#so it feels weird to have them all as like. just one tag. you know

[yunazxxx]

you were nothing but a mindset — daniela avanzini

After breaking up with the popular model Daniela Avanzini, she continued to act as if she wasn’t the reason for the breakup, going as far as to play victim until you, being a famous singer, made a song about it.

(📓) daniela’s kind of an asshole , cocky!daniela , model!daniela , singer!reader , hella suggestive , break ups , you despise daniela , lwk rhea x reader as well?? , lariela mentions , cheating mention , from pr stunt to actual cheating , hate sex (daniela x reader) , sex toy usage (strap on) , studio sex , leaking of files , reader’s phone gets stolen… , recording during vulnerable moments … , kissing (rhea x reader) , betrayal , etc maybe?

(⚜️) although i don’t write for or rlly mess with kiof anymore, ‘nothing’ was such a good song for this fic, i just had to use it. — also like i always say, this is not actually the characteristics of daniela avanzini or lara raj. they’re both very sweet girls and this is something that they would never do. don’t think this is being written out of malice cus i literally love them so much. — if this doesn’t fancy you, i have plenty of other things on my page that you would like..

(wc) 3k — prev katz works

—

you hated her. everything about her. you hated that she had taken everything from you but she’s smiling for the paparazzi and funding off of the breakup — something that was her fault. — it was the only daniela fucking avanzini.

she had been cheating on you for months, you guys were supposed to be “couple goals” in the press, always playing your role right. — but daniela just couldn’t keep her mind out of always wanting to be in the spotlight.

that’s where her friend came in, lara raj. being another famous singer, you knew her and her older sister, rhea raj. but, for some fuckass reason, the press caught daniela and lara out one day and next thing you know people are believing you two broke up.

instead of daniela releasing a statement, or hinting that they were just friends, she played along with it. each time you brought up how uncomfortable it made you, she’d just say, “it’s just a grind, i don’t actually like her” — yeah, right.

in between her manager snorting cocaine, and daniela getting drunk at parties, her and lara were always fucking. they had been for at least two months before it got released into the press. — the person who did it was rhea, she couldn’t stand daniela.

she always would talk about daniela, and how she seemed like her personality was all a facade and everything was fake, and god was she right. rhea always trued her best to be, respectful, to say the least.

her being your friend and daniela your girlfriend, she was always careful with her choice of words. to be fair, she tried telling you the morning when it went up on the press but you weren't answering your phone that morning.

you were too busy laid up with daniela, you didn’t get to your phone to that afternoon. — your heart sank seeing how much rhea had called you, but when you called her back she didn’t answer until the 5th or 6th call.

she just said, “look online, you’ll see what i’m talking about” then the phone beeped, indicating she ended the call. — you opened your social media, you just picked a random one being twitter.

you saw the same feed you’d normally come across, then went to check the trending topics and saw that daniela was trending. you weren’t tripped out about it until you saw that lara and daniela had a tag that was trending.

you clicked it, and saw the pictures that rhea was talking about. you went over to the bathroom were dani was, “baby, what’s this?” you asked her, showing the picture.

“ah hah.. uhm, that’s just a random pr stunt the company has me doing and it really funds her career” and you nodded along, “right… but what does the press mean by we broke up??” and daniela’s eyes widened.

she grew visibly nervous, it made you feel weird about it. “i’ll look into it, don’t worry” she gave you a kiss before walking out of the room, presumably leaving to go handle business.

she had a show soon, so she was really busy. this whole situation had your attention so much you forgot about your comeback announcement, your company loved to wait for you to send in a song so they could see if it’ll be a good sound, and would make it an even communication between you two — but you were scrolling on your phone, literally rotting inside of your bed.

it didn’t take long for you to find out what you’ve always been thinking, you saw the press video of daniela saying you two weren’t together anymore. — you scoffed watching this, laying in the same very bed that you and her shared.

she walked into the room, hearing the part where she was about to say you two broke up, she was about to reach for your phone, when her own chimed.

it continued to go off, until she saw it was a video out about her hanging with you still. your fans, lara’s fans, and daniela’s fans were all in a up war. — you were honestly getting concerned for your careers, despite how much you began to despise daniela and lara, you didn’t want them to actually lose everything they worked so hard for.

but daniela? she was laughing her ass off, giggling reading every comment before sighing and shutting off her phone. she reached out for yours, and you just looked at her, “daniela, no. we’re through, like we’re done. we aren’t doing this again”

you were pissed to say the least, and honestly, fuck all that was blowing up in the media, this was personal to you. “come on baby, its just a joke. i’m playing into what they want”

“who’s ’they’? do i not matter to you, daniela?” you screamed at her, she walked closer to you, kissing you to hush you. all the rage that was in your body, simply went away, you melted into the kiss.

daniela broke off the kiss, “you matter to me, it’s just some stupid pr stunt.” and like a dumbass, you believed her. — which landed you here, hating her. and obviously, you had your fallout with lara as well, but you guys made up because to lara it was simply a pr stunt and once daniela started taking it too far she started avoiding her more often.

you and lara had a sit down, and she told you how everything started, and even thought you wanted to lunge across that table and rearrange her face, you let her talk.

“it wasn’t supposed to get that far, y/n. i’m sorry” you sighed sitting across the from her, she was supposed to be your best friend and you find out like this. — you just dismissed the whole situation, saying “i forgive you” even though hearing those words come from her, hurt you so bad.

once you two stood up to hug, one flash, then another, then five back to back. the indian woman whispered saying that fans were around, after she spotted one and broke the hug.

you both just smiled at each other before leaving into your separate directions. after this meeting with lara, you were in the studio, listening to some demos your producer had sent to you.

one you liked the most was pre-titled, “it’s not worth it” , you sent the others back saying thats the one you wanted and they got you some studio time to record.

as you wrote verses for the song, you began writing about yours and daniela’s situation, humming along and making it play into the songs tone.

you began singing the demo, changing the lyrics to match with yours. after a few hours of just writing and erasing, rewinding the track over and over again, your phone rang.

you picked it up, hearing the one voice you hoped you’d never hear again. “come to the front” and then the phone call cut, you sighed to yourself, rolling your eyes before standing up and walking out to the front.

“hey, where have you been?” she tried to play it off as if you two were still cool. you opened the door for her, allowing her to walk in and she quickly pulled you into a kiss.

“i missed you, you know” she giggled against your lips, but you pushed her back. “i hate you” — that’s the only thing you said to her, and she just stood there, laughing.

“you hate me, right right…” she said, walking back up to you, closing the space between you two. her hands gently wrapped around your waist, picking you up, and your legs subconsciously locked around her waist.

she carried you to the back, the room you were in and pinned your back against the cold wall. she inched her face closer to yours, “come on, you hate me but you haven’t even said anything” — she mocked you, it was making you mad.

the rage burned inside of your eyes, it was obvious but it made daniela so happy she was still able to piss you off like this. — in a swift motion, she pulled you into a kiss and you held the back of her head.

your hips began subconsciously rocking against her, you could feel the bulge from the strap she had on. you moaned into the kiss, daniela biting at your lip, causing it to bleed and she began to suck the blood.

“even your blood tastes sweet” she sighed against your lips. the latina backed away from you, allowing you to sit on the couch, and she began undressing you and herself.

you felt her strap began entering your cunt, “fuck, daniela” you moaned out. — you hated this, you hated the way you got drunk from how she touched your body, she made you feel a way no one else had ever made you feel.

you grabbed at the latina’s shirt, while she pushed deeper inside of you. you didn’t have much time to adjust, honestly you didn’t even care. — she was quick to start thrusting inside of you.

you threw your head back, your hips grinding into hers. the latina woman chuckled at your reaction, something about knowing how much power she had over your body made her feel like she was in charge.

daniela bit your shoulder, making you moan louder than you already were. your legs wrapped around daniela’s waist, pushing her deeper inside of you. — “you must want me so bad” the latina teased and you groaned, “shut up, fuck”

she sped up her hips, noticing it was harder to thrust the tighter you got around the silicone toy. the latina woman whispered something in your ear, before biting at it. this pushed you over the edge and you came on the toy.

daniela laughed watching this, your body just on full display while you came. she didn’t pull the toy out, just steading her pace while continuing to thrust.

after a little while, she pulled it out. she sat next to you and was smiling as hard as she could, fixing herself to say something but you being in the cloud of dopamine, your hands covered her lips while you moved down her body.

you removed everything that was blocking you from getting to where you needed to be. you dipped your head against her pretty pussy, your fingers slid inside of her with ease.

the latina gripped at the seat she was sitting on, holding back any moans that would’ve slipped which turned into small whimpering.

“you know something daniela..” you said in between kisses against her inner thighs, teasing her. she whined, trying to push your head closer to her needy cunt.

your fingers just stayed inside of her, not moving and holding still. “baby..come on please? don’t play like this” she desperately whined out, her hips moving slightly for any sort of friction.

you nipped at her soft milky thighs, “you’re so good, you know?” you said, your warm breath tickling at her skin. your lips kissed at her pearl, making daniela jerk.

your fingers began to curl inside of her, making her back arch, she let out a breathy moan, wanting to feel you more. — you sped up as time passed on, wanting to completely fuck daniela up but again, something in you stopped you.

daniela finally came, unannounced but ultimately, unsurprisingly. she was always so sensitive, it was easy to make her cum. while she was in the trance of her orgasm, you straddled her waist again.

you pulled your phone out, the camera facing her direction and you pressed record, “come on, what are you doing?” daniela chuckled, her eyes were hooded while she tried to gain her composure.

you placed your finger over your lips, signaling her to just hush, and she bit her lip smiling at the camera. — after a minute in, you stopped recording, “just wanted something to keep”

as you both began getting dressed, your manager walked in, seeing’s daniela and quickly rushing her out of the studio.

after you finished, you were rushed into the car, “(y/n) what kind of shit was that?!!” your manager yelled at you, you looked at her like she was crazy — hell she literally is.

“do you know how bad that is for your career?” and you couldn’t help but sigh, because now she was going to go on a 30 minute lecture about how you shouldn’t have done that.

soon, you made it to your location, and you got out of the car. she tried following you but you asked her to stay in, going to meet with someone who you haven’t spoken to in a while.

it was a close friend of yours, or more so an old friend. you thought they wanted to meet up to rekindle but when you left your phone face down on the table to go to the restroom, they snagged your phone.

you didn’t even realize at first, assuming your phone was in your bag when you left. you didn’t realize until you were home, seeing rhea at your front door.

“wha.. why are you here?” you asked her, and she pushed you into your house. “you weren’t picking up your phone..” — rhea held eye contact with you while she spoke, sliding your phone back into your back pocket.

she had got your phone from the friend, but right when she was about to tell you about what could’ve happened, both of your phones began to go off.

notification after notification, and then she saw, her heart dropped. “y/n, did you meet up with daniela today?” she asked, and you shook your head, “no no what..”

she held your face, forcing you to look at her, “i need you to be honest with me right now. did you meet up with daniela, y/n l/n?”

“yes” you admitted and she let you go, “what did you two do?” she asked, looking back at her phone, the video playing as she spoke.

“nothing we just talked” and she showed you the video, “just talked?” and your eyes widened. “fuck no wait, that wasn’t supposed to be uploaded” — you began to panic.

and it sounds hilarious, the person who you despised was currently getting backlash for cheating on her media “girlfriend” with her ex, aka you, but you didn’t feel comfortable just letting it go far.

the next morning, you were going to send out a message, until you saw daniela had already made her statement, claiming that the video was from months ago and that you wanted attention off of her cus you’re music was no longer selling.

which took you aback, you clenched your jaw reading each thing daniela said about you, practically dragging your name through the mother fucking dirt just to clear hers.

and you let her, because even after the day before, she was still the same bitch, and you were nothing but a booty call to her, or “convenient” some might say.

so you decided to drop the song you had been putting off for so long, it was simply titled “nothing” — your fans were quick to begin with their usual streaming methods, but the more they listened, the more they began to piece together the lyrics.

you had a fanpage, that always dropped updates, theories and other stuff surrounding you, and after your release they said something along the lines of —

“y/n’s new song is about an ex, one who she devoted her entire life to but soon grew to realize they were nothing but a mindset.”

the reactions from the song were all around possible, really no one knew exactly who the song was about, until your first interview about the song.

“so tell us what we’re all dying to know, who’s the song about?” the interviewer asked, and despite you smiling, the question made you, visibly, uncomfortable. but you still answered, “a certain someone who used to be in my life but.. sadly they aren’t around anymore”

“you might even see them on your screen sometime” you joked, and you and the interviewer laughed about it. — daniela watched this interview from her phone, chucking it at the wall getting pissed off because of the way that song could literally tarnish her name and everything she had worked for if you revealed exactly who you were referring to.

months had passed since your last drop, you hadn’t spoken to daniela in a long time and honestly, you weren’t feigning to. — rhea had called you over previously that day, saying she wanted to talk about something.

while you two spoke, it felt like an odd connection was happening. everytime you would look into her eyes, it was like time would stop. — and ever so suddenly, you pulled her into a kiss, one she responded to with equal amount of passion and love.

it was short and sweet, once you two broke apart rhea giggled, wiping at her lips and fixing her lipstick. she gave you another kiss on the forehead, “its okay, don’t be so shy” she noticed the way you were just smiling and avoiding eye contact.

you never really heard from daniela though, it made you wonder what was going on about her until you went out to another city, and you saw billboards with her face plastered on it. — oddly enough, it made you kind of bitter. she was on everything that your face should’ve been on, she was fucking profiting off of it.

you could only sigh to yourself, “pulling the victim card, per usual..”but to be fair, at that point in your life, you genuinely stopped giving a fuck about what she had going on. you were done with her, and you meant that. you never cared seeing her somewhere, you hated and despised the latina woman but she’ll get her karma, faster than you know it.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Do you have any ways to check in a fanfic is written by AI? I have no trouble detect if a work email is written by AI but when it comes to fanfic, I just can't. English is my second language too. There are a bunch of fics of this one author on Wattpad that when I was reading, it feels weird? A little bit uncanny. I don't want to misunderstand them if it's just a me problem but I also hate everyone using AI to write so I'd appreciate a method or a tool to check. Thank you.

I don't have any solid indicators, however, if it feels off, you're likely noticing something off about the writing. The "em-dash" claim (that AI uses em dashes a lot) isn't really something to rely on.

(A better way to identify AI is an overuse of bullet lists, which, uh, I'm about to do, so here goes.)

Inconsistencies and repetition. This is a tough one right out of the gate, but all writers have a style. There's a turn of phrase, sentence structure, or common words that tend to pop up in their writing again and again. AI, on the other hand, does not stick to a distinctive style. It may repeat the same sentence structure over and over, or seem overly formerly written, especially in dialogue. The longer a document/fic, the more repetitive writing structures you will see.

Lack of depth or subtlety. Do the descriptions feel stilted or odd? Are the metaphors mixed together in a way that doesn't make sense (describing something dark using a comparison to something bright, odd comparisons that you've never heard before, etc)? Does it feel like the emotions are flat and not connecting to the story? All of these things could be things to watch out for.

Perfect grammar. I'm still finding grammatical errors in stories I wrote years ago. No amount of spellcheck will save me from a typo. AI never has that problem, but it also won't use punctuation to make a point (like using commas to indicate a speech pattern).

Updated too damn fast. If someone is uploading thousands of words a day, there's no way they're writing the story themselves. Massive, rapid-fire updates are something to keep an eye out for.

Now, all of these things alone do not indicate someone is using AI. Everyone's written a bad metaphor before, some people are great at grammar, and folks new to writing may have an inconsistent writing style. As you have noticed, speaking English as a second language makes folks overly prone to being flagged as using AI, which is also not helpful.

There's also no perfect AI checker, as most tend to throw up false positives. But the longer the story, the more indicators will pop up. Scenes might get repetitive, or sex scenes start to feel the same.

I also, unfortunately, don't have any advice for what to do if you feel like AI is being used to write fanfiction. You certainly don't want to falsely accuse someone of using it publicly (though I'd reach out to friends to see if they have the same suspicions). Ultimately, the best case scenario is that people will identify when they use AI (there's a whole tag for it on AO3), but I don't know how common that will become. In a pinch, when I suspect something has been plagiarized or written by AI, I shift the writer to my "do not read" pile and move on.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you have any headcanons for Wizarding stereotypes and social norms?

I love how your brain works! ❤️❤️

Hi, thank you so much 💓. I'm arriving at this ask a little late, but I have a lot of random, small and large headcanons about wizarding culture (in the uk and the rest of the world), and I have a tag for my HP headcanons in general. Many of these appeared in past posts, but I'll try to summarize like 20 headcanons about wizard culture and social norms in the UK (some of them are very based in canon, and others are just vibes):

1. Fashion. I love historical fashion, and I made posts about wizarding fashion in the uk before (wizard fashion, robes vs muggle-inspired fashion, Hogwarts robes). I believe even when we see wizards in more muggle-style suits/jackets, they are still, more often than not, wizard-made and are made with colors and fabrics that muggles would consider weird to put together.

Like, Dumbledore isn't close to the only one who dresses like an eyesore. Even the twins are described wearing some jackets I don't think would pass anywhere in the Muggle world. And everyone is wearing hats, a lot, all the time, especially older generations.

2. Traditions regarding what you do with your wand once you die change between families/location/time period. Like, during, say, the 13th century in England, everyone got buried with their wands, but in the 18th and 19th centuries it was all the rage to keep a wand display of deceased family members at home. (Talked about a bit here)

3. In the UK, most wizards are culturally Christian. Denominations vary, but I believe they have a sort of magical Anglican denomination, which includes some of their own saints and doesn't place a heavy focus on prayer or going to church, and more about community. (I have a whole series about this subject, with the last entry here and the most quote-based entry here)

Similarly, I believe there used to be a chapel at Hogwarts, but it fell out of use throughout the centuries and has been remodeled into something else. I mean, no large castle from the Middle Ages is complete without a private chapel.

4. We know there are a lot of stereotypes regarding wand woods and wand cores ("When his wand’s oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly" from pottermore), and I believe there are others.

I'm not the first to note the symbolism between wands and manhood (Lucius losing his wand, short wands associated with a "lacking" character). So, I 100% believe "polishing your wand" is a euphemism for jerking off. Similarly, they probably have sayings like "you know what a long wand means".

Basically, wands are a big deal, and there are a lot of superstitions/stereotypes around them.

5. Because of that, I think some people would boast their wand wood/core, and keeping these facts super secret is seen as you having something to hide. Adding a wand handle to your wand is seen as a way to hide that the wand is actually really short, etc.

6. It's not exactly a headcanon since it's heavily implied by canon, but the first son gets his father's name as a middle name, the first daughter gets the mother's name as a middle name, then younger children get grandparents' names, then aunts, uncles, etc.

7. The legal drinking age is 13 for light alcohol (like butterbeer) or for drinking with parental supervision. For harder alcohol (like Firewhisky), the legal drinking age is 16. (That's the feeling I get)

8. In general, alcohol consumption is seen as healthy and common in the Wizarding World, like it was in the 19th century. The type of alcohol and amount do have social connotations, though. A lot. In terms of class, intelligence, trustworthiness, etc. but drinking in itself is seen as chill and no one really thinks too much of it if it's not extreme (and even then it isn't treated as an addiction). (Talked about here & here)

9. I also think their age of consent is 16 and not 18. (The majority age is 17, so it seems right to me). They could also legally get married at 16, though it's somewhat frowned upon to marry before you graduate. This is a leftover of a time when many wizards didn't stay at Hogwarts for the final 3 years and went on to start with life instead.

10. As I implied, I think it used to be pretty common to drop out of Hogwarts after 5th year. Especially for poorer working-class wizards/witches. This is why you only need 1 passing OWL to keep your wand.

I think NEWTs are treated like higher education of sorts and were/are optional, but like with muggle universities/collages most of the population does study these extra years since many jobs started requir NEWTs in specific fields. Not all jobs, plenty are fine with just OWLS.

It's common to drop many subjects in the final 2 years, like Harry does. He actually keeps more subjects than the average student, who stays with 2-3 subjects for NEWTs at most.

They don't have any universities/academies or that sort of higher education. It's just NEWTS and then apprenticeships/on-the-job training.

11. In general, the number of OWLs the Golden Trio passed is above average. I talked about it here, but the average amount of passing OWLs with grads good enough for the NEWT classes seems to be ~4 per student. Fred and George's 3 each isn't unusual; their brothers are just academically gifted and ambitious. (Bill got 12 OWLs, Charlie is smart, Percy is Percy, and Ron is also really smart. And we don't know anything about Ginny's OWLs, but she must have gotten more than 5).

12. They are very sanitized to violence. We see corporal punishment (Molly chasing Fred and George with a broom) and other violent pranks (F & G melting Ron's tongue with an acid pop, the Mauraders) being seen as normal and acceptable. (Mentioned it a bit here)

In general, their standard for what's considered "bad" violence is different than ours. Anything that is easily reversible with a spell is seen as a little mean but no harm done, or even a little funny. If it's not permanent, it isn't really seen as harmful. When the harm is permanent, that's when it starts being taken more seriously (but even then, it depends on what the damage is, and often it isn't really treated as anything too serious).

13. Also, mental health is not a thing. Trauma is not harm because they don't really consptualise trauma is a thing. They understand when someone's having a "rough time" or if someone's being "overemotional," but they don't have therapy or anything like it. (I always found "mind healers" in fics out of place in their world. The only "mind healers" they'd have are ones for spell damage caused by Obliviate or curses like the Imperius or the Cruciatus). Any emotional/mental health situation is treated by friends/family support if you have good people around you, getting told to "get over it", or alcohol. (Talked about a bit here)

14. The reason Honeydukes has candy for vampires is because vampires are really rare and not seen as savages the way werewolves are. Vampires are seen as exotic, sexy creatures (kinda like veela, just without the magical attraction), and wizards, too, have trashy vampire romance novels. (Talked about this more as well here)

15. It's weird to get a portrait taken when young. Magical portraits are expensive to make since there is like, 1-2 wizards in the UK who do it (I headcanon Dean Thomas grows to paint magical portraits post-series as he is mentioned to draw in the books). So, getting one when you're young means you expect to die soon. It's seen as more extreme than writing a will, and something you don't do without a good reason. It's seen as paranoid and bringing bad luck. As in, getting a magical portrait taken is like asking death to come knock at your door. Hence, why I headcanon Aunt Muriel didn't commission hers yet.

16. Divination as thought at Hogwarts is seen by the majority of the wizarding world as a practice best reserved for wizards/witches who have the talent for it. Like, you have prophecies - seen as rare and mysterious, and you have omens - which is what everyone can learn to do to a degree, but most aren't good at it. There is real magic there (as the centaurs prove) just, not the way Trawlany goes about it. So most wizards treat it as a legitimate field, but one you need a talent for.

17. They're, in general, into astrology. I mean, they study star charts in Astronomy, and the planets' movements is magical in canon (centaurs, certain ingredients need to be harvested in a certain moon phase, etc). So, like, the average wizard could go: "yes, I'm having it tough. You know Mercury is in retrograde," but also, a completely different astrology that is all their own. Like: "When Jupiter is bright, it's a good time for potion making" or something. Along with superstitions that some couples actually take into account when conceiving children, like being born when there is a specific angle between Venus and Mars will make you lucky, or certain plants that predispose you to any Hogwarts house. Like, I'd imagine their birth charts look different from ours, since they pay attention to different things and note them differently. Like, they'd include the angles of various constellations as well, and it'll look different (At least, I'd like to think so).

18. I think they have a lot of little superstitions in general (like seeing a grim). Stuff like, don't propose on a dark moon if you want the marriage to last, seeing a unicorn in the wild is a sign of good luck, professional Quidditch players have lucky underwear they never wash, etc.

19. They aren't prude around nudity. I mean, no one seems to struggle with getting dressed or taking showers with other people in their dorms, even when they aren't used to it (it is something that takes getting used to if you didn't grow up seeing it as normal). There are portraits and talking mirrors that watch you and comment on your appearance in bathrooms and bedrooms, we know many wizards (young Snape, Archie from the Quiddich World Cup) don't wear trousers under their robes (Archie is implied to not be wearing underwear either) and pottermore stated they used to take dumps wherever (though, I think they do have decency around that). Even if we look at the scene before the battle of the 7 Potters, no one considers it weird for them to get dressed in Harry's body. So, it seems nudity or partial nudity around others isn't as taboo or a breach of privacy the way we see it. Especially when it comes to men/boys. (This is part of why no one in-universe sees SWM as SA)

(Which would make sense for a culture stuck in the past. In the Middle Ages, you had bath houses, and families would all sleep in the same room. Sex and nudity weren't as taboo)

20. They think they know about their history way more than they do. I think Hogwarts wasn't built the way they think it was, the timeline of the Peverells and the Founders is all wrong — but no one except a few passionate wizard historians actually know. Everyone else thinks they must know their true history better than muggles because they are wizards (though they don't).

I have a bunch more headcanons that just don't come to mind right now, but I might add them later.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

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

Part 22: To Lost

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

Part 23: To break

He knew he was overthinking.

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

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

And maybe you were right.

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

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

Stay.

Just one word.

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

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

“Dad saw you leave at dawn.”

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

Neteyam exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

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

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not pacing—”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiri snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

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

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

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

And when you were—he’d be waiting.

With his arms open.

Just like always.

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

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

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

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

The forest was quiet again.

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

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

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

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

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

Just one more night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe she’ll ride with him.”

“Lucky Neteyam, huh?”

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

Ignore it. he told himself sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to scream.

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

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

"Girls chasing him like ikran on a hunt."

"K’shi too—lucky bastard."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eywa, take me now.

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

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

“Brother!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, definitely.”

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

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

“I’m going to throw you into a tree.”

“You’d miss,” Lo’ak grinned.

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

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

“I considered it.”

Lo’ak grinned. “You’re welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake frowned. “And why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We deal with it,” Neteyam finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be.”

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

The hunt came first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is more experienced than half of them.”

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

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

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

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

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

Neytiri’s silence said everything he needed to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hunt stretched long under a darkening sky.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold the formation!” Neteyam shouted.

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

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

He nocked an arrow. One breath.

The wind cut across his cheek.

Another breath.

The beast roared. He loosed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The storm cracked the sky in half.

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

But he sat still.

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

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

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

He smiled.

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

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

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

To him.

He began to carve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why now? Why so close?

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

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

Did Norm know? Did you?

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

He carved another bead. This one thinner. Smoother.

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

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

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

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

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

Just like you.

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world was no longer bathed in gold.

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

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

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

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

Be quiet.

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

Neteyam’s blood turned to ice.

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

Hunting.

Hunting you.

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

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

Protect. Shield. Fight if you must.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked up sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed thickly. “And after?”

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

Neteyam barked a quiet laugh, low in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sa’nari nodded slowly. “Storm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam offered a noncommittal sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at her slowly. “How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam blinked, glancing back toward her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam turned his head away sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He didn’t want to see that look. Not when it wasn’t meant for the life he wanted. They reached the slope where the healers’ supplies were sorted, and Sa’nari slowed, finally turning to face him. She reached out carefully, taking the heavy basket from him with a small, grateful nod. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For today.”

Neteyam managed a small, genuine smile. “You didn’t really need guarding.”

“No,” she agreed easily, adjusting the basket against her hip. “But it was still... better. Having someone there.”

He inclined his head slightly. At least, he thought privately, she hadn’t been as pushy as K’shi. Sa’nari had let the day breathe. Let the spaces between words stretch comfortably. That counted for something. He turned to go, but her next words stopped him.

“I’m grateful you walked with me,” she said, her voice lower now, almost hesitant. “Even though your heart is already... elsewhere.”

Neteyam froze, blinking once. He almost did a double take—almost stumbled.

He turned slowly to look at her. Sa’nari only smiled up at him, shy but calm. No accusation. No anger. Just a quiet understanding. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Neteyam,” she said with a soft chuckle, her eyes bright with kindness. “Whoever she is… she must be very special.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure what to say. His hand twitched at his side, almost reaching instinctively for the small stone still tucked safely in his pouch.

Sa’nari’s smile softened further, and she stepped past him, the basket swinging gently at her side. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said lightly over her shoulder. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Neteyam watched her go for a moment—watched the way she disappeared into the crowd gathering near the healers’ tents—before finally exhaling.

The knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. She understood. More than he had given her credit for.

And even though the path laid out for him still felt impossibly narrow, impossibly sharp, at least there was someone else who knew he was already walking another one. Quietly. Stubbornly. Truly.

For you. Always for you.

Neteyam turned away from the gathering crowd, slipping quietly back toward the edges of the village, where the trees grew thick and the sky opened wide.

Tonight, he would find you. Tonight, he would slip through the outpost’s barriers, find the light in your window. And maybe—maybe—he could hold you again and remember that, no matter what the world tried to make of him, he was still yours. Yours first.

Yours always.

Later that night, after the suns dipped low beyond the treeline and the village fires began to burn soft and golden, Neteyam found Lo’ak lingering near the kelku.

He moved quickly, keeping his voice low. "If anyone asks," he said, tightening the strap on his bow, "tell them I'm on patrol."

Lo’ak turned, catching the tone immediately. “To her?” he asked, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.

Neteyam gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t deny it. “If anyone asks, I’m on patrol.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, but there was understanding in them. “They always ask. Especially Mom.”

“Then lie better,” Neteyam muttered.

Lo’ak sighed, raising his hands. “Fine. You’re deep in the southern trail. Dangerous patrol. Very heroic.” Lo’ak smirked, flicking a pebble into the ring. “You’re getting worse at sneaking out, you know.”

Neteyam just raised a brow. “You gonna rat me out?”

“Please. I’ll say you were wrestling a palulukan bare-handed if it helps,” Lo’ak grinned. “Tell her I said hi. And not to throw you out if you fall asleep mid-sentence again.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes but gave him a quiet, grateful nod. “Irayo.”

He turned and made his way to the high perch just beyond the village, where the ikran rested. His bonded mount, Tawkami, raised his head the moment he approached, eyes bright with recognition. He let out a sharp, echoing chirp, already rising to his feet and shaking out his wings. Neteyam reached up to press his forehead against his, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You can feel it too, can’t you?”

He warbled low, nuzzling against him with excitement. The bond snapped into place with ease, tsaheylu weaving their thoughts together. Tawkami’s wings lifted with anticipation.

They launched into the sky together, slicing through the rising winds. The world stretched beneath them in darkness and silver moonlight, but Neteyam’s heart was steady. He knew exactly where he was going. The anticipation of seeing you again, of slipping into the quiet safety of your light and your laugh, filled him with something electric.

He hadn’t seen you in almost two days. And even though that wasn’t unusual for you—especially during sample analysis—it had still gnawed at him all day. He needed to see you. Hear your voice.

But when he reached the outpost, it was not the calm haven he had imagined. As the outpost came into view—a small glint of artificial light tucked between the trees—he felt the anticipation swell. Tawkami descended in a tight spiral, and Neteyam leaned into her rhythm, expecting quiet. Calm. Maybe your soft humming from inside the lab tent.

But something was wrong. The outpost wasn’t silent. It wasn’t calm.

The floodlamps along the wall were on, buzzing faintly in the humidity. The front gate was open, the interior glow flickering through the plastic panels of the lab’s main structure. But more than that—Neteyam’s eyes narrowed as he landed beside the Samson.

Its engine was still warm. Freshly used.

He ran a hand along the metal, frowning. That ship had returned with the xenobotany team just yesterday. If they were testing samples, they wouldn’t be flying again. They had protocols. Safety rules.

Why had it been used?

He dismounted in one swift motion, his instincts sharpening as his boots touched the packed soil. Tawkami shifted behind him, feathers twitching as she sensed his tension. Neteyam stepped into the main yard—and that’s when he saw them.

Norm. Max. Brian. Kate. And few other scientist whose names he didn't bother to remember.

All in full field gear—vests, boots, packs still strapped across their backs. They stood around one of the large plant containers near the far wall, a datapad held between them, its screen glowing faintly with a map.

A map of the mining zone. They didn’t look up right away. But Neteyam saw their faces—drawn tight with stress, eyes shadowed, clothes rumpled like they hadn’t slept in two days.

And she was nowhere. His chest went still. Cold. At first he thought—maybe she’s inside. Maybe she's working late again. Maybe— But then Max turned. Saw him.

And froze.

That look.

Neteyam knew it instantly. Something happened. He took three steps forward, voice low but hard. “Where is she?”

Norm looked up then, his face pale, jaw tight. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a beat. Neteyam’s heart thundered in his chest. “Where is she?” he demanded again, louder now.

Norm exchanged a glance with Max. Kate stepped back slightly, rubbing at her brow. Brian whispered something under his breath. Something that sounded like “shit.”

Neteyam’s stomach dropped. “She’s inside… is she?” he said, even though he already knew the answer.

No one spoke. Not yet. The only sound was the quiet hum of the datapad and the soft, electric whine of tension rising in his blood. Then Max finally stepped forward, slowly. “Neteyam,” he said, voice low, careful. “We need to talk.”

The world tilted. Cold and sharp. And Neteyam already knew:You were gone. And he had no idea where.

Kate was the first to break the silence. “You should’ve come earlier!” she snapped, voice sharp with frustration and something deeper—fear, maybe. “Maybe then we could’ve found her!”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”

But Kate didn’t stop. Her words tumbled out too fast, like she’d been holding them in for hours. “We waited too long. We split up twice. The ridge was already washed out by the time we circled back, and then we couldn’t pick up any signal—not from her tag, not from the datapad. That fucking flux vortex… If you were here—if you’d just come earlier—”

“What do you mean find her?” Neteyam asked, the word catching in his throat. His voice was low, dangerous, but laced with disbelief. “Why would you need to find her?”

His breath was shallow now. In his mind, up until this moment, you were safe. You were in the outpost. You were maybe inside the lab, maybe reading, maybe sketching those new plant samples you found. You were waiting for him.

But the way they looked at him told him otherwise. He turned to Norm, needing to hear something—anything—different.

The man had known him since he was a baby. He’d patched his wounds, watched him take his first steps, taught him human words when Jake had refused. He had never looked at Neteyam with fear.

Until now. His lips parted. “Neteyam…” Norm said gently, like one might speak to a wounded animal. “She disappeared.”

The words didn’t land at first. Didn’t make sense.

“Disappeared?” Neteyam echoed, the syllables dull and foreign on his tongue. “No. She’s not—she wouldn’t—she was supposed to be here.”

“She went missing yesterday,” Max said, quietly stepping in. ���But it was already near eclipse, and the storm rolled in faster than expected. We stayed until we couldn’t see anymore. We searched for hours.”

“You left her?” Neteyam growled, his voice raw now, cracked wide open.

Max stepped forward, raising his hands. “We didn’t want to—Neteyam, listen. We stayed as long as we could. But visibility dropped to nothing, and the eclipse was setting in fast. The storm was—”

“You LEFT her!” Neteyam shouted now, taking a step toward them.

“We marked the area!” Brian snapped back, frustrated. “We left signal markers! We planned to return at first light!”

“And what did you find?” Neteyam hissed.

The silence that followed was the worst part. Nothing. No one looked at him. Max rubbed his temples. “The rain washed everything. No tracks. No trail. No broken brush. Her comm is dead. Or damaged. We don't know.”

Neteyam’s chest heaved. His breath burned in his lungs. You weren’t here. You haven't been here since yesterday. You were out there. In the forest. Near the old mining zone. You had been out there during the eclipse. Alone. During the storm. During the night. And he—he had spent that night thinking you were safe, warm, maybe curled up with your datapad and tea.

But now—now he remembered the dream. You, trembling, soaked, clinging to a high branch in a blackened forest, lightning flashing around you. He thought it was just guilt. A stupid dream. He wanted it to be just a dream. But now— Now it felt like truth. You were still out there. His mate. You were still out there. “I’m going after her.” His voice was low, guttural. He turned on his heel.

“No, Neteyam, wait,” Norm stepped in front of him. “It’s dangerous. There’s another storm rolling in tonight.”

“I don’t care.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll find her.”

“You can’t see anything out there in the dark,” Max said. “We can barely navigate that terrain in daylight, even with scanners.”

Neteyam was already moving toward Tawkami, who growled low as if sensing his rider’s boiling fury.

“Neteyam!” Kate shouted. “If you get lost too, what good does that do her?”

“I won’t get lost!” he snapped. “I know that forest. Better than any of you. I know the pit. I know how the water runs.”

“But you can’t help her if you’re dead,” Norm said firmly, stepping between him and the ikran. “You go out there now, in this storm, in the dark, we may lose both of you.”

Silence followed that. Tawkami hissed softly behind him, restless. His heart roared in his ears. His whole body was screaming to move. But Norm stood there like stone. Unmoving. Max beside him, rain starting to tap on the Samson’s hull. The others watched, hollow-eyed.

Neteyam's breath came hard. He hated it. Hated waiting. But some small part of him—buried under the panic—knew they were right. Still, he turned his back on them and walked several paces away, just far enough to breathe, to feel the air against his skin.

“She was alone,” he whispered, barely audible. “All night.” No one answered. The wind picked up again, as if the forest itself mourned with him. And in his heart, something curled—tight, angry, and aching. Because waiting might be wise. But every second was agony.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain beginning to pick up again—slow, steady drops on the metal roof of the outpost. The tension in the air was thick, almost electric, like a storm itself was standing in the room with them.

Then, from behind the group, a quiet voice broke through. “She didn’t have anything with her,” Raj said. His voice was small, almost hesitant. Neteyam turned slowly. His stare locked onto Raj’s like a spear thrown mid-flight. “Just… just her satchel. And a field knife. That’s it.” His voice cracked. “We thought… in the morning, with the storm and all—”

Kate hissed, “Raj, shut up—”

But it was too late. The words had already landed like knives in Neteyam’s chest. His vision tunneled. He stepped toward Raj slowly, his entire frame radiating something primal. The heat of fury rolled off him like smoke, barely contained. The others tensed as his shadow fell over the smaller man. “You thought you’d find her corpse?” Neteyam repeated, voice deathly calm.

Raj paled. Kate whipped around to stare at Raj. “You fucking idiot! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Raj flinched, clutching his side. “I didn’t mean—I was just saying—”

Neteyam was already walking toward them. His face was unreadable, but the way he moved—deliberate, quiet—set the hairs on Max’s arms on end. His eyes locked on Raj, dark and wild like a brewing storm. “Say one more thing,” Neteyam said lowly, his voice like thunder before the strike. “Say one more word that implies she’s dead.”

Raj swallowed, suddenly very aware that Neteyam, standing tall and furious, was ten feet of trained warrior who could break him in half without even trying. “You thought you’d find her body?” His voice was so quiet it was nearly a growl. “So you left her out there. You left her—with nothing but a knife—while the storm was coming.”

Max tried to step in, his hands raised. “Neteyam, listen, we—”

“No,” he snapped. “You listen. If anything happens to her—” he jabbed a finger at the group, his chest rising and falling with fury “—if she’s hurt, or worse, because you left her out there… I will make every single one of you regret the day you set foot in our forest.”

His voice dipped lower, deadly calm.

“I’ll burn this outpost to the ground. I’ll drag each of you into the forest and leave you to survive with just a knife. I don’t care what deal my father made. I don’t care about your research. If she dies—your lives mean nothing to me.”

The group fell silent. Pale.

“You think you’re here because Eywa allows it?” Neteyam’s voice rose like thunder, snapping around them like a whip. “You live in our forest because my People lets you. Because we chose to trust you.”

He pointed sharply toward the map still glowing on the datapad. “You call yourselves scientists, protectors of life—but you left one of your own behind.”

Even Norm took a step back, his hands half-raised, trying to de-escalate. “Neteyam, I get it—she’s important to you,” he said carefully. “But threatening us won’t help her.”

Neteyam bared his teeth—not in a snarl, but something close, his tail lashing behind him. “You think this is me losing control? You haven’t seen what happens if I do.”

Raj looked like he wanted to disappear. Brian wouldn't even meet his eyes.

“We did what we could,” Max insisted, voice tense. “We stayed as long as we could. We waited as long as we—”

“You’ve done nothing!” he shouted.

The air went dead quiet. Even the machines around them felt silent.

Neteyam loomed over them, muscles tight, his chest rising and falling like a warrior before battle. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Couldn’t. The only image in his head was you—cold, trembling, bleeding maybe, hiding from viperwolves or worse. Maybe still curled on a high branch, like in his dream. Maybe already—

No.

No.

“You think scanning empty ground and waiting till morning counts as doing something?” Neteyam hissed. “She’s not a sample. She’s not data. She’s my mate.”

The silence that followed was stunned. Max’s mouth parted slightly. Brian swallowed hard. Even Kate looked like she’d been slapped. Norm’s expression changed. Not surprise—but realization. Quiet and heavy. Finally, without another word, Neteyam turned, storming toward Tawkami.

“Where are you going?!” Kate called after him, but he didn’t answer.

Tawkami crouched low at the signal, sensing his rider’s fury like a second skin. As soon as Neteyam swung into the saddle, the ikran launched upward in a burst of wings and wind, scattering dust and fear in every direction.

The outpost vanished beneath him like a bad dream. But the fire stayed. The forest was vast, and yes—he could search alone. He would search alone. All night if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He needed help. Real help. His family.

Kiri could hear through the forest better than anyone he knew. And Lo’ak—Lo’ak would fly through a hurricane if he thought it would help Neteyam find her. He tightened his grip on the harness, heart hammering.

The woven walls of the kelku were bathed in a flickering gold from the fire pit outside, but Neteyam didn’t feel the warmth. His steps were sharp, restless, pacing tight lines across the floor as he moved back and forth between his storage chest and the saddle pack laid out on the mat.

Bow. Quiver. Rope. Flint knife. Water skin. Another blade strapped across his lower back.  Everything he could possibly need—and none of it would be enough. He dropped a folded tarp into the pack and buckled it shut just as the flap at the entrance rustled open.

Footsteps sounded behind him—quick and uneven. Lo’ak. “Bro, I thought you’d be back at dawn,” he said, pushing aside the kelku’s curtain with a lazy grin. “What, she kick you out this time or—”

He stopped dead when he saw Neteyam’s face. The smile fell off his mouth instantly. Neteyam didn’t even look up. Just secured the pack with a tight pull and dropped it near the door. “She’s not at the outpost,” he said, voice hollow and flat.

Lo’ak’s brows pulled together. “Wait—what?”

Neteyam finally turned, his eyes sharp, glowing like coals beneath the low firelight. “She went missing yesterday. During the field run.” His jaw flexed. “They lost her. Eclipse was setting in. Storm was rolling. They left her.”

Lo’ak’s eyes widened, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “What do you mean, left her?”

“I mean she never came back. And they abandoned the search after dark.”

Lo’ak stared at him, stunned—then his hands curled into fists. “Eywa…” he muttered. “And you didn’t kill them?”

“Not yet.”

Lo’ak looked at the pack, then at Neteyam’s gear. His brother. Always calm. Always in control. But now? He looked like a blade waiting to snap. “Who else knows?” Lo’ak asked.

“No one,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. And I want to keep it that way—for now.” He stepped forward, grip tightening on his bow.

Lo’ak stood frozen for half a second—then swore under his breath and stepped inside. “Eywa. Are you—shit. That’s why you’re back. You wanna go after her.”

Neteyam nodded once. “I need someone I can trust with this.” He grabbed the pack again and slung it over his shoulder. “Where’s Kiri?”

Lo’ak didn’t hesitate. “Still in the healer’s tent. She was helping Grandmother with the vision sap harvest.”

“Good. Get her.” Neteyam glanced up sharply. “We need her. You know how she hears things—how she feels things. She’ll help us track.”

“When do we tell Dad?” he asked after a moment.

“Not yet,” Neteyam said. “Not unless we have to.”

Lo’ak didn’t argue. He knew what it meant—for their father to find out. For their mother. “I’ll get Kiri,” he said quietly, then turned toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he paused, looking back. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “We’re not letting the forest take her.”

Neteyam didn’t answer—he just nodded once, eyes burning. Because she wasn’t gone. Not yet. And he would tear through the jungle with his bare hands to bring her home.

The storm had returned with a vengeance.

Wind howled through the trees outside the kelku, rattling the woven walls like angry spirits. Rain lashed the leaves in sheets, the forest moaning under the weight of wind and water. Thunder cracked above like a whip, and still Neteyam stood near the doorway, his pack at his feet, ready to run into it.

He was shaking. Not from fear—but from the raw, unbearable need to move. Then the curtain pulled back again.

Lo’ak stepped in first, face grim, and right behind him came Kiri, her braids still damp from the rain. She stopped when she saw Neteyam—really saw him—and her expression faltered.

Her eyes were wide the moment she entered, searching the space for something—anything—that might change the words her brother had just spoken. But all she saw was Neteyam, fully armed, jaw clenched, chest heaving like he hadn’t stopped since the second he landed. “She’s gone?” Kiri whispered, her voice cracking.

Neteyam didn’t answer at first. Kiri already knew. Lo’ak had told her everything. Kiri crossed the floor quickly, rain dripping from her braids, and stopped in front of him. Her hands were trembling, but she was trying to keep it in—trying to be calm. Trying to be steady. “She’s one of us,” she said, barely above a whisper. “She’s my friend too. Don’t shut me out.”

Neteyam closed his eyes briefly, nodding. “I’m not.” He opened them again, looking at her with raw, carved honesty. “I need someone I can trust with this. That’s why you’re here.”

Kiri walked further in, standing beside Lo’ak. “What are we doing?” Kiri nodded once, lips pressed tight.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. “We find her.”

“Without telling them?” she asked, but it wasn’t judgment—just clarification.

He nodded. “If Mother and Father find out… they’ll demand answers. They’ll ask why I’m ready to tear apart the forest for a human girl. We don’t have time for that.”

Lo’ak gave a tired snort from near the door. “You say that like she won’t smell the panic coming off you tomorrow.”

Neteyam shot him a look. “Then we don’t give her time to. We’re out before sunrise.”

Kiri’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. She understood. They all did. Neteyam’s jaw clenched again. He didn’t answer. Kiri rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to stop the shiver that crept through her. She moved to sit beside the fire pit, staring into the flames, letting the silence stretch until she could breathe again.

Neteyam took a breath and moved toward the corner of the kelku where a small pile of scattered belongings rested. He crouched down and moved aside a folded cloth.

Lo’ak beat him to it—his fingers brushing against the cracked, black casing of a datapad half-buried beneath a pelt.

“Is this…?” he asked, holding it up.

Neteyam nodded once. “She left it here. A few weeks ago.”

Lo’ak sat on the floor, thumbing the cracked screen. “Still works.” He tapped a few controls, the screen flickering weakly to life.

Kiri leaned in. “She kept maps on it, didn’t she?”

“She kept everything on it,” Neteyam said, unable to help the faint smile that ghosted his mouth for a second and then turned back to Kiri.

Lo’ak tapped the screen, and it flickered to life, dull and sputtering—but functional enough. The blue-white map display shimmered into view, blurry lines tracing the jungle in grainy detail.

Kiri stepped closer, kneeling near his pack. “We’ll need a plan. Not just charge out there and hope. She’s smart,” she finally said. “If she knew she was lost, she’d look for shelter first. Not run around like a fool.”

“She has nothing but her satchel and a knife,” Neteyam said. “But she’s not helpless. I taught her what to do. Where to hide.”

“So do I,” Kiri said. “I trained her. Every herb I know. Every sign in the trees. She’s not Na’vi, but she listens better than most of us.”

“She’s smart,” Kiri said, voice tense. “She wouldn’t just wander aimlessly. She wouldn’t panic. Not after everything we taught her.”

Neteyam looked at her. “So where would she go?”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful now. “If she realized she was being left behind… she’d go high. Somewhere dry. She wouldn’t risk the waterline in a storm.”

“I know.” Neteyam crouched beside her. “We start at the mining zone. She was lost somewhere near the old ridge—right where the western shelf starts to collapse into the basin.”

“She’s smart,” he said. “If she got turned around, she’d know better than to stay near the pit. Too exposed. She’d move.”

“To where?” Kiri asked, kneeling beside him.

“Would she go east?” Lo’ak asked. “Toward the outpost?”

“She’d try,” Neteyam said. “She’d want to get back. But not in a straight line—not without direction. Not without light.”

Lo’ak crouched beside Kiri, turning the tablet so she could see. “There,” he pointed. “The pit. And the outpost. She’s somewhere in between.”

Kiri leaned in, her eyes scanning the terrain. “You think she’d try to go east?”

“But even if she did,” Lo’ak said, voice hesitant, “she’d have to stay hidden all night. Through a storm. She must’ve been so scared…”

Neteyam looked away. He didn’t need to imagine it. He dreamed it.

“She’s smart,” Kiri added. “But that’s still days of walking. Through unfamiliar terrain. Alone. It’s full of palulukans out there. Lanay’kas too.”

“But look,” Lo’ak pointed. “These creeks—there’s a few between the pit and the outpost. If she found one, maybe she followed it. Water leads somewhere.”

“We’ll need more hunters,” Kiri said finally. “Even just two. If we split the area, we’ll cover more ground.”

“No,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. I don’t want anyone else involved. Not unless we have to.”

Kiri glanced at him, eyes sharp. “Neteyam—”

“She’s mine,” he said quietly. “They wouldn’t understand. I won’t let her name be whispered through the clan like a curse.”

Lo’ak looked at him, the weight of that word—mine—settling deep between them.

Kiri exhaled. “Fine. Then we do this ourselves.” Neteyam nodded. “But not tonight.” He looked up sharply. “You know we won’t find anything in this storm,” Kiri said gently. “It’ll bury any trail she left behind. If we go now, we’ll waste energy. We’ll miss signs.”

Neteyam hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed go. Every heartbeat was a drum pounding now, now, now. But he also knew Kiri was right. She always was. He dropped the charcoal and let his hands rest on the mat.

“You need to rest,” Kiri said. “Both of you. We’ll go at first light.”

Lo’ak sighed. “She’s right, bro.”

Neteyam sat down hard on the edge of his mat, burying his face in his hands. The rain thudded against the kelku like a war drum. His heart beat in time with it—furious, aching.

“Get some rest,” she added. “You need to be strong. For her.”

He didn’t argue. No one spoke for a long moment. He just stared at the storm outside, praying—begging—that you were out there, still fighting. That somewhere under all that rain, you were waiting for him to find you. And he would. No matter how long it took.

The night held no peace.

Outside the kelku, the storm raged—rain battering the woven walls like distant drums, thunder rolling across the canopy in great, groaning waves. Inside, Neteyam sat still for hours, legs crossed near the entrance, unmoving, listening to the wind and the rise and fall of his own breath.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged him down. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. But he dreamed. Again.

He found himself in a clearing. It wasn’t like before. Not rain-soaked branches or shadows full of teeth. This time, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The air was soft and heavy, the storm strangely absent here. Everything was quiet—too quiet. No insects. No rustling leaves. Just the sound of creaking metal and the slow moan of something swaying in the wind.

Between the trees, a Samson hung broken from the high branches. Its tail section was caught on a twisted trunk, the body dangling at an awkward angle—like a forgotten toy. The wind stirred it gently, letting it creak and swing in slow arcs. Half the cockpit window was cracked. Panels torn away. The metal gleamed wet and sharp.

And in the grass below it— You.

You sat curled on the damp moss, your knees drawn in, your satchel spilled to one side. Your hair was a tangled mess, stuck to your cheeks and brow. And your hand—your small, shaking hand—was cradled in your lap, slick with blood. A deep, angry slice carved across your palm, oozing fresh and vivid.

You were crying. The sound hit him like a spear to the chest—soft, trembling sobs, the kind he’d never heard from you before. Not in the labs. Not in the field. Not even in your worst moments.

He stepped forward slowly, his feet soundless on the moss. Your head jerked up. And when you saw him—saw Neteyam—you didn’t speak right away. Your lower lip wobbled, and you blinked hard, trying to clear the tears.

Then you reached out toward him. You showed your hand to him like a child might, small fingers shaking, your palm smeared with blood. A jagged cut sliced from the base of your thumb to the edge of your hand, the skin torn and pulsing.

“It hurts, Neteyam,” you whispered. Your voice was soft. Broken. Like a child. He dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your wounded hand, cupping it gently in both of his. You winced. “I climbed… I thought maybe I could reach the comm system,” you whispered, not meeting his eyes. “There was a shard of metal—I didn’t see it until…”

You trailed off. He gently turned your hand over in his, examining the wound. Deep, but not fatal. Not if it was cleaned. Not if it didn’t get infected. But the way your fingers curled inward told him you were in pain. Real pain.

And not just physical. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He looked up sharply. “For what?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over your lashes. “For being scared.”

He froze. You never said that. Not in the field, not in the labs, not even when he warned you of creatures in the trees. You’d always smiled and said you’d be fine. “You’re here, aren’t you?” you’d say, like that was all you needed.

But here, now, you were trembling in front of him. And you couldn’t look him in the eye. Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “Stop.”

“I just—” you exhaled shakily, still not looking at him. “You’re a warrior. You wouldn’t be afraid if you were alone like this. You wouldn’t cry.”

He gently tilted your chin up with two fingers. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to die out here,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Not alone.”

Neteyam felt his whole chest collapse inward at the sound. You finally looked up at him. And your eyes—those bright, curious, maddening eyes—were rimmed with red, filled with something raw and terrifying. “I want to see you one more time,” you said, barely audible. “Even just for a minute.”

His hands slid to your face, cupping your cheeks with infinite care. “You will,” he said fiercely. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”

“But what if I don’t—”

“You will.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “You will, yawne. You hold on.”

You nodded, tiny, trembling. And then—

He woke. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as he sat up straight, drenched in sweat, the woven mat beneath him cool from the night air. The storm had passed sometime before dawn. His heart still thundered in his chest.

Outside, the sky was turning faintly gray.

First light.

Neteyam ran a hand down his face, dragging air into his lungs as if it might slow the pounding. He looked around, the kelku still and quiet, Lo’ak and Kiri probably preparing already, waiting. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his trembling hands.

What was that?

A dream. Just a dream. But it hadn’t felt like one. It felt too sharp. Too vivid. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his fingers. Still hear your voice in his ears. He clenched his jaw. His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be. Showing him things—fears, nothing more. You were smart.You knew how to survive. You would survive.

And they would find you. He stood, shoulders squaring as he reached for his bow and strapped on the pack.

The morning brought a break—just enough light to fly under—but the forest was soaked, the canopy still weeping. Everything beneath the trees was washed clean. Or, at least, clean enough to make tracking impossible.

They flew out before the sun fully crested the ridgeline, a trio of silent shadows on their ikran: Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Kiri. No one else. No word to their parents. Not yet. Neteyam wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t take the weight of Neytiri’s disapproval—not when every second was a scream echoing through his bones.

They swept past the cliffs in tight formation, their path following the old scar of the mining pit—a stretch of land long since swallowed by vines and forest, but still raw beneath the surface. The ghosts of what had been done there still lingered, in broken stone and blackened soil. Neteyam hated this place. And now it hated him back, swallowing the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

They searched for hours.

Kiri guided them in long, looping arcs, dipping down every time she felt something—movement, a wrongness, even the softest disruption in the silence. Lo’ak stayed close to Neteyam, knowing better than to let him veer off on his own. Not now. Not when he was wound so tight he looked ready to snap his bow over his own knee.

Neteyam didn’t speak much.

Every few minutes he’d dive low, scanning the mud for a boot print, a scuff, a sign. But the rain had done its work. Nothing remained. Every root was clean. Every patch of soil was untouched. The forest was too quiet. As if it was hiding something.

By midday, they regrouped at a narrow ridge above the northern basin. Lo’ak circled overhead once before landing beside his brother. “Nothing,” he said, breathless, frustrated. “Not even a broken leaf.”

Kiri landed just behind them, her braid plastered to her neck with sweat. Her face was pale. Tired. “It’s like she vanished,” she said softly.

“She didn’t vanish,” Neteyam growled, pacing along the edge. His steps were sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. “She didn’t just disappear.”

“Bro…” Lo’ak tried gently. “The storm—”

“I don’t care about the storm,” Neteyam snapped, turning sharply. “She had to go somewhere. She’s not stupid.”

Kiri approached carefully, her voice even. “And maybe she went west. Or south. Or climbed high to stay out of the water.”

“You saw the map,” Neteyam said, voice low and fierce. “There’s no shelter past this point. No caves. No high ridge that would hold her weight in that storm.”

Lo’ak glanced toward the trees. “Then maybe she backtracked.”

“We would’ve seen it.”

“Maybe not,” Kiri said. “Maybe she covered her trail. Or maybe Eywa covered it for her.”

Neteyam’s jaw worked, his fists clenched at his sides. “Or maybe she’s lying out there somewhere dying, and we’re here talking about maybes.”

That was the first moment they saw it—really saw it. The crack starting to form. Neteyam had held himself together through everything—through duty, through pressure, through the endless push and pull between his family and his own secret love. But now? Now he looked like a cliff edge after the rain. One more tremor, and it would all fall.

“Neteyam,” Kiri said softly, stepping forward. “Please.”

He didn’t move. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to go back. Just for tonight.”

“No.”

“Neteyam—”

“No,” he snapped again, but this time his voice cracked at the edges.

Lo’ak stepped in next, placing a hand on his other shoulder. “We’ll come back. At sunrise. Just like now. But you have to rest.”

“I can’t rest.”

“Then fake it,” Lo’ak said, eyes sharp. “Because if you collapse out here, we’ll be dragging both of you back to the village.”

Neteyam hesitated—but his legs trembled just enough to give him away.

Kiri tightened her grip. “She’s alive,” she whispered. “I know it. Eywa hasn’t taken her. I would feel it.”

Neteyam turned toward her then, finally, his eyes wide and hollow. “What if I can’t? What if we’re too late?”

“You won’t be,” Kiri said. “Because we’re going to find her. Together.”

Neteyam stood there, trembling, for a moment longer. Then finally—finally—he let his shoulders fall. “Fine,” he whispered. “But we leave again at dawn.” They left in silence. The rain had started again, light but steady, soaking through their clothing as they mounted their ikran and soared back into the grey.

It felt like defeat. But it was survival. Just barely.

Day Four

They left again before dawn. This time, the light was clearer. The storm had finally passed in the night, leaving the air cleaner, cooler. The sun broke through the canopy in soft gold streaks as they returned to the last known location, the wind carrying birdsong and the scent of wet bark.

And it was Neteyam who saw it first. They were passing the northeastern edge of the basin, gliding above a ridge when something below snagged in his vision—a shape, tall and gnarled, rising from the slope near the ravine.

A tree. But not just any tree.

It stood out from the others—its bark weathered and dark, limbs twisted like old hands. One of its roots had grown high over a rocky outcrop, forming a natural hollow. Shelter. High enough to escape floodwaters. Thick enough to shield from rain.

He nearly dropped from his saddle. Lo’ak and Kiri followed without question, their ikrans diving after him. They landed on the ridge beside the tree, and Neteyam was off his ikran before her talons touched the earth. He ran straight to the trunk, sliding to his knees beside the hollow.

It was there. Neteyam didn’t answer at first. He just stared. There, halfway up a steep, moss-covered rise, was a tree.

A thick-barked colossus with roots that rose like spires around its base, and a hollow carved into the trunk high above—just large enough to shelter a body. Neteyam’s heart slammed against his ribs. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the one.”

Lo’ak frowned. “What?”

“I saw this tree,” Neteyam said, already dismounting. He stepped through the mud, pushing toward the roots. “In my dream. The night she vanished. I saw her—shivering—in the hollow. And there were viperwolves circling the base.”

Kiri followed fast behind, her voice cautious. “Are you sure?”

“I remember the shape of the branches. The tilt of the roots. The way the light cut through here—” He pointed to the canopy above. “It’s the same.”

Lo’ak followed, brow furrowed. “You think it was Eywa? A vision?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He was already climbing. The roots were slick but solid. He hoisted himself up with quiet, practiced movements, and when he reached the hollow—

He went still. Inside, the tree was dark, lined with old nesting leaves and bark. But near the back, half-buried under a clump of moss, was a shape.

His hand trembled as he reached for it. A single white button. Round. Stretched along the edge. It was from the shirt you wore the morning you left. He remembered the way it sat just beneath your collarbone. You’d complained the buttons were old. He’d joked that he’d just rip them all off next time. Now it lay in his hand.

“Neteyam?” Kiri called from below.

He turned slowly, clutching the button so tight it nearly cracked in his palm. “She was here,” he said, voice hoarse. “She was alive. She made it through the storm. She climbed up here to escape.”

Kiri and Lo’ak stared up at him, eyes wide. “And the wolves?” Lo’ak asked.

“No blood,” Neteyam said. “No bones. No torn cloth. She wasn’t attacked.” He dropped to the ground in two swift motions, landing hard.

“She survived. And she moved on.”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “That hollow’s old. She might’ve only stayed a night.”

“But she was alive when she did,” Neteyam said, voice full of urgency now. “We’re close.”

Lo’ak looked around. “So what now?”

“We switch tactics,” Neteyam said, breathing fast. “We stop flying. From now on, we track on foot. She’s not in the trees. She’s moving through the ground. We need to see the forest the way she would.”

Kiri nodded. “Pa’li, then. No ikran. Ground only.”

“She’s not far,” Neteyam whispered, clutching the button like a lifeline. “She’s not far. And she’s still alive.” And this time, he was sure. The forest hadn't taken you yet. And he would find you. Even if it took every step, every hour, every last piece of himself to do it. He would bring you home.

The kelku was quiet, lit only by the flickering fire pit. The smoke curled lazily toward the open vents in the roof, but Neteyam barely noticed. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his sleeping mat, spine rigid, head bowed. The white button lay in the center of his palm, resting there like a fragment of bone. Small. Insignificant.

And yet it felt like it weighed more than stone. It was the only thing he had from you since you vanished into the forest. The only proof that you were still out there. That you hadn’t just… disappeared. He turned it over slowly between his fingers, rubbing the edge with his thumb.

Now it was the only thing he had. Not your laugh. Not your touch. Not the way you’d wrinkle your nose when you concentrate too hard or hum that one off-key Terran tune you swore was “meditative.”

Just… this. A button. The first sign you had survived that storm. That you had made it through one more night alone, in a world that wasn’t made for you.

His eyes drifted down to the half-carved neckpiece at the side of the pelt. The one he’d started for you, the one he couldn’t finish because the day he picked up the stone was the day you went missing. He reached toward it, slowly, running one hand over the notched bone beads already strung. The river-hanger vine rested beside it, partially braided, the iridescent stone glinting faintly under the firelight. It should’ve been done by now. Should’ve been around your neck, warm against your skin, fingers brushing it every time you laughed.

Instead it lay unfinished. Empty. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his eyes, breathing slow, deep, strained.

He couldn’t lose you.

He should finish it. That was the plan. When you came home, he’d give it to you, watch the way your cheeks flushed and your fingers fidgeted, and you'd mumble something about how you didn’t deserve something so pretty.

Couldn’t let that dream become a prophecy—the one where he’d seen you sitting in the tall grass under a low-hanging Samson, blood dripping from your hand like petals. He hadn’t told anyone about that one. Not even Kiri. Not when it felt so close. Too close.

But now…

He clenched the button tighter in his palm. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the chance. The fire cracked softly. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees. And then, without warning, the curtain at the entrance shifted. Neteyam’s shoulders tensed instantly. A tall shadow stepped in.

Jake.

His father.

He stood there in silence for a breath, just watching. Neteyam said nothing. Didn’t even try to hide the way he bristled. Jake’s eyes flicked once around the kelku. The gear piled neatly by the wall. The bones. The carving tools. And the half-finished pendant resting beside his son’s pelt.

His gaze narrowed. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said finally.

Neteyam didn’t move. “You found me.”

Jake stepped inside, brow furrowed. “You’ve been gone every day since the last hunt. Always out before dawn. Always coming back after dark. And your siblings are with you.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His fingers twitched around the button.

Jake took a breath. “You’re going back to the clearing, aren’t you?” he said, tone low. “Where we saw the assault ship. You think there’s movement there.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. “No.”

Jake raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply. “You want to talk about recon? Ask anybody elsei. I’m not wasting time going back there.”

Jake crossed his arms, watching him. “Then what are you doing?”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched.

“You don’t answer to no one now?” Jake asked, stepping forward. “You disappear for days at a time. Avoid your mother. Duck out of every gathering. Refuse every invitation to meet with Sa’nari. You don’t even look at K’shi anymore. Your mother says you haven’t shown interest in anyone.”

Neteyam laughed, bitter and low. “I wonder why.”

Jake’s brows lifted.

“I’m out there,” Neteyam said, rising slowly to his feet, “doing what you raised me to do. Surviving. Working. Leading. And suddenly, you’re interested in my love life?”

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m interested in what you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

Jake’s eyes flicked again to the pendant beside the pelt. “What’s this?” he asked, reaching out.

Neteyam was on his feet in an instant. “Don’t touch it.”

Jake looked up, startled. Neteyam’s face was drawn tight, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Is it for Sa’nari?” Jake asked carefully.

“I’m not telling you.”

Jake’s expression darkened. “That’s not how this works.”

“Funny,” Neteyam said bitterly. “Because nothing about this has worked for me.”

Jake took a step forward. “Neteyam—”

“I’m doing what I have to do,” Neteyam said, voice low and tight. “I’m trying to do everything right. And still—it’s never enough. I’m either too stubborn, or too cold, or not enough like you.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” Neteyam barked a laugh. “Because it sure as hell feels like it.”

Jake’s tone shifted, quieter now. “I get it. You think I don’t? I know what it’s like to carry too much. I became Olo’eyktan before I was ready. I led a war before I understood what leadership really meant. And every day after that, I had to prove I was good enough to stand in the place I’d taken.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched—but he didn’t speak.

“I know it’s hard,” Jake said. “I know it feels like you’re being crushed from every angle. Like you have to carry the future while everyone tells you how to live it. But you don’t get to shut me out when things get hard.”

Neteyam finally looked at him.

Neteyam’s throat worked. He wanted to scream it. That you were missing. That you were alone. That every breath he took without knowing where you were was agony. That he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe without seeing your face somewhere in the trees. But if he said it—if he said your name—it would be over. He turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “Try me.”

Neteyam froze. The silence stretched. Then finally—slowly—he turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “There’s someone out there,” he said. “Someone who matters.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Neteyam didn’t elaborate. His eyes flicked to the pendant. The button. The fire.

Jake took a breath. “You’re scaring your mother.”

“I’m doing what you taught me to do,” Neteyam said coldly. “Protect what I care about. Even if it means breaking the rules.”

Jake stared at him for a long time. Then, finally, he stepped back toward the entrance. He paused at the curtain, one hand lifting it just slightly. “You’re keeping something from me, Neteyam. I know it.”

Neteyam didn’t look at him.

“I just hope,” Jake said quietly, “it’s not something that gets you killed.”

Then he was gone. The curtain swayed. Neteyam stood there for a long time and every breath felt like a countdown.

You were out there. And he was out of time.

The day was already thick with heat when they rode out.

The air clung to Neteyam’s skin like oil, humid and oppressive beneath the canopy. Their pa’li moved steadily over the forest floor, hooves squelching in soft earth, rain still dripping from swollen leaves. Kiri rode ahead, her eyes sweeping the ground. Lo’ak flanked behind, quiet for once.

Neteyam said nothing.

He hadn’t spoken since before dawn—not after another restless night spent staring at the unfinished neckpiece beside his mat. Not after his father’s visit. Not after pressing the white button to his lips and swearing he would not return without you.

They moved past a low stretch of reeds near the creek when Kiri reined in sharply. Her pa’li snorted. “Wait,” she murmured, swinging down. She knelt beside a clump of ferns, brushing her fingers through the damp leaves.

Neteyam dismounted fast, landing beside her. There, wedged under a moss-covered rock, was a shred of something pale. Kiri carefully pulled it out—a torn corner of paper, stained and softened by the rain.

Lo’ak squatted beside them. “Is that…?”

Neteyam grabbed it gently, turning it in his fingers. It was some kind of book—standard RDA stock, crumpled and torn, the ink smeared into illegibility. And stabbed through the center? A thorn. Clean. Deliberate.

“She marked it,” Neteyam whispered. He stood fast, scanning the trees—and then he saw another one. Farther ahead, tucked into the crook of a low branch: another scrap of paper. Pierced through and fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“She made a path,” Kiri said, eyes wide. “Eywa…”

Neteyam didn’t wait. He was already mounting. “Let’s go.”

They followed the path for half an hour—scraps hidden under stones, wedged behind bark, clinging to vines. Each one was like a heartbeat. A pulse. A whispered sign that she was still fighting. Still alive.

And then the trees opened. A clearing stretched before them—tall grass swaying in the midmorning light, golden-bright and deceptively peaceful. But it wasn’t the clearing that made Neteyam’s breath catch. It was the shape above it.

Suspended between the high trees, caught in a web of vines and roots and gravity’s slow mercy, hung a Samson gunship. Rusty. Broken. Twisted with age. Just like in his dream.

His pa’li halted with a soft grunt, sensing the shift in his rider’s pulse. Neteyam didn’t dismount. Couldn’t. He sat frozen, staring at the hanging craft like it had dropped out of his nightmares.

It was the exact same clearing. The exact same spot. The tall grass. The angle of the trees. This was where you had sat in his dream. This was where he’d seen you bleeding. “Eywa…” he whispered.

Behind him, Lo’ak was already moving, climbing up the low branches toward the side of the Samson. “I’ll check the cockpit,” he called.

Neteyam barely heard him. His vision swam. Please no. Please. Then, above him—

“Shit,” Lo’ak said. Neteyam’s head snapped up. And then the words came, sharp and terrible: “There’s a corpse up here.” It was more of a statement.

It was like getting shot in the chest. Everything inside Neteyam dropped. He was moving before he realized—bolting forward, leaping onto a twisted root, scrambling up the tangled vines as if his body no longer belonged to him.

He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

She’s gone. She’s gone. You were too late. You should’ve gotten here days ago.

His hands slipped on rusted metal, vines tearing under his grip. He hauled himself up over the edge of the broken ramp, eyes wild.

He was going to see you.

Dead.

Cold.

Eyes closed.

Face slack.

Gone.

The metal groaned beneath his weight as he pulled himself into the dark interior of the Samson—and stopped.

There, slumped in the pilot seat, was a corpse.

But not your corpse.

The uniform was faded tan. RDA insignia still barely visible on the shoulder.

The body was long decayed—just bones and sunken fabric, held together by rot and time. Probably had been here for twenty years, left behind after the war when this Samson crashed and never recovered.

Neteyam sagged forward, pressing one hand to the wall, breathing hard. He hadn’t realized how certain he was that it was you. How much he had already braced himself to see you—cold, broken, gone.

But it wasn’t you. It was some ghost of the past. A pilot who hadn’t made it out of the war. Neteyam didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes began to move across the interior.

The cockpit was rusted, yes—but solid. It had held together over the years. The control panels were useless, the wiring fried, but the frame was intact. It could have held weight. A person.

You.

He crouched lower, eyes scanning the corners, the dust-covered floor— And then he saw it. A helmet. Not the soldier’s.

An RDA exo-mask. Propped on its side in the corner, just beneath the pilot’s seat. Inside it… was liquid. Red-brown. Thick. His heart jumped. He reached for it, carefully, lifting it with both hands. The inside panel had been cleaned, smoothed out into a curve—used like a bowl.

First, he thought it was blood. His chest went cold. But then—he brought it to his nose. And stopped. Herbs.

Rulvansip.

Medicinal.

It smelled like the inside of Mo’at’s tent. It smelled like healing.

You have been here.

You used this.

You had treated a wound.

Just like the dream. A wound in her palm. He ran a shaking hand over the glass. “She was here,” he said hoarsely. “She stayed here. She used this.”

Kiri and Lo’ak looked up from below. “Then we’re still on her trail,” Lo’ak said. “Right?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He just sat there, holding the mask, staring into that rusted cockpit, knowing that for one moment—one terrifying, beautiful moment—he was sitting exactly where you had once sat.

And it meant one thing.

You were still moving.

You were still fighting.

You were still alive.

The fire burned low, its glow soft and unsteady as it crackled in the center of the kelku. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering in slow waves across Neteyam’s face as he crouched near the hearth, unmoving, eyes locked on the flames. The broken screen of the old datapad lay between them, its display cracked and stuttering—sometimes showing the trail map, sometimes just static.

Lo’ak sat cross-legged, turning a dull knife slowly in his hands. Kiri leaned back on her palms, eyes scanning the glowing map projection as it flickered. They’d been going in circles for hours—marking paths, arguing possible turns, retracing your steps in their minds.

Maybe you’d doubled back. Maybe you had turned east again, toward the outpost, following the sun like Neteyam had taught you—head low, wound bleeding, stubborn and alive.

Lo’ak lay on his side nearby, one arm folded under his head, his voice hushed but tense. “We could backtrack to the outpost. If she was trying to follow the sun east, she might’ve tried to stay close to old trails. Even if she veered north, that whole quadrant’s easier to move through.”

Kiri nodded, sitting cross-legged near the fire, frowning in thought. “I’ve been thinking the same. She wouldn’t have gone north. Not with a wound. And the forest gets denser out there—steeper, more dangerous.”

Lo’ak added, “From the Samson to the outpost is not far. We can ride straight in from the creek basin. Be there by midday. But for her on foot…”

Neither of them looked at their brother. Because Neteyam hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

He crouched by the fire pit like a statue, shoulders taut, tail flicking in short, restless motions. His breath moved slow—too slow—and his eyes… weren’t really watching the flames. Not anymore. He was somewhere far deeper.

Inside.

Spiraling.

The heat licked his face, dry and too bright. But it was the only thing anchoring him now. I can’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed properly since the day you went missing. Not really.

For a year, you were just another human—just another voice in the outpost, tucked behind a datapad with dirt under your nails and stubbornness in your voice.

For two years after that… you were a strange ache in his chest. A curiosity. A spark. Someone who saw Pandora like it was made of wonder, not war.

Then you started saying his name like it mattered. In time, you stopped being a scientist to him. And then—somewhere in the quiet moments between shared glances and too-long conversations—you became something more. His distraction. His gravity.

His little star.

You burned so differently from his world—so strange and stubborn but gentle with every living thing. You weren’t Na’vi. You weren’t meant to belong. But you did.

To him.

In the last half year, since the first time you kissed him—messy, laughing, breathless—it had become unbearable to be apart. He’d never been meant for hiding, for secrets. But with you, he would hide forever if it meant keeping you. If it meant waking to your touch, even in silence. If it meant you were still his.

And now?—now you were gone.

He clenched his jaw, nails digging into the skin of his palms as he stared into the fire.

íYou have become part of him.

Every day they were apart since that first kiss had felt wrong. Empty. He needed you near him—needed your laugh, your warmth, your hand brushing his. He didn’t care that it had to be secret. Didn’t care that no one would understand. He needed you like breath. Now, all he had left was a trail of torn paper. An old dream. And the smell of herbs in a mask you’d used to heal yourself.

If I’ve already lost you…

He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t let it live inside his head. His throat felt tight. His chest burned.

I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when you are finally mine.

He reached toward the flames without thinking—just close enough for the heat to bite his skin—and curled his fingers inward, as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. Kiri watched him, her voice faltering as she trailed off mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward.

“Neteyam,” she said gently. “You’re doing it again.” He didn’t blink. “You’re slipping,” she said, softer now. “You’re going too deep.”

Still nothing. Kiri moved toward him, settling beside his crouched form, her hand brushing his arm. “Neteyam,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

His breath came out as a shudder. Then, slowly, he turned toward her. “I need to find her,” he rasped. His voice cracked on the last word. Kiri nodded, her grip tightening. “I need her, Kiri. I can’t—I can’t lose her. Not when… not when she’s finally mine.”

It slipped out of him, barely above a whisper. And that’s when the curtain at the entrance rustled.

Neytiri stood in the doorway, framed in firelight. Her eyes were sharp. Her expression is unreadable. “What did you say?” she asked, voice like a drawn bowstring.

Neteyam froze.

Kiri went still beside him.

Lo’ak straightened slowly, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud against the floor.

Neytiri stepped further inside, eyes narrowed, locking onto her eldest son with slow precision. “Neteyam,” she said again. “Who is… ‘yours’?”

The fire snapped. The datapad flickered. And in the suffocating silence that followed, Neteyam didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because everything—everything—was about to break.

And he didn’t know if he could stop it.

Part 24: (Soon)

The next part will be again from reader's pov.

[myokk]

The fics that live rent-free in my brain🫶🫶🫶

I was talking with @elliecutte yesterday about the fics I always recommend and think about long after I’ve finished them, & I wanted to document the list somehow♥️♥️♥️ I don’t have an otp and read for a LOT of fandoms so this is all over the place bahahahahahahahah

Unsphere the Stars by cocoartist (Tomione, M). This fic is genuinely my Roman Empire. I think about it CONSTANTLY♥️ It’s the most romantic, swoon-worthy thing I’ve ever read, and the Hermione and Tom are perfectly characterized. You can tell the author is SO well-read and intelligent, her writing is just the most beautiful thing ever, and I find myself just going to random chapters and reading them because I love it so much.

Birdie by @crushribbons ♥️ (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I know I’m so annoying tagging you about this BUT I GENUINELY LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH ‼️‼️ it’s manipulative/needy Sebastian at its absolute FINEST & I think about it a lot🥹 since the second I read it (when you only had part 1 out) I knew I was going to be in for a TREAT…the writing/prose is just 🤌🤌🤌 & the way you write Sebastian made me start to understand why people are actually simping for him😆🫠

One Hundred and Sixty Nine by Soupy_George (Sirmione, T). I read this SO long ago, before I had an ao3 account, and I think about it often. It’s actually much longer than I remember it being because I absolutely devoured it. Hermione travels back to 169 days before Voldemort kills James and Lily, and she has a short period of time to convince Sirius to help her out without seeming like she’s gone mad. I’m the ultimate Sirius fan but I feel like I’m quite picky with how he’s characterized, and this fic gets it right🫶🫶🫶

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite (Elizabeth x Col.Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth x Mr Darcy, T). I don’t have much to say except this one, plus Unsphere the Stars are my favorite fics of all time. I think about it all the time, it truly is just beautiful♥️ the author DID HER HOMEWORK in regards to historical accuracy, and I go through every single emotion known to mad every time I reread it. The most beautiful depictions of falling in love and grief and healing and 🥺 I would recommend it to anyone, not just people who like p&p♥️♥️

we are the same underneath it all, aren’t we? by tookajourneytotheunknown (Jack Sparrow x Elizabeth Swann, T). I think this was the first fic I commented on, when I finally got my ao3 account🥰♥️ it is just absolutely BEAUTIFUL writing (do you see a theme here with what I love🤭), and I just think about it all the time😭🫠♥️ the best Jack Sparrow, I love love lovveeeeeeee how the author wrote him !!!!!!! PotC fics are really so hit or miss for me but this one was just amazing. All I can say is that it reads like a fairy tale in the best way possible.

When We’re Older by @writing-intheundercroft (Sebastian x f!mc, E). I simply adore this story🤭♥️ it’s SO WELL-WRITTEN !!!! I love her Sebastian, I love Theo, I’ve actually laughed out loud reading this (Jackdaw😤), I’ve teared up, I’ve wanted to shake some sense into all of the characters. She just does such a good job exploring how it feels to be young and think you know everything when you DON’T, the uncertainty of falling in love, how to navigate opening up your life to another person. I just love it♥️

All of @hazyange1s oneshots !!! & im sure fic when I start reading it🫶🫶🫶 I just adore your writing & every time I read it I’m like ?????? This writing is in our fandom???????? ITS JUST SO GOOD 😭🤌🤌♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

All of @anto-pops oneshots♥️ I’m so weird but I only read them with my morning coffee & it is a strange way to start my day but🫠🫠🫠 c’est la vie. Her Sebastian is so obsessive and manipulative and needy and aldkfksjgkjsjfjdjdjdjsjssjs literally her oneshots hit the spot every time & idk how she does it !!!!

How to Make A Villain by @morelikeravenbore (Sebastian x f!mc, M). I’m not done with this one (yet🤭) but I LOVE IT !!! Aurélie is already so dear to me, and I absolutely love love love how she writes Sebastian🫶 definitely not shying away from his red flags but…ngl I would fall for him too if I were her😔😍

The Call of the Void by @sloanesallow (Sebastian Sallow x f!mc, M). I love her version of Sebastian so much, goofy and dorky and a chronic over-thinker🥺 and Sloane is just such a sweetheart, I love her SO MUCH !!! I’m really excited to see where this story goes, and I’m obsessed with all of the pining between the two of them🤌🤌

Any oneshot by @applinsandoranges 🥹♥️♥️♥️ they’re always so sweet and spicy and aldkfjdhkcjdjfkkdlfkejdjdjdjshshs I’ve been meaning to go through your masterlist and just spam comment soon bc I love them all !!

@rambling-tam writing🥹🫶🫶🫶 I haven’t had the time yet to spam read everything (yet !!) but what I have read so far is breathtaking. Truly some of the best writing I’ve seen in this fandom🥰♥️

I reblog A LOT of the oneshots my algorithm graces me with (idk what’s up with it lately but I feel like I miss a lot🥲). But I recommend all of those as well♥️♥️♥️

[wrathofrats]

Mushy May Day 5: love at first sight

1.3k, sfw, prompts by @forlorn-crows

Half phantom/swiss half phantom/rain

Read under cut or all of mushy may on ao3!

Swiss has been whisked away by the clergy, rain comforts a worried phantom.

Warnings and tags: swiss is having element problems, phantom breaks down, starts sad gets better, rain is a sweetheart when he wants to be, icees

Phantom stood in the middle of the hotel room and dropped his bags with a shaky breath. He could feel his jaw shaking, an empty vibration in his chest like something had been carved out of him. The room felt huge, that distinct hotel chill and clean linen smell giving him goosebumps. He requested this. Requested a room alone tonight even after each ghoul, including tempest, insisted he shouldn’t be alone.

He needed this though, despite what dew told him. He needed time to himself to swallow what had happened, didn’t need another ghoul watching over him like he was a danger to himself or couldn’t rationalize things in a calm manner. He could. Phantom squeezed his hands into fists with a deep breath, letting his nails dig into his palms. He could.

The show felt funny. And yeah sometimes things feel weird and dew and rain just have to give him a thumbs up to let him know it’ll be ok but this? This was entirely different. Swiss barely looked at anyone, hands shoved in his pockets while mountain and aurora kept him away from the rest of the pack. Dew and rain exchanged whispers with a concerned eye, and cirrus kept tempest by her side.

There were moderate attempts to keep phantom distracted, dew and rain stood by him talking about nothing, as if they didn’t want him to wander off. Cirrus made him go over the instrumentals in umbra with him as if she hadn’t mastered them before dew did. But Swiss was always no where to be found, constantly surrounded by mountain and aurora.

He didnt give him a kiss before they went on stage, didn’t even say good luck. Hell the group didn’t bother doing their little circle like they usually did and every second that passed before they stepped into the spotlight only made phantoms stomach sink more. Sure he could turn back at any time to see Swiss but not being able to talk, or even touch him made it worse.

In hindsight, phantom thinks he should’ve done more. He should’ve forced his way to Swiss’ side as soon as he noticed something was wrong. He should’ve grabbed his hand at bows so that no one could rip him away from him he should’ve known he should’ve done something-

Phantoms phone buzzes beside him, momentarily shaking him from his spiral. It’s cirrus, just asking if he wants them to bring him back food from their midnight run. Something in him shrivels knowing they assumed he wouldn’t want to come and didn’t invite him, even if the assumption was right. He doesn’t answer.

The air buzzes around him with a numbing loneliness. Phantom doesn’t think he’s spent a night truly alone since he was summoned. Sure sleeping alone in his room in the abbey but the other ghouls were right next to him if he needed, Swiss was right next door if he needed. Now he’s on a plane or in a van or fucking something probably scared and alone and phantom aches with the thought of it.

“His element is unstable bug” mountain grabbed phantom by the arm as Swiss got whisked off, “he’s not safe to be around, he needs to go home”

“What? Mount what do you mean he’s not safe I need to see him-“ phantom tugged again, desperation tugging at his voice. He didn’t want to panic but his chest felt tight the further Swiss got away from him. Swiss turned around giving him a sympathetic look before they rounded a corner.

“Aurora already tried phantom, he- she got hurt. He burned her look at her arm, he needs to go home”

“Aurora? You got fucking Aurora to help him and not me? I’m the quintessence ghoul why wouldn’t you just fucking let me-“

Phantom tore his arm away just for mountain to pull him in by the shoulders again, holding him tight against his chest as he squirmed. Rain and cirrus appeared by his side as mountain struggled to fully contain him. It’s a blurry memory, tears welling up as the two other ghouls faces came into view trying to calm him down.

It wasn’t fair. Sure it wouldn’t be fair if it was anyone else but phantom can’t help but to selfishly wish it was. His phone buzzed again, cirrus texting him that they were back and asking again if he was alright. He didn’t want to answer, even if he probably needed to to make sure they all knew he was alive at least. But the act of reaching for his phone felt like his bones were full of concrete. Luckily, or unluckily there was a knock at the door anyways.

Phantom sighed and debated even opening it, before relenting in order to avoid any problems. He heard the rustling of a plastic bag as rain came into view, holding it up like a peace offering, along with a blue icee that was probably bigger than his head. He smiled, snorted a bit at the ridiculousness but let rain in anyways.

“Brought you some snacks bug, didn’t you see you eat before the show” rain set the food down on the hotel desk, holding out the icee for phantom to take. Even if he couldn’t eat, this would supplement some calories.

“Don’t-“ phantom visibly cringed at the nickname. Everyone calls him it but Swiss came up with the name first, always being the one to use it most often. It just felt like salt in a fresh wound, “not right now”

Rain gave him a sad nod, sitting on the edge of the bed while phantom curled up by the pillows, holding his drink like it was going to leave him if he didn’t keep it close. He took small sips, waiting for rain to speak but silently hoping he wouldn’t.

“He should be back at the ministry by morning. We can call him when you wake up if you want” rain finally spoke after a couple minutes, keeping his focus aimed at his lap. He picked at a rip in his jeans before looking up to see if phantom would respond. “The others were going to do a group thing just to say they’ll miss him. But I assumed you’d want a personal call”

“Yeah, I’ll call him after they’re done” phantom gave a slow nod. They stared at each other for a second before phantom patted the spot next to him, inviting rain to lay properly instead of acting like he was going to run the second phantom didn’t want him there anymore.

Rain crawled up next to him, smiling with the knowledge phantom did appreciate the company, at least a little bit. Their knees touched, rain resting his head on phantoms shoulder as he held the straw up to him for him to take a sip.

“Swiss always gets red, I don’t know how he stands the cherry honestly. I hate it” phantom mumbled like he was simply trying to fill the space.

“Did he also make you kiss him when you were done so you could ‘make purple’” rain cocked an eyebrow at him. Phantom snorted, nodding, “oldest trick in the book. I think that’s the only reason he gets that damn flavor”

“He snuck me out of the ministry a couple weeks after I was summoned, said I needed a vacation. The vacation being a giant icee I could never finish and too many bags of chips, wanted me to try them”

“Aether wasn’t happy with him, I remember Swiss telling me he got a talking to about that one. Dumbass”

They both took a breath, dumb smiles on their faces as they took a couple sips before passing it back to the other. The tears on phantoms face finally felt dry for the first time in hours.

“I-“ phantom starts, biting his cheek before opening his mouth again like he hoped the words would fall out on their own, “I think I fell in love with him that day”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, he was trying to woo you for a while before that”

“He was?”

Rain laughed a little, sitting up,

“Oh phantom, I think he fell in love with you the second you stepped off the platform”

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @nisbanisba and @ladyknight1512!

Work is published Wednesday for me, from the latest Missing Moments chapter :)

“We’ve run into a bit of a snag in the wedding planning,” he begins.

Nancy smirks. “They can’t find flowers the exact color of your eyes?”

“Carlos is already married,” TK blurts out, before he has time to second-guess.

He watches as Nancy keeps smiling for a moment as if she thinks he’s joking. TK wishes it was a joke, too. Then he watches her face fall and a deep frown wrinkle her forehead.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asks slowly.

After taking another moment to search her eyes, TK says, “You really didn’t know?”

“Didn’t – that Carlos is married?” Nancy splutters, far too loudly.

“Shh!” TK insists, pushing up to his feet so he can pull one of the ambulance doors shut. Nobody is near them as far as he can tell from this vantage point, but she still needs to lower her voice. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry, I’m – no, why would I know that?” Nancy shakes her head and gapes at him. “We barely knew each other before you moved here.”

TK exhales and sits back down. He rests his elbows on his knees and scrubs his hands over his face. “Because the person he’s married to is Iris Blake.”

“Iris – Michelle’s missing little sister?”

“Yeah. Except she’s not so missing, anymore.”

He squints back up at Nancy, and she’s looking at him as if it would be easier for her to understand it if he’d told her Carlos has a tail.

“Shit,” Nancy surmises, leaning back and crossing her arms. “When the fuck did they get married? And why didn’t I know that?”

“When they were just out of high school,” TK answers, to her first question. He can’t speak to the second one. “They separated not long after, I don’t know exactly when. But just never officially got divorced.”

Nancy’s staring off into space, her eyes slowly moving back and forth like she’s trying to fit pieces together in her mind. TK’s been doing a lot of that lately. “Shit,” she says again.

“Yeah.”

“I guess it kind of makes sense.”

TK’s eyes widen. “It does?”

“I just mean, like, it was always kind of weird to me that Carlos was so involved with Michelle trying to find her sister,” Nancy explains, tilting her head to one side. “It’s not like he was a detective assigned to the case or something. Michelle always just said they were old friends, but in the back of my mind I was always like … you’re in your 40s and this kid is like 22 years old, how is he your old friend?”

“I guess he was Iris’s friend.”

“That’s what makes more sense. I never knew that part.”

TK sighs. He believes her, and it does make him feel just a little bit better to know he wasn’t the last to know about all of this. He forgives Carlos and understands why the secret was kept, he hasn’t been lying when he’s been insisting to Carlos that that’s true. But sometimes it still hits him unexpectedly and makes him feel stupid for not having figured it out, despite there being no reason he should have.

“So, wait.” Nancy leans forward and lowers her voice as she asks, “Did they split up because Carlos realized he was gay?”

“No.” TK slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know every single detail, but Carlos always knew he was gay. Apparently Iris did, too. Carlos said they were best friends and they both felt lost and like they’d never find anyone else.”

“So, it wasn’t a real marriage.”

“I mean … not in terms of them being in love with each other,” TK relents, “but it was still a legal marriage. And they still never got divorced.”

“And you just found this out? Iris has been back for – ”

“I know,” TK interrupts. He shakes his head again. “Can you please not be mad at Carlos? He had reasons, and we’re okay. We talked everything out, it’s good.”

Narrowing her eyes, Nancy says, “Okay. Why are you telling me, then?”

“Hey.” The door opens to reveal Tommy on the other side of it with an eyebrow raised. “Are we working in here or gossiping on company time?”

TK’s stomach leaps momentarily into his throat, worried she overheard them talking, but Tommy gives him nothing to indicate that she did.

“Gossiping on company time,” Nancy confirms, and Tommy’s expression turns to a fond smile.

“Love it, but maybe get some restocking done while you’re gossiping.”

“Aye aye, Cap.” Nancy salutes her and Tommy shakes her head before she wanders away.

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce @hereghostslive @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @whatsintheboxmh

@nisbanisba @chicgeekgirl89 @carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday

@rangersoup @ambernotember

@certifiedflower

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[vazaez]

It has come to my attention that someone has been shittalking me and twisting up My words to make me seem like a creep, so i'm here to defend myself.

Here's what they said:

Good job making me look like a piece of shit over a fic i read out of curiosity because people kept mentioning it under my art, here's the conversation in question we had on Instagram, because You didnt give three shits before sharing bits and pieces of out of context messages no one else saw, making up your own version, i don't feel bad not giving a shit about showing the whole thing because i got nothing to hide.

And since you were too much of a coward to be straight with me i'll respect your wishes and keep you anonymous too.

I will translate the conversation, word for word, and i want everyone to judge if it actually correlates to what the initial post says, get your own conclusions, i don't need to fight to defend my point.

-about the possible fanfic they're mentionin on tumblr was possibly by a usar named izosso, but that guy is a proshipper and all the other fics in the tag are really weird💀

Telling you here because my tumblr account doesnt let me comment

•i saw them lol and i blocked izosso, but theres another fic by someone else [literally the only one of the ship that wasnt posted by izosso] who isnt a proshitter [as far as i know] and the fic is relatively good

-send me the link

•some things didnt really sit right with me but over all it's pretty good, they describe the dynamic almost the same as i imagined it skhd

It has a lot of smut, i just let you know because maybe that content is not your cup of tea

-going into the wild kratts Tag in AO3 is like playing the Russian roulette

Just send it to me to see what it's about

•yeah 😭 that's why i found it so weird so many people talking about the same fic

(I send the link) Here it is

-ahh yeah i found this one but i found the food sex tag weird

(Replying to my prev message) Me too

• ah yes, but it's not that much, it was put there more like a caution but no one stuck any food down any holes fortunately 🙏(clearly joking btw)

Well, besides the mouth

-thank god lol

Lmao hey out of curiosity, can i know what about it was it that you didnt like? I found it weird to see Chris as a bottom because i can't imagine him like that

•oh yeah no i do see it, he's too much of a diva 💔 (also clearly a joke?? Are we serious??) what i dislike the most is that Zach acts super weird

And the fact that there is smut at all, because it's a topic that causes me a lot of debate because he's a self insert and all

So i don't know how to feel about it, but it is well written at the very least lol

-same, it's like a 50/50 , in any case i think the fandom is gonna to form a dispute because there's a Lot of artists who font like that and when that happens i'm gonna be like Italy during WW2 lol

And yeah that thing with Zach was really weird *proceeds to call the police*

•LMAO yeah, i just try to not touch that topic much because it could always cause problems

Now where did i ever mention that i consume that content because i like it? Where did i ever sound like "an average Fujoshi"? When i very clearly said that what threw me off about the fic was the fact that there was smut at all

If what made you nauseous enough to try to ruin me was that i jokingly said he was a diva then i don't even fucking know what to tell you ??

The same curiosity you had to come and ask me for the link was the one that caused me to give the fic a try in the first place, so am i really more to be judged than you when we did the exact same thing??

Im an adult, i don't appreciate you going around saying "she still has some years for her brain to develop so i'll have faith!!" Like i'm some sort of idiot, you're barely a year older than me so be serious.

And i don't need you to go to some rando's asks to shit talk me and confess you had plans to talk crap about me to my friends because you had your own conclusions from a very specific conversation, and act like i was the one who still needs to get her shit together

Like what even is your point-?

Check yourself

And to call me a hypocrite on top of it all,,, just unbelievable

Who really is the hypocrite?

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

Had this locked almost ready to go since the last Prowl-focussed chapter but it really fought me, waahhhh

Aaanyway, Prowl's back, plus Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and discussions of sibling death~ Read here or on AO3!

The American base was… different. His base in Central Europe certainly had a different vibe to it. The camaraderie felt significantly less forced - they broke bread together, they smoked together, they drank together because they were all in the shitter together. It sucked, and they had to look out for each other.

The American base felt a lot like the idea he had in his head of Colleges (that’s what they were called, right?) that he’d seen in movies. With the houses and the Greek letters, the cliques that did not mix and formed strange alliances to go against another clique. 

Prowl stood awkwardly in the break out room, wondering where was most appropriate for him to sit as he drank another coffee to reset his body clock.

“Petteri!”

He flinched and turned, tired heavy eyes casting around the room-

His younger brother was making a beeline for him. Prowl felt his feet moving before he’d thought about it, and he quietly ‘oofed!’ When Ville slammed into him, arms tightly wrapping around his midsection.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” The words in their native tongue spilled out, slightly accented. “What are you doing here? How long are you here for? Do you know where you’re staying - I can take you there, you must be exhausted. Oh, oh, come sit with me - there’s a free seat. A couple, actually. Have you noticed how weird they are here? It’s like we’re diseased.”

“Breathe, Ville.” Prowl brushed his hair back out of his face. “Your hair’s grown.”

Bluestreak dragged him over to their table and forced him down into a seat, dropping down next to him. Prowl did his best to pay attention to what he was saying - something about their mechs and how excited he was to see a European one.

That made him pause and suddenly snap into the conversation. The buzzing in his ears suddenly stopped as he came into focus.

“They’re different?”

“Would you like to see?”

Jazz dwarfed the other mechs. Prowl had the impression that this is what his mech must have looked like next to Vortex. Bluestreaks mech came up to Jazz’s hip. They were still nothing to sniff at, not by a long shot - but they still seemed small. Bluestreak had stopped to stare in awe at Jazz, eyes wide and sparkling. His friend - another pilot called Sideswipe - had tagged along with them. Prowl vaguely remembered meeting him at the pilots academy when visiting Bluestreak - him and an identical boy who always had a mean expression and dressed himself in gold. It was good that they’d managed to stay together - that he had a friend here. It made him feel much less guilty about accepting the post at the Northern European Shatterdome instead of finding a job that would have taken him to America and closer to his brother.

“Do you remember Koen?” Bluestreak gestured to him.

“Verstappen, yes? Like the racers.” Prowl held out his hand for a handshake. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Petteri, right?” Sideswipe loosely took his hand and shook it once, quickly shoving his hand back into his pocket.

“Where’s your brother? it would be good to say hello again.” He was just being polite. He didn’t really want to speak to him, but he wanted to keep up appearances and leave behind good impressions.

Bluestreak awkwardly chewed his lip and Sideswipe tensed.

“Uhm, Prowl?” Bluestreak quietly said, gesturing for his brother to lean closer so he could whisper in his ear. “Sun- Max died.”

“Ah.” Well. That was suddenly very awkward. He straightened and looked down at his shoes, far too shiny for a mech base. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sideswipe. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, it’s not like I sing it from the rooftops.” He scratched behind his ear in a clear show of forced nonchalance. “Kinda happens in this line of work anyway. It’ll be my turn eventually.”

He’d died in his mech, then.

“I understand. My husband died the same way.”

Sideswipe looked at him differently after that. Before, it had been with an air of uncertainty, of disdain. He was a figure of authority to them, an unknown variable. Suddenly, with a few exchanged words, he had become relatable. More human. He was tangible and dimensional. Their grief was a shared one.

He took much more interest in his mech after that. Jazz seemed to be delighted to have them, opening his cockpit with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, beating Prowl to the punch on engaging the steps and moving closer to them without the pilots input. Bluestreak and Sideswipe had watched with awe, immediately putting it down to the mech’s programming, to the AI contained within pre-emptively assuming the next task. Prowl thanked his lucky stars that they didn’t know any better – he wouldn’t have been able to bluff his way out of it had they not been in America. The Europeans would have had the hairs on their arms raising instantly, visions of Vortex flashing behind their eyes.

But Bluestreak and Sideswipe didn’t know about Vortex. They didn’t know how the AI’s worked, what their scope was meant to be, how Jazz moving without pilot input should have been enough to have him shut down for examination and poked at with sticks, his code studied with a fine comb to find the discrepancy, the error that allowed it to override the safety controls – like they’d done countless times with Vortex after he destroyed a pilot, like they’d done when Jazz had suddenly stopped responding.

Bluestreak ran a hand over the armrest of the chair.

“What’s your mech called? Prowl, I assume?”

“Your callsigns are your mech’s names?” Prowl asked curiously.

“Yeah. You’ll never guess how Sideswipe got his name.”

“It was one time!” Sideswipe threw his hands up in annoyance. “I take out another pilot one time, and now it’s just my name forever!”

Bluestreak snickered into his hand, poorly disguising it as a cough.

“Our mech’s have code names that are assigned to them – usually single word descriptors. Mine is called Jazz.”

Bluestreak flinched, quickly glancing up at his brother.

“They didn’t assign it to you-?”

“No, they didn’t. This mech chose me.” Prowl quickly reassured him. “I was most compatible with the AI, and that was my reason for assignment. Nothing nefarious.”

Bluestreak visibly relaxed with a quiet sigh before his brain caught up with the new information.

“Wait, so the AI – you have to go through compatibility trials? So it’s like having a separate partner? That’s so cool – apparently they tried having two pilots here, but it caused too much drama, especially if they found out the other pilot was cheating on them or whatever – turns out these mechs are expensive. Who’d have guessed? They’d focus more on fighting each other than on the quintesson and that wasn’t exactly conductive to their job, so that’s why pilots are solo here. I heard they pair up in some places in Asia, is that true? I’d like to see that some day, it’d be really interesting to see how that all works.”

Jazz rumbled quietly, a low hum that gently vibrated the room. Prowl immediately recognised it as laughter, but it had Bluestreak and Sideswipe scrambling to clutch onto something.

“It’s not about to start moving, is it?!” Sideswipe demanded.

“No, he’s docked – he can’t go anywhere.” Prowl replied. He slipped into the pilots seat and feigned studying the readout on one of the small screens – total gibberish to all except those who knew the language it was in. “It’s just a slight recalibration of the climate control function – the cockpit doesn’t usually have more than just me in it.” He smoothly lied. Jazz trembled again.

“Oh, thank god.” The boy wheezed, clutching his chest. “This thing looks like it moves, and I did not want to find out whilst I wasn’t strapped in.”

The rumble bumped and jerked, Jazz losing the battle of keeping himself contained. Prowl gently squeezed the arm rest.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The roombas were misbehaving.

Prowl had to bite his tongue as he walked past a pair of engineers scratching their heads, a roomba disassembled on the floor between them. Apparently they’d started going off course – whilst the majority of them only had a short blip early that morning, there were a few that weren’t doing what they should have been and seemed to have totally forgotten their job. The roomba they were currently rooting around inside smelled strongly of coffee – Prowl suspected that it lived near the coffee machines in the cafeteria and was tasked with cleaning up the spills from tired pilots.

Jazz had a penchant for this. When Jazz had first gone offline, when he had arrived at the same Shatterdome, the automated drones and robots began to act a little strangely. Roombas would rush around like over-excited mice, chased by larger cleaning units. The maintenance drones would spin and dance and use their motors to sing. Prowl later realised it was Jazz – with no pilot, he was beginning to get bored and had turned to hacking into whatever he could to alleviate it. Not for evil, no, just pure-hearted fun. And apparently, he’d decided to do the same here – he’d probably already hopped onto the cameras too and was watching the engineers and mechanics try and put out the metaphorical fires he was starting with great delight.

At least he wasn’t having the microwaves sing a jaunty little jingle every half hour. Again.

He grabbed his coffee and turned on his heel, quickly walking to the mech hangar. His first lesson was the next morning and he still didn’t know how their mechs moved, how the pilots operated – Sideswipe was supposed to be in there for scheduled maintenance and he wanted to take the opportunity to run through some things with him. Bluestreak was still sleeping – he’d been on the night patrol. Jazz was almost comically huge in the light of a new day. The hangar doors were closed, leaving him illuminated by artificial light only, which only accentuated the shadows he cast. The lights weren’t quite at the right height for him, making him look very ominous indeed.

A roomba shot past them at speeds the roomba should not have been programmed to achieve. Prowl shot Jazz a withering glare. I know that was you. Stop that.

Jazz vibrated. A nearby engineer jumped, looking around for the source of the noise.

Prowl quickly drank his coffee to hide his laugh, promptly gagging and coughing. Did they put mud and ash in this? He spat it back out into the cup and grimaced.

Ugh. He’d been looking forwards to that.

Prowl confidently strode up the catwalk, brushing his hair back out of his eyes – he really needed to get a haircut, but Jazz had always liked it when it was long enough to play with so he’d kept it at an awkward length – and put his coffee down on the console before leaning against his chest, pretending to inspect the panels.

“Morning, Jazz.” Prowl rapped on the metal affectionately. “Have you seen Sideswipe?”

Two chirps came back, the sound of the oxygen test system. Yes.

Prowl looked around the hangar. “Here?”

One chirp. No.

Hmm.

“Thank you. I’ll be back later, okay?”

Three chirps. I love you.

“I love you too.” He quietly said. He quickly turned and grabbed his coffee, striding off with purpose so nobody would talk to him. Not that they did – Bluestreak had laughed as he told him that someone had already confessed that they’d found him intimidating and unapproachable. Prowl wondered if it was because he was a newcomer, someone in a position of authority over them, or if it was just his face.

On Bluestreaks tour yesterday, he’d showed him the roof. That had been where they’d left Sideswipe – apparently he liked to look out over the flats. Prowl hadn’t paid it much attention at the time – he was so tired he wanted to get the tour over with and into bed as quickly as humanely possible, so he’d just nodded and said how lovely it was to satisfy his younger brother until he was whisked away to the next location.

So, logically, if Sideswipe wasn’t in the hangar where he should have been, then he was likely to be up on the roof. Pausing by the cafeteria, he glanced at his coffee – he had barely touched it, it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever had the displeasure of passing his lips – and looked back up at the machine. Maybe a tea wouldn’t be amiss? Did Sideswipe even drink tea? He was about to find out.

He took the lift up. The doors opened, and the door to the outside was ajar – he pushed it open and peered out, wincing as the cold wind whipped at his face.

Sideswipe was at the edge, legs dangling down through the railing. His head rested against it, arms loosely looped round. He was deep in thought, thinking heavily about something, the dark circles under his eyes apparent and tinged with red.

Prowl knew he wasn’t the best person for this, but he was also the only one he had. So he sat down next to him, mirroring his position.

The warm cup of tea was placed next to him, gently nudged into his hand.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said. “It’s breakfast with one cream. Sorry, I didn’t know what you liked.”

“I don’t like hot drinks.”

Prowl seamlessly removed the cup and pressed an energy drink into his hand instead. He had it in his bag for emergencies - for when drops went on for a bit too long, for when he started to flag. Apparently now was the time that called for it.

Sideswipe snorted in amusement. “Why do you even have this?” He asked as he cracked it open.

“Emergencies.”

“Thanks, Prowl.”

“You seem tired.” He probed.

“I’m not really sleeping.” Sideswipe admitted. “It’s around this time of year that Sunny died.”

Prowl remembered what it was like. The days blurring into one, the calendar being overwhelmed by one date. That time both stood still and flew by, intangible yet dragging roughly over bare skin like sharp gravel. It felt wrong for the time to pass without them, and yet you were powerless to stop it: the sun rose, and the sun set in perpetuity. The cosmos did not care that time had ground to a halt in one place; it simply continued on without them.

Eventually time began to move again, but it always ground to a halt like clockwork. Prowl found that the time for him hadn’t been the day Jazz had died, or even the anniversary of his funeral. It was his birthday. Grief was strange and he wouldn’t pretend to understand it, but he would do his best for the boy who had glistening eyes and a wobbling bottom lip.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Does it get any easier?”

“It does. Eventually. Lean on your friends, it helps.” He looked out over the view in front of them, the freakishly flat land and the distant sea. It felt weird to look out and not see a single hill, a single forest. It was all bare, totally alien to him. “You’ll have hard days, but the easier days will become more frequent.”

“I hope so.” He pressed his fist to his forehead. “Am I allowed to talk to you like this?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You’re a higher rank? My friend’s older brother?”

“My rank doesn’t seem to mean much here.” He couldn’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice. “And yes, I am Ville’s older brother, but doesn’t that remove a degree of isolation?”

“I guess so…”

“You seem to miss him a lot.”

“I do.” Sideswipe audibly took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. When he spoke again, his voice was thicker. “The last time we spoke it was an argument. We’d been constantly fighting for months, so it didn’t particularly stand out at all, but I wish it hadn’t been a fight. I wish I was nicer to him.” He rubbed at his nose with a sniff. “He said he never wanted to speak to me again. I mean, he got his wish, but I hate that it was that one. Why did it have to be that one?”

“What else did he wish for?”

“He loved art and making things with his hands, so probably something like that. I think he’d have made a killing if he went into mech design, honestly. He made parts for his mech, you know. Really cool. Stood out a lot.”

“What happened to his mech?”

He shrugged. “They couldn’t recover some parts of it. Apparently the cockpit was so compacted they didn’t realise what it was at first.”

Jesus Christ. Prowl felt a bit nauseous. That poor kid.

Sideswipe took a big gulp of the energy drink.

“Sorry. That got real depressing.”

“You’re fine.”

The hair on their arms suddenly stood on end. Sideswipe was up on his feet in seconds, gripping tightly onto the balcony and staring out over the flats.

Oh, Prowl realised as he slowly stood, they built the Shatterdome here so they could see the rip more clearly.

“There.” Sideswipe was pointing up at the sky, at the grotesque rip that was slowly forming. “Ugh. Just when I was about to go to bed, too.”

“How fast can you run?”

“Faster than you can, old man.”

Jazz was curious as they set off together. Prowl had been outpaced by Sideswipe at first, but he was a seasoned runner. They arrived at their mechs at the same time, and Jazz launched faster. Prowl was barely in the seat before his mech was off, Jazz remotely pinging the hangar doors to open before the alarm had even sounded.

“How’d you know, Prowler?”

“I was up by the roof with Sideswipe. We saw the rip opening.”

“Good timing. I wonder how these little guys get the job done?”

It was like watching small terriers hunting elk at first. They were so much smaller than the quintessons that dropped through the rip that he worried for a moment that they were going to be immediately crushed, but they quickly proved him wrong. What they lacked in size they more than made up for in speed and teamwork alone, groups of four immediately banding together to take them down.

Jazz wanted to join in, but Prowl was worried they’d crush them, so they kept at a distance to watch and observe, to see how they fought. It was what Swindle had sent him there for, after all. Training.

Arcee would have been the better option, but Jazz was already supplying him with helpful insights, so he’d have to just make the best of it and try not to be too mean. Bluestreak would be so upset with him if he made any of his classmates cry. It took him the same amount of time as it did to drop a quintesson for one group of four to get one on the backfoot. It took the same amount of time as it did for him to find another one that was far enough away from them to not accidentally hurt them and to dismember it for them to get it into a position to shoot it directly in the head.

Inefficient, he thought.

Inexperienced, Jazz replied.

He’d have to drill that out of them. They couldn’t afford to fuck around like this when they had extreme events again, when they were all that stood between the rip in the sky above them and the city ten miles behind them. One rough winter – he wondered if they’d have seen it in the same way, if it was only made rough from their ineptitude.

“Remember, be nice.” Jazz reminded him. “We were just as bad as they were when we first started.”

“I know.” Prowl sighed. “I’m such a bitter old man, aren’t I?”

Jazz’s hands ran over his shoulders, curling up his neck to tangle in his hair, flickers of sensation as the phantom hands played with the strands.

The final observation Prowl made was when the fight was over. They returned to the Shatterdome, and the mechs docked into their bays-

And a team of medics were waiting for him..?

For all of them, Jazz noticed. Every single pilot had a team of medics waiting for them. Prowl gently squeezed the arm of his chair and smiled at the camera in a silent farewell as he left, Jazz opening up the cockpit. Prowl curiously looked at the team waiting for him.

“Is something wrong? Were any of my vitals out of acceptable range?” He asked as he began to step down.

“Oh, please wait-!” One of the medics rushed forwards to stop him. “Don’t worry, we’re here to help you readjust-”

“I’m sorry?” Prowl asked as he hopped to the floor, perfectly co-ordinated as always. The medics froze, looking at each other as if unsure of what to do.

“How do you feel?” The shortest one asked.

“As usual.” Prowl frowned at them. “Is it usual for pilots to be disorientated after a drop?”

“Yes, they usually experience severe dysmorphia for the first hour or so – more if it’s been a drop that’s extended past the usual limit.” They replied.

Prowl frowned harder at that. Nobody had thought to mention that to him. A difference in the pilot system, then? He knew that they didn’t use AI’s here – the initial pilots didn’t trust the AI to make good decisions. The models they used had been flawed, making assessments and judgements that wound up getting them killed. The AI’s were constantly ignored and overridden and it wound up cheaper to just cancel the contract with the companies, remove the requirement for an internet connection in the mechs, and just have them pilot it alone with a very basic system that would recommend courses of action.

No wonder they’d panicked. He’d strolled out of Jazz as if he were walking off of a plane.

He looked to the left, down to where Bluestreak was. He was being carried out – they all were.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sideswipe liked Prowl. He liked him a lot. His face was worn with the same lines of grief that his was, something that had aged them both beyond their years.

He’d lost his husband. Sideswipe would never know that pain – and he hoped he never would. He didn’t think that type of grief would suit him.

He’d lost his twin, though. It wasn’t a pain easy to explain. It wasn’t like losing a sibling, even though that’s what it was – it was like losing a part of yourself, but still remaining whole and intact. A bit like if you had an extra spare limb and someone decided to chop it off one day. There was a corpse staring back at him every time he looked in the mirror. There was a voice he’d had with him since the womb that he’d never hear again. He’d link his fingers together, feel the slide of skin against skin, to preserve the memory of his brothers hand against his own. He couldn’t watch certain movies without a profound sense of sadness, without sobbing through the ending credits even if it was the most joyful thing he’d ever seen, because it wasn’t his to enjoy. So it wasn’t just like losing a sibling, it was a bit like losing something and not being able to find it again despite it being right in front of him, too. And worse. So much infinitely worse.

They hadn’t been identical. Sideswipe doesn’t know what he’d have done if they were – probably mutilated his face somehow, anything to set them apart, to make it look like he wasn’t looking back at Sunny every time he saw his reflection or was caught in a photograph. Even now, he didn’t like getting caught smiling – the smile wasn’t his, it had been Sunstreakers, he’d just started. Doing it. For some reason. He didn’t know why, but Bluestreak always smiled wider when Sunny smiled so. Maybe? It was for him?

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

Sunstreakers bunk remained empty. They’d reassigned someone to take it the week after he’d passed, but Sideswipe and Bluestreak had unsettled them to the point that they transferred almost immediately. Sunstreakers posters remained pinned to the wall. Scraps of paper that he’d scribbled on, his calendar with the days crossed off in red pen, photos and a pinboard and his notebook and that random paint that had dripped down his bunk frame – it hadn’t been touched. It still remained as it was, as if he was going to be coming back. It was a museum and a morgue in one.

The therapist had said that it wasn’t healthy and that he’d need to take it down. That he was clinging onto a memory and he needed to let his brother pass on. But Sideswipe didn’t see how leaving his bunk as it was kept him in this world. His twin was dead. Gone. Mashed to paste inside of his mech as a quintesson crushed him to death with an audible pop. He’d heard it. He’d never told anyone, but he heard it – the bang as the frame of the cockpit gave in, the squelch of tearing muscle and crunch of shattering bone. It had echoed between his ears and he didn’t know what he’d heard until he got the call – or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to accept it? He’d heard pilots be crushed to death in their mechs before. They were so small that when a real big one came, it was a known risk that they’d get stepped on. And this one had been big, and Sunstreaker had been picked up by it and stared it in the eyes as its fist closed tight.

Sideswipe rubbed at his eyes and stared up listlessly at the bunk above him. His alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up.

Don’t be lazy, his brothers rough voice said. Get up. Show them you’re worth something for once.

Fuck, he hated him so much.

He brushed his teeth more roughly than was strictly necessary and shrugged on his uniform, taking care to pull on his thick woollen socks properly and to grab his hat, gloves, and scarf. The weather was still cold, the warmth of spring not quite there yet. Bluestreak was already up – he was probably with his brother again. Apparently Prowl was going to train them.

Ha, good luck with that.

He sat in the classroom – the first one there, he may have been a poor student but that didn’t mean he was tardy – with his feet up on the desk and a large coffee in hand – full of whipped cream and sour cherry syrup and lots of chemicals he couldn’t be bothered to read the names of. Some of them had numbers in – who the hell was going to bother reading that? Not him!

Videos played through his headphones, scrolling aimlessly through social media. He stopped to watch footage of fights with quintessons – he loved watching them get punched in the face

Twenty minutes passed, his coffee cup sat on the floor forgotten as he was enraptured by the video on his screen.

A big mech – a huge mech, bigger than Jazz, fighting like they lived for it. Dark grey and covered in long blades that sprung from their back like wings, a bright red mark on their shoulder – the quality of the video wasn’t good enough to see what it was – they gutted through everything that stood in their way.

Jazz was in one of the videos, in the background. Sideswipe wondered if Prowl was piloting it then – Bluestreak had mentioned to him that Prowl wasn’t its first pilot. The door opened, making him jump.

Prowl stood in the doorway, looking at him in shock.

“You’re here early.” Prowl commented in surprise. “I thought you’d come with the others.”

“Who’s this?” Sideswipe showed Prowl his phone screen. “Do you know them?”

Prowl leaned in, squinting slightly at the poor quality footage. His eyes brightened in recognition, and a wry smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

“I do. That’s Vortex.” He replied.

“They’re huge.” Sideswipe didn’t realise how wide his eyes were until he blinked and it hurt. “Do you know them? Have you ever piloted it? I’d love to take it for a ride, my god.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Prowl swiftly replied. It didn’t seem like he’d thought about his reply very much, that it was a knee-jerk reaction. “I know the AI, I know the pilot, and I’d never get inside it.”

“Why not?” Sideswipe curiously asked.

“Classified.” Prowl curtly replied. “His current pilot is a man called Felix, he was a medic but the AI chose him. That’s all I can tell you.”

“All you can tell me, or all you want to tell me?”

The door opening and more of the junior pilots coming in saved Prowl. Prowl turned to greet them, walking back to his desk.

Sideswipe narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously and turned back to the video.

Vortex was a beast of a machine, slicing through the aliens like they were nothing. He could only watch in awe, wondering how they’d designed it, how the pilot had been trained – was this the medic? Why did the medic know how to fight like that?

He’d have to interrogate him, to whittle away at him until he got his answers.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The invitation came randomly on an unseasonably sunny day, the temperature finally peeking up above five degrees Celsius. One of the scientists wanted to speak to Prowl – something about his mech. An explanation of understanding that he couldn’t give away the secrets, but that Trepan, the mastermind behind their AI system, was a friend of his. That he had a professional curiosity in his work and with the pilots who utilised it, who allowed it to become what it was today. That he’d wanted to know a little more about Jazz, to see what he could do to improve their own designs.

Prowl had been curious enough to go down to the labs, to see what he wanted.

The conversation had been normal enough to begin with. It was all pure interest – the usual dry questions enquiring how old friends were, Prowls admission that he’d never met him. The sharing of mutual acquaintances to break the ice. Tarantulas had been very interested in Jazz, and he seemed to lament the non-disclosure policy around his design. That he wanted to know how they could make their mechs so powerful, so fast – apparently they were so small because they had to be made cheaply and quickly. They didn’t have the time or resources to go big like they did on the other side of the world – the USA had the highest number of rips per capita, and each one had to be guarded.

It was only when Prowl had excused himself to leave – he wanted to prepare materials for the next days class – when Tarantulas suddenly asked him a strange question.

“Would you like to see him again?” Tarantulas asked. Prowl froze, feeling the hairs on his arms raise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your husband.” Tarantulas replied. “Would you like to see him again?”

Prowl scoffed in disbelief, feeling his voice shake and head spin as he replied. “What on earth do you mean? My husband is dead. Your question is beyond cruel. Of course I would, but I’m not a fool – he’s long gone now.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

Prowl was preparing to yank open the door and storm off in anger, but his hand froze on the way to the handle. He caught his reflection on the metal, shocked and pale. He slowly turned to look at him, the man's hands neatly folded behind his back, and swallowed, Adams apple bobbing uncomfortably.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He tried. His voice sounded weak, pathetic – to anyone else it would be the distraught and exhausted voice of a widower. To Tarantulas, it was the sound of a man trying to lie. The scientist strode forwards, placing his palm flat on the door over Prowls shoulder.

“Why don’t you stay for a proper chat?”

[joshujin]

we can be all we need

🔞 minors dni • masterlist • submit a request

(っ˶˘ ᵕ ˘˶)ᐣ✎ ᝰ request from this prompt game

@studioeisa: "hey trixie i saw u rb the writing prompt thingo .. 👀 i can’t see the issue + soonyoung (or dealer's choice on any member!!!)"

soonyoung has been pulling away from you for weeks now. it seems that tonight is the night he wipes his hands clean of you.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x reader word count: 8.7k tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication cw: angst for like one second, happy ending, smut — unprotected piv (v irresponsible piv do not be like these two), reader loses virginity, oral f. receiving, fingering, just really vanilla, really soft, really mushy smut tbh, vanilla pudding smut if you will lol a/n: for the biggest-brained, funniest, most talented kae – i hope you like it <3 if you don't, just lie to me <3 • i know the request didn't include smut, but this one truly TRULY got away from me (as you can tell from this monstrous word count lol), and it kinda just wrote itself, smut included. i did mark where the scene starts and ends in case anyone doesn’t want to read it, but that's a courtesy to adults uninterested in reading explicit material. if you're a minor, pls scroll away

you look around, grinning widely as everyone sings to you. the lights are turned off in soonyoung’s apartment, the light from the thirty candles on your cake more than enough to illuminate your face. you meet each of your friends' eyes, your heart so full of love as you look at each of them.

you leave the person you want to look at most for last. finally, you meet soonyoung’s gaze. you don't mean to, but you feel your smile immediately falter.

he’s singing, but you can barely hear his voice—already uncharacteristic of him on its own. he's spent every, single one of your birthdays since you've met obnoxiously scream-singing, arms usually wrapped tightly around your neck as he bent over you, caging you in from behind. whether it was in front of a party of people (like tonight) or just you two, he was always singing like the fate of your year relied on how loud he was in those first few moments of it.

he'd always press his cheek against yours, swinging you both back and forth to a beat only you two could hear. then, after the singing was over, and after you made your wish, he would press a kiss to your temple, wish you a happy birthday once more, and he would be the first person in your life to tell you they loved you in your new age.

so this silence is painfully loud. on top of that, he also doesn’t smile back at you, a faraway look in his eyes as he mindlessly sings. it’s like you’re not even there. it’s like he’s singing to an empty seat in front of a cake that definitely counted as a fire hazard.

things with soonyoung have been weird for the last several weeks. if you were being honest, things have been hard. you, of course, continuously asked what was wrong, and he, of course, denied anything was wrong. but the writing was on the wall: he dodged your calls, rescheduled hangouts over and over until plans just completely fell through, and hardly texted back anymore. it was clear to anyone with a pulse that he was avoiding you.

and when he finally invited you over tonight to blow out your candles, and you walked in, completely surprised to find your friends all gathered to celebrate you, you thought, oh, that's what was wrong. he was just planning to surprise me

you thought the awkwardness and flighty behavior was over. the surprise went well, he kept everything a secret—didn't spoil anything—and you were grateful. but here you two were, looking at each other from across the room like you were strangers. and you weren't strangers. kwon soonyoung is the most important person in your life. he's your best friend. and you're so achingly, painfully in love with him, this distance feels like it's slowly peeling every layer of you away and letting it disintegrate into thin air.

when everyone finishes singing, you clear your throat and try to force the smile back onto your face. you lean forward, careful to keep your hair from catching any of the candles, and you close your eyes to make a wish—the same one you've been making every year for the past decade you've known soonyoung.

i wish for the courage to love soonyoung loudly.

you open your eyes and you blow hard, cheeks burning when the absurd amount of flames won't go out. people giggle, and when you stop to take a huge breath, fanning your face from the effort, seokmin and seungkwan both laugh and lean in to help. the three of you get the job done, and they immediately put you to work cutting your cake while they help plate and distribute.

you lose track of soonyoung while on cake duty, and by the time everyone has a slice, any appetite you had for dessert is completely gone. you sink back into the seat you were in while everyone was singing, and you breathe shakily, trying your best not to cry at your own party.

did you do something? is he just getting tired of you? or can he tell that your feelings extend past friendship? after 10 years, did he finally realize? is this his way of letting you down without having to really do it?

you can't help when your eyes start to well with tears. you notice someone starting to look a little too closely at you from your peripheral—probably joshua, the most observant of your friends—so you abruptly get up, blushing when the chair almost falls over behind you. you go to the only place you know you'll be left alone in this huge apartment. it's the one place soonyoung doesn't let any of his guests go, except for you.

you all but barrel into his bedroom, quickly closing the door behind you and leaning against it. you made it just in time for your tears to start flowing.

soonyoung's room looks different from the last time you saw it. he’s a generally tidy person; of the two of you, you’re the messy one. right now, the state of his room feels like a reflection of your thoughts and feelings: disheveled, chaotic, and messy. he has clothes, both clean and used, strewn all over the place—the bed, the floor, his corner chair. drawers are thrown open, their contents very clearly rummaged through. he has a pile of empty water bottles in the corner, and his nightstand is so littered with random stuff, he has no room to even set a phone down. it astounds you enough that you momentarily stop crying.

you wipe your tears away, frowning at everything that has managed to change in the weeks leading up to your 30th birthday. this was not the way you wanted to start the new decade.

you hear a muffled cough and you're panicked to realize that soonyoung had the same idea you did. he's outside on the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning up against the railing and looking out into the black night. he hasn't noticed that anyone has entered his room, and you're about to leave when something stops you.

"you're 30 now for god's sake," you mutter. "get a fucking grip."

you're tired of wishing for the same thing every year—wishing for something that isn't even out of your grasp because you could just decide to be brave. and instead of choosing to do that, you spent the last 10 years cowering behind the excuse that you desperately needed soonyoung in your life however he would take you, even if that’s just as his friend.

but if you're losing him now anyway, you might as well lose him for the reason you feared you would for the last decade.

you turn away from where you were about to escape back into the party, and you're joining your best friend outside before you can think twice.

he startles a little, briefly glancing at you, but when he realizes who it is, he simply looks back into the night. it hurts more than just being told to go away—to be ignored like this.

"what are you doing?"

"just needed some air," he answers quietly.

"no," you say, willing your voice to stay steady even though your eyes are already filling with tears again. "what are you doing? why are you ignoring me? why are you avoiding me?" you pause, taking a deep breath. "why are you acting like i'm not your best friend?"

soonyoung lives near the damn top of his pretentiously tall apartment building, and the wind is cold and biting up here, especially with how short your dress is. it doesn't compare to what he says next.

"because you're not." he says it the way he would say that he's having a good day. or that work was tiring. or that he wants to order food delivery. he says it like it's not something that has the power to kill you. “at least, i don’t want you to be.”

"what are you saying?"

you don't hear it, but from the way his shoulders dip, you can tell soonyoung sighs deeply. and it looks so sad and so spent, you have trouble grasping that you could possibly be the cause of whatever this is that's eating at him.

"what are you saying, soonyoung?" you ask more forcefully, unable to keep the tears out of your voice this time. if he was going to end your friendship, he was going to have the balls to say it to your face. you aren't leaving until you're forced to.

he turns away from the railing, pressing his back against it to face you. he slips his hands into his pockets and stares down at the floor. his eyes are just as red-rimmed as you imagine yours are, and you hate—you hate that your first instinct is to ask him what's wrong. to hold him and comfort him when he's the one who's telling you he no longer wants to be friends.

"do you remember your 23rd birthday?" he asks, voice gravely with emotion, as if he’s spent the entirety of the last few weeks crying. your chest hurts. maybe he has.

you turned 23 in the philippines. soonyoung has always had more money than he knew what to do with, and he has always been uncomfortably generous with it—at least when it came to you. and that year, he surprised you with a month-long trip that ended the weekend of your birthday, where you both found yourselves on a beach in siquijor, sharing an alcoholic mango smoothie and a small ube cake that soonyoung had gotten for you.

you knew you loved him long before then, but you remember that birthday being one of your most miserable, solely because it was the best. and it was what you wanted with soonyoung, but you could only have it as his best friend. you had never felt so loved and so lonely at the same time.

"siquijor. what about it?" you ask, a little irritated. if you were going to have your heart stomped on the moment you turned 30, you'd rather he just get on with it.

soonyoung smiles for the first time tonight, but you hate it. it's half-assed, sad—and not just sad, but nostalgic sad—and it's being wasted on the floor.

"do you remember why you cried that morning?"

he uses the term morning loosely. it was 4 a.m., so yes, morning, but also no, not morning because you had both stayed up all night. and unfortunately, he had gotten you several more alcoholic drinks before the bar closed, and you were all but blacked out by 2 a.m. you only know that because your last selfie on your phone was time stamped just before two.

you wouldn't have believed him when he insisted you were conscious that entire time if he hadn't shown you videos of you passionately trying to convince him that in another life, he could've been a k-pop idol.

you hardly believe him now because you don't remember crying at all. and he certainly never told you that you had.

"i..." you don't know what to say.

"you don't," he confirms, sounding bitter. "it's okay. i had a feeling you didn't."

you frown, eyes falling to the spot on the floor you're sure is the same one he's been staring at. you don't realize you're shivering as violently as you are until you see soonyoung's feet step into your line of vision, his jacket slipping across your shoulders.

large hands carefully adjust the jacket around your neck and when they're done, they gently grip the lapel and hang there, dead weight against your sternum. you dare to look up and find that he still refuses to look you in the eye, instead staring at his own hands.

the wind isn't what's making you shake, and the jacket doesn't help it stop.

"you said you were lonely," he informs you quietly. he sounds as choked up as you feel, like you're both battling the same stubborn knot in your throat. "you told me that this was everything you could have ever wanted—that you were so happy and it was the best month of your life. and you told me..." he breathes deeply and sniffles before continuing. you look up and watch his eyes fill with tears. "you told me you just wish you were experiencing it with someone you were in love with instead."

you involuntarily let out a strangled noise, feeling like that knot is suddenly demanding to be let out. “i—what?”

there’s that horrible smile again. “i tried not to let it hurt me,” he admits. “i tried to be a good sport. you were drunk, you were sad about never having had a boyfriend, and i know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

your stomach turns painfully and you’re glad you didn’t have cake, otherwise it might’ve been regurgitated all over soonyoung by now.

you never had a lack of suitors or options; you just knew it would be impossible to look at anyone else, let alone be in love with them, while you were so preoccupied with your best friend. until now, you still haven’t ever had a boyfriend, still haven’t even had your first kiss, still haven’t felt what it’s like to have someone tell you “i love you” romantically.

soonyoung takes a watery breath, lips trembling, as the first of his tears begin to streak his cheeks. “but it hurt,” he can’t speak above a whisper. “it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n.”

your hands close over his, more out of instinct than anything else, and you hold them like it’s the only thing that will keep him from running out of your life. you hate that, among all the warring emotions inside you, you suddenly feel hope blooming over everything. saying that only would’ve hurt soonyoung if he wanted to be the person you were in love with. right?

“soonyoung.” his name comes out of your mouth with sharp, desperate edges around it. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay, i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he says quietly, finally, finally meeting your gaze. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

the question shuts you up. or maybe it’s the way his eyes are swimming with pain you realized he’s been harboring for much longer than the last few weeks.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your hope deflates. the way he says the number of years makes it sound like that’s all it will ever be now. seven years. the last birthday he’ll be sticking around for.

“only seven?” you ask quietly.

you feel his fists tighten around the fabric of his own jacket briefly before his hands slip away from under you, retreating back into his pockets. you feel so cold.

he doesn’t answer, and that feels like an answer in itself. “instead of throwing myself a pity party, i decided i’d wait until your 30th birthday,” he tells you. “i didn’t mind spending all of my 20s pining after my best friend.”

your heart leaps into your throat.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says, voice shakier and shakier as he continues. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could… how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

it strikes you then that the way soonyoung looks at you isn’t a way that anybody has ever looked at you. you used to think it was the delusion of being in love with him—that your brain was tricking you into thinking he felt a certain way about you because that would be convenient for you. but standing here, pinned down by his gaze, you have no choice but to accept that it was clearly in front of you this whole time.

“soonie—”

he keeps going like if he lets you speak, he won’t ever be able to muster up the courage to say this again, and you realize you both did waste your 20s. you wasted it being afraid of just telling each other how you felt. the fact that you could’ve had soonyoung the way you’ve always wanted since you were 23 devastates you.

“but i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he looks away again, opting to stare at something over your head. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

“i don’t want you to let me go!” you practically shriek. he flinches at the sudden outburst, his eyes snapping back down to you. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot!” you repeat. “if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes out of your fingers, clearly agitated. “—then knock it off!”

“wh—” he makes a disgruntled noise as you slap him in the chest.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong. i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

all the words he kept cutting off tonight tumble out of you quickly and freely now.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely, and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

his body stiffens and his eyes widen but you don’t stop.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you explain desperately. “i wanted to be on vacation with you—but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

you feel tears on your skin now, and you try to speak even faster because you know you’re on borrowed time before you devolve into a mess of sobs that won’t let you explain anything.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?! do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!” you screech through tears. you can’t even muster up the energy to be mortified at how horrible you must look right now. “but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you! you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his lips are on yours.

your mind is quiet.

the wind isn’t cold.

you taste champagne and salt.

soonyoung holds your face gently, thumb caressing your cheeks while his long fingers slide into your hair. you’ve imagined how he must kiss a million times in your head. every time he licked his lips, puckered them for a photo, pressed them against your temple in what you deluded yourself into thinking was platonic affection—you would imagine exactly this.

soft, plush lips slotted in between yours, moving like you’re the only person they were made for. and even though you didn’t imagine it would be so salty from both of your tears, it’s exactly as perfect as you wanted your first kiss to be—as perfect as you wanted your first kiss with soonyoung to be.

when you get over the shock of it, you rest your hands on his chest, exploring the planes of it. you pause for a moment, enjoying the way you can feel the erratic beat his heart before reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him into an even deeper kiss. it coaxes a sound out of him that convinces you he’s really yours, and he lets go of your face to circle your waist and hold you close.

you don’t know how and you’re not even sure when, but you end up in his bed, every inch of his body deliciously pressing against yours after he walked the two of you inside without ever leaving your lips.

his tongue slips into your mouth, and the moan that escapes you does so without your permission. you feel him twitch against your thigh and you can’t help but giggle into the kiss a little.

he pulls away, mouth pink and swollen. he rests his forehead against yours and smiles.

“what’s so funny, hm?”

it’s the first time in weeks that you’ve really heard his voice—the way you know and love it. light, happy, and, now that you’re equipped with the proper information, in love with you. you hear it loud and clear. you wonder if he hears it too.

“nothing,” you breathe, threading your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck until your hand is resting against the buzzed part of his undercut. you scratch his scalp there and he hums in contentment. you smile. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to better look at you. his eyes soften impossibly more and he looks like he’s trying to commit every detail of your face and this moment to memory. you realize you’re doing the same.

“i’ve always loved you,” you add, wanting to erase any lingering doubts that your 23rd birthday caused. “from the very start.”

his response is to push himself up and off you so that he’s on his knees, resting between your legs. you prop yourself up on your elbows, frowning from the sudden space. it’s exactly the opposite of what you want, but you know from the look on his face that it doesn’t mean he’s going anywhere or that he’s changed his mind. it confuses you to think that he looked at you this way for most of your friendship and you never thought it meant anything. it means everything.

he clears his throat, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. you only notice the bulge in his pants then, and you smile knowing that you felt that react to your moans.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so coated with desire, you shiver. he doesn’t need to elaborate. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just… we wasted so much time, and i—”

“all the way,” you say confidently, letting yourself lay back down and slowly wrapping your legs around his middle, trying not to feel self-conscious as your dress rides up and exposes you. “please.”

soonyoung groans like he’s in pain, hands instinctively resting against your bare thighs, eyes drifting down and unable to move from the wet spot between your legs once he sees it. his hands travel painfully slow toward the apex of your thighs, eyes never leaving you. his hands torturously stop when they reach the top.

several seconds pass with you fighting everything in your body to keep from squirming. if he notices, he doesn’t show it, seemingly too mesmerized by what’s in front of him. his thumbs burrow into the shallow divot where your legs meet your torso, the rest of his fingers kneading the flesh of your thighs, hard enough that you kind of hope they’ll bruise—give you something to remind you this was real. this happened.

he moves just as you’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about.

suddenly, as if he’s giving in to a voice telling him to just take what he wants, soonyoung allows his right hand to close the distance, tracing your skin until it leads his index finger straight to the part of you that needs him the most right now. he looks downright hypnotized as his finger meets your panties at their hollow part, where your hole is. you clench around nothing and you know he can tell when he finally breaks out of his thoughts and smirks. he only presses far enough to brush against the skin of your entrance before cruelly moving on. 

he slowly drags his finger up your slit with a little more pressure than he afforded your hole and you sigh into the movement, trying to move further down so you can feel him more. he squeezes your hip to keep you where you are, though, biting down on his lip as he watches you closely. if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be self-conscious under his attention.

then, finally, his finger finds the place you swear it belongs, and he’s pressed against your clit. your panties stick to you uncomfortably but you don’t have the words to properly tell him to take them off, writhing under the pressure of his finger instead.

soonyoung doesn’t move, just watching you breathe and beg incoherently in shallow gasps, and just when you think he’ll finally move his finger—that he’ll finally start giving you what you’ve wanted for so long—he takes his hand back. he laughs a little at your whine of protest, pushing down on your hip with the hand that’s resting there when you uncontrollably buck up into the space his finger just vacated.

"what?" you hiss at him. he laughs even harder, his pretty eyes turning into those narrow crescents you love so much. he crawls over you once more. "why are you laughing?!" you complain, face getting hot. "did i do something embarrassing?"

"'embarrassing'?" soonyoung repeats incredulously. he does nothing less than scoff in your face. "no, baby, your neediness is not 'embarrassing.' it's fucking hot."

your face gets even warmer. whether it's because he's being lewd or because he called you baby, you're not sure.

"shut up," you mutter. he grins down at you.

"gladly."

to your dismay, he doesn’t press himself against you like he did earlier. he hovers, planting a light kiss on your nose, then on your lips, lingering for only a moment before he leans back a little like he's trying to get a good look at your face. he brings his hand up to cradle your face, pushing the wind-tangled hair away from it.

the tiniest of smiles pull at his lips.

“i love you,” he finally returns. “i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

“you’re not leaving me,” you say firmly. the love you’re feeling for him is so strong, it leaves no room for doubt. you know that as long as you’ll have him, he’ll stay. and as long as he'll have you, you will too.

“i’m not,” he agrees.

he doesn’t say anything else, instead leaning down to capture your lips again. he doesn’t let it last long, though, moving from your mouth, to your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. you’re a mess of gasps and moans as he kisses his way back up, until his lips are just barely grazing your ear.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he whispers softly. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod and he nips at your lobe before beginning to kiss his way back down, making you moan again. you don’t know if this is always how it feels like or if you’re just overly sensitive from being a 30-year-old virgin, but everywhere soonyoung touches feels like fire.

“you sound so pretty,” he mutters as he makes his way lower, unabashedly biting and licking wherever he wants as he goes. “exactly like how i imagined you’d sound.” you groan loudly when his lips brush over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. “fuck, even better actually.”

he reaches up and tangles a single finger around the thin strap of your dress, then gently pulls it off your shoulder. he briefly hangs his head in mock agony when he confirms you’re not wearing a bra.

you stifle another giggle, not wanting to keep laughing during something as serious as losing your virginity—to soonyoung, no less.

"what is my life?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else as he lowers his head and shamelessly envelops your bare nipple with his tongue.

the inhale you take at the sensation is sharp, and soonyoung briefly glances up without taking his mouth off of you, one eyebrow quirking as if to ask if you're okay.

you’re more than okay. you feel like your soul is about to float right out of your goddamn body, and the scary thing is he’s barely done anything to you yet. you open your mouth to try and tell him as much, but once your lips part, nothing comes out. you close your eyes, your body arching in response to soonyoung as his swirls his tongue around you, gently nipping every now and then. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp. 

“fuck.”

“lower,” you beg. “please, god, lower.”

you feel him smile against your chest. “whatever you want,” he whispers. 

but he doesn’t leave immediately, instead cupping his hand around your breast and biting into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up against his torso but he doesn’t let go, sucking for a few seconds before he releases you with a pop. 

he grins down at the blooming mark, giving it the gentlest kiss. “pretty.”

soonyoung finally makes his way back down between your legs, but not without releasing the other strap of your dress first. he must find some mercy to spare you because, without making you wait the way he has been all night, he lifts your hips up off the bed, pulls your dress down, and in one smooth move, slips both your dress and your panties off you. 

“oh my god!” he groans immediately, squeezing your clothes against his eyes. before you can even wonder if something’s wrong, he says, “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

he brings your clothes down just enough to look at you. his eyes narrow like he’s about to cry and you immediately laugh at the idea of soonyoung crying during sex… because he absolutely would. 

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

“soonyoung!” you scold him, coming up onto your elbows and bringing your legs together so your thighs squeeze him. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now.” you’re fully aware that you’ve never sounded whinier in your life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “please.”

“okay, okay, i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just… i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” he asks it so giddily, you can’t help but smile through your frustration. “y’know? like, what the actual fuck?” he babbles, very obviously just starting to process what the hell is happening right now. 

you groan, glaring at the ceiling. you’re annoyed at how empty you are right now, but at the same time, you feel your affection for soonyoung growing exponentially. even when he’s about to take your virginity, he can’t help but be so aggressively him. and you love it so much.

“it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser,” you murmur, unable to stop from grinning when he glowers at you.

“y’know,” he starts, voice considerably lower. you hate how much of an effect it has on you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.” you snort as he carelessly tosses your clothes aside.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you retort, eyes catching on his long fingers as they start to undo each button of his shirt. 

he hums, narrowing his eyes at you. “right.”

the grin on your face fades fast as he finishes undoing the buttons and shrugs the shirt off. it’s nothing you haven’t seen before; after all, you spent many vacations together in nothing but swimwear the entire time. but as your eyes sweep the dips and curves of his muscles and the way his stomach flexes as he slips off the bed, you realize you’re looking at him in a way you haven’t been able to before. 

you’re looking at him like he’s yours. 

“wait,” you say suddenly, sitting up all the way and crawling over to the edge of the bed where he’s standing, hands frozen in the middle of removing his belt. 

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you quickly, already starting to fasten his belt again. 

you rest your hands on his to stop them. “no,” you say, laughing a little. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.” he visibly relaxes at the nickname. 

you reach up to kiss him, hands going up and into his hair. it’s slow and tender and careful, and you feel like you’re being held with so much care, you suddenly get nervous that you might be the one that ends up crying during sex. 

“i love you,” soonyoung whispers between kisses, his arms snaking around your naked waist. “oh my god, i love you, holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you joke against his lips. you feel him smile. you pull away and sigh, your fingers running across his chest in admiration. “but i love you too.”

he breathes deeply, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “i’m so happy.”

you smile softly. “me too, soonie.”

you look down and watch your hands travel down his naked torso until they meet his belt. you finish undoing it, not bothering to remove it from the loops and going straight for the button of his jeans. soonyoung’s breath hitches when you pull his zipper down. before you can shove his jeans down, he grabs your face and brings your lips to his roughly, his tongue inside your mouth in seconds. you don’t know whose moans are whose anymore as he kisses you—not like it’s the first time, but like it’s the last. 

his lips get clumsy as he starts to remove his pants himself, shoving his boxer briefs down with them. you don’t get much of a chance to ogle him before his lips are on you again and he’s cupping your ass, forcing your legs to wrap around him. you revel in the feeling of him against your stomach—long, hard, and yours. 

he kneels onto his bed, carrying you back to where you were laying before and setting you down gently. when you part, you suddenly understand soonyoung’s brief meltdown. because holy shit. soonyoung is in bed with you. naked. and you physically cannot stop looking down at him. 

“see something you like?” he asks, his voice teasing. even with how arrogant he sounds, you can’t look away. 

“uh… what?” 

he laughs then, burying his face in the crook of your neck and effectively cutting off your intense eye contact with his dick. 

“soonyoung, put it in me,” you whisper frantically. “hurry up!” you near shriek at him. 

he only laughs harder. “i can’t just put it in you.”

“what?!” you push him away just far enough to be able to look at his face. “what do you mean you can’t just put it in me? is this not how sex works? you put that—” you widen your eyes at the monster resting against you. “—in me? like… over and over again?”

“baby, please,” he wheezes with laughter. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first,” you pout. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he bursts into giggles again. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!” you complain. “pu—”

his hand clamps over your mouth before you can repeat yourself. “okay,” he says, laughter finally subsiding. “okay. shhh. relax… and i will, alright?” he doesn’t move so you nod. “good girl.”

you make a strangled noise against his hand at the praise and his eyebrows shoot up. 

“oh, you like that?” his lips quickly curve into a smirk when your only response is to wriggle under him, hips trying their best to move his dick in the direction you need it to go. 

he releases your mouth slowly and when you stay silent, his smirk deepens. he brings his hands to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and kissing your puckered lips before he rests it at the base of your neck, fingers splayed across your throat. you briefly wonder if he’d choke you during your first time if you asked. you quickly wave the idea away because you know he wouldn’t. 

“so pretty,” he murmurs again, finger tapping your lower lip. you dip your head to take it into your mouth and he groans. “jesus christ.” you release him and he sighs roughly. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod eagerly, thinking it’s finally time to get what your body has been screaming for. so when he pulls away, you make a noise of protest and watch him in confusion as he moves down your body. it isn’t until he forces your knees apart and lays back down between your legs, breath hot on your skin, that you realize what he’s planning on doing. 

“oh,” you whisper pathetically. 

soonyoung looks up at you and you swear he looks excited to absolutely demolish you. without breaking eye contact, he unfurls his tongue from his mouth as far as it’ll go, the tip of it just a breath away from touching your clit. you try to move but his grip on your thighs don’t let you. you watch with bated breath as his saliva slides down his tongue, dripping right where you were hoping it would. 

it’s so fucking obscene, and the second you feel the warmth of his spit on you, you throw your head back and moan. 

“soonie,” you mewl. 

“god, i haven’t even done anything and you’re a mess—’s so fucking hot,” he tells you, letting go of one thigh to press his thumb into your clit, massaging his own spit into it. you gasp, bucking into the sensation now that one hip is free from his hold. “patience, baby,” he reminds you. 

soonyoung doesn’t give you a chance to talk back because with no warning, his mouth replaces his thumb and it takes everything in you to keep from screaming. he places his hand back on your thigh just in time to keep you from reflexively caging his head in. he holds you down as he devours you, tongue flicking, sweeping, and circling around all the places no one has ever been. you could cry. you think you might already be. you can’t tell anymore. 

he begins to massage where he holds you when your thighs start to tremble. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp, hand diving into his hair and fisting it without your permission. 

he doesn’t mind though, responding with a moan of his own, straight into your cunt. you half-sob at the vibrations of his voice against you. it doesn’t take long before his finger slips into you. then another. multiplying the pleasure tenfold. his tongue never falters as his fingers find and stimulate the small, ribbed spot inside you, pressing and pushing and rubbing to a rhythm that—as always—only you and soonyoung can hear.

“oh my god, soonyoung,” you repeat his name. you don’t know if you’re capable of saying anything else anymore. “soonie.”

“yeah, baby,” he mutters against you, kissing your sex with as much vigor as he was kissing your mouth earlier. “still okay?”

you nod wildly. “yes, yes. god, yes.”

he moans again, eyes flicking up to you as he does. “you sound so pretty, baby. be louder.”

“the…” you sigh as he gently removes his fingers, softly kissing down your slit. “the party…”

“let them hear you,” he mumbles. “let them hear how good i make you feel.”

“but…” you never finish your sentence.

he leaves one last whisper of a kiss before he suddenly takes two fingers, holds you open, and fully presses his face into you, his tongue entering you—stiff, thick, and so, so warm. you unwillingly follow orders, half-shouting and half-groaning his name. your back arches as he presses impossibly further into you, his tongue touching you in ways you only ever dreamed he would. 

“soonyoung… soonyoung!” you call him, grip in his hair tightening. “i’m going to… i’m…”

“go ahead, baby,” he encourages you. “god, go ahead,” he practically begs before his tongue dives back into you. 

his thumb finds your clit once more, working it harder and faster as he slips in and out of you, the sounds of him feasting on you so vulgar, you could listen to it forever. your body starts to inadvertently grind on his face the closer you get.

“soonyoung, i’m… i’m going… i’m…” you stammer, trying to pull him up by the hair. “stop, stop, i’m going to cum on your face.”

soonyoung frowns, thumb never stopping as he takes his tongue back. “that’s the point baby. i want you to cum on my face.” his eyes roll back at the thought, and he moans before seeming to shake the thoughts out of his head. “god, you better cum on my face.”

“but—”

“cum on my fucking face, y/n.”

that shuts you up and all you can do is nod quickly, allowing him to get back to what he was doing. it doesn’t take long after that. it hits you like a wall, slamming into every part of your body at once, reverberating to every corner of you over and over again. and because soonyoung is a demon and he doesn’t stop, the echoes of your orgasm ripple through you mercilessly until just mere moments later, you’re having another one. 

and if the way soonyoung smirks into you is any indication, you know he’s aware of exactly what he just did to you. it could have been seconds or it could have been hours when you feel soonyoung’s arms wrapping around your middle, torso pressing into yours as he kisses your neck and makes his way up until his lips are on yours again. 

you taste yourself on him and you think it should be gross, but it just makes you even wetter knowing that he took that part of you for himself—that he drank you up and he loved it. 

“soonie,” you whisper, breath still coming in ragged gasps. he pushes your hair off your forehead as he looks down at you. 

“mmm?” he hums, still kissing you wherever he can reach, but always coming back to your lips. 

“i want to be yours,” you say. you’re not even sure that’s what you meant to say. you’re actually 90% sure you wanted to demand he put it in you again, but that’s what comes out. it’s still true—maybe even truer—so you repeat it: “i want to be yours so bad.”

soonyoung looks at you with so much love, you feel your eyes burning. he doesn’t point out your tears, simply pressing his finger against each one that escapes your eyes. he leans in, presses his cheek against yours, and he whispers: “then i'll make you mine.”

he presses against your entrance then, and you gasp. 

“shhh,” he soothes you. “try to relax, okay?”

he props himself on one elbow, other hand coming to your hip and rubbing gentle circles into the skin there. his touch is comforting and grounding, and you feel your muscles relaxing even as he starts to push into you. your hand comes up to his shoulder, grasping tightly as the stretch starts to burn more and more. you squeeze your eyes shut, head turning to the side as you try to focus on relaxing enough to let soonyoung bottom out. 

“slow, slow,” you breathe, even though he’s already barely moving as it is. 

he plants a kiss on your temple, murmuring apologies against your skin. “i’m sorry, baby. do you feel okay?”

you nod, eyes still closed. he pauses for a minute or so, settling for peppering kisses all over you. his patience and love help—they’re everything. you adjust and that desire to be completely full comes back to you and you nod quickly at him.  

“keep going, soonie.” you’re too eager to be full of him to be embarrassed at how needy you sound. he smiles, coming off his elbow to lay back on you. 

you’re not sure if the kissing is a distraction, but it works. you’re so preoccupied with the things his tongue is doing with yours that by the time he’s fully sheathed inside you, it doesn’t burn anymore.

“oh my god,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against you and closing his eyes like he’s trying to concentrate. “oh shit.” he breathes deeply and evenly. “you won’t change your mind about me if i cum too fast, will you?”

you laugh but that’s a mistake because it causes you to clench a little, and soonyoung immediately groans, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing to get you to stop. 

“don’t, don’t!” he says quickly. “don’t squeeze, baby.”

“sorry,” you whisper, trying not to giggle. you give him a few moments to collect himself, just like he did with you. “no, by the way,” you say. he opens his eyes and looks at you. “i won’t change my mind. it’s been 10 years. nothing will change my mind.”

the words do something to him—seem to inject some resolve into his bloodstream—because without saying anything, soonyoung starts moving. your lips part at the foreign feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. his every dip and ridge fits to your every ridge and dip, and you don’t need any more evidence to know that soonyoung was made specifically for you. 

“oh fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck and kissing the skin there. “you feel so good—so fucking good,” he says, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. “your cunt is perfect.”

you let your eyes flutter closed as a mouthwatering mixture of pain and pleasure start to pool together in your lower abdomen. you don’t know when you start, but as he continues thrusting in and out of you, the deepness of his thrusts gradually increasing, you can’t stop moaning, gasping, chanting his name. it becomes a prayer to you. 

soonyoung. soonyoung. soonyoung.

no, not a prayer. a wish coming true—all 10 of the birthday wishes you spent on him coming true. you were finally loving soonyoung loudly. 

“y/n,” he pants, sweat dripping onto you. “oh my god.”

“soonyoung,” you answer, moans sandwiching his name. 

and just when you think his thrusts are as deep as they can go—pulling all the way out before slamming right back into you—he pushes off of you, holding himself up with one arm and holding the headboard above the both of you for leverage. and somehow, he gets impossibly deeper, impossibly rougher, impossibly better, coaxing all kinds of screams and noises from you. 

“oh my god, look at you,” he mumbles, eyes darting between your chest, your lips, and the place where he keeps disappearing inside you. “so—fucking—perfect.” his cock slams roughly into you with each word, easily aggravating all your pleasure points.

“‘m not gonna last long,” you breathe. “soonie… ‘m not—”

you cut yourself off with your own cry when his hips start to drive into you at an unforgivable pace. tears leak from the corners of your eyes, leaving hot streaks as you try to remember how good this moment feels—how fucking good soonyoung feels. how perfectly soonyoung fills you up.

“i’m not either, baby,” he says. he starts grinding his pelvis down on your clit roughly, making you grab his forearm in a weak attempt to ride out the overwhelming and overstimulating feeling of an orgasm building up inside you mercilessly.

he lowers himself again, closing the distance between you two and pressing his lips to yours. “i love you,” he says. “i love you so fucking much.”

“i—” you gasp as his pelvis presses down on you ruthlessly. “i love—oh my god, soonyoung,” you groan. 

“do you feel like you’re mine yet?” he asks, voice raspy, hips ramming into you so hard, there’s no way you won’t be bruised tomorrow. 

you nod frantically. “yes, god, yes. yes!” you shriek the last one as your orgasm approaches its summit. “yes!”

“say it,” he grunts, eyes boring into yours.

“i’m yours,” you pant. “soonie,” you whimper, eyes shutting on their own accord. “i’m yours, soonyoung.”

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he tells you, the statement followed by a string of colorful curses as his hips begin stuttering uncontrollably. you know he’s holding off as best he can for you. “you’re mine.” he moans loudly. “and i’m yours.”

“m-mine… soonyoung…” you open your eyes to find him still watching you intently. “soonyoung! i’m coming! i’m—” you grasp him as hard as humanly possible, your third orgasm of the night ripping through you.

for a few moments, soonyoung continues to thrust into you, trying to help you through your orgasm, but he doesn’t last, quickly pulling out and coming all over you, cords of white coloring your stomach, chest, even your face. you gasp, bits of it landing in your mouth. you lick the corners of your lips as you come down from your high, smiling a little when you finally get to taste soonyoung. 

“holy shit…” he huffs, sitting back on his heels and throwing his head back. you try not to gawk at how beautiful he looks on his knees like this, his still semi-hard cock covered in your pleasure. 

“c’mere.” speaking suddenly feels like such a chore as you realize how sleepy you are.

soonyoung half obeys, leaning forward to kiss you quickly before getting out of bed and ignoring all your protests over it. he returns from his restroom with a towel, gently wiping you both clean, even leaving kisses as he goes. it’s like he’s making up for his seven years. 

“how do you feel?” he asks when he slips back into bed, pulling the covers over the both of you. 

“like i’m in love,” you say, eyes closing as you curl into his chest. he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. “it was perfect. thank you, soonie.”

he kisses the top of your head. “i’m sorry about how weird i’ve been acting these last few weeks… and i’m sorry for thinking i could just… end our friendship like that.”

you open your eyes and crane your neck to look at him. “i wouldn’t have let you,” you inform him. he grins. “and i didn’t.”

“you didn’t,” he agrees. you hum. “i love you.”

“wait… do you love me?!” you ask jokingly after hearing it at least a dozen times tonight.

he rolls his eyes. “good to know our dynamic is going to be fine.”

you giggle. “i love you more.”

“whoa, fighting words.”

“ten years, soonyoung.”

“it was ten years for me too!” he protests. 

you frown. 

“i gave myself seven years before i forced myself to move on,” he reminds you. “i loved you long before that, you fool.”

you glare but your heart swells. you hug him even tighter. “so… what are we?’

“are you fucking kidding me?”

you laugh, burying your face in his bare chest. “yeah, i am. i’m joking.”

he pinches your side. “good. it would’ve been awkward to have to inform you you’re my wife now.”

you shriek-laugh and you know it’s infectious from the way he bursts into laughter at your reaction too. you spend the rest of the night like that, talking about the moments you knew you were in love, joking around, and planning your new decade and your new life, your birthday party long forgotten.

just before you both drift off to sleep, you exchange your last i-love-yous of the night. 

“good night, love of mine,” he whispers.

“mine,” you repeat, smiling. “yours.”

you know your 30s are going to be the best years of your life.

[juuuulez]

oh my godddd hear me out.. antler queen travis and lottie’s little sister who fully believes in the wilderness stuff just like lottie does. so she’s all infatuated with and basically worships the fucking ground he walks on, just because of those stupid antlers he hates wearing. maybe she convinces him to get with her because ‘the wilderness wants them to’ and that poor travis just needs someone by his side to help him with the duties

YES YES YES YES YES YES

knowing that lottie is unwell but being torn between the reality and then an unwavering support for your sister. when she starts doing weird shit like conjuring animals it seals it: you wholeheartedly believe in the wilderness, and from then on, respect whatever she says as truth.

and maybe there’s a bit of envy there, a want to also feel so utterly connected to something. so you do whatever she says in hopes the wilderness will also choose you.

you’d never paid much mind to travis until lately. in typical younger sibling fashion, you want to tag along with lottie and travis go out into the woods. you want to watch and learn and hopefully offer yourself as a vessel one day.

lottie urges travis to play along, that the wilderness will reward him for taking you under his wing. he thinks it’s stupid and still has scepticism, but with every passing day, finds himself falling deeper into lottie’s trap.

so he can barely resist when she makes him the antler queen. lately everyone has left him alone, for the most part, but your interest only grows when he wears those antlers. you’ll follow him around the camp, offering to help with his chores, asking about his day.

over time travis doesn’t even care, preferring the company over lottie’s. there’s something that satisfies that urge to be wanted, to be needed, in the way you look at him. one day you’ll have gone down to the river to clean without travis knowing, and he’ll find that he actually worries, feeling upset by your absence.

definitely expanding on this one…… please send more antler queen travis to my inbox this is cute

[ireid]

THE NOTEBOOK | spencer reid x female reader

summary: you and spencer reid are married and you have a daughter, mia. one day you decide to stay home while the both of them went out to spend some time together. you decided to do some decluttering and you find his notebook. you read all the letters he wrote to maeve.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

word count: 4,8k

content warnings: fluff/angst. mention of someone passing away.

author's note: i wrote this after a movie i saw a few days ago. my dear friend jem (@/blvrrface on twitter) wrote this with me. a bot about this will be out soon, too! my cai account is @/ohmyreid. you can get updates on my twitter account @/spookyrydel. it's my first time writing a one shot so i hope you all will enjoy! 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

“You sure you don’t wanna tag along?” Spencer asks you, as he was fixing Mia’s curly hair in a (really messy) braid. You nodded.

“Positive. You two can go and have your fun. You have been out for a few days. I’m going to give you some daddy-daughter moments alone.” You reply, giving him a sweet smile, before looking down at Mia, who was already pouting.

“But mommy–” she starts, giving you her usual puppy eyes. “You don’t want ice cream?” You sigh, before booping her nose with your finger. “Not today peanut. Mommy has things to do.” “Actually mommy just wants to relax.” Spencer says, slightly teasing you. You raise your eyebrows.

“That, too. And I told you I want to clean up a bit. We have too many things in our closets.”

“Don’t–” He starts saying, pointing his finger at you, knowing he was starting to be sassy. You interrupt him.

“I’m not throwing away your Doctor Who action figures. Don’t worry.” “I wasn’t about to say that.” He lied, trying to hold back a smile. “Come on sweetie, we are ready. Let’s go get some ice cream and then we’ll go to the science museum. And mommy will miss all the fun.” He says, before Mia sticks her tongue out at you. You laugh.

“I will miss all the fun, I know.” You sarcastically say, gently fixing Mia’s hair since Spencer made a mess. “But I will wait for you two to come back home. And we can watch Barbie?” “Barbie in the nutcracker?” Mia asks, pouting again. As if you two are able to say no to that adorable face. You smile.

“That one. Come on, go before it’s late. Have fun without me.” You say, giving Mia a kiss on her forehead, making her giggle.

“We will.” Spencer smugly says, holding Mia’s hand. Before leaving he gives you a quick peck on your lips. “Relax a bit too. You deserve it.” “Do I?” You ask, raising your eyebrows, before giving him another quick kiss. “And you have fun. You deserve it, too.” “Bye mommy! We will see you later! I love you!” Mia says, waving at you.

“See you later peanut. Be good for daddy, okay? Love you more.” “What about me?” Spencer asks, with a fake pout. You laugh.

“Yeah, love you too. Come on, go.”

He smiles. “Love you more. See you when we come back”. He says, before they both leave.

You sigh. It feels weird being home alone, it barely happens. But sometimes you need time for yourself– and those closets won’t be emptied on their own. It was supposed to be a quiet, simple kind of day. It barely happens that you are home alone so you decided to take care of yourself, clean up your house a bit and just make beauty masks, have a glass of wine and watch some trashy tv show.

You started with yours and Spencer’s closet, putting away some old clothes to give those to people that needed them. Then you cleaned up Mia’s closet too, a nostalgic feeling spreading through your bones. It seemed like yesterday that she was born and she is already four years old.

Strange how time passes.

Now you were just trying to clean up the guest room closet. The one that had slowly morphed into a museum of Spencer’s past—boxes of books, stacks of old FBI files, that one cardigan he swore he lost but you knew was buried somewhere under a psychology textbook from 2003…

But then something catches your attention.

It was tucked beneath some old clothes. The cover was worn leather, the spine frayed. No title. No label. Just a rubber band wrapped twice around it. It was a notebook that belonged to Spencer.

You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But curiosity got you so you opened it.

You immediately saw her name.

Maeve.

And the first line of the first page felt like it reached into your chest and twisted something deep inside.

“Maeve,

I never got to say goodbye. So I will write to you instead. Hoping you’ll read this whenever you are (I hope it’s in Heaven).

I’m not sure if this helps or hurts. Maybe both. But I have to keep you somewhere, and, even if I have an eidetic memory, my memory isn’t reliable when it comes to feelings. Mostly when it comes to you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I met someone a few weeks ago. I was drinking my usual too-sweet black coffee when I heard someone arguing over the phone. I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable but when she hung up she was crying. So I offered her a hot chocolate and asked her what’s wrong. I usually don’t do these things but I felt really sorry for her.

She’s… she’s not like you. I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s loud. And messy. She sings off-key in the street while we walk and doesn’t know what to do with silence.

But when she smiles at me, it’s like I finally learned a new language after years of only speaking grief.

Sometimes I wonder if you’d be angry. If you’d think I moved on too fast. But then I remember what you told me in my dream—that you wanted me to live. I’m trying, Maeve. I’m really trying.”

-----

“Maeve,

Something unexpected happened. I couldn’t even believe my own ears when I asked her to go out with me. We did hang out sometimes in that coffee place we met and then walked around, but it wasn’t something super serious.

I asked Penelope what to do in this kind of situation and she told me that I should ask her out for a romantic dinner. Is that how it works?

I also read an academic article just in case.

I really don’t know. I didn’t even get to have a romantic dinner with you. I’m still a newbie in these kinds of things.

But she said yes. No, she said exactly: “A date? That would be awesome”. That’s what she said. I guess she is excited, right? Because I didn’t get to sleep last night. At all. What if she doesn’t like me in that way? What if I’m not ready?

Is it too early for me to move on from you? I wish you could answer. It has been two years but it still feels like yesterday when I lost you. What if I’m using her just to feel the void that you left? I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t think I would be able to forgive myself.

But I really like her. I like her smile, her hair. I like her sense of humor, even if sometimes I can’t totally get it. My stomach hurts when I think about her. Scientifically speaking, this is the result of the abnormal anxiety that I have been feeling since the moment I asked her (three days ago), but romantically speaking… I think those are actually butterflies. Or whatever romantic people call them.

I’m going to pick her up in half an hour. I really don’t like driving but I want to be a gentleman. I got her flowers, too. She mentioned that she didn’t like roses so I got her tulips. I hope she’ll like them.

I hope she’ll like me.

She feels like when you are cold and a ray of sunshine gently hits your face.

I hope I’m not sounding too sappy.

I still miss you. I hope you and Merton are good friends up there.”

————

“Maeve,

I’m sorry if I reach out twice in the same day, but I just wanted to tell you that the date was magical. I brought her to an Italian restaurant and the food was delicious. She is the most beautiful person in the whole world (don’t be mad, I think you were really beautiful, too. You must still be).

She really liked the flowers and I guess she really likes me too since we kissed.

I mean, she kissed me. I couldn’t stop rambling when I brought her home and she decided to shut me up in the sweetest way ever.

I’m glad she did it. I wouldn’t have the courage to do that.

I can still feel her cherry lipstick on my lips.

I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep tonight.

I can’t wait to kiss her again.

I hope you are doing fine with all the angels in Heaven. Thank you for being here for me.”

-----

“Maeve,

She stayed the night last week.

We didn’t sleep. Not in the way you think. We talked. For hours. She fell asleep on my shoulder while I read her a short story by Stephen King. I think you’d like her. She listens.

But she also argues. A lot. With this look on her face like she’s daring me to be smarter than her. Sometimes I let her win.

I laugh around her. Do you know how strange that feels? Laughing again?”

-----

“Maeve,

We just had a fight. Our first big fight.

It’s so strange to say —

I mean, we argued before, but nothing too serious.

Now we fought, she cried and I was just frozen in place, I didn’t know what to do.

She told me that every time I’m out for work she worries too much, because anything could happen to me.

I hate having an eidetic memory because I remember every single one of her words, she said: “Didn’t you wish to become a teacher? As you always said? Because I don't understand why you keep putting yourself in danger every day. You want to have a family some day, but you don't even know if you will come back home when you walk out of that door”.

I said that I get her point of view, but I also told her that she doesn’t understand me — she cut me off immediately after this. She said that I’m the one who doesn’t understand, and that she needs some time alone.

Did I screw it up, Maeve?”

⸻

“I wanted to update you about my last letter. I didn’t screw it up, apparently.

Right after I wrote to you I decided to act on it and try to fix things, so I went to her place with her favourite food and I told her I’m sorry if it seems like I don't care about what she thinks.

She told me that she was sorry too, that she understands that I love helping people, and that she will try to understand, even if she won't ever accept that I put my own life in danger.

But I think that's because she cares about me, right?

We ate the food together and cuddled in bed, I didn’t even think about the germs!

I think I love her.”

-----

“Maeve.

We have been together for six months now, I love her. Not in the same way I loved you, but I’m in love with her just the same as I was with you. You just can't love two people in the same way, you know? But she makes me happy, she makes me breathe again. I just love her.

When she kisses me she always smiles, and then she jokes and makes fun of me all the time — but she doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s refreshing, you know? She keeps me on my toes, and challenges me every time.

Sometimes I’m scared we are too different, but then she snuggles on me whispering how much she loves me, and I feel at peace again. Maybe we are meant to be.

Did you send her to me, Maeve? Thank you if you did, you gave me back my life.”

-----

“Maeve,

She moved in today, we have been together for one year. Is it rushed?

Maybe, but it feels right with her.

I always imagined my life with someone calmer, but maybe I was meant for noises all around me.

You should hear how she sings when she is cooking. She is the worst singer I have ever heard — but somehow I would listen to that tune all day, forever.

I guess I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy. How is it going in heaven? Are you playing chess with Einstein? I root for you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I hope I’m not bothering you. Sorry if my letters aren’t really constant but life has been chaotic lately. Remember when I told you that she moved in with me? Now we have been living together for more than a year, but my apartment started being really small for the both of us.

We started house hunting. I didn’t think it could be so stressful. Some houses were too old, some too modern— and you know how I feel about modernity. Some houses were in really dangerous neighborhoods and I didn’t want us to live there. Also what if we end up having a family? I don’t want my kids to be in danger.

Or maybe I’m just daydreaming now. I’m a logical person but when it comes to her even the stars seem closer to me. Which isn’t technically possible— but you get me.

God Maeve, I wish you could have seen the smile on her face when I agreed to purchase that green couch that she loved so much. I didn’t really like it (don’t tell her that) but I’d give up everything just to see her face lighting up, even just a bit.

We have been having small arguments on furniture and decorations for weeks. But at the end of the day, I’m still the happiest man ever and I feel lucky, even if that means that I’ll have to carry too many boxes.

It’s our first night here in the new house— our new house. It still feels weird to say that.

Our new house.

I hope you are happy for me, but I know that you are. I still think you sent her to me as a blessing.

I hope you are still working on your research.

And sorry if I talk about her too much. She is just my everything.”

-----

“Maeve,

I bought her a ring. I didn’t think that diamond rings could be so expensive. But when I saw it I just knew it belonged to her. Actually both Penelope and JJ helped me. They have been trying to investigate for me for weeks and they found out that she was looking for rings and wedding gowns on her Pinterest page.

I have been wanting to do this for a while. We have been together for such a long time.

Today is also the anniversary of your death. It has been five years since that day. I went to the cemetery on my own and I talked to you (to your grave, at least. But I like to think that you were listening). I cried, a lot. I haven’t been crying this much for some time.

I didn’t even get the chance to say I love you back. But I did. And a part of me will always love you, no matter what.

But I love her endlessly. I didn’t think that I would be able to feel something this big and tremendous for someone. She changed the structure of my heart.

I have been having this ring for a few weeks and she is completely oblivious about it. It’s starting to feel heavy in my pants’ pocket but I want the proposal to be special.

I’m probably going to take her to the same restaurant where we had our first date and then to the beach. It’s her favorite place— I mean, I really don’t get the appeal of having sand everywhere, but she loves it.

I think I’m going to do it tomorrow. God, she doesn’t know anything. She thinks we are just going out as we usually do every weekend when I’m not working on a case.

I’m really nervous. What if she says no? I don’t think I will handle it.

But she won’t, right?

I hope you will be here with us at the beach, maybe in between the waves. I need you to be here with me. It’s going to be one of the most important moments of my whole life.

All I want is for her to say yes.

I’ll keep you updated.

I hope you are happy up there.”

-----

“Maeve,

she said yes. I know that you knew, because I could feel your presence there. Maybe I’m crazy but I just know you were looking at us with a big smile on your face.

After dinner I took her to the beach as I wanted to and we were just walking, hand in hand, while she was rambling about what happened today at her workplace.

I wasn’t really listening (which I’m sorry for) because I couldn’t wait to get on my knee and ask her to be my wife.

So I did that.

I tripped over my own foot and my eyes were glossy all the time. I tried to come up with something romantic to say but she kept on saying “oh my god stop” and she just kept on crying.

So I cried too.

Then I asked her to be mine forever and she said yes.

She said yes, Maeve. Can you believe it? Can you believe that someone wants to spend their life with me?

If it’s a dream I hope I never wake up.

She is now talking with her friends on the phone, showing them her rings. I can hear them screaming from here.

I can’t wait to marry her.

I’ll send you an invitation.

Sometimes I still feel guilty but then I look at her and I realize that I feel alive.

Talk to you soon.”

-----

“Maeve,

We just came back from our honeymoon — with “just” I mean it’s already been a week from that day when we stepped foot back in our home. I didn’t have time to write to you, jet lag has been crazy. How can people deal with that?

We spent two weeks around Europe. Paris first, then around Italy and lastly in London.

I thought she hated the idea of walking around cities all day, but she was happy as long as she had a pastry in her hands, even if she made me eat most of it anyway. I think I gained a couple of pounds, you know? I have always been a little too skinny anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. I would call those happy pounds.

The days right before the wedding have been the most anxious days of my life, but the moment I saw her walking down the aisle it was like… breathing for the first time — even if she took my breath away.

She has always been stunning to me, but maybe I fell a little more in love after seeing her in that white dress.

By the way, the honeymoon was magical. We saw so many places and took so many pictures.

I wanted to visit Greece as well, but we didn’t have much time for it. Hopefully we will go there soon.

She also stopped every two seconds to pet every stray cat or dog we met, isn’t she the sweetest?

I wish I could show you the pictures she took of me, and the ones we took together.

Could you see us walking down the streets of Paris from up there? I think we are beautiful together, at least everyone told us so.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m going to be a dad. I wanted to write something else before being so blunt but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.

I’m going to be a dad. She is pregnant.

She has been keeping this from me for a few weeks. I did pick up on the fact that she was just drinking water and that she stopped eating sushi (I thought she actually had a stomach bug). Then when I came back earlier from a case in New Jersey she wanted me to solve a riddle. I didn’t even think about the fact that she was trying to make me say the word “baby” for half an hour. Then I realized.

I cried, Maeve. I couldn’t believe it. How is this happening to me? Is this what happiness feels like?

She cried a lot, too. Then we hugged. I wanted to hold her super tightly but I didn’t want to hurt the baby. Our baby.

Can you believe it? I always wanted to be a dad. Is it possible to already love someone so much even if they aren’t even a formed human being yet?

I’m going to protect them from everything. I’m going to be the perfect dad— I have to.

I don’t want to be like mine. I would never give up on my child and on my wife. I want to give them the whole world.

I’m going to wake up really early tomorrow morning so I can go to the library and read as many things as possible on pregnancy and newborns.

Do you think I will be good at this? God, I hope so. I don’t even know what I did to deserve this— all of this. This is something too precious. I hope I won’t ruin it.

I love her, Maeve. And I love those little cells inside her already. I feel like my heart is going to burst.

I can’t wait to meet him. Or her. I don’t care as long as they are healthy.

I didn’t think I would have another chance at this after you passed away but I was wrong.

She proved me wrong so many times, and now she is carrying our child.

I hope you’ll watch over the three (two and a half now) of us from there.”

-----

“Maeve,

I’m really sorry for not reaching out as I once used to. Our little girl is keeping us occupied— and her mom, too. Our baby is actually a girl, did I mention that? I wish I could show you the ultrasound pictures. She looks so small and I can’t wait to hold her.

Her mom’s belly is growing everyday and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I still can’t believe she is carrying the life we created together.

Sometimes she lashes out at me but I read it’s normal. It’s the pregnancy hormones. But it’s okay, I’m not the one having a tiny human in his belly.

I’m trying to be the perfect husband as soon-to-be-dad for both of them. Sometimes the cravings are too weird and disgusting but I deal with them easily.

Our baby is growing and she is healthy.

I’m loving this journey.

I hope you are proud of me and that you won’t be mad because I moved on from you.

But I know you won’t.

You sent them to me, after all.”

-----

“Maeve,

The most beautiful thing in the world just happened to me.

My daughter. She is born.

Can you believe it? I’m a dad. D-A-D.

God, it still sounds insane to me.

Her name is Mia Diana Reid.

Mia means “mine” in Italian, but I read that it's a shortened form of the Hebrew name Maria, which itself is derived from Miryam. I didn’t really like those names, so we decided that Mia was perfect.

And Diana because, well, you know, it’s my mom’s name. I’m still scared that someday she would wake up without even remembering my name, so giving her that name I think was a sort of coping mechanism.

At least I will always have her.

She was born on August 1st, I think it's a beautiful day to be born in, because she reminds me of the summer.

My wife says that Mia is a leo, and that means that she will grow up confident and sure of herself. I know nothing about astrology, but I trust her, I hope she is right. She is really into those things.

She was a mess after the delivery, so I had to hold her and comfort her, convincing her to rest — not that I’m complaining about it.

When I held Mia the first time it was the most amazing feeling in the world, I didn’t think my heart could take that much joy.

I hope I will be a good father, Maeve. I’m a bit scared about it, but she keeps saying I’m already great at it.

I didn’t sleep at all last night, I just held Mia and I didn’t want to let her go, I’m scared I might wake up just to realise nothing has ever been real.

Hopefully I’m very much awake.”

After all those pages you just stood there, speechless after those words. You kept on touching the pages over and over again. You are not upset, why should you? I mean, he always said the best things about you, it’s not like he said anything hurtful.

Before you can even decide what to do, if talk to him about it or pretend you never saw anything, the front door opens, and you hear your daughter’s voice and Spencer laughing.

Then silence.

You look toward the door, Spencer is leaning there, his eyes a bit wider, then he walks and kneels next to you.

“Love I— What are you doing?”

You stay silent for a couple of seconds and then looks at him, stuttering.

“Spence— Love I— I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t think—“ .

He stops you immediately with a smile and a kiss on your forehead, curling an arm around you and holding you tight against his chest

“Hey. Hey, breathe. I know, It’s okay. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but i just needed a space to talk freely about you when I had those overwhelming moments.” He chuckles a little before continuing “You really gave me an hard time, in the best way possible. I hope you’re not upset.”

You shake your head. “I’m not, I’m not, I just feel bad because I read all those things you probably needed to keep to yourself.”

He shakes his head again laughing “No, those were meant for you as well. Now you know how I really feel — how much I feel.”

That stirred something inside you, and you let out some tears.

After a little you laugh softly through the tears “You really don’t like the green couch?”

He laughs as well “I didn’t. Like at all, baby. But I learned to love it.” Then he kisses your hair “Just as much as I love you.”

-----

“Maeve,

I think this will be the last time I write to you.

Not that I don't miss you anymore, I wish you could see me every day, I think you would be proud of the man I became.

Some days ago she found out about this notebook. Not that she was mad or angry about it, she wasn’t upset at all.

We talked about it, and we hugged a lot too — at least until Mia didn’t interrupt us because she wanted to play with the Barbies after watching the movie and we all had our dolls to role-play (of course I’m Ken and I barely do anything).

You have been a big part of my life, Maeve, one of the most important chapters.

I don't even know how to tell you goodbye, since time hasn't belonged to you for years now. Can you still see the passing of days and nights from up there, or is it always daytime?

When you left, something broke. Not forever, but enough to make me realize that love does not end with absence. There are days when I wonder what would have been if you had stayed. If we had had a wider, slower, less cruel time. But then I look at my family, and I realize that life is not about choosing between one love and another. Sometimes, we are only given to keep carrying everything, despite what life throws at us.

I know that you are always here, even though I cannot see you. Sometimes I feel your hand on my shoulder, and I feel you smile seeing my wife and daughter. I know you like them very much too. In one of the first letters I wrote to you I was wrong, she is not a rebound.

Are you proud of me, Maeve? I hope so.

I have to go now, Mia is calling me - it's time for a bedtime story.

Until we meet again.

Give my regards to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I hope he has written new Sherlock Holmes stories for you (save them for me. As soon as I get there I want to read them too).”

[mwahgo]

OMG HII I REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS AND SAW YOUR REQS OPEN ❤️❤️

Can I request Kid x Reader, Reader is part of his crew and is dating Kid. But during the events of Sabaody reader gets a little too close to Law making Kid jealous. So he drags reader to the ship and ties her up as punishment

Feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable with it, sorry if I have bad english! Have a good day!

ONLY ME

— Eutass Kid x Fem!Reader (One Piece)

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Kid is dating you, but when a certain surgeon comes around, he gets incredibly jealous.

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 2.6k words

: ̗̀➛ Content Tags: Soft Kid, teasing, porn with plot, jealousy, possessive Kid, somewhat inaccurate events in Sabaody, misuse of devil fruit, fingering, ripping clothes, nipple biting, degradation, names such as brat and slut, P in V, unprotected sex.

Mwahgo's Notes: TSYM FOR THE REQ!!💗 i hope i did kid justice, I don’t know him as a character that much other than 🙇‍♀️ Also, requests are still open (1 more slot left!)

The Victoria Punk boarded the island of Sabaody Archipelago in search of a professional ship coater to help them cross the Red Line and enter the New World. You observed from the rails as the crew shouted orders to each other as they anchored the ship and pulled down the gangway. Heavy footsteps approached you from behind as you turned to see your boyfriend, Eutass Kid, who smiled smugly as he admired the view of Sabaody.

“What are you smirking about?” You asked.

He chuckled, “I’m just proud that we’re getting close to our goals,” He said.

Your eyes widened at his confidence, watching the shine glimmer in his eyes as you chuckled, “You’re really excited to get to the New World, huh?”

He nodded as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “That’s right and I’m glad that you’re here to support me,” He grinned down at you.

You smiled, happily as you heard a shout from below, “Kid! Everything’s all settled!” Killer’s voice echoed.

Kid pulled away from the embrace as you both went down the gangway and your boots landed on Sabaody’s soil. You eyes widened in wonder as you stepped around the grassy floor, feeling a slight mushy texture as bubbles erupted from the grass.

“Sabaody is so weird yet amazing..” You muttered, admiring the bright and the bubbly atmosphere of the archipelago.

The Kid pirates walked around the grooves, the gigantic trees gives off an enchanting ambience while the bubbles float to the top. You watched the locals of Sabaody do their daily routine as your gasped in surprise with their transportation—a man rides a bike but the bike doesn’t use wheels, but a big bubble as he pedaled around with his grocery. A woman holding hands with her child as they held a bubble attached on a string—kinda like a balloon but it can carry items. You kept a lingering stare at the small family as you felt a large hand placed on your lower back, snapping out of your curious daze.

You look up to see Kid, a stern look on his face, “Keep walking, I don’t wanna lose you,” He said. You chuckled at his protectiveness as you continue walking until you reached the main city of Sabaody. Shops selling various stuff like outfits, household items and restaurants opened their doors for their customers to enjoy their meal. Some small food stalls opened up their businesses and started selling their products, but one stall caught your eye as you turned to Kid.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go there and buy some takoyaki. Want some?” You asked.

The red haired rolled his eyes, “Do whatever you want,” He grumbled, “Just meet us at the bar,” He ordered.

You pouted at the passive-aggressive tone as you walked off to buy some takoyaki. Kid and some of the other members entered a bar, the customers inside flinched at the sudden intrusion. The bartender shakes in his spot behind the counter as Kid grinned menacingly before finding a large table and plopped on the chair. He waved his hand to the waiter as they approached with caution—scared to angering the pirate, “We’ll just get a few pints, yeah?” He ordered as the waiter walked away quickly.

You, on the other hand, is currently in line for the takoyaki—hands stuffed in your pockets as you waited for your turn in line. A child on his father’s shoulder looked at your curiously, his eyes big and bright as his mouth agape. You gave him a blank stare at first, uninterested at the child but as soon as he started babbling, you gave it a small smile as he responded with a cute coo. He walked away with his dad as you stepped forward to the takoyaki stand. The seller turned around to greet the next customer, but he suddenly flinched at your presence.

“A-A pirate?!” He exclaimed, his voice shaking.

Your eyes widened at his reaction, “Look, just because I’m a pirate doesn’t mean I’ll immediately cause trouble,” You sighed, frustratedly, “Now hurry up and take my damn order,”

The laughter of the Kid Pirate crew members echoed inside the bar as the customers stared at them, warily—the rowdy pirates are trashing the place but they’re mostly scared of Kid, who is considered one of the super rookies. A pirate who has only been sailing for a few months and has already exceeded his bounty of 300 million is one to be terrified by.

The door bursts open as the customers all flinched in fear and surprise as you walked in with your takoyaki in hand, looking around to find a familiar red haired. You spotted Kid with the others as you happily walked over while munching on your takoyaki, “Hey Kid, I’m back!” You called.

He turned to you and grinned, didn’t said anything, just your presence alone suffice him. You were about to sit on the chair next to him, but his arm reached out to your waist and pulled you down on his lap, making you yelp, “Kid?!”

He only smirked smugly, “What? Can’t have my girl sitting prettily on my lap?” He teased as you sighed in response.

Kid passed you a pint of beer and as you finished the takoyaki, you immediately grabbed the pint and chugged down the beer. The other crew members cheered you on as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, “Hey! Can I get another one?” You called to the waiter.

As Kid lets you have your fun (and his as well while you’re sitting on his lap), he spots another familiar pirate in the other corner of the bar. You looked over to see Scratchmen Apoo sitting at the far corner of the bar, staring menacingly at Kid, “That’s Scratchmen Apoo, heard he has a 198 million bounty,” You informed Kid, as you drank your second pint of beer.

The red haired grinned threateningly, and the next thing you know, an explosion erupted from inside the bar as Apoo popped out of the cloud of smoke—already in his battle stance. Kid emerged from the dark smoke as he pulled out his knife from its holster. They were about to have a brawl when your small transponder snail started ringing as you pulled it out from your pocket.

“You better be quick, Kid is about to have a fight right now,” You grumbled while looking after Kid.

“Hey (Y/N), we found the human auction house. Meet us in Groove 1,” In the other side, Heat informed.

Your eyes widened at the information as you quickly turned to Kid, “Kid, enough! Heat called and he said they found the auction house,” You called out.

Kid paused for a moment before he puts his knife back in the holster, “You better be lucky, Scratchmen. But the next time I see you, I’ll go for the kill,” He smirked menacingly before he turned his back and left with you and the crew.

As the residents of Sabaody fled in terror, the ground trembled with an explosion. Killer is joined by Urogue, another great rookie. Killer threw hits against each other while avoiding Urogue's nasty weapon attack. Killer drew his weapons and Urogue prepared another assault as they charged at each other, but they were stopped by another super rookie, X Drake, who had pulled his weapons and was blocking both Killer and Urogue's attacks.

When you and Kid arrived to pick up Killer, they had already backed down, with X Drake standing between him and Urogue while things settled down. Killer dropped his weapons as Kid approached him to alert him about the human auction house, and you looked around at the other super rookies. Urogue never really piqued your interest, but you've heard that X Drake has the Ryu Ryu no mi, which allows him to transform into a dinosaur, which you find fascinating. But another newcomer drew your eye: Trafalgar Law sat on a box, his elbows on his knees, observing the situation.

Law is the Surgeon of Death—a precise and professional doctor of the seas. You heard great miracles that he did and as doctor of the Kid Pirates, you greatly admire his work. His piercing gaze landed on you as you jumped in surprise, never realizing that you’ve been staring at him. You took your opportunity to approach him as he smirked at you, “What does the doctor of the Kid Pirates want from me?”

Your determined look towered above him as he kept his smirk, “As a doctor to another doctor, I wanna talk to you about medical stuff,” You said, “.. I’m not the greatest doctor around, but I want what’s best for my crew, so please..” You explained.

His lazy eyes widened at your confession before chuckling, “Alright then,” He stood up from the box and started talking with you.

As you and Law talked, Kid finished conversing with Killer and went around to call for you, but his eye twitched when he saw you chatting with Law. The subtle closeness, the friendly eye contact, and the way he smirked at you made his veins tighten in displeasure. How dare he just get up and talk to you as if you don't belong to him? Your laughter was the final straw for him, and he marched towards you, grabbing your hand with force before yanking you away from Law.

The sudden force caught you by surprise as you yelped at the tight grip, “K-Kid?! What’s going on?” You exclaimed.

He gritted his teeth in jealousy, “Shut up, we’re going back to the ship..” He ordered, leaving you wondering how you made him so angry. He dragged you back to the Victoria Punk, his tight grip still present as you kept pleading him to let you go or at least explain the situation, why is he acting that way. You try to jog your memory—remembering what kind of act you made him angry but none of it makes sense. He dragged you to his quarters—slamming the door open before throwing you harshly to the plush bed, making you yelp.

You turned to get mad at him but he suddenly used his devil fruit and manipulated metal wires to wrap around your arms and legs. The metal wires spread your legs open as the ones on your arms bounded you on the headboard, “Kid, what the hell is wrong with you?!” You yelled.

A vein popped on his temple as he climbed onto the bed, straddling your lap, “What the hell is wrong with me? You should ask yourself that..” His voiced drop in a menacing tone as you gave him a confused look, “… I saw how you throw yourself at that fucking pathetic doctor,” He scoffed.

You looked at him like he was insane, “’Throwing myself’? Are you fucking nuts??” You asked.

“I would go fucking nuts if my own girlfriend is being a slut to other pirates,” Kid grunted as he started to take off his clothes.

You blushed heavily as Kid stripped himself naked, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen, the veins protruding on his shaft. You felt your pussy getting wet through your panties as his large hands ripped your clothes off, making you gasp in surprise. Your breasts spilled out from your broken bra as he ripped your pants open, exposing your soaked pussy.

Kid grinned menacingly at your aroused body as he leaned down and whispered to your ear, “And I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna go nuts on my cock today,” He sneered.

You whimpered under your breath as he leaned down and started playing with your hardening nipples, his tongue swirled around the bud as his hand traveled down to your pussy. His thick fingers played with your pussy before experimentally inserting them inside, making you moan. He chuckled darkly before his teeth sinks on your nipple, making you gasp sharply. His two fingers pistons inside your pussy as you moaned loudly, legs shaking in the metal wires tied around you. Your wetness coated his fingers as Kid quickens his pace, now his thumb played with your clit, “Look at you, already going crazy on my fingers,” He laughed, watching your face contorted into pleasure.

You felt the tight coil in your stomach and as you were about to cum, he pulled out his fingers, making you whine. That ticked him off as he grabbed your cheeks and stared intently in your eyes, “You don’t get to fucking whine when you’re going around acting like a brat,” He growled.

You wanted to answer back but you didn’t want to piss him off more as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock laid on your sensitive pussy. He spits on his cock before thrusting his hips, smearing your juices on his cock, “Please, Kid… Fuck me,” You begged.

He laughed, “Oh now you’re begging me to fuck you? Damn slut, going around getting attention from other pirates,” He mocked before sliding his cock inside you, making you gasp at his size. He didn’t wait for long as he started a sharp pace—pounding deep in your pussy as you moan loudly. The metal wires around you held onto your limbs tightly, almost bruising your arms and legs as your skins slapping together echoed in the room. Kid grunted in your ear as you moaned along with him, your eyes crossing from the intense pleasure as his cock hits your g-spot.

“F-Fuck, Kid! Oh god, you’re fucking me s-so.. good!” You moaned.

He chuckled darkly, “Yeah, you think that bastard Law can fuck you like this?” He sneered, his hips bumping onto yours, “Huh?! Tell me, who fucks you this good?!” He growled.

You squealed at the intensity, “You, Kid! You fuck me so good!”

He laughed at your answer as his pace quickens, grunting loudly as he could feel his climax coming, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby… Fuck, gonna cum in this cute pussy,” He grinned.

You felt a pressure building inside as you came on his cock, screaming loudly as Kid groaned against your neck—his cum spilling inside your pussy. You panted heavily as your body slumped down on the plush bed, your body covered in sweat as he plopped down on top of you, almost knocking the wind out your lungs on how heavy he is, “God, fuck… I told you.. I-I’m not throwing myself at Law,” You explained.

Subtly, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah well.. He was annoying to look at with you,” He argued, which made you look at him.

“Kid, were you…” You stifled a laugh, “… Were you jealous?”

He sat up on his hands, gripping the pillow by your head as he angrily looked down at you, “I’M NOT JEALOUS!” He yelled making you laugh more.

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled down for a kiss on his lips. He let out a small yelp before melting into your kiss. You pulled away as you smile up to Kid, “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t leave you for someone else,” You convinced.

“Damn right you aren’t” He huffed, making you giggle, “Now let’s get out of here, before the ship coater finds us,” He smirked as you nodded, getting up from the bed to put your clothes back on.

[scoobydoodean]

Hello<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol?

There is so much emphasis on making him out to be a violent mean drunk, but I mostly remember that he drinks and like passes out when he's grieving or stressed (iirc) (s6 PTSD, Soulless sam, when Cas dies, etc.)? It's weird to me because Dean isn't the only character to go through this. Bobby relies on drinking too. He's exactly as gruff as Dean can be. He also had an abusive father. Yet I don't usually see people judging Bobby for that (if they exist, I haven't seen them at least thank God).

I get frustrated when people say things like the MoC was a direct metaphor for alcoholism just because it made Dean sooo violent and angry, etc. And, it's like an unrealistic understanding of alcoholism irl and also of Dean himself and his actual actions and context. I just get weirdly defensive of him over it lol.

If you've already hashed this out I'm sry! At the end of the day, it's all just interpretation ig, but I wanted to know your take on it cause ik you'd look at dean with a good faith lens.

<3

One could say I have had thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol. One could even say I have spawned extremely funny multi-day fandom-wide disk horses on this subject simply by giving my opinion on my own blog when an anon asked me to.

I'm tracking Dean's relationship with alcohol (and other substances bc I was too lazy to make two separate tags) through #dean and drugs during my rewatch if you care to peruse, but I think you and I are of a similar mind on this.

Prior to season 4, Dean has a very average relationship with alcohol. In season 4, Dean starts using alcohol as a coping tool to help him fall asleep because he's having nightmares about hell. By season 6, alcohol is also a coping tool for depression and stress. He drinks to deal with nightmares, he drinks to cope with hell trauma, he drinks after soulless Sam watches his sexual assault with a smile, he drinks after Cas swallows all the souls and Death blames Dean for everything, he drinks throughout season 7 to cope with Cas's death and Bobby's death. I'm up to 8.01 and have yet to see a single occasion where Dean drinking and Dean being violent co-occurred. What I do see is Dean drinking when he is sad, alone, or scared.

I'll continue tracking—I'll eventually get back into the MoC arc where Dean is drinking heavily again, and obviously Dean + drinking + anger + violence are all going to happen at the same time in MoC seasons. However, correlation does not equal causation, and while someone can choose to believe that Dean's drinking causes him to be angry, I think the literal answer in season 9/10 is that Dean's been cursed by the father of murder, and on a more metaphorical level, the Mark of Cain quite overtly represents Dean's resentment toward Sam which Carver spends his entire run laying out in great detail. This is why the whole Carver run culminates in Amara (a Dean parallel) being unleashed to take revenge on her brother, and why the MoC is a brother murderer curse to begin with. Alcohol is set dressing. It shows us—just as it did in the past—that Dean feels sad, alone, and scared (in this case, of what the MoC could lead him to do—which also isn't dissimilar from the original reason Dean started drinking—after hell to cope with the trauma of not just being tortured but torturing others—the fear that he'd been made into a monster).

Looking at the matter holistically, I don't personally see Dean as an angry drunk. I see him as a sad drunk. If anything, I think he hopes that alcohol will drown his anger and violent urges in the MoC arc, or at least slow him down, while also being the traditional tool he uses during boughts of depression (which he is very much experiencing during the MoC arc to the point of suicide). I also think outside the outlier of season 9/10, the narrative supports sad drunk Dean far better than angry drunk Dean.

[bunniebubbleswrites]

'A Marriage of Convenience'

Kate Lethbridge Stewart x F! Reader

Chapter 3 | Previous Chapter

A/N: Finally got this chapter done. A lot of it was written in the 12-2 am range so sorry if there are mistakes. Warnings/Tags: One-bed, r being anxious, Kate being protective, weird old guy, Words: 1,764 Summary: You and Kate finally make it to your hotel after being stopped at the elevator. You notice there is only one bed and you don't know how you'll surive the week.

"What was that about?" You asked Kate in a hushed voice. Your eyes darting around the room, trying to look anywhere but Kate. You didn't want to draw attention to the two of you.

That seemed like a bad idea.

"I'll explain everything I promise." Kate tells you as she leads you towards the elevator, her hand hovering over the small of your back. " Lets just get to our room first." You nod as you start to twist the ring she had given you in the taxi nervously.

You watched as the numbers counted down as the elevator . The second you hear the ding of the elevator a voice calls out to Kate. You see Kate tense just slightly, and you feel her hand make contact with your back.

You feel the heat of her hand seep through your sweater and a man in his mid 60's,-receding hairline and all- comes into your view.

"Kate, it good to see you." The man bellowed out. You shuffled closer to Kate nervously, still twisting the right around your finger. "and who is this sweet young thing?"

You swallow roughly as you feel Kate's hand move to your waist and press you firmly into her side.

"This is my wife." Kate tells the man and you rest your head on her shoulder. You stop twisting the ring and try to find another way to ground yourself. You place your hand on Kate's hand still resting on your waist.

You just had to play along. You could do that. You're just undercover, yeah that's what it is.

"Wife? When did you get married?" The man questioned. You and Kate look at each other. One of you needed to come up with something quick.

"Just a couple months ago. Kate's been so busy with work this was the only chance we had to get away. It was kind of just a spur of the moment thing." You tell the man as calmly as you could. It wasn't technically a lie.

And besides you didn't even know who he was. Kate seemed to know him, but it looked like she didn't like him very much. You could understand why, he was quite rude.

"Newlyweds. Congratulations." After that you stopped listen to him. He just rambled on and on about things that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. All the while, Kate's hand never left your waist.

You unconsciously buried your head into her shoulder.

"Something the matter?" Kate whispers

"I'm just tired." You mumble, almost incoherently.

Kate starts to rub small circles on your waist, in an attempt to comfort you.

"We should get up to our room," Kate tells the man as she reaches over to call the elevator back. "She's tired."

The man nods and wanders off into the well-dressed crowd. Kate ushers you into the elevator and you grab your suitcase dragging it inside with you. Kate follows you in and hits one of the buttons in the elevator.

"Do you want to explain everything now?" You ask her as you lean against the back wall of the elevator.

"Right, these things tend to be under tight lock and key. They're very strict about who we bring." The elevator stops on your floor. Kate steps out first and you follow her down the short hallway.

"I usually come alone, but with the non-human sighting in the area. I thought it was best to have some backup." She looks over her shoulder at you.

"I told them I would be bring my significant other," She slides the key card into the slot and the door unlocks. "Most of the men bring their wives anyways. So they must have thought nothing of it."

Kate lets you into the room first. It was bigger than you were used to, not that you left home much anyways. You were very much a home body.

"That's honestly a little concerning, but I guess most of their wives don't do much work." You tell Kate as you tuck your bags next to the sofa against the wall. You glance around the room, only one bed. Makes sense, you're supposed to be newlyweds.

"That would be a correct assumption." Kate closes the door behind her and places her bags next to yours.

You pull your sweater sleeves over your hands, trying to think of any way you could avoid sharing the bed with Kate, pretending to be her wife was already proving to be to much for your heart to handle.

"Everything alright?" Kate asked, you were more anxious than usual today. She's obviously noticed.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just there's one bed and I-" You fumble with your covered hands. "I can just sleep on the sofa." You tell her as you look over you shoulder at the small sofa. You could sleep on it, but your body would hate you for it come morning.

"You don't have to do that. The sofa is small, you would be up all night." Kate says and you hear that tone in her voice. That tone meant arguing would be useless. You nod you head and start to pick at the fuzz on your sweater.

"Do you want to use the bathroom first?" She ask, you hadn't even realized that she had started to unpack her things.

"Um, no you can go ahead and use it." She nods and walks into the bathroom with her toiletries bag in hand.

You slip your shoes off, and settle onto the sofa with your tablet, going through the file Kate had gone through on the train.

You looked through the blurry pictures of the non-human, trying to make out what it could be. When Kate said the report was vague, she wasn't kidding. You kept zooming to the small aspects of it.

Something in your tired brain clicks. You pull up to of the pictures side by side. It definitely wasn't a Zygon. It was some kind of shape shifter, and it looked like someone familiar. You couldn't place it though.

At least you had figured out what it was. You set your tablet down and the sofa next to you.

You lean your head back and look up a the ceiling. A week of sharing a bed with Kate, you don't think you'd survive.

You sit up and dig your phone out of the front pocket of your weekender bag and the first thing you see is a message from Mel.

—> So, how is it going?

It's going as well as it can be <—

How is everything at HQ? <—

—> Things are running smoothly.

—> It's late, I'll let you get to bed. See you when you get back! Have fun!

You place your phone into your lap. The sound of the bathroom door unlocking draws your attention. Kate walks out in a white robe, her hair dripping wet.

"You can use the bathroom now." She gestures behind her and you nod, trying not to stare.

You grab your own toiletries bag and rush into the bathroom. The second the door was closed you pressed your back to it.

Kate in a robe with wet hair. That's an image that won't be leaving your mind anytime soon.

You undress and step into the shower. You opted for a cold shower.

You were in the shower for what seemed like forever, you were running the entire day over in your head. Her not pushing you off on the 2nd train, she probably knew you were tired. Her pressing you into her side when that weird man came over to talk to you both, it was just her playing the part. Her being all too comfortable rubbing circles into your waist to try and ground you. That you couldn't come up with an excuse for her doing that.

A knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts.

"Everything all right in there?" It was Kate. How long had you been in here?

"Yeah, I'm fine," You peak your head out of the shower. You had forgotten to bring your clothes. Your eyes fall to the door you had forgotten to lock it. "Uh, Kate. Could you bring me my luggage. I forgot to grab my clothes, The door's unlocked.

You turn the hot water on, trying to get the glasses to steam up so you could at least try to hide from her.

You heard the door open and a slide wheels on the tile. You suitcase. Then the click of the door, telling you she had closed it.

You turn the shower off and dig through your suitcase to find your pajamas. A big t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You dry your hair and head out, putting your suitcase in ti's original place.

The sun has set, the only light on is the one on the nightstand next to Kate, who has her glasses on. Her pajamas are simple and stripped. The glow of the tablet illuminates her face.

You walk over to the left side of the bed, and slide in under the sheets.

"I was looking over the file. I think I figure out what the non-human is." You tell Kate as she looks at you. "I was looking at the pictures and I think it's some kind of shape shifter."

"Really?" Kate raises an eyebrow. "What made you come to that conclusion?" You hold your hand out and she hands you the tablet. If there was one thing that you were surely confident in, it was your work.

She hands you the tablet and you pull the pictures up side by side. The same way you had it earlier

"See, the pictures are blurry and rushed like someone was running away from the subject, and it looks like it's changing." You hand the tablet back to her and she scans over the pictures.

"I'm glad I brought you along." She looks at you and smiles. "I'm going to send this to Melanie, and have her look at it. I'll probably stay up a little longer and see if I can find anything else." Kate tells you and you nod. You place your head on the pillows, and try to keep as much distance as possible between you two.

"I don't need you falling off the bed, you can be a little closer." Kate says and you scooch closer to her, still facing way from her.

"Goodnight Kate."

"Goodnight."

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep. The sound of Kate's breathing somehow made it so much easier to fall asleep that first night.

Taglist: @freshmoneyalmondathlete @starfleetwitch @suckerforcate @buggyboba

[more-better-words]

ctrl + f game

Tagged by @1lostsoul0fishbowl! Aw, thank you, doll! 🥰

(so I'm guessing it's from any and all published fics? We're going to say that it is)

My task is to find the words absolutely, giggle, and helpless. Let's see what we've got!

From We Remain:

Curiosity bolstered, she mounted the stairs, finding herself ascended to the building's flat roof, just in time to see Mo exhale a long plume of smoke. "Ah, you've found me," he said, sounding unconcerned. She laughed in shocked surprise. "Is that a cigarette?" "Don't tell Amira. She thinks I've quit." "They still make those things?" "Unfortunately yes." He took another drag, smiling slightly. "Can you forgive me a secret vice?" "Absolutely." 

From Chosen:

Syd generously ran interference for her with Amira for the rest of her shift, but Monica was still tired when she left Fat Mo's that afternoon. She headed back to the apartment (their apartment, she thought with a glow), arriving home before Karveth, which didn’t surprise her. He'd been putting in a lot of long duty shifts in the past month in preparation for the two weeks of leave he'd be taking when they got married. When they got married. She heard herself giggle suddenly, and covered her mouth hastily, even though she was alone. In a way, getting married wouldn’t really change anything, but it was exciting anyway. He was the best person she knew: strong-willed, quick-witted, brilliant and funny, with an incredible gentleness lurking beneath his stern, sarcastic exterior. She loved him – and more than that, she’d chosen him, from the first time they’d met, and now she would get to tell the universe that. Now if she could just get Amira to stop trying to turn this into a royal wedding complete with elephants and a three kilometer procession through the center of the colony.

From For the Duration:

It feels like after the Xindi attack...like something’s hanging over us, this cloud we can feel but can’t see. I used to look up at the night sky, and think about Uncle Trip, and all the amazing things out there. But now the dark hides things. Dad and Papa don’t wanna talk about it. But I guess I understand why, because I don’t wanna talk about it with the boys. They’re so much younger, I just wanna let them be kids. Which is probably what Dad and Papa think about me. But I’m nearly seventeen! And I just...I feel helpless. I guess that’s why I’m sending this to you. What do Vulcans do when they feel helpless? Or...is feeling helpless just completely illogical, and I should know better? Anyway...I don’t know where I was going with this. I guess, just, uh...chalk it up to your weird human nephew being weird and human. I hope you’re doing okay.

(That one was tough! 😅)

Tagging @deadheaddaisy, @indignantlemur, @pearlypairings, @phoenixflames12, @leliesbleu, and anybody else who wants to play. Your words are floor, coldly, and sparkle. Have fun!