#or it's someone from your own culture (not like this with most adults now and this is one of the only exceptions)

[enfinizatics]

dear americans,

as a polish queer woman and human rights activist, i know exactly how you're feeling right now and what to expect from these elections. i lived through the 2015-2023 regime of pis, a right-wing populist party that divided families in the same way trump did. i’ve experienced the rise of fascism in poland, the influence of far-right parties like konfederacja, and their “santa’s little helpers”—ordo iuris, an ultra-conservative catholic organization (banned in many countries, mind you) that helped enforce a near-total abortion ban and runs anti-queer campaigns in public spaces. i supported the black protests in 2016 as a middle schooler when they first tried to ban abortion. as an adult, i actively participated in the 2020 women’s strike, running from police tear gas daily after they finally passed the ban. i supported friends who faced charges.

i’ve lived through intense homophobia in poland as a queer teen and adult. i survived the first pride march in my hometown, where far-right extremists threw stones and glass at us. i endured the anti-queer propaganda spread by the ruling party in state-owned media. i survived the “rainbow night,” poland’s own stonewall moment in summer 2020, when police arrested around 50 queer activists following the arrest of margo, a nonbinary activist. i survived the "lgbt-free zones," the targeted violence, the slurs from strangers on the street, and the protests i held against queerphobia. it was hard as fuck, but i survived.

but just because i survived, it doesn’t mean others did. many women died because of the abortion ban—marta, justyna, izabela, dorota, joanna, maria, and many others who didn’t survive pis’s draconian anti-abortion laws. milo, kacper, michał, zuzia (she was 12), wiktor, and other queer and trans kids and young adults took their own lives because of the relentless queerphobia.

despite all of this, our experience in poland can serve as a guide now. here are some tips for staying safe and how we, polish queers and women, organized under the regime:

safety first, always. if you know someone who’s had an abortion, no you don’t. if you know someone is trans, no you don’t. if you know people who help with safe abortions, no you don’t—at least not until you know it’s 100% safe to share. if you are queer or have had an abortion, only share this with people you trust fully. most importantly, not everyone has to be an activist just because they’re part of a minority. if it feels unsafe to share that you're queer, trans, etc., then don’t. it doesn’t make you any less queer.

use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

stay anonymous online. if you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

organize and build networks. community is everything now. support each other, foster independence, because your government won’t have your back. set up collectives, grassroots movements. create lists of trusted professionals—lawyers, doctors, etc.—who can offer support.

to lawyers and doctors: please consider pro-bono work. this is what got us through poland’s hardest times. your work will be needed now more than ever.

for protests or risky actions: always write a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your arm with a permanent marker.

get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project;

for safe abortion info or involvement: get familiar with womenhelpwomen.

stay radical, stay strong, stay informed: The Anarchist Library

if i forgot to (or didn't) include something, don't hesitate to reblog this post with other resources.

[doux-amer]

#there’s still time to kill myself over this#and. calling logan by his first name when you’ve known him since approximately 9 years old.#imagine the first time stewy decided to drop ‘mr.roy’#logan coming at a young adult stewy with ‘how was your summer stewart’#and stewy (has been psyching himself up for this all summer): it was great logan. how was yours?#and they just stare at each other like that one gif of pd*ddy and the american idol contestant (via @stewkablooey)

[arachine]

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…” 

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her. 

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.  

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight. 

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort. 

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from. 

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?” 

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart. 

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you. 

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?” 

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again. 

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent. 

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him. 

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end. 

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only. 

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it. 

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them. 

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little. 

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat). 

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do. 

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest. 

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed. 

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away. 

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied. 

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!” 

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him. 

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs. 

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him. 

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son. 

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment. 

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel. 

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig. 

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident. 

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time. 

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering. 

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually). 

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it. 

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is. 

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body. 

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot). 

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.” 

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings. 

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack. 

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber. 

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out. 

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother. 

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.” 

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?” 

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together. 

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes. 

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you! 

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully. 

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd. 

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him? 

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him. 

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family. 

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success. 

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him. 

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf. 

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks. 

“Do you have an idea where she might be?” 

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion. 

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence. 

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode. 

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would. 

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time. 

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden. 

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack. 

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot. 

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?” 

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway. 

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack. 

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk. 

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches. 

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting. 

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs. 

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.” 

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now? 

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him? 

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again. 

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart. 

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible. 

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill. 

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each. 

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces. 

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.” 

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream. 

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly. 

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.” 

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.” 

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations. 

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones. 

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin. 

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds. 

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty. 

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?” 

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to. 

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve. 

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think. 

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face. 

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb. 

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring. 

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you. 

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you. 

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.��� 

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is. 

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours? 

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity. 

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force. 

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching. 

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you. 

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers. 

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to. 

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles. 

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man. 

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty. 

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you. 

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack. 

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides. 

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls. 

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy. 

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically. 

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?” 

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile. 

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?” 

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him. 

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground. 

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness. 

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side. 

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess. 

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length. 

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.  

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable. 

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired. 

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you. 

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement. 

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds. 

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement. 

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons. 

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace. 

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks. 

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart. 

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains. 

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.” 

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

© arachine 2022

[firewalkzwit]

chemical world || simon / john q. x reader (dinner in america)

just a blurb because im up the ass with school and the one-shot i wrote was rubbish sorry. "x reader" might be a stretch its just hqs and stuff i think of simon with song sneaks in the middle coz when do i not

Chemical World - Blur

Simon of extreme hedonistic beliefs above all prioritises nothing other than pleasure, and takes pride in the aesthetic disruption this signifies. Having a shower around won't be enough to pinch his personal hygiene urges, even if it is for the sake of others. He'll bathe if he can and if he wants to.

This obviously extends to his deliberately controversial haircut. It amuses him to watch the discomfort and confusion it creates in those who see him. It's neither a mullet nor a mohawk (matter of fact, he despises either of the groups who wear such hairstyles), but rather his own third thing.

Obviously he's slightly taken aback when you fancy him for it. Not that it has ever prevented him from getting laid (he would have eventually buzzed it if it did), but the occasional compliments and caresses on his greasy hair from your tender hands never fail to remind him that he too is just a mere mortal beneath things like female affection.

Saints - The Breeders

He praises womanhood just as much as he teases it. There is an adolescent air in the way he speaks derogatorily about your mother, or even when he gets turned on out of insulting you in bed. Still, slurs that come and go only wind up humiliating him when he kneels before you, eyes wide open and hungry.

He's very versatile in that department, he'll take any place in bed as long you ask. Nothing is more arousing than your gratitude. He won't be picky about how you express it, but he has favourites; the scratching of nails in a useless attempt of grabbing the wall makes him feel like he really did his job well.

I Am the Resurrection - The Stone Roses

Not having to be functional to work timings or tedious 9 to 5-s allows Simon to have an ample disposition to, what he calls, "fuck around" any day, anytime. Although he resents the fact that you occasionally choose your adult responsibilities above him, he'll hardly hold you to it for too long. Instead, decompression is highly recreational and experimental. A wide range of psychedelics, psychotropics, psycholeptics... all to be found in some dubious corner of his backpack.

Frankly, open-mindedness is one of the few must-have traits to date him. He wont tolerate uptight or rigorous personalities. This does not imply that it was ever a requirement for you to be an avid drug consumer, but he'll take no reprimands if he chooses to pop a Percocet.

Simon's open-mindedness policy is fairly restricted when it comes to music. Not that he only listens to one genre, as his enthusiasm for punk has inevitably derived in enjoying all of those that influenced or derivate from it, but he believes most are acquired tastes. Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., Melvins and Fugazi sit around in his record collection.

He loves it when you ask about his records, and far from judging you if you ever don't know, he'll sit down on the floor with his back rested against the bed and his records in hand. Encyclopedic narrations of the socio-cultural context of the origin of most of his favourite bands could be biography-worth if it weren't for all the "fuck"s between them.

"Fuckin' Christ, Pink Flag? That fuckin' invented post-punk. Would I care for that shit if it didn't? Probably not, but because of fuckin' Wire now I have to give a fuck about these snobby fucks from Bauhaus and the idiots in PiL."

Strange - Galaxie 500

The record player in your room is mostly crowded around by his own collection, which was homeless up until recently. There's many things Simon likes about you, but taking in his records was to him what to others is a ring on their finger.

In a relationship with someone who thinks music is sacred, you cannot miss his gigs, they are mass. He loves to parade you around backstage to his bandmates and sing to you when they play, loves that you take your friends with you; so they can see you seeing him. Nothing makes him feel more desired than spotting you in the crowd mouthing his lyrics.

Post-shows getting wrecked in a local bar until they kick you out is his favourite thing to do, but he'll take backseat sex if he sees you're in the mood for it, subtly letting everyone know as he guides you holding you by the wrist. On colder seasons, the night dew will curtain the windows of the pick-up truck he borrows just in hopes that you'll give him the special look, inviting him for a quickie before heading home letting you pick the radio station.

Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain

[akindplace]

Every afternoon from my childhood to my teen years, my grandma would show up with peeled oranges, my favorite fruit, for me to eat. Every single one. She sometimes would ask me if I wanted it, and sometimes I’d say no, but she had already peeled them, and asking was a formality. I would always eat them anyway. I was a notorious picky eater, and if we know something about grandmas is that they are usually worried about kids not eating well enough, even if they are. It’s been over 10 years since she passed.

My mom seems to have picked up the habit, and even though I am an adult now, she still shows up with food, usually oranges, and she doesn’t always ask if I want them, and I still always want them, even if I can’t eat them immediately because I already ate. My boyfriend often tells an anecdote of my mom offering him food, and when he asked which food, she just answered playfully that he would find out what it was when he ate it (turns out it’s something that he loves and she knew he did before offering). When we watched heartstopper and Tao’s mom shows up at his room with a bowl of fruit, my boyfriend just said “hey, it’s just like your mom with the oranges”.

That kept me thinking about how food is ingrained into human culture as something we share as a sign of love for someone else. I see myself picking up those family habits. I show up with ice cream during a heatwave for my mom. I show up with food for my boyfriend. It is a way of showing up. A way to quietly tell someone “I remember this makes you happy”, and we keep doing it because seeing someone you love happy is one of life’s most satisfying things to see. This is a way of remembering my grandma, and all those who came before her and cared for their own kids this way, because love and sustenance are so often the same thing. I remember you, I say. And I am happy.

[corkinavoid]

Hogwarts??? So you hate trans people then, if your supporting jk

First of all, it's 'you're', not 'your'. If you want to accuse someone of something, then at least do it in a grammatically correct way.

Second, that's a lot of conclusions for no apparent reason.

Third, don't like - don't look, the 'block' button exists for a reason, and I'm not here to provide a comfortable experience for you. You're the one responsible for that part.

With that out of the way, let me rant about how much I fucking despise J.K. Rowling.

Let me get this straight, though, her stance on trans rights is not the first or the main reason for my dislike. In all honesty, I don't have enough care in myself to touch internet drama with a ten foot pole, so all I know about it is that apparently Rowling hates trans people, which, yeah, fuck her.

By the way, what do you even consider 'supporting an author'? Buying their books or merch? Liking their Twitter posts? Defending them on social media? Because I've done literally none of that. I haven't even watched the movies, and I've never read the last book, because at the time it wasn't published (or written yet), and by the time it was, I was already into Eragon series and didn't care about Harry Potter.

Now, to the important part.

I fucking hate J.K. Rowling because of her absolute lack of comprehensive worldbuilding. She sucks at creating a logical system of magic, at her own world's history, economics, and politics. Nothing in her books makes sense.

Why do the wizards need wands? Why do they write with quills on parchment when there's paper and notebooks and goddamn ink pens and color pencils? Why don't they teach math in Hogwarts? Why don't the teachers have, like, some introductory lessons or at least books for muggleborn or muggle-raised students? What the fuck was that 'power of mother's love' bullshit? Where did that story about Peverell Brothers and Death come from, and why didn't anyone think to mention it when Harry first got the Invisibility Cloak? Why in the world is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in the girl's bathrooms of all places? Why is there a subject for Ancient Runes but no one fucking uses runes? Why didn't Harry sign up for Muggle Studies, it would have been an easy grade? Why was Hermione the only one to have a time-turner in the whole school, she was fucking thirteen, what was McGonagall thinking? Where are any kind of PE lessons? Why the everloving fuck was Triwizard Tournament held at a school, with teenagers participating? What's more, why couldn't they choose the champions beforehand so the visiting schools didn't have to transport their whole student bodies over for a year? Why were they fighting dragons when it's common knowledge that no sane adult person would dare to do that alone by themselves? What was that arch in the Ministry where Sirius died? What the fuck was even going on for the most part of the series?

None of it makes an ounce of sense. Every fucking event in the books is a product of poor imagination and lack of logic. Rowling is fucking dumb as a brick. I've heard five-year-olds come up with stories that had more reason than the whole Harry Potter series.

Have you seen the 'map of wizarding schools' she came up with? That thing makes me feel the rage of a thousand men. One single school for the whole damn Africa? Bitch, there are over fifty countries there, each with their own language, how do you expect them to communicate? Not to mention India and China having one school for both of them, do you have any idea of the population of both of those countries? That school must be, like, a size of a city, not to mention culture differences and language barriers again.

Also, what was that fucking thing about kids flying on whole ass trees instead of brooms in Koldovstvorets, that one offends me personally. Not to mention the actual name of that school, because it translates to 'magic palace', are you kidding me?

I can keep ranting about this for hours, and never run out, but this is getting rather long, so I'm going to wrap this part up. Just know that the whole of Rowling's worldbuilding is a ton of bullshit that has no right to be as popular as it got.

Yet, I do like the general idea that she had. The magic world that is hidden inside the real one, the whole charms and spells aesthetic, a castle full of secret passages, and all that old classic English vibe to it. It could have been good. It could have been marvelous, if Rowling had, like, a few more braincells. Alas, she didn't, and here we are.

A few years ago, I've found a fic on ao3, 'survival is a talent' by ShanaStoryteller. It's a Series Retold, and it's incomplete. If you haven't read it, I really advise you to, it's perfect in a way the original will never be. Ever since I've read it, I decided that that fic is my canon version of Harry Potter.

On a different note, I think that at this point, HP fandom and J.K. Rowling exist in two different dimensions. That woman had created a world, yes, but it doesn't belong to her anymore, it belongs to everyone who enjoys it. She clearly doesn't, she only enjoys the profit she is making from it.

If you've made it this far through my Harry Potter related rant, thank you, and have a beautiful day <3

[heiznx]

PRINCESS ARRIVAL — III

∗༝*◦✦ missed texts.

BEFORE READING, this includes mentions of yuu's attachment to mc, brief mention of book 5 and 6 events, and slight yandere things.

|| ◀BACK || NEXT▶ || HEADCANONS ||

You can remember how you clung to the tiny hope that your team would win despite the incident with Vil and how it left a physical impact on all of you, but mentally for both you and Rook, who appeared to be in a better state than you.

Kalim said before that Neige and the seven dwarves’ music couldn’t get out of his mind, because the song was targeted for children to listen and adults to reminisce on; it had the arrangements of a children’s song in Shaftlands.

The glances you threw at Vil and how you followed him and—you sighed and sunk in your bed, your head splitting from the emotional ride you went through in just one day, but you had to process a lot of things today.

Royal Sword Academy won, Rook cried because he met Neige, and you remembered the way Neige spared him a minute or two of his time before quickly going to you, clinging on your arm as if he was a lost animal—or maybe one or two minutes is enough to talk with someone and you were just overthinking it.

“What’s wrong with Neige?” you can’t help but think.

When they won, you felt your dislike towards him coming back despite the competition being fair—not exactly fair since most of the people voted on their own schools because they want to support it and not because they think the dance or song was good.

Even though you wanted to cry at that loss, you held back because Epel and Kalim started crying themselves and you ended up laughing at them for it despite your own frustration.

Everyone was surprised at how Rook got quiet after meeting Neige, but turns out his tears were gathering in his eyes and he introduced himself as the #0000002 member of Neige’s fanclub; you weren’t exactly surprised as you remembered how he said ‘I wish I was you’ when you nearly got in a rumor of having a date with Neige.

Now about Neige, where do you even start?

It wasn’t obsessive, the way he’s all up on you, at least you think it wasn’t, it was just plain overbearing, especially when he texts you each time he has a break, tells you all the stories of his practice, chats you about meeting up without specifications where and when, and then clinging to you in real life.

Still, you felt like disliking him for something that you could most likely change by communicating with him was not justified, at least you should try to, you thought, perhaps tomorrow, since the cultural fair was two days.

You paused your thoughts when you gazed at the mirror and remembered that you promised the big-eared creature that you will find your friend to show if he can see Mickey in the photo you took of him earlier.

You scooched to the edge of the bed and went to look for Grim, not knowing how your stress levels and mental state will worsen with how you will see your friend, whom you are attached to, protecting a stone and will physically harm you in the process.

Neige looked at the paper bag by his table and sighed again, prompting the dwarves to pat his back again and trying to comfort him for forgetting to give you the gift he planned on; they were swarmed with reporters, his fame held him back in meeting you.

He sinks on the small table, listening to the words of the dwarves as they rub his back or try to point out the features they saw on you earlier at the cultural fair and some bringing up the trophy they received from the competition.

Not only did he fail to give you the paper bag, he also failed to bring it in the first place; he wasn’t even able to say goodbye because you retreated to Ramshackle dorm so early and the school was about to close. He really didn’t have a choice.

You were not even texting him right now; he always had to be the first to reach out.

Was it hopeless after all? To chase after you, because you always sabotage yourself by thinking if he was simply being nice to a person who helped him from falling back when someone pushed him. Did he accidentally return the favor when you called on him for help and he broke the rules for you?

He didn’t even see the cameras directed at him or people who caught the scene on video and posted it on socials, but he definitely saved it, moreover, he liked it; the only time he hesitated on actually liking it was when you seemed to be troubled over the fact.

When it got taken down permanently by your friend, he had never been so relieved that he had saved it prior, but even without that video, he surely still remembers the incident and the feeling of your hands as he held it and happily asks for your time.*

“There’s still tomorrow…” Shelpie whispers as his head leans on Neige’s shoulder, slowly dozing off and waking up repeatedly.

“We can visit Night Raven College tomorrow,” Dominic says, having forgotten to remind the human about the paper bag as well because of how nervous he felt since it was competition day today. “I’m sure [name] will be happy to receive it.”

“How would you know? You don’t know them like I do.”

Neige looked up and smiled; he had gotten accustomed to his thoughts by now. It’s a reflection of his feelings and innermost self, but he had grown to accept it already as a part of him—because those thoughts were because of concern.

Ironically enough, he himself doesn’t even know how you would react to the gift, but he visions your flustered expression upon receiving it and hoping—hoping that you’d hold his hand and openly express your gratitude.

Though it would be lovely if you were to give him more than he invisions.

“Yes, there’s still tomorrow!” the ever joyful dwarf says, smiling brightly. “We can help you look for her!”

“Or… or you can ask your other friend,” Timmy says.

“Ah, Vi…” the lovestrucked student murmured, his eyes looking wide and innocent as he looked at Timmy as if being enlightened by his suggestion. “I hate him.”

“Vil Schoenheit,” Dominic said in thought. “It would be nice to, especially with how he seemed close with [name]-san. I think he would be able to help you.”

“Help? Help,” his heart felt numb and empty as he smiled while looking at Dominic, because when did that model ever help Neige when it came to you? When the model visited the front of his dressing room, did that model actually go to give him the drink or flaunt the concern you had for him?

“I—ah—I think so too!” Snick chimes in but nearly sneezing in the process of talking so Dominic handed him a handkerchief.

Neige remembered the amount of glances you sent Vil’s way and it was less than the seconds of glances you gave him. The way your obvious concern for the model was there, and it’s suffocating to think that the model seemed to look at you fondly.

It was tolerable, the dwarves’ liking towards you, because they had no ulterior motive unlike the always-ranked-second model; the one you were with when he dozed off after meeting a certain fan who wanted to be looked at straight in the eyes.

“It would be good! I’ll give him a chat… or I can ask [name]-san myself!” the ebony haired student smiled brightly as he sat up properly, reaching for his phone and nearly knocking off the paper bag in the process. "Sending a letter to R might take too long…"

For hours from when Neige slept with a racing heart to when he woke up happily, expecting a reply after sending it during dinnertime and now he woke up to breakfast, because you usually reply in between; he knows you sleep later than he does.

There was no response from you.

Still, he hurried to dress up in a casual outfit since he didn’t need to wear a uniform because he currently wasn’t representing the school for anything—he was just there for you, and possibly needing the help of anyone he sees first for you.

It took him hours to sit down and perfect his appearance in front of a mirror, waking up Dominic and the other dwarves because of how the contour stick kept falling off due to how much he repeated the lines on his face.

All that time for preparation and leaving without the dwarves to go ‘early’ to meet you alone without them; all of that just to be met with a redhead that firmly told him that you were not feeling well to meet anyone or to be outside at all.

Riddle Rosehearts, familiar—no, Neige knew the name because this was another person that greeted you nicely at that one call, and a person that respected you, but doesn’t this dorm leader seem to be closer to you than he was?

Ace and Deuce were also walking by when they saw from the second floor that Riddle was talking to Neige; it was the spade that panicked and ran down because the dorm leader seemed to be losing his patience with Neige’s persistence.

It was just that Riddle didn’t want to disclose what happened to you. The you who was lamenting over the fact you won’t be able to see your companion for hours or days, and the you who had red-shot eyes and scars on the arm.

“Oh, it’s you!” Neige took his attention off the nearly fuming prefect to look at Deuce. “You were with [name]-san near the Beach!”

The beach that nearly had you get a bruise if it hadn’t for this blue haired student that was shouldering most of the hits from imbeciles that wanted a taste of the blastcycle.

“Sorry, cutting in,” Ace was the one to reply, causing Riddle to feel an ick that it was Ace who replied instead of Deuce, who was being talked to. “Are you looking for the prefect? [name]’s not doing well right now… they need a lot lot of rest, but if you need something to tell them, you can text them instead.”

“I’ve been doing just that, but for some reason…” Neige says, but he stopped before he could say that you stopped replying.

Why did this person recommend texting you as if you were capable of replying? He would never be able to understand it if you replied to everyone but him.

“Ah, you see, [name] is feeling unwell today,” Ace said, causing Riddle to shoot him a look, a warning for him not to reveal more than he knows. “They might be resting, it’d really help if you send them texts so they won’t miss anything you wanna tell them when they wake up.”

“Ah,” his eyes widened slightly. “[name]-san is sick.”

It’s the first assumption Neige has, of course, because what else does he know about your background other than knowing you as who you are right now and not your past? He accepts you anyways.

He thought that Heartslabyul’s dorm leader was quite silly for not starting with that as his mind goes to the thought of being able to see your flushed face and in need of someone to rely on, or to be able to take care of you.

His heart races at the thought of it as he keeps his bright smile on—that dimmed once Deuce said, “Yes, but… they’re not really accepting visitors. It makes them… dizzy, you know…?”

“It’s completely normal to feel nauseous when you’re ill,” Riddle said to save Deuce’s informal wording, and he felt his anger simmer down when Ace was able to tame Neige’s persistence. “If you have something to give the prefect, it’s best to leave it to Pomefiore’s housewarden.”

“Vi?” the ebony student asked as he felt his heart empty out again, keeping a smile though Ace winced involuntarily at the thought that Riddle quite messed up there. “Why Vi?”

“Oh, because Schoenheit…” Deuce started, only to quiet down because he cannot give proper reasons since he doesn’t know the situation well, only having a gist of it through Epel.

“Why? Why? Why him? Again?”

“Pomefiore is attempting to provide [name]-san the best healing they could,” Riddle explained, not truly lying when he said it, though in reality Pomefiore is only offering you skincare for your plump eyes and your scar. “And he is the closest—”

Ace was satisfied with the first structure of Riddle’s words until nearly adding that Vil was the closest to you so Deuce quickly gets ideas from Riddle’s words and cuts in, “—closest to Hunt, who is part of the science club so Schoenheit gets entrance there to make potions for [name]-san!”

Riddle would’ve scolded Deuce for that; Riddle was the one who can barely catch up to what Neige was feeling and was prioritizing getting through Neige’s mind that you cannot see anyone at the moment.

The ginger felt relieved by Deuce’s save that they both placed their palms by their mouths as if to breathe deeply; they can’t believe how they have to save Riddle from more questioning by Neige.

“I see… how thoughtful…” Neige murmurs as he looks downcasted, nearly causing Riddle to wince at how openly he showed it. “I’ll… text Vi…”

“Or… or we can hand it to him for you!” Deuce chimed.

It doesn’t satisfy Neige, but he didn’t feel like seeing Vil and remembering the times he witnessed you with him; he wanted to see you, that’s what he dressed up and came for in the cultural fair.

He clenched on the strap of the bag before he looked up and smiled, handing it to Deuce as he said, “Thank you! I’ll make sure to text [name]-san about it so they will be prepared to receive it!”

You put the phone down before you glanced at the paper bag, just because you mustered all the energy you had to feel energetic to respond to Neige doesn't mean the hole in your heart was fully healed.

The Shroud brothers had Grim, but even they won't tell you what happened with him even if you were close to the brothers in a way; Idia was closed off and Ortho was apologetic towards you.

You looked up at the group that was looking back at you before you sigh and say, "I feel better."

Kalim is happier to hear that and you smile a little; the entire group of the representatives of Night Raven College during the competition was there.

It took you a few minutes of talking by Rook before you mustered the courage to reply to Neige; he bribed you with money that he says could be for cat food in cans for your companion's return.

"It was a lot," Vil says as he looked back at the amount of fruits piling up on the table and how Jamil was currently in Ramshackle's kitchen and making juice.

"His sincerity is incredibly touching! He truly is kind," Rook says as you lean back on the couch.

You can't believe that Kalim was happy despite donating his money to Ramshackle, but you can't believe that even Jamil donates his own; you assumed he would have problems, but perhaps being Kalim's servant pays well.

There was still stinging in your eyes when you remember that Epel even donated his own and said it's for Grim's return; you can't help it, Grim was the first one to be there when you arrived in an unknown world.

"How many spoons are still in the freezer?" Vil asked after glancing at your puffed eyes that was the result of their kindness and you missing your companion.

"There's still six... seven..." Deuce counted.

— C R A S H !

"That..." you muttered before you looked up immediately.

The sound was nerving, and it came from outside. In that same day, you let your heart control your actions; it was the day you learned about 'Hepta Team' and when prefects had a meeting.

Rook was an enabler more than anything when he chose that he wanted to follow where the robots took certain people, people who overblotted, were taken to. Moreover, you learned more about why the Shroud brothers refused to return your companion.

And the next day, you were did not show up in the cafe to meet Neige.

THIS IS HEIZNX, each time i type, i would accidentally out * before any actions and after because i’ve been using character ai on my laptop and i got used to typing with asterisks. Its taking too long again im so sorry, even i am thinking ‘omg when am i gna put [insert important scene for next time that i dont wanna disclose rn]??’ mc's texts were 'replied' to but they werent showing when i previewed them while editing. i had to edit the replies so it would be a little understandable, i never had ihpone so i didnt htink that 'messages' (?) would remove them.

[yanderes-galore]

A romantic concept of Darth Maul (Star Wars) if you will?

Sure! I think he's a neat (and tragic) character within the universe he's in. Although at the same time... his motivations are rather simple.

Yandere! Darth Maul Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Violence, Murder, Kidnapping, Isolation, Biting, Marking, Forced relationship.

Maul, like Vader, is another apprentice manipulated by the Sith.

Except his manipulation came first.

From a young age he was fed the seeds of being a Sith due to his fighting prowess.

Nowadays all he really knows is hate.

There's just... so much to hate.

Especially after Kenobi sent him into exile.

Maul, despite having his mind put back together, probably never recovered from his thirteen years of isolation on a trash planet.

Maul is described as obsessive already in canon.

He's this way towards power, revenge, hatred, and rage.

He embodies so many negative emotions due to the Sith who manipulated him.

Using his training, Maul survived death through hate and became ruthless and manipulative.

He's not afraid to use fear to make others obey him.

Although... He is not devoid of care.

Maul is shown to care for his mother and brother(s).

So if he found interest in someone to be his partner, that care is shown even if he's mostly intimidating.

Although, his behavior isn't going to change much just because he cares about you.

Maul is the type of person to murder innocents to lure Jedi out to kill.

Naturally Maul will also want to isolate his obsession.

He feels you're all he needs and you're one of his obsessions.

I can see Maul breaking a Jedi in to corrupt them if he likes them romantically.

It would drive him insane at first as he's supposed to kill Jedi.

But the idea of breaking this specific one in, of corrupting them, making them his...

He'll let that slide.

Other alternatives include you not being Jedi or Sith, probably still Force Sensitive but you haven't chosen a path.

That or you're an adult Sith he found a way to manipulate into listening to him. (Like an apprentice or something after your own master was slain....)

Regardless, as expected of a Sith like him, people will die.

Maul has been shown he's capable of kidnapping if it aids him, and obviously murder is instinct.

That alone makes him terrifying.

But when he takes over Mandalore?

Even worse.

Maul does anything for power... and with that power he plans to make you obey him too.

Maul seems like he'd break you down just to build you back up.

He enjoys obedience, be that willingly or through fear.

The love of a Sith is twisted, especially with Maul.

While Vader has loved once and would seem more "caring" to the one he adores.

Maul has always known being a killing machine.

His love for you would be more rough, maybe primal in a way.

He's possessive, I can see Maul nibbling on his obsession's neck or shoulder to vent that.

Maul doesn't plan to attack you or hurt you physically (much).

It's those around you who are in the most trouble.

Normally, in Maul's culture, the female chooses the male.

However, it's obvious he's playing the rules differently here (especially if you aren't even female or a different race)

You can't choose any other partner if they're dead, right?

Even then I imagine Maul still tries courting you, it's just you... don't have much of a choice but to accept him?

You can barely even speak to others without hearing that signature noise of a saber being activated.

You and his family are what he cares for other than revenge and power.

Although, in Maul's life, he loses his family eventually.

When left with nothing else, Maul becomes even more suffocating.

He hides you away, and as much as he'd rather not, restrains you.

You're the only person he has now, the only one he needs.

To him, you should feel the same way.

He's your partner, your mate, you'll need him as much as he needs you if he isolates you

Maul is a yandere who would force you to need him.

He'll force you to be addicted to him, to give into desire and have him as yours.

Why fight him when he can give you all you want?

He can read you, he can give everything...

Just give in to him...

You're his to corrupt, his to have, his love... and ultimately, his to own.

[proshippers-against-censorship]

UWU stop interacting with antis. If you’re anti-censorship then act like it, you can’t stop people from having opinions <3 coming from someone who isn’t pro or anti ship because I’m not a 15 year old porn addicted gooner

This is a discourse blog. A discourse blog that speaks quite a bit about sexual topics. If a 15 year old was running this blog, I would have concerns, in all honesty, because they really shouldn't be interacting as publicly and openly with NSFW content.

However, your comment alone helps to display why, while I'm perfectly fine running my discourse blog as a discourse blog, this may not be the place for you. So let's break this down:

• No adult with any desire to be taken seriously by anyone uses the term 'gooner' unironically. That being said, you give off the red flags of being a younger teen, and interacting directly with NSFW content easily breaches the boundaries of adults.

• If a 15yo was regularly interacting with porn to the point that this is easily known, their parents can be held liable in multiple states. You could try reporting me to the police for being a 'porn-addicted minor'. Unfortunately, you will come off as a laughingstock, because I'm not a minor and I also just...don't watch porn. Unlike you, presumably, I am in a lovely relationship with a significant other who can handle those desires.

•The APA and DSM-5 do NOT classify porn addictions as real, and therefore, they aren't a thing. Multiple studies, as well, have disproven the existence of the 'porn addiction'. This idea can be traced back to - wait for it - Christian Puritanical anti-sex culture. Now, as much as church needs to be better separated out of everything, the Christian God does not run my life nor most countries, and so his religious anti-sex ideals are irrelevant.

• I'm guessing you just, don't read (shocker), but if you check out that beautiful intro paragraph that is pinned on this blog, you'll notice that I welcome opinions shared in a civil way, even if they oppose my own, and am in fact quite stern on the idea that you shouldn't lock yourself in an echo chamber. Hearing contrasting opinions can help strengthen or even change your core beliefs. But that whole idea leans on the idea that neither side is pissing their pants over discovering that their ideals don't extend to everyone, which is what you appear to be doing here. I am welcome to conversations on why you think what I'm doing is stupid, but I'm not going to bother with you unless you put on your big boy pants and be a mature person.

• You aren't 'neither', you're an anti. You scream it throughout your whole message. So if this account bothers you, why don't you do yourself a service and block it instead of being annoying in my DMs?

• This point is just here to see if you have the capacity to actually read things, since you obviously know nothing about this account despite the big ole pinned post. Go have some tea, get in a better mood, and then feel free to come back for a more progressive, civil conversation. It'd be good for you.

[rifualk]

On Mental Health and Cosmic Embarrassment

I don't usually make a post in the aftermath of one of my spirals, so I bet most people see some of the vent posts I make, and assume I am just off my meds or something. I am on them but I might not be on the right ones. This is a thing that happens to me sometimes. I have psychotic episodes, where it feels like the things I am saying are completely inconsequential and I genuinely believe no one cares what I'm saying or, worst of all, that it cannot scare anyone that cares about me. I get too tired to fight my intrusive thoughts and I just ride them out. Most of my thoughts are not ones I enjoy having. I have trouble parsing what is real sometimes. For most of my life, out of a kind of primal shame and terror of being perceived or judged, I beat myself into believing that I just roleplayed as a crazy person online because I wanted attention for it, but it finally clicked for me at some point in my 20s that I was, and am, genuinely very mentally ill, maybe in ways that make me not-entirely-functional in the culture I inhabit. Also, I want attention for it.

Life is very embarrassing. I think embarrassment, shame, et al. is probably the most cosmic feeling of them all, because being embarrassed, for me anyway, leads invariably to my OCD extrapolating the embarrassment, no matter how slight, into its natural extreme, becoming a full-blown existential meltdown and often manifesting in some self-punishment. Or a lot of self-punishment. Instead of saying "everyone wants attention, it's not a big deal", my brain will overwhelm me with shame and make me vow to be quieter about the whole thing next time. Good emotions are meant to be expressed, I tell myself, and Bad ones are not. I think it's very unhealthy for people to not express their negative emotions openly. Or maybe I'm psychotic. I mean, I am psychotic. But maybe right now, too.

Ultimately this feeling peaks with the realization - again - that I'm a eukaryote. I live on a spinning ball of stardust in the aftermath of what had to have been a colossal disaster and waste of time. But it happened, and so now there's a bunch of stuff floating around, and some of that stuff started moving for reasons I don't personally understand and the implications of which scare me. And the moving stuff that moved faster got to stay moving longer. And so a chain reaction escalated, and eventually there were very large moving things whose survival adaptations had evolved in such a way that they could conceptualize and communicate complex information about the world around them, but they were also able to conceptualize themselves. This gave them a lot of grief. They wanted very badly for there to be an answer to why they were able to do that. Surely it served some purpose. But we never found one, and here we are.

I don't have a god to turn to. I have tried - earnestly, sincerely, and desperately - to reach out; I never hear back. I don't want to be an atheist, it's heartbreaking. Honestly. I want someone to be up there, or out there. Knowing there isn't, is just... cruel. It's horrifying and it wrenches my heart. Look at us, look how much we're suffering, where the fuck did you go, what the fuck is your problem? Help us!

In spite of everything, I am still not sure what I believe.

Don't you ever just cry about the world? Like, broadly? Don't you ever just have to take off your glasses and wipe the brine from them because you caught a glimpse of what people, as a species, could be capable of? And I get angry at myself, too. What am I doing about it? What even can I do? I can barely hold down a job. I am barely an adult. I am often mired in this feeling. It permeates everything. I'm living in a tragedy - not just my own, but millions and millions of others'. This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'm an embarrassment, and my brain doesn't work right, and I'm living in a terrible reality that is shared by everyone, and yet somehow equally isolating and alienating to all of us. Does it have to be that way? Aren't we all lonely?

When I am spiraling I really do think that the end is near, either for me, or for everyone, or for both. To be fair, my confidence about humanity's future is not promising even when I am at my most sane. But in this kind of emotional place, the stakes are too high for me to care that what I say might come off as upsetting. It is completely overwhelming. I see my life up to this point, and I see how long I've been alive and realize I'm very Not Normal and I look and sound different than everyone around me and I'm an embarrassment. It's embarrassing to exist. It's embarrassing to be transgender, too. It's really, really embarrassing to be mentally ill and fully aware of it all the time. It's shameful. I am ashamed of how my family likely sees me. How my peers see me. I'm just a walking disaster. I feel like this bars me from leading a happy life or finding some success in art - It doesn't seem like you're allowed to be quite this much of a problem and "get away with it", does it? There's a bit of social sanitizing at work there - you are only allowed to be a certain level of messed up and if you pass that you're sort of a pariah. I don't think I've ever done anything pariah-worthy, but I can only see things from the inside of my own head, and there's a lot of unwanted noise in here.

I painted this when I lived in Oregon. I don't know how. I could not do art like this again if asked.

I'm not in a good place, generally-speaking. It could be worse - and it was for a long time- but it's still just not great. The main reason is that I am very homesick. I grew attached to the Pacific Northwest in a way I've never really grown attached to any other place. It had a quality that exists nowhere else. It resonated with me immediately and I knew right away from the moment I first set foot there that it was my home. I grew to be a part of it, and it's the only place I felt I somewhat-belonged... I have been away from Oregon for 2 whole years as of next month. I feel like I'm a fish out of water, or a sapling in the wrong soil. I can't and won't say that the place I live currently is a bad place, but it isn't my place, and the disconnect has been maybe the nastiest shock to my system in all my life. Finding the place I loved, and living for over 12 years there, only to be wrenched away from it so suddenly, left a shock on me that I think has yet to surface in my work. I'm excited to see what form it takes when it does. Location is very important to my mental wellbeing, more than I think it is for most people. Maybe I am a plant. It's also very important for my art. I've struggled to find inspiration since I moved here. That said, I've had the very precious opportunity to just work on myself - on my transition, as well as my personal issues. I think I'm getting better, gradually, in some way. I have a job now, at least. So it's not entirely bad. I even grew sunflowers last summer.

Around this time I got banned from twitter, but I don't feel any shame about the reason why because I believe in my message. But it forced me to be a lot less active online for a long time. It also made me lose a lot of support. That's been something I've grappled with a lot these last 2 years - that people really don't like people like me, for reasons that are mostly not our fault. I will likely always be something of an outsider for being who I am now, but I was one before anyway. It's still worth it. I like the person I'm becoming. I feel like only recently did I allow myself to feel this self-love. I was too embarrassed of myself. It took a lot of patience and a lot of de-tangling my self-worth from a lot of trauma. So it's likely I would have needed to go through all of this regardless of where I was.

I still slip up. It's an uphill climb and it's slippery. I like to be transparent about these things. It's a relief - feeling like I need to hide things is my default state and it's lovely to just let go of stuff so I don't need to keep it in my head all the time. I have a lot of hangups still. I get discouraged about my art still - I fear I'll never build myself back up to where I was before, and that there will never be a time when I can really pay the bills with it. Or worse-still, that it just isn't special enough to last. That it isn't remarkable enough to survive after I'm gone. But I think a lot of people who make stuff feel that way, and it's not our fault. There's some relief in that. I'm happy to have even a few people that care about me and my work, and something I've been trying really hard to remember in recent years is to take time to appreciate them. I'm not actually alone. I have a lot of people that love me. I'm not an outsider. I'm very lucky to know the people I do, and I hold a deep regret for all the connections I've let go of because I was just too sick. Deep down I really do wish I could love everyone. I have no ill will towards anyone, not really.

I still don't know what I'm doing. I am just doing my best, I think. I'm really, really tired. I don't want to get any older. I'm scared of the passage of time. My memory is so bad, it feels like time is taken from me without me realizing. I am 33 years old. I do not have 33 years worth of memories. There are huge leaps. Gaps where suddenly I was just older and in more pain. Being adrift in time like this is horrific - one day I will blink, and the present moment may be completely forgotten. It can't go this fast. It just can't. Something has to be wrong. I don't want to die, I don't want to miss out on so much life or be unable to remember it. I don't want to find myself on my deathbed someday way sooner than I think and be unable to string together any kind of coherent thread from my memories. What is it all for? It has to mean something right? Why am I doing anything?

I think I finally understand that love is why. I don't know much more than that. Love is real, and it's the answer. If you find love, don't take it for granted, ever. No love is perfect. Take it with all its flaws. You don't have time to bargain with it. Love like you'll never love again, love like it's your last day alive, love like it will keep you alive forever, because it will. Every year closer to death you get, you will feel the regret of all the times you did not follow your heart. Life is short. I'm finding this out entirely too late. It goes by so fast, and what you have at the end are people and memories of being loved. To be loved is to live forever. It's the thing that connects us to everything else. It's the source and the answer to everything. It makes more sense the older I get. It used to sound cheesy, but I believe it with more sincerity every day.

I'll be okay, okay

I once promised someone that I would stop self-harming. They are no longer in my life, but I kept the promise anyway. There are no new scars on my arms, or bruises on my head or face. I'm keeping this promise for myself, now.

[dunmeshistash]

Semi-related to Thistle talk but it's interesting to compare him with Yaad's generation, because they too are stuck in a perpetual adolescence while still having to carry out adult responsibilities. Given Yaad's entire arc and the apparent ease at which the citizens have worked for centuries on end, one very optimistic take might interpret this as them developing more maturity than Thistle… But then it's pointed out that they're doing all of this because routine is the only thing keeping them sane anymore, and even then they still struggle to find meaning and joy in things other people take for granted, like food. So to other people what looks like maturity is actually repression or apathy for the sake of survival.

And while their situation is definitely not the same as Thistle being taken away from his culture and raised entirely by tallmen, the Golden Country citizens are also disconnected from where they came from and what they "should" be - the previous generations that had a frame of reference for the outside world and a normal lifespan are now gone. That's how we end up with scenes like Chilchuck being unnerved by the brewer that looks like a teen but casually mentions running their own business for 600+ years. They and Thistle all have that dissonance of looking young but having taken on too many duties, much too early, for much too long.

I hadn't thought much about how young the golden kingdom people are I just assumed they were adults but they DO look younger than what we would consider adults.

I theorized on another post that they might all be 16 (but I also say I think they're older there, now I'm not so sure) because that's the age of maturity for Tallmen.

Age of maturity usually means that's when you're considered an "adult" socially (as in now you have adult responsibilities and is expected to carry your own) that's why I think Thistle hasn't reached that yet, its what would thematically fit him the most as a kid with adult responsibilities (wouldn't make sense if he was already the age that's expected to take on these responsibilities)

The golden kingdom citizens don't really feel like they have a stunted growth like thistle to me.... I don't know how to explain how I feel but... it's like they have stunted experiences instead? They don't know what really is like to be alive, they are just going about their lives in a clockwork manner trying not to think about it and missing out on how it feels to live (exemplified by how they don't eat).

What made me feel like that the most is that when Yaad is in Delgal's body it doesn't feel like a teen trapped in an old man's body, it feels like an old man with finally a body that matches? To me the golden kingdom citizens feel more like someone forever trapped in a body much younger than their minds?

That's just my interpretation tho! I like your interpretation too, it's making me think about it more, so I might end up changing my mind. Some of them really do act like kids/teens like the girls asking Marcille to do a fashion show for them, that was very cute, they probably haven't gotten to play in a while.

[avelera]

haha, whoops, i'm one of the people who're guilty of kinda enjoying the nickname thing (i don't write though), but it's a good point that it contradicts how they express themselves in canon

idk what country you're from, maybe this is not new info, but to maybe add further context:

i get an impression that in english getting called by a nickname/shortened version of your name is a very usual, casual thing, like if you introduce yourself as daniel you may get called dan by people immediately, unprompted, even in a [semi] professional setting? meanwhile i just don't like my name very much and want people to call me by the shortened version. just without the last syllable, nothing elaborate. and i do feel pretty weird introducing myself that way or explaining if asked, it feels like i'm asking people to show friendliness/closeness by asking that. also if they do know my legal name (at work for example) they end up defaulting to it often anyway. i think i could get away with it though if i had a more friendly and bubbly demeanor

basically i'm wondering if this is a thing because for some people it has more of a baked-in meaning of closeness, or at least overt friendliness, than it usually has in english. (though again i agree that this is not a thing in their canon dynamic)

Hmm, so my answer to this is multifaceted so bear with me for a second.

Just to keep it on Viktor and Jayce for a second, I'm a whacky stickler for writing characters as they are in canon. Many fanfics aren't even trying to be canon-adjacent though so while them using nicknames in a fic takes me out of the story, it's not necessarily right or wrong, it's just how the writer chose to write their story.

I was mostly making the point against them using nicknames from the point of view of, "If you're trying to write them in-character, why would you use nicknames? They never use nicknames." Which is also why I opened it up for the possibility that they do use nicknames in League of Legends, which turned out to be true and explains a lot of why that trickled into Arcane fic. I'm just an Arcane-only person so it raises my hackles a bit when I see those two blended but I get why people do it and would probably do the same if I knew League. (Jayce is just so different from his LoL counterpart it's hard for me to get on board with and it's why I didn't really engage with the fandom when only S1 was out even though on my own I watched Arcane like 100 times straight).

Ok as for the cultural stuff, obviously I can't speak for the entire Anglosphere but I can offer my perspective.

Yes, having a nickname is common and commonly used as a sign of affection. For example, my name is Maggie which is short for Margaret. I'd be put off if someone used my full name, but it has three syllables which is also a longer name than Viktor which is just two syllables I don't really get why it needs to be shortened further, but that's just me, the owner of a two-syllable name.

Unlike some other languages like, say, Japanese though US English does not have as rigid a hierarchy of which names to use to denote familiarity, at least not between adults (as a child, I was always taught to use Mr./Ms. "Last Name" with adults). You'd use last names upon introduction, sure, but switching to first names quickly is hardly unheard of, or even nicknames. I know some other languages like Russian, for example, also have a complex system for how and when to use diminutives and they specifically denote levels of closeness and familiarity (or at least, so my small brush with Russian literature taught me).

Now where I'd add the Jayvik nuance is that regardless of what someone's name is, long, short, nickname, or last name, you always use the name people ask you to use.

So if I had a colleague named William who wants to go by William and doesn't want to be called Will, it would be impolite for me to use a nickname if he didn't want it, even if it's easier for me to say. The most common polite thing to do with strangers or in a formal setting is use Mr./Ms. Last Name until that person gives you permission to use their first name, which is usually given pretty quickly unless the person is a bit of a jerk lol.

So yeah, to your last point, I think it's possible (I don't want to presume) that people having Jayce give Viktor a nickname when he doesn't in the show are either:

1) Basing it off League or general fanon or

2) Choosing to show closeness between them using nicknames as a love language that contradicts what the show portrays, which again, is an artistic choice that's completely valid, even if it's not for me. And I do think that yes, that's because I believe a greater mark of affection, for me, is using the name someone requests of you rather than using a diminutive or nickname that they didn't ask for.

I hope this sort of answers your ask and isn't just me rambling, lol!

[stephsageek]

New One-shot Alert

My Five X Lila Strip poker one-shot is finally done!

A Preview:

Five expelled his drink, coughing into his fist afterward.

Lila’s eyes widened as she leaned over, patting him on the back a few times as he gasped and sputtered. “I-I’m sorry—” he wheezed. “I-I thought you said ‘strip’—”

“Oh, no. You heard right,” she reassured calmly.

“What the fu-How can-Are you—?!” Five rapidly protested, suddenly squeezing his eyes shut, his expression annoyed and aggrieved in equal turns. “What am I saying? Of course, you’re insane—”

“Oi! You said I get to pick—!”

“Yes, Lila. I did,” Five admitted, his voice strained as he tried to be patient. “But why would you—?!”

“What? Afraid of losing your precious Puritanical sense of propriety because you’re shite at cards—”

“Two things, senior psychopath. One, I am most certainly not ‘shite’ at cards. You must not have read my file too closely while you were at the Commission, because if you had you would know the identity of the only known person to have bested James Hickok in a game of cards—”

“Wild Bill?!” Lila gasped as Five kept talking.

“—Two, you are my brother’s wife—not to mention my best friend!” Five hissed as if worried someone might hear him.

“Aw, old man, I’m touched—!” Lila fawned, only to be cut off.

“Don’t change the subject! Playing strip poker is practically cheating!” he snapped.

Lila rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease! One, there is no way you are telling me you beat Wild Bill and even think for a second, that we’re not going to play! Two, playing strip poker is most certainly not cheating—”

“How the hell do you figure—?!”

“It’s not like we’d even be touching—”

“We’d be naked—!”

“You might be, loser—”

“Regardless of who might be naked in this scenario, Lila, the point still stands that it is obviously —”

“Have you forgotten that you’ve already seen me starkers as it is?” Lila smirked, folding her arms. “Or am I the only one that remembers?”

Lila watched as a vein began to throb at Five’s temple as he gritted out, “You were trying to kill me; forgive me for being a little preoccupied.”

“Not at all! You honestly ought to thank me for even giving you another chance at eyeing the goods!”

Lila watched in amusement as Five gnashed his teeth in frustration, his face growing red. She was unsure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

“We’re both adults, old man; playing a friendly game! Nothing untoward. You Americans are always so touchy about nudity. There are plenty of cultures where family members see each other naked all the time—!”

“Lila, it’s not because we’re—"

“Besides, the human form is natural; not necessarily only sexual,” Lila reasoned, knowing Five well enough to know that an appeal to his sense of logic would be difficult for him to argue against. Although she could think of one other appeal he’d struggle to overcome: an appeal to his sense of pride.

“You’re just afraid I’ll show you up,” Lila grinned.

She liked the way his eyes blazed when he was truly beginning to lose his patience. The way he clenched his jaw, making a muscle jump in his cheek.

“Or worse, that you might like what you see~” Lila whispered, teasing.

Five’s face went scarlet.

Lila felt her heartbeat quicken.

Lila loved ruffling his feathers, flirting and teasing; taunting and baiting; and disturbing his carefully constructed world.

She loved it from the moment they met, and it had only grown over the years.

She remembered when they'd first been enemies, the way his anger and pain had felt like a balm to her soul.

When his bitterness had tasted so very sweet.

Even now, with his brother—her husband—no one else had ever given her this feeling. That spike of adrenaline and dopamine that rushed through her veins like a drug. That thrill that made her heart race.

Her life felt drab, stifling, and joyless sometimes; like she was dragging her feet through a gray, lackluster existence.

And then Five would come along, brightening her life and splashing her universe in technicolor. If she was Dorthy, he was her Oz and she never wanted to go back to Kansas.

[bottomless-pit-of-whining]

So here's a thing I wish I could put on my main blog, or post on my Facebook, but I think all it would do is make me feel even more miserable and alone.

So, I consider myself Jewish and always have. That's my cultural and ethnic heritage on my dad's side of the family, the only family I grew up with. Yes, patrilineal, but I'm still Jewish. My dad's grandparents fled pogroms in Ukraine and came to the US as deeply traumatized people seeking survival. You can see the repercussions of that recent history in the generations that followed them. For the past few years, I've been actively working to find my place in that history and that heritage, because it's a part of who I am and who I will always be, and I want to be able to be part of it in return. That's my personal context.

When a terrorist group murdered and kidnapped a bunch of civilians last October, I was horrified. When a far-right extremist government retaliated by slaughtering an unthinkable number of civilians, I was horrified. I contacted my own politicians, I donated what money I could spare, I wept at the nightmare that was playing out.

I continue to be horrified as the inhumanity continues, at the sheer scale of tragedy and terror. I wish I had any power to stop it, and I do the small things I can to try to help alleviate suffering.

But you know what else has horrified me? The way my so-called allies, the leftists, the social justice warriors, have responded. I'm lucky that I could grow up without hate being thrown my direction (perhaps because people where I grew up did not know I was Jewish despite my very Jewish last name), but I am aware of what Jew-hate looks like. And I have been seeing people I thought I could trust now wallowing in variations of centuries-old hatred without questioning it, believing outright lies that can be easily disproven with even the most superficial fact-checking, listening to people who wish to do harm, and reducing a complex situation to the stark black-and-white, good-versus-evil conflict from a bad young adult novel.

I'm still going to hope for peace. I'm still trying to contribute what I can to help victims of violence and war.

But, speaking frankly, I don't trust a lot of people anymore and I probably never will. There is no place for me in leftist social justice communities.

I don't know why people have hated Jews for so long, except that I suppose it feels good to have someone else to blame your problems on. But people really truly do hate Jews, and they really truly have for a very long time with unthinkably tragic consequences, and there are modern groups who are absolutely thrilled to be able to bring newcomers into their circles of Jew-hate in the guise of fighting for justice.

And so many of the people I thought were my friends are following them into it without a second thought.

I am disappointed. I am betrayed. I am hopeless.

And I guess I'm pretty damn alone, because I am sure as hell not going to align myself with people whose values are in opposition to my own just because the leftists are also showing their hate.

It breaks my heart.

I'm posting this on my secret sideblog because, I don't know, I've been reading Jumblr for months now and it often helps me feel less alone and I suppose I am reaching out a hand asking if anyone else will be willing to take my hand and tell me I am not alone.

We are not a monolith, I know some of you feel differently from me in either direction, but I know at least some of you feel like I do and even those of you who don't fully align with me will still not smear me with hatred.

Tomorrow I am going to my first ever Rosh Hashanah service and I have been doing my best to prepare and I want to be proud, I want to be joyful, I want to embrace hope for a brighter new year and I want to shout to the rooftops that my people are beautiful and our traditions are beautiful and isn't it wonderful that I am able to step back where I belong among them, but instead I want to weep.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By - Jessica Wildfire

You’ve been lied to, over and over, about Covid.

Here’s a recent example:

A public health grifter in Australia named Nick Coatsworth recently urged schools to “save your money” because “any investment in air filtration is unproven and wastes precious resources” and that “Covid is no more harmful to kids than any respiratory virus.” You’ve heard this before, from dozens of highly credentialed doctors and public health officials, all of them with their own motives.

In reality…

Up to 25 percent of children who catch Covid go on to develop Long Covid, a euphemistic term that describes long-lasting damage to virtually every organ and system in their bodies. One recent study has estimated that 5.8 million children in the U.S. currently suffer from the condition.

There are dozens of studies.

In many cases, children who were healthy and happy go from performing well in school and having lots of friends to barely being able to solve simple math problems and withdrawing socially, even after a mild illness.

As a pediatrician at NYU has said, “This is a public health crisis for children,” adding that we’re going to see the “long-term impacts of experiencing long covid in childhood for decades to come.”

So when someone tells you that Covid is a mild illness for children, they’re lying. They’re doing harm to your children. You should get angry.

People are sicker than ever, and it’s getting worse.

When they say air purifiers don’t work…

They’re also lying.

Public health officials like Ashish Jha and Rochelle Walensky have advised their own children’s schools to spend millions of dollars installing clean air systems at the beginning of the pandemic. Rich parents joined them. Jha and Walenksy, like Mandy Cohen after them, have become some of the most notorious Covid minimizers on the planet, continually spreading misinformation and encouraging a culture of “personal risk assessment” that has driven a mass disabling event, with tens of millions of adults and children now suffering from chronic illness and disability, with slim hope for treatment in the near future. It’s not because we lack knowledge, but because our governments lack initiative.

Meanwhile, they spare no expense for their own families.

You deserve to know the truth.

In the U.S., our government originally allocated billions of dollars explicitly for the purpose of installing air cleaning systems in schools.

What happened to all that money?

First, many states explicitly refused to spend those funds. They redirected as much of it as possible. At the same time, CEOs pulled off what federal prosecutors call “the biggest fraud in a generation,” spending pandemic relief dollars on toys. Even NBC reported on the scandal, describing how the rich engaged in “the theft of hundreds of billions of dollars in taxpayer money” by “purchasing luxury automobiles” as well as “mansions, private jet flights and swanky vacations.” They didn’t just raid payroll protection. They also took $80 billion from other disaster relief funds. As one attorney said, “Nothing like this has ever happened before.” It’s theft on a massive scale, and it happened during both administrations.

The rich did all of this while the rest of us were dragging ourselves through the hardest years of our lives. And of course, you remember how the minute things started looking a little brighter, those who stole from us started complaining about how we didn’t want to work anymore, and we had too much cash. Some of these thieves were prosecuted, but many more got away with it.

It gets worse.

While the rich were spending pandemic funds on yachts and sports cars, our governments were spending money on police, prisons, and courts. According to a bombshell report by The Marshall Project, “billions of dollars flowed to the criminal justice system by the first quarter of 2022, from covering payroll to purchasing new equipment,” as well as “courts, jails, and prisons.” The equipment included tasers, rifles, shooting ranges, and armored vehicles. Governments were very clever in how they framed their purchases. In one case, a town in Alabama said new tasers with longer ranges would help curb the spread of Covid, since “officers will not have to get so close to the perpetrator.” Another city said armored vehicles make the public feel safer during challenging times.

By the middle of 2023, an investigation by Epic uncovered that at least 70 different municipalities were spending even more relief funds on police surveillance equipment, mobile forensic technologies, monitoring stations, and drones. They also bought software to spy on our social media.

Basically, while the rich were stealing from us, our governments went to absurd lengths to spend billions of dollars on anything other than clean air. By 2022, Biden was even giving governments his blessing to do so, using the unspent funds as proof that he supported law enforcement, a largely political move. As The New York Times reported, Biden was “making a forceful push” ahead of midterm elections “to show he is a defender of law enforcement.” As PBS explained, Biden urged governors to spend the rest of the money on law enforcement even as the treasury department released another round of funds.

So, that’s why our schools don’t have air purifiers.

We have an overwhelming amount of information that HEPA air purifiers work. They don’t stop transmission in cases where someone is sitting or standing right next to you without a mask, but they remove anywhere from 70 to 99 percent of the virus in the air, when they’re installed properly.

They significantly reduce your risk.

Indoor air experts can tell you a lot more about how to maximize the efficiency of air purifiers and ventilation systems. The end of this post offers resources toward that end. For now, we’re just going to talk about the simple point that they work. There’s absolutely no reason not to fund them, especially given that our children’s futures depend on it. Let’s get started.

Carl Van Keirsbilck has written an extensive review of studies on the effectiveness of air purifiers. Nina Notman provides an extensive overview on the benefits of clean air, including air purifiers and why certain types might be so reluctant to embrace them. So does Andrew Nikiforuk.

First, the CDC found that adding two HEPA air purifiers “reduced overall exposure to simulated exhaled aerosol particles by up to 65 percent without universal masking.” When you add masks, it goes up to 90 percent. They recommend HEPA purifiers as part of an overall clean air strategy.

A review of more than 50 different studies in Indoor Air found that “when HEPA filters were utilized, regardless of the type of ventilation, number of ACH [air changes per hour] or hospital area, minimal surface-born and no airborne SARS-CoV-2 RNA was detected.” In other words, HEPA filters can significantly reduce the amount of virus in the air, even when you might struggle to ventilate a space.

A study in Environmental Science: Processes & Impacts found that portable air cleaners used in classrooms “reduce the mean aerosol intake of all students by up to 66 percent.” A study in Physics of Fluids found that using multiple HEPA purifiers in a classroom led to a reduction in viral aerosols “between 70% and 90%.” A study reported in Buildings & Facilities Management found that using a HEPA purifier in combination with open windows led to a 73 percent drop in the risk of infection in classrooms. A study in Virology found that a HEPA filter could remove between 80 and 99 percent of viral aerosols from a room.

A study in Aerosol Science and Technology found that when researchers installed four air purifiers in a high school classroom, “the aerosol concentration” of Covid “was reduced by more than 90 percent within less than 30 min” and the reduction “was homogeneous throughout the room…”

A study in the Journal of Hospital Infection found that HEPA filters can “reduce the viral load in air” by as much as 99 percent and that “air purification systems can be used as an adjunctive infection control measure.” A brief article in Nature reported that an ICU in Cambridge used HEPA purifiers to largely remove Covid and other pathogens from their wards. That brief report turned into a full study published in Clinical Infectious Diseases, showing that not only do these filters remove Covid but also “significantly reduced levels of bacterial, fungal, and other viral bioaerosols on both the surge ward and the ICU.”

A study in Infection Control & Hospital Epidemiology found that by using two HEPA air purifiers, “99% of aerosols could be cleared within 5.5 minutes.”

A study in Building and Environment found that combining air purifiers with ventilation in a gym “can reduce aerosol particle concentrations” by up to 90 percent, “depending on aerosol size.” Another study in the same journal found that adding a portable air purifier to a hospital patient’s room “could prevent the migration of nearly 98% of surrogate aerosols…”

So when someone says investment in air filters or purifiers is “unproven” or “a waste of resources,” they’re not just wrong.

They’re lying.

There’s a major movement for clean indoor air.

Many of these researchers gathered last fall at the Clean Air Expo, a virtual conference hosted by the World Health Network, where experts and advocates shared their knowledge and strategies for getting the public on board with the message. I sat through every minute of it, and I learned a lot.

(You can watch the stream here.)

Some cities like Boston have already deployed sophisticated air-cleaning systems and air quality monitors in their public schools. They did it because parents and teachers teamed up with nonprofits to get the job done. Groups like Indoor Air Quality Advocates are building local, regional, and national networks to do the same. Advocates like Liesl McConchie are touring schools and speaking at school board meetings to spread the truth. HVAC experts like Joey Fox run blogs to educate the public on effective strategies.

Companies like Clean Air Kits are changing the game by offering quiet, affordable PC Fan filters and quick guides on how to use them.

Startups like the Air Support Project are taking the Corsi-Rosenthal box into commercial territory, to make them more accessible and to clear the red tape that often keeps them out of schools. Other companies like SmartAir are providing people with portable air purifiers when they need extra protection.

Consumer Reports explains how air purifiers work and tests the most popular brands. Groups like the Clean Air Crew have posted multiple tutorials on clean air, including buying guides. Confused parents and teachers can also visit Clean Air Stars to find affordable, reliable filters.

The elite will tell you that clean air is a waste of money while they spend millions of dollars on it themselves, all while big tech companies make special deals with energy utilities to restart nuclear reactors and coal plants to power their data centers. They’re not being very honest, are they?

Maybe it’s comforting to believe that air purifiers don’t work, that Covid doesn’t make anyone very sick anymore, and that we don’t have to figure any of this out. Deep down, you probably know it’s not true.

Public health agencies are staying silent on clean air, and sellout doctors are pushing misinformation, all because our governments gave our clean air money to the police and let the rich walk away with hundreds of billions of it, which they spent on sports cars and vacations. Instead of facing consequences, they would rather have you believe that air purifiers don’t work.

Your children deserve clean air.

So do you.

[quest-for-pluto]

G.O.A.T. Avatar Fic Recs:

One of us (Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter, eventual NSFW

Author: forever--darling

Status: Complete, 8/8

Summary: neteyam sully was the next olo'eyktan and for years had been focused on his training and his responsibilities only. he had never accounted for you to become one of them. when you got your avatar body and ended up in the forest alone, being brought to the village and offered to be taught the ways of the people wasn't what you expected. let alone it being neteyam, future olo'eyktan becoming your teacher.

In Love With The Enemy (Lo’ak x Female!Avatar!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: vandnana

Status: Ongoing, 3/?

Summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died during the final battle, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way.

On this fateful night...two hearts danced (Neteyam x Human!Female!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: arachine

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

Fire Of Souls (Tsu’tey x Jake’s sister!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Ongoing, 4/?

Summary: N/A. Slow burn, Enemies to Lovers.

Something sweet ~ (Human!Neteyam x Human!Female!Reader, Modern AU) —One shot, probable eventual NSFW

Author: maxlonz

Status: Potentially Ongoing, 1\?

Summary: basically Neteyam doesn’t like sweet things, but for you, he’ll make an exception <3. Enemies to Lovers, mature themes.

Tìtunu (Tsu’tey x Human!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter, eventual NSFW

Author: hinataashoyos

Status: Complete, 4/4

Summary: Perhaps the Sky People had injured Tsu'tey beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird. That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

Tìsom (Tsu’tey x Human!Female!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: hinataashoyos

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: Spin-off of Tìtunu, but can be read separately. Tsu'tey is a strong mate; he is cautious, considerate, and protective, and he always provides for you. And yet, human/Na'vi relationships come with a learning curve. That learning curve comes with surprises regarding certain biological urges.

Mountain Dweller (Kiri x Rotxo) —Two shot

Author: k-roi

Status: Ongoing, 1/2

Summary: A moment of distraction during a lesson with Rotxo leads to one of the best questions of her life. If only they could just be less awkward about it.

Tacenda (Neteyam x Metkayina!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: cherrycxla

Status: Complete, 25/25

Summary: Tacenda - Things to be left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence. Or:

Tsa'tvayi gives Neteyam a purpose, while caring for his family as if they were her own.

The Sully’s in American Public School —Headcannons

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: N/A.

Lo’ak and Tsireya (Lo’ak x Tsireya) —One shot

“Tell her” (Lo’ak x Tsireya)—One shot

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Complete, 2/2

Summary: These are actually seperate posts but I suggest reading them together. The first one is Tsireya comforting Lo’ak after Neteyam’s death, and the second one takes place a little later on, when Lo’ak confesses his feelings to Tsireya.

Star Girl (Lo’ak x Avatar!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: lovemyavatar

Status: Ongoing, 9/10 (with bonus scenes!)

Summary: Eywa isn’t supposed to choose sides. she maintains the balance of life. so, a question arises. are you worth saving?

Push (Neteyam x Female!Omaticaya!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: lovemyavatar

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: you love teasing the Olo'eyktan's oldest son, but how much will he let you push before he snaps? Childhood friends to rivals to lovers. Enemies to lovers.

Will continue updating…