with Lo’ak. He was your dearest friend and he made you laugh with all his folly.

Reaching the split in the stream, Neteyam nodded towards one side, “Lo’ak and I will take this side. You can wash on the other. We’ll all meet back here when we’re done.”

“OK, got it.” You nodded in understanding.

“Kalia?”

You turned to face Neteyam at the sound of your name, your ears twitching curiously as you wondered why he had called out again.

Neteyam shot you a toothy grin and he chuckled, clearly tickled by something, “Make sure you wash your face really well. You’ve still got squid fruit pieces on your nose and forehead.”

Mortified, your hands flew to your face and sure enough, your fingers met something stodgy in the centre of your forehead. Cursing under your breath you turned on heel and strode for the stream on your side, secretly enjoying the sound of Neteyam’s husky laughter even though it made your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Wading into the stream, you stopped once the cool water pooled around your hips, not wanting to go any deeper. You had never been comfortable in deep or rushing water. From childhood, you had always had an irrational fear of water. All attempts to teach you to swim had failed, as a result. You could tread water at best, but that could not be considered proper swimming. No matter, you had never held any desire to join the fisherfolk in their work hunting fish and gathering other river prey anyway.

Reaching to draw a cupful of water in your hands, you splashed yourself all over to moisten your skin. You began your arduous process of intently cleaning the fruit stains from your skin, knowing that this was the easy part. Washing your hair would be an even bigger task. You cleaned gently around a bad scrape on your left elbow, careful not to dislodge the healing scab that had formed there.

In the repetitive monotony of splashing, scrubbing and dunking, it was easy for your thoughts to drift back to that fateful day a few weeks ago when you earned that scrape. You had acquired several other grazes and cuts on your thighs and knees that same day too. It was also one of the few days you had ever seen Neteyam abandon his usually measured and composed demeanour in a rare display of emotion…

*** FLASHBACK ***

“I’ve got more rocks than you do.” You teased in a sing-song voice as you watched Lo’ak eye the broken cliff face before you, trying to decide which piece of rock he wanted to dislodge next.

“Yeah, but the rocks in my pile are bigger.” Lo’ak countered, “They’re riskier moves than the tiny little pebbles you’ve picked off.”

It was a dicey game you were playing, and once again it was all Lo’ak’s idea. There was an overhanging arch on the damaged cliff face that stood before you and the aim was to take turns dislodging as many rocks as possible before the overhang crumbled down.

“I thought that the person with the most rocks when the overhang crumbles, wins? Not the person with the biggest rocks.”

Sticking his tongue out at you, Lo’ak picked another hefty looking stone and set his foot on it, attempting to dislodge it with his body’s weight, “Nah, I’ve changed the rules. Person with the most amount of big rocks wins.”

Several smaller stones crumbled from the overhang, smacking and rolling loudly onto the ground in a precarious song of warning at the danger they were trifling with.

“That’s so unfair, you skxawng!” You whined peevishly, “You can’t change the rules partway through the game! Stop being a dick.”

“How about the both of you just stop entirely?” Neteyam’s voice called out as he appeared at the treeline. He had left the two of you for a bit to go down to the river to refill all your waterskins, and look what mischief you had both managed to get up to in that short span of time.

Lo’ak threw his arms up in the air, exasperated, “Nah, don’t ruin the fun, Neteyam. I’ve almost won anyway!”

“Are you kidding me, bro?” Neteyam exclaimed, aghast as he looked from his brother to you and then to your respective piles of rock, “Stop right now. That overhang is going to fall at any moment and it’s dangerous. Get away from there.”

“That’s the whole point, bro! We’re trying to see who can dislodge the most rocks before it crumbles.”

“Is it the most rocks or the biggest rocks?! You keep changing it!” You squealed in frustration. Both you and Lo’ak had strong competitive streaks, and neither of you liked losing.

Sensing your genuine upset, Lo’ak acquiesced and proposed a final tie-break challenge, “Alright, alright! How about this? You see that big rock over by you and this big one here by me? Whoever dislodges it first wins the whole game, once and for all. Never mind our piles.”

“No, no way. Stop it, both of you. We’re leaving now!” Neteyam hissed gravely.

However, neither you nor Lo’ak were paying him any attention. Narrowing your eyes at your best friend, you considered his proposal. You looked at the size of the rock Lo’ak had picked out for you, noted its position and then looked over at the rock he had assigned himself. Yours appeared to be in a better position. It was not wedged in as tightly to the cliff face as his was. You reckoned you could do it.

“Deal.” You called out to Lo’ak, who hooted in triumph despite Neteyam’s snarl of vexation at his side.

Both of you got stuck in immediately, feet and hands all intent on dislodging your respective rocks. Yours wobbled in its spot and you barked out a laugh of impending victory.

Several small rocks fell from overhead then and a thunderous crash echoed from above. What happened next happened so quickly that you were unsure if it had been your rock or Lo’ak’s that had caused the aftermath. The overhang disintegrated in a flash and a slew of mud and jagged rocks came pouring at speed over the edge where the overhang had been.

A cry of surprise left you and you stumbled backwards, tripping and falling painfully onto your side. Instinctively you rolled away from the surge of the rock slide and curled into foetal position, hands and arms over your head with your knees pressed to your chest.

The deafening roar of the rock slide dissipated, leaving a swirling cloud of dust and debris. Its gritty and granular texture stung your nose and you thought you could feel the grainy scratch of the tainted air all the way down your windpipe and into your lungs as you coughed violently.

Slowly uncurling your form, you tested your joints in small movements. You were scratched and scraped, but nothing felt broken or seriously injured. You could faintly make out Lo’ak and Neteyam’s worried voices as they called out to you, and you responded through a tickly throat, “I’m here! I’m OK!”

The rock slide was massive. It had divided you and separated you from the boys where you all stood in a raised wall of rock and mud. Thankfully you were out in the open and so you were not trapped. You just had to climb over the wreckage to get back to the other side.

You saw the rocks at the uppermost part of the wreckage shift and Neteyam’s head poked over the peak, closely followed by Lo’ak who cried, “Oh, shit! Kalia!”

The pair of brothers climbed gingerly over the apex of the wreckage, sliding downward on the slope towards you.

Neteyam reached you first though and you were gradually helped to your feet by his strong and firm hands. His eyes were wide and his breaths rushed from him in harsh pants while he checked you over. He circled you, gently lifting your arms as he went around, looking for any sign of serious injury. He crouched down then to look at the grazes on your legs.

You were a little shaken by the scare of the rock slide, but you were fine and you patted Neteyam’s hands where they clutched at your hips, his eyes focused on a graze along your thigh, “I’m fine, Neteyam. Nothing is broken. They’re only skin wounds.”

His eyes locked with yours for a few moments and they blazed with fury in their golden depths. He rose to his feet and you were prepared for him to berate you, but he swivelled around to Lo’ak instead and unleashed his ire, “You fucking moron! What were you thinking? No, I’ll tell you what, you weren’t thinking! This could have ended so much worse than it has! You should know better than this!”

Lo’ak shrivelled under his brother’s wrath and Neteyam returned his livid eyes to you, “You should know better. Both of you!”

Neteyam was almost vibrating with his rage. His nose was wrinkled and his upper lip was curled back in a snarl. You shrank at the sight, your shame consuming you as his words sunk in. He was right; you and Lo’ak had been extremely reckless.

Frankly, you were lucky to have escaped with your lives.

*** FLASHBACK END ***

That was another thing that you discovered you adored about Neteyam. He forgave easily and he never held a grudge.

You smiled to yourself at the thought. Neteyam had been angry for all of ten minutes at most, before he reverted to his usual caring and concerned self. You appreciated his kindly nature for what it was. Lo’ak, on the other hand, enjoyed pushing people’s buttons and you knew he took his brother’s forgiving nature for granted by always testing his boundaries.

The true blue of your own skin stared back at you as you surveyed your torso and your limbs. Your face felt fresh and your hair, though sopping wet, no longer felt tacky. Satisfied with your scrubbing efforts, you waded back to the mossy bank of the stream where your clothing lay. You had tried to wash those too, but no amount of scouring and wringing had freed the stains from the cloth.

Dressing quickly, you met the boys back at the agreed spot.

Lo’ak’s skin still looked purple in places and his jaw dropped at the squeaky-clean sight of you, “How’d you get all of it off you like that?”

You gloated a little at your job well done and smirked at him, “Good and proper scrubbing. Something you’d know nothing about. If you did, you’d smell better in general too.”

The comment elicited an offended gasp from Lo’ak and a hearty laugh from Neteyam who, despite having not partaken in their juicy fruit war, had also taken the opportunity to bathe.

“I don’t smell bad!” Lo’ak protested, chest puffing with indignance.

You laughed and teased your friend further, “No, you don’t smell bad, but you don’t smell good either.”

Neteyam stepped up to you then and your breath hitched on your next inhale. You hoped he had not noticed. Unlike his brother, Neteyam smelled very good to you. He scent was a clean musk like fresh forest greenery with a tinge of something spicy underneath.

“You did a good job scrubbing, but you missed a spot.” The rich depth of Neteyam’s voice swept over you like a warm caress and you held your breath like you had somehow lost the ability to respire like a normal person. You saw him reach out with a hand and then his thumb swiped slowly and deliberately at something high on your forehead near your hairline.

His hand pulled away and you registered a small pink glob of squid fruit on his thumb just as said thumb disappeared into his mouth to suck the digit clean. Neteyam’s intense gaze never left yours as he pulled his thumb unhurriedly from between his lips. A delightful shiver raced down your spine, and your girlish daydreams churned their way to the forefront of your mind when you saw his tongue dart out to lick his lips one last time.

Neteyam turned then to lead the trio of you away back towards home and you vaguely registered your numb and tingling legs following suit alongside Lo’ak.

A revolted groan sounded from Lo’ak and it pulled you back to reality from the daydream you had been immersed in. Your head pivoted to meet his face, which was contorted into a disgusted moue, “What is it, Lo’ak?”

“Stop eyeing up my brother’s ass.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Truthfully, you had been admiring Neteyam’s rear, but you were not about to admit that. Scrambling for cover and trying to worm your way out of the hole you had found yourself in, you stuttered, “I wasn’t! I was looking at his- umm, at his-”

“Ass.” Lo’ak supplied again, deadpan.

“No!” You hissed under your breath. Neteyam was walking a little way ahead of the both of you, but you were careful to keep your volume down. “I was looking at his tail!”

A sarcastic scoff was your best friend’s response and he eyed you calculatingly, his expression dripping with his disbelief, “Because tails are so interesting. Come on, Kalia, don’t lie to me. I know you find my brother attractive. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Stubborn and resolute in your plan not to admit the truth, you shook your head, “Nope.”

Lo’ak laughed, the stray beaded braid that wasn’t tucked behind his ear swinging charmingly with the movements of his head, “Oh, so I suppose you just look at everyone like that? All moony-eyed? Hell, do you look at my ass like that when I’m not looking?”

“Eww! No! Gross!”

What ensued was a series of pinches, slaps and squeals as you squabbled. Neteyam halted in his tracks and he turned to see what all the commotion was about with a questioning look on his face.

Unable to resist the opportunity for another jibe at you, Lo’ak called out to him, “Oi, turn back around bro. You’re ruining the view.”

You felt the blood rush to your face and ears and you knew instantly that you were flushing a deep shade of violet. You slapped the back of Lo’ak’s thigh hard and satisfaction bloomed within you when he gave a pained yowl in reaction to it.

~~ Neteyam’s POV ~~

Seeing that you were both just bickering again as you often were, Neteyam gave a weary shake of his head and resumed walking. He had missed the meaning of Lo’ak’s cryptic comment, but he had not missed the deep blush staining its way across your smooth cheeks. He smiled to himself. You looked so beautiful when you blushed.

The bright pink of the squid fruit juice against your blue skin earlier had also coloured your complexion a lovely purple hue and it had reminded him very much of your blushing skin. The fruit juice had been smeared all over you; in your hair, on your face, your neck, your chest… And you had looked like a mouth-watering mess to him.

Neteyam felt saliva pool in his cheeks at the memory. By Eywa, he had wanted to clean your skin off himself with his own mouth and tongue. He had wanted to kiss you and taste the sweetness of the squid fruit on your plump lips. He had wanted to lick the gummy bits of fruit from your slender fingers and trail his tongue over every stained part of you until you were clean.

When you had sucked your own fingers into your mouth in the next moment, his thoughts had darkened even further. The sight of your succulent lips wrapped around your fingertips had been incredibly arousing, and he had forced himself to turn away when the next image his very male brain had supplied was of your sweet lips wrapped around something else of his.

He halted his thoughts immediately at the recollection. This had to stop. He had to find a way to distract himself from hankering after you. You were his baby brother’s best friend, for goodness sake.

A feeling of futility swamped Neteyam when the next remark his brain supplied in response to his previous statement was ‘so what?’

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

A few months later

Neteyam sat leaning against the softer, peeling bark of kelutral (Hometree) on one of the upper boughs. He had returned from the day’s patrol not long ago and the soft light of partial eclipse streamed in dappled rays from the leafy canopy above.

Polishing the wood of his bow was one of the few things he found therapeutic in life. It was a mundane task and repetitive in nature, but it relaxed him and gave him time to just think and be. The slightly, nutty scent of the bow oil he was using was also a comforting smell that reminded him of who he was (a mighty warrior, firstborn son of the olo’eyktan) and it grounded him in those facts.

A much more saccharine scent tinged the air around him then and Neteyam’s ears twitched, alerted to the approach of someone from the branches below him. A loaf-shaped parcel, smelling absolutely delicious and wrapped in cooking cloth was carefully placed next to his thigh and he smiled, “Hey Kalia.”

Shifting to peer downward over the edge of his seat, Neteyam met your lovely green eyes which glimmered currently with something he could not decipher in their depths.

You grinned toothily at him and your tone was earnest, “Are you busy? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nah, I’m just chilling.” Neteyam replied, patting the space next to him and watching with a genial smile as you eagerly hopped up to join him at his invitation. He picked the loaf-shaped gift up and cocked his head at you, “What’s this for? It’s your birthday tomorrow, not mine. Why are you giving me a treat?”

Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip and you turned beseeching eyes at him, “I know you like utumauti cake so I set some aside for you from the batch I made this morning. I need your help.”

“Ahh, so this is bribery, is it?” Neteyam taunted mildly, regarding you through narrowed eyes.

“Well, kind of, but not really. I would have saved you some cake anyway even if I didn’t have a favour to ask.”

“I’m just teasing you.” Neteyam’s chuckle was warm, “You know you don’t have to bribe me to help you out. What do you need?”

Tender affection swelled in his chest as he watched you beam at him in excitement at what you were about to ask. Neteyam realised in that moment that he would do just about anything to see you smile, to make you happy. He enjoyed your cooking and the little treats you left him, but they were unnecessary. You had an unlimited supply of favours from him, as far as he was concerned.

You were almost bouncing next to him with your delight as you spoke, “The river trout are migrating currently and I want to see them tonight down at fkewkxor (mighty waterfall). My parents said I could go, but only if you came with me.”

The annual river trout migration passed through Omatikaya territory each year as they swam downstream through the nearby river. The migration was a stunning vision after eclipse at the falls, the bioluminescence of the masses of trout rippling in a multihued display as they made their journey down towards and over the falls before carrying on their way.

Neteyam’s agreement fell easily from his lips. He was more than happy to accompany you tonight, “Sure. Of course I’ll come with you.” However, before his imagination could begin to conjure up delightful little fantasies of how he would spend his time alone with you this evening, a maddeningly familiar voice called from below.

“Did he say yes? Can we go tonight?” Lo’ak.

Irritation flared through him and Neteyam almost sagged in disappointment. He was conscious of keeping his expression cool though. Of course Lo’ak would be coming. He was your best friend. But you both needed a chaperone to go out after eclipse and that was where he fit into the picture. It seemed you had picked up on his annoyance anyway and you wrinkled your nose sheepishly at him, eyes beseeching.

With a long-suffering sigh, Neteyam called down to his brother, “Yes, I’ll take you both tonight! I’ll meet you at the ikran rookery after last meal and we’ll go then.”

You let out a gleeful squeal and pumped your fist into the air, and Neteyam could not help the grin that wormed its way across his cheeks at your elation. You were thanking him profusely and were just about to slip off the bough to leave him to his peace, when he took your hand to get your attention. The little gasp of surprise you emitted was endearing.

Neteyam squeezed your hand gently, his thumb rubbing in fond strokes across your knuckles, “Only because it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

He released your hand and you thanked him one more time with an appreciative smile, “Thanks, Neteyam. It means a lot. I hope you like the cake.”

***~~~***

~~ Your POV ~~

The spectacle was breathtaking. The swell of the frothing rapids at the mouth of the waterfall was a foamy contrast against the rippling flashes of bioluminescent colour from the trout beneath the surface. You could not make out the individual fish, but the polychromatic mass of them made it look like the water was alive with colour. The entire waterfall glowed in the darkness of eclipse and you could hardly believe your eyes at what you were seeing.

Neteyam had led the three of you to an enormous tree that grew almost right by the mouth of the waterfall. The tree’s boughs and branches extended and hung out over the waterfall itself, making it a prime viewing spot. Your cheeks hurt at how wide you were smiling and even Neteyam seemed just as enamoured by the vision where he stood next to you.

The trout migration was a beautiful sight, but Neteyam was beautiful too.

Neteyam was entirely focused on the spectacle before him and it gave you a perfect opportunity to stare. You knew staring was rude, but only if you were caught, right?

In the low light of eclipse, his skin almost appeared a richer shade of blue, his darker stripes a complementary cobalt against his cyan skin. The bioluminescent tanhì (freckles) on his face sparkled bright like stars in the night sky like his own unique set of constellations. Your eyes tracked his tanhì on their journey down his striking form; over his shoulder, down his well-muscled chest and abdomen; down to his hip and toned thighs…

“I thought you wanted to come here to watch the trout.”

Your head snapped up to Neteyam’s face and you found him watching you, watching him. Mortification shot through you at being caught, and your brain was blank and useless in that moment, completely unhelpful at finding something to say. You must have looked very much like a trout then with your wide, unblinking eyes, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly…

Neteyam was still watching you intently, but there was a hint of something in his eyes, something you had not seen before; something playful and hot and utterly male. It made your skin prickle with a delicious heat and made flutters burst in your stomach.

You broke the eye contact, embarrassed, and your words finally returned to you again though they were not exactly coherent, “I did! I do- I am- It’s just- Just thank you.”

You chanced a glance at him again and a corner of his lips quirked upward. Neteyam dipped his head downward, his chin lowering, but his eyes never left yours as he watched you. You shivered at the look. He looked like a hunter about to capture his prey…

“Holy shit! You have to come up here. The view is amazing and there are no lower branches in the way of your eyeline.” Lo’ak exclaimed from several branches up, “Come on, guys!”

Excited, you climbed your way up to meet him with Neteyam following close behind.

The branch Lo’ak stood on was a younger branch near the top of the tree’s canopy. It was not as thick and impervious as the older boughs lower down, but it appeared to be holding Lo’ak’s weight just fine. You hopped nimbly up onto it and began gingerly making your way down it towards Lo’ak who had his hand waiting outstretched for you. The branch bowed ever so slightly and it swayed under your feet as it adjusted to your added weight. You halted your steps.

Neteyam’s voice was a low warning from behind you where he remained next to the tree’s trunk, “This branch isn’t going to hold you both. Come back this way Kalia.”

Lo’ak, as usual, held a conflicting opinion, “Aww man, don’t worry bro, yes it will. It’s a little bendy, that’s all.”

You looked between the two brothers who both had one hand stretched out to you now as you stood in the middle. Neteyam was shaking his head in a reiteration of his point, his golden eyes fierce, impelling you to return to safety. Lo’ak’s expression was nonchalant, his eyebrows raised awaiting your approach.

In the end it was Lo’ak’s next words that sealed the deal, “Come on, Kalia, don’t be a wuss.”

You never backed down from a challenge, especially not from Lo’ak. You were not a wuss and so you turned towards him and took the several steps required the rest of the way to grasp his hand.

The branch pitched downward with a little wobble under your combined weight, but it held.

A triumphant ululation trilled from Lo’ak and he laughed, “See? I told you it’d be fine.”

You breathed out a quiet ‘wow’ as the new vantage point afforded you a clear and unimpeded view of the entire waterfall in all its phantastic glory, just as Lo’ak had said. However the branch you were on was not wide enough for both of you stand side by side, and it was a little awkward peering from around his shoulder.

Seeing your position, Lo’ak looked up at the branch above him and he grinned at you, “Here, I’ll hop out of the way so you can see better.”

The next few moments passed in a sluggish blur for you, almost as if time had slowed to a snail’s pace. The last thing you heard was Neteyam’s panicked cry of, “Lo’ak, no!”, before Lo’ak sprang upward from in front of you, reaching for the branch above to pull himself up and out of the way.

The sickening crunch of wood splintering followed as the force of Lo’ak’s well-meaning spring shattered the weight limits of the branch beneath you. Abruptly, your feet were no longer grounded as you saw the broken branch fall away. Gravity sank its sharp talons into you and then you were plummeting too towards the majestic but treacherous waters that lay in wait below.

The last thing you felt was your breath tearing from your squeezing lungs and forcing its way up your throat in a choking scream.

~~ Neteyam’s POV ~~

The piercing sound of your terrified scream echoed through the woods and Neteyam watched, petrified, as your frame was swallowed by the thunderous falls.

“Fuck, KALIA!” Lo’ak’s own screech was hoarse as he pulled himself up all the way onto the branch above. He appeared a hair’s breadth away from diving in after you when Neteyam stopped him.

He was not about to let his brother risk his own life any further, but Neteyam held no such reservations about himself, “No, Lo’ak! Stay here, you skxawng! Call for help if we don’t surface!”

It was a perilous endeavour, but what choice did he have? There was no time to waste thinking. You were down there and he needed to get to you. With his heart galloping in his chest and his heart whispering prayer after prayer to Eywa to keep you alive, Neteyam leapt from the broken stump of a branch and into the raging falls after you.

Tucking his head as his body speared into a downward dive, Neteyam felt the force of thundering water hit him before he was submerged under the surface. All around him were roiling bubbles and scattering trout as they endeavoured to avoid the foreign creature that had just invaded their environment. There was no sense of direction; he had no idea which way was up and which way was down. Neteyam felt trapped in the never-ending churn of the water, but he reached and pulled against the water with his arms and kicked out with his legs nevertheless.

Neteyam’s sole concern was you. Great Mother, he had promised to keep you safe…

You had only been allowed to go out tonight because you were under his watch; you had been entrusted into his care. His thoughts were frantic… Please Eywa, help me… help her! Help me reach her!

Neteyam realised the trout around him were upright and swimming in the same direction, which was a good sign. It meant he was the right way up. Having regained his sense of direction, he doubled down on his focus. He could not see any sign of you beneath the water, though it was difficult looking through shoals of trout. Reaching the river’s bottom, Neteyam kicked off it and propelled himself towards the surface for a breath of air.

Breaching the surface, Neteyam’s head spun around looking for you. Nothing. He dove under again, continuing his search. All he could see was trout and his chest was tight with frustration and desperation. Please, Great Mother, please!

Something small and black drifted past his eyeline in a furry tuft amidst the writhing bodies of trout... Your tail! It was the tuft of your tail! With renewed vigour, Neteyam swam towards it with all his might, his hands reaching out until he could grasp it. The trout parted as he pulled your unmoving form towards him. His emotions were a contradiction in that moment. He was relieved that he had found you, but alarmed to see that you were unconscious.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, Neteyam kicked his legs, hauling you up to the surface.

Neteyam jostled your body roughly in an attempt to wake you when your face broke the waterline. He coughed, his frenetic words leaving him in wet gurgles as he cried out, “Kalia, wake up! Can you hear me? Breathe! Kalia!” You remained unresponsive; your chest unmoving as you drew no breaths.

The water was calmer here now as he floated downstream with you. Turning onto his back to keep you atop him, he frog-kicked towards the riverbank and thanked Eywa when he could finally touch the riverbed with his feet. Swimming back far enough until it was shallow enough for him to stand, Neteyam righted you in his arms, hooking one arm under your knees and the other around your shoulders so he could carry you ashore.

Delicately positioning you on your back on the muddy bank, Neteyam’s fingers flew to the crook of your neck where it met your jaw, probing desperately for a pulse. Nothing. Pure, undiluted panic shot through him. Placing his hands on your chest like he had been taught, he knelt alongside you and started chest compressions.

“Come on, Kalia!” Neteyam urged, “Come back to me, paskalin!”

Thirty compressions later, he pinched your nose, tilted your head back and sealed his mouth over yours. He gave you two breaths, feeling your chest rise slightly with each one. He checked again for a pulse.

Still nothing.

With a wild curse, Neteyam restarted chest compressions. He knew this was your only chance at survival and yet he was so afraid that he would break your sternum with the force of his compressions. Sixteen or seventeen compressions in, your shoulders and chest punched outward and your body gave a violent wretch. River water spewed from your mouth and you took a ragged but blessed breath in. A fit of wet coughs wracked you as your body ejected some more of the water from your saturated lungs.

A startled cry of relief left Neteyam and he propped you upright in his arms, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, “Thank you, Great Mother! Keep breathing, paskalin. That’s it! That’s good.”

He cupped your cheek, forcing your gaze to focus on him. Your eyes were wild with disorientation and fear, and Neteyam clutched you to his chest as you began to cry bitterly. The sound of your crying was heart-wrenching, but it was welcome proof to him that you were alive.

Your drenched body quaked in his arms from the chill of the river water and Neteyam let out several trills and ululations, calling for his ikran. He needed to get you back to his grandmother. Quickly.

***~~~***

~~ Neteyam’s POV ~~

To say that Neteyam was angry with Lo’ak was a vast understatement. He was absolutely livid with his brother.

He and Lo’ak had fought countless times in their lives. It was the way of things when you grew up as brothers whose personalities were at such odds with each other. Countless disagreements and countless rebukes, but Neteyam had always been eloquent, even in his ire. He had always known how to scold Lo’ak; had always known what words to use to chastise him. But tonight had clearly been one step too far.

Tonight, Neteyam knew he was beyond angry because for the first time in their lives, he had no words. He had been silent ever since he had returned to kelutral with you in his arms several hours ago.

Lo’ak had taken full responsibility and had owned up to his reckless behaviour. Both their own family and yours had been horrified by the events of the evening as he had recounted the truth to them. Lo’ak’s immense contrition had manifested itself all night as repeated apologies to whoever would listen.

His grandmother had thoroughly checked you over when he had arrived home with you. You had sustained several shallow gashes to the skin of your back where you must have hit the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall. You had aspirated river water and there would still be excess fluid in your lungs despite you having coughed most of it up. Mo’at had prescribed bedrest and careful monitoring of you for the next several days in hope that you would not develop a lung infection.

It was astonishing how the axis of Neteyam’s entire world had shifted in the space of one evening. He had vowed to himself a few moons ago that he would find a way to stop his growing feelings for you. He had done this partially out of respect for your close friendship with Lo’ak and also because he was convinced you did not see him the same way.

But he had nearly lost you tonight. And there was nothing in life that gave a person quite the same clarity of perspective than the threat of imminent death.

So what, if you were his baby brother’s best friend? Tonight had taught Neteyam that life was too short not to go after what he wanted.

Neteyam kept silent vigil in the healers’ hut where you were now asleep again. He had not left your side so far. Part of him needed to see you, to hear you breathing to assuage the deep-seated apprehension in his soul that you might somehow stop breathing again. And what if no one was there to notice?

Out of the corner of his eye, Neteyam saw Lo’ak get up from his spot a little further away to come and sit by him again. Neteyam ground his jaw together so hard that his teeth started to hurt.

“Say something, bro.” Lo’ak pressed softly, keeping his voice down so as not to wake you.

Neteyam’s nostrils flared and he pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes in vexation, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ve said that a billion times already.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Say you forgive me now, please? You were right, OK? That branch didn’t hold.”

Neteyam’s gaze had been alternating only between your prone form and his clasped hands in his lap up until now, but he turned incredulous eyes at his brother then. He gave a quiet scoff of disbelief, “By Eywa, that’s what you’re sorry for? For not listening to me? You think that I want you to apologise to me because you didn’t believe that I was right? Fuck, you don’t get it at all, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak blinked several times and his brows knitted in a confused furrow, “What? I’ve already apologised. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

Neteyam’s nose wrinkled in a silent snarl at his brother, “This is your fault. It’s always your fault because your apologies are never backed up with a change of behaviour.”

“I know, bro. I promise I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“No! That’s not it!” Neteyam’s hiss was quiet but no less vehement, “It’s not about me being right or you not listening to me. It’s about you recognising that you need to think before you rush headlong into your fun and games! I won’t always be there to protect her!”

He saw Lo’ak’s eyes flick to your sleeping form and saw the recognition dawn on his brother’s face. Lo’ak had caught the inflection in his last sentence, “Oh, so this is just about Kalia, is it? You’d be fine if it was me that nearly drowned tonight instead?”

Neteyam growled a warning, “Don’t be unkind. This is about both of you.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Lo’ak said casually, but Neteyam could sense his brother’s rising temper, could see it in the impatient flick of his tail, “In general, you’re concerned about the both of us, but right now tonight, this anger of yours, it’s all about her.”

“Of course! She died tonight, Lo’ak! She was dead when I pulled her from the river! We’re lucky I managed to resuscitate her!” Neteyam snarled, his ears pinned and his own tail lashing behind him, “You put her in danger. You have done so, so many times with your recklessness! So help me Eywa, if you can’t comprehend in your thick skull that you need to grow up and consider your own safety, then leave Kalia out of it, at least.”

Lo’ak’s lips curled in a derisive snarl of his own, “You can’t have her, bro. I won’t let you.”

Neteyam clenched his jaw. This was not the direction he had wanted this conversation to go in, but at the same time, it was a conversation that had been stewing in the background for moons now. His brother seemed all too eager to jump on this train of thought, full steam ahead.

Lo’ak continued, “She’s my best friend. I see the way you look at her, Neteyam. You want her for yourself.”

Neteyam knew he had to tread carefully here and choose his words wisely. It was both dishonest and futile to deny his attraction to you now, but he did not want it to come at the cost of your friendship with Lo’ak. Swallowing tightly, he began in a measured tone, “I don’t want to take her away from you. I just want her to be safe. I want you to be safe so that she is safe with you. You’re not good for her if you won’t change your behaviour.”

Lo’ak was shaking his head now, his breaths puffing heavily from his nostrils as he got more and more agitated, “How about you stay away from her, bro. She’s my friend.”

“This doesn’t have to be a you or me situation.” Neteyam reasoned, “My interest in her and your friendship are not mutually exclusive things.”

“No, you can’t have her!” The words were spat from Lo’ak in a vicious growl, louder now than before.

“That isn’t your choice or mine, Lo’ak! It’s hers! But I have every right to express my wish to court her!”

“STAY. AWAY. FROM HER!”

“You don’t have any right to demand that!”

“Stop fighting.” The voice was feminine croak and Neteyam startled, his head spinning back to look at you. His brother’s head had swivelled around just as swiftly and he was sure he heard the vertebrae in Lo’ak’s neck pop.

~~ Your POV ~~

It had been the most impressive quiet argument that you had ever heard, if you were honest. The brothers had done well maintaining a hushed volume up until the last few moments. You figured it was time to intervene since the conversation was getting out of hand and it was also especially imprudent for you to be eavesdropping on a conversation about, well, you.

Your throat felt scratchy and your lungs felt sore, but you were fairly clear-headed otherwise.

“Shit, Kalia, sorry we woke you.” Lo’ak was by your side in a flash and one of his hands curled around yours, “Fuck, I’m so sorry about tonight. I really am.”

His tone was remorseful and you knew he felt awful. Lo’ak was careless but he was not callous by any means. He cared greatly for you despite him unintentionally contradicting that fact at times with his reckless behaviour.

Lo’ak’s eyes appeared a little watery in the flickering firelight of the hut and you reached out to pat his cheek kindly, “Hush, I know. I’m OK now. We live and we learn, yes?” He nodded mutely.

You saw Neteyam’s face swim into view beside Lo’ak’s and your heart gave a squeeze. An assortment of thoughts and emotions eddied around in your mind at the sight of his handsome face; gratitude, affection, remnants of your fright from earlier in the evening, and a kittenish shyness at what you had heard him say just moments ago.

Looking back to Lo’ak, you took the hand that was holding yours and kissed the back of it, “You know you’ll always be my best buddy, right? Nothing will change that. Ever.” You saw the slight pout of Lo’ak’s lips lift in a grin. You needed to speak to Neteyam though, alone, to thank him for rescuing you. Mostly to thank him, but you wanted to address a few other things too…

You cleared the scratch in your throat and shot Lo’ak a reassuring smile, “I’ll catch you in a bit, yeah? Could you give your brother and I some time? I’d like to speak to him.”

You had to fight the urge to giggle because when you saw Lo’ak’s grin pucker into an unimpressed moue. He looked from you to his brother and then back again and drawled sarcastically, “Yeah sure, I see how it is. You’ll be my best friend in the daytimes and then you’ll go and suck face with my brother in the evenings.”

Both you and Neteyam hissed Lo’ak’s name in shocked unison as he got up to give you both some privacy. He called over his shoulder as he disappeared out the draping flaps of the healers’ hut, “Don’t do anything gross in there kids, I’m just outside.”

Neteyam emitted an irritated huff and he rolled his eyes. His cheeks were purpling ever so slightly and you giggled, your own cheeks heating in response. You sat in silence for a few moments, neither of you really knowing what to say or how to begin.

You looked at Neteyam in the lambent glow of the firelight. He was looking intently at his folded hands in his lap and a frown wrinkled his forehead. He looked a little upset and you realised then that while it had been you who had fallen, gotten injured and had to be resuscitated, it was Neteyam who had had to live the waking nightmare of all those moments.

You extended the fingertips of your left hand and you stroked them gently against the back of his clasped hands, “Hey, thanks for saving me. I wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

“You weren’t here for a little bit.” The words were a broken mumble from Neteyam, who turned one of his palms out to twine his fingers with yours. He looked defeated.

“I’m here now and that’s what matters.”

His fingertips were warm against your cold ones and you instinctively sought out more of his warmth, sliding your palm forward to seat it fully against his. You felt his fingers wrap around your palm in return and the motion sent a thrill through you.

Neteyam took a shaky inhale and his exhale punched out of him in a defeated sigh, he shook his head gravely, “Fuck, Kalia you scared me today. You were gone. I had to fight to bring you back and-” He stopped suddenly and his eyes reluctantly fixed themselves on the dark purple bruising where the top of your chest was peeking out from the woven blanket Mo’at had wrapped around you.

“It doesn’t hurt much.” You supplied, “You did what you had to and I’m so grateful. I was stupid today too. It wasn’t just Lo’ak who didn’t listen. You told me not to go out onto the branch. I’m sorry too. I should’ve known better.”

He pursed his lips at you then, clearly agreeing with your sentiment, “Look, I’m not going to try and stop you and Lo’ak from hanging out, but you both need to be more careful. Think about what you’re doing, assess the situation. I don’t want to have to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation ever again.”

“Not the kind of mouth-to-mouth you’d like to give me?” Perhaps it was the heady mix of tonic that Mo’at had given you as pain-relief. Or maybe it was the fact that you had overheard Neteyam admit to being attracted to you that emboldened you, but the quip was out of mouth before you could stop it.

Neteyam’s mouth popped ajar at your remark and he spluttered, “I-It wasn’t exactly a kiss.”

Your tittered even harder at his reaction and you countered with another quip, “No, I’d like to be alive when that one happens.”

He continued to gawp at you and you nibbled on your bottom lip bashfully. Eywa, you’d been crushing on Neteyam for a couple of years now, and to hear him say that he would like to court you was a girlish dream come true. You squeezed his hand promisingly and he chuckled.

He licked his lips and his eyes fell to his lap again. He shifted his other hand to join your already clasped ones and rested it over yours. Your hand was cradled between both of his now and the blazing heat of skin was electrifying. He lifted his eyes then to meet your gaze and admitted, “I didn’t think you felt that way about me.”

“And I thought you didn’t see me as anything more than your little brother’s annoying friend!” You exclaimed with a laugh, “By Eywa, I’ve been cooking you things and bringing them to you personally for so long now. I was convinced you just thought me a pest.”

Neteyam frowned and cocked his head at you, “I thought those were bribes and ‘thank you’ treats for keeping an eye on you and Lo’ak.”

“Well, they were, but it’s because I didn’t want you to stop coming.”

He smiled at you then, one of his beautiful, bright smiles that made you feel all warm and tingly inside. He brought your knuckles up to his face and pressed a kiss to them, and the soft velvet brush of his lips made your stomach quiver and your toes curl. He murmured, “So you’ll allow me to court you?”

You beamed at him with a nod and you wondered if he could see the happy stars bursting in the depths of your green eyes. A stupid part of you was a little disappointed that the first time his lips had touched yours you had not been conscious. It had not been a kiss, but still.

You wanted a kiss now and you never backed away from an opportunity to get what you wanted, “Kiss me, Neteyam, please?”

A corner of his lips quirked upward and his chin tilted down again, his eyes never leaving yours. You recognised that look. It was the same keen expression he had worn earlier that evening after he had caught you staring at him instead of the trout. Great Mother, that expression sent delightful shivers through you.

You saw him lean down towards you slowly, bracing his weight on his palms on either side of your head, and he smirked, “Lo’ak is going to be so annoyed.”

“Lo’ak knows. He’s known about my feelings for you for a while now. He’s just going to have to share.” You whispered, your heartrate quickening and your breath puffing in smaller pants of anticipation as Neteyam’s face neared yours. A husky chortle rumbled by your ear and you gave a small gasp as his hot breath tickled the side of your face.

Neteyam purred his response, “Well as long as I don’t have to share this-” He pressed a slow kiss to your right cheek, “Or this-” Another unhurried press of his lips to your left cheek, “And especially not this-” His smooth lips enveloped yours in a chaste, but lingering press, “Then I’m fine sharing. Happy birthday, Kalia.”

Bright and unbridled delight rushed through you in a series of flutters and flurries in your chest and in your stomach. You had almost forgotten. The darkest part of eclipse had come and gone. It was your birthday today. Your first kiss with Neteyam was without a doubt, the best birthday present ever. Neteyam was grinning smugly down at you and you reached up to loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you again for another deliciously plush and moist meld of your lips.

It was a little uncoordinated and a little bit messy as the two of you continued your curious exploration of each other’s mouths. After all, you were both new to each other like this. However, the experience was no less stimulating. You had plenty of time to practise and get better, you mused.

Evidently Lo’ak had chosen the wrong time to peek through the gap in the hut’s entry flaps, and you and Neteyam broke away from each other laughing when his indignant voice sounded from outside.

“Eww, yuck! I SAID NO GROSS STUFF!”

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Author's Note: Ya'll this took on a life of its own, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoyed this little rollercoaster of drama! I'd love to hear your thoughts & reactions. Reblogs are so very much appreciated. Share this piece if you loved it! 🥰Thanks for reading!

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