#and I worshipped it and prayed to it for like. at least a year

[softwaluigi]

why is there just one guy who gets to keep all the memories over here. like can I have some of those

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Ｇｉｒｌ Ｕｎｄｅｒ Ｙｏｕ ♡

♡ Pairings: gynecologist!seonghwa! x chubby!afab!reader

♡ Genre: smut/fluff

♡ Summary: Scheduling your yearly check up with your OBGYN can be nerve-wracking. Especially when your doctor's Park Seonghwa. Finally getting up the courage to visit, you do all you can to conceal the not so appropriate feelings you have towards him. Not only is it inappropriate but he surely doesn't feel the same. Right?

♡ Word Count: 3.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: reader has a vagina and identifies as a woman. we're at the OBGYN so this is ultra vagina city. pervy Dr. Park Seonghwa, you too are a perv tbh it's mutual, shy/touch starved reader, body worship, nipple/breast play, fingering (gentle & rough), unprotected sex, cum marking, pet names (sweetheart, good girl, baby, etc), a lil rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), nonsexual use of the word slut (not in a bad way), it gets bitey for a second, examination kink, soft dom Hwa vibes.

♡ A/N: Listen, I can explain. It's all on @anyamaris for encouraging me to begin with. Blame her!

Important note: If you have a vagina go get it checked out regularly. Your doctor will certainly not be Seonghwa dicking you down BUT it's an important and sometimes life saving appointment sooo make it or I'll fight you. K, love you, bye ♡

♡ ♡ ♡ “I wanna be that guy. I'll wreck you right up, guy. I'll lie down face up, guy. The girl under you, guy.” ~ Lady Gaga ~ ♡♡ ♡

“Date of your last period? Any abnormal cramping or bleeding? Any chance of pregnancy?” the nurse fires off questions, tapping your answers into the laptop balanced on her hip.

Sitting on the exam table, your feet dangling off the edge, you try not to get whiplash from how quickly she whirls around the room loading a tray with supplies for your exam. The office is unexpectedly short staffed today, forcing her to play the role of nurse and human octopus. You understand how overwhelmed she must be but pray that she stops soon. Your anxiety was already bad enough coming in here. This nervous energy is not helping. 

“Last question, honey” she says, turning to face you, “Oh, have you been sexually active recently?” She cracks a playful smile, clearly expecting your answer to be something that it isn’t.

“No” you mumble, avoiding eye contact. Look at how shiny those tile floors are. Has this exam table always been this cushy? Such a marvelous generic art print that is hanging by the door.

The nurse’s eyes widen, a hand clutched to her chest in shock, “You went to Coachella and didn’t get laid?” 

“Nurse Kim! Can we not today?” you pout, in no mood to have this conversation right now. 

Being a longtime patient here has a lot of perks. Getting closer to the nurses especially has been great for you. I mean, who doesn’t like getting the appointment slot they want every single time? But the drawback is that they like you enough to pick on you. Maybe it’s their way of breaking you out of your shell, getting you to be less shy, but you wish they wouldn’t. 

Nurse Kim shrugs, miming the zipping of her lips, “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my business.” Placing the supplies on the table, she grabs you a fresh hospital blue medical gown. “You know the deal, right? No shoes, no bra…” 

You nod along with her instructions, hopping down to kick your sneakers off. Finally she finishes and heads for the door to give you some privacy. “The doctor will be in shortly. Let me know if you need anything” she says, stopping halfway out the door. “You really didn’t bang anyone at Coachella. Wow. Girl, you’ve got to learn to live a little. You’re too hot not to slut it up!” 

“Thank you so much for everything. Goodbye. Bye!” you laugh, inching the door shut until she’s on the other side of it. 

Alone at last, you’re able to get out of your clothes and into your gown in peace and quiet. Well, “peace” might not be the word to describe what you’re feeling but at least you’re able to panic in silence. 

You really shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. You’ve been coming to this office for years. Everyone’s kind and welcoming. They always make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of. There’s definitely no part of you they haven’t seen so you have nothing to be ashamed of. Still there’s one thing—one major, heart pounding, pulse quickening thing—that makes you too nervous to function every time you’re here.

Your phone vibrates in your purse and you contemplate not answering but dig it out anyway figuring a little distraction can’t hurt. Unlocking your phone, you spot a text from your best friend. 

It reads: “Did you see Hot Doctor yet?” 

You giggle to yourself, typing back to her. “His name’s Seonghwa and not yet. Still waiting.”

“On a first name basis are we? Seonghwa. That’s even hot to say.”

“Dr. Park, I mean. His name is hot to say though. He’s hot. I fucking hate it.”

“Just give him your number already!”

“Sure. While he’s swabbing me I’ll be all ‘Hey, Dr. Park. Wanna go to lunch?’”

Your best friend responds with a meme of Megan thee Stallion sticking her tongue out. “Plot twist. The lunch is between my legs, daddy!”

You’re choking back laughter and tears, scrolling your phone for the perfect meme to send back when there’s a knock at the door. You nearly jump out of your skin, shoving your phone back into your purse. 

“Come in!” you shout, returning to the exam table just in time for the doctor to step in.

Everything moves in slow motion when Park Seonghwa enters the room. Ahem, Dr. Park. He is, as you and your best friend have come to call him, a hot doctor. The hottest doctor you’ve ever seen. His dark wavy hair’s pulled back into a high ponytail, loose pieces hanging to frame a face too gorgeous to look directly at. His bone structure’s immaculate, his lips soft and pink, and his voice… 

“Long time no see. How’s my favorite patient been?” he says, flashing that killer smile of his. That voice. That smile. It makes you want to faint. 

You laugh it off, hoping not to come off as flustered as you are. “Dr. Park, I’m not your favorite patient.”

Seonghwa takes a seat on a nearby rolling stool and spins his way over to you, making a cute woo noise when he does. It gets a giggle out of you which is exactly what he wanted. 

“Who says you aren’t?” he asks, sliding in closer, his hands disappearing behind your legs.

It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close, staring up at you from between your legs. The smell of his cologne dances around you, a sweet woodsy scent that you imagine might smell even better on top of you. Just the thought awakens a familiar tingle between your thighs that threatens to make you wet the crinkly paper blanket beneath you if you carry on like this. You know that you shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a doctor. He’s just doing his job. And here you are perving over him. 

“Dr. Park, anything else you need me to grab?” Nurse Kim asks, popping back into the room. Her appearance snaps you out of your trance and you force a smile to keep things normal. If you weren’t brain rotted and horny you'd swear Seonghwa had been reading your reaction that whole time. That he saw the effect he had on you and seemed somehow amused by it. But that’s factually insane. Get it together. 

The foot rests behind your legs, the reason Seonghwa reached back there to begin with, unfold with a creak. “No, I think we’re good” he answers before turning back to you, “Lay back for me and put your feet up. We’ll be done in no time, okay?” You follow his instructions, laying back on the table, readjusting yourself however he asks you to.

Closing your eyes, you rest your hands on your belly, impatiently waiting for this to be over. Though Seonghwa’s interest in what’s between your legs is purely medical, the fact remains that you hope he doesn’t find it ugly. You shaved for this, used this nice pH balancing rose water soap on it. You did everything but put makeup on it and throw it in a dress. You feel kinda silly now thinking back on it but your brain isn’t exactly logical when it comes to him. 

A few cranks of a speculum and cotton swabs later you’re done with the first part of your exam. “Good girl, you did well. The hardest part’s over” he praises, swapping his latex gloves out for a new pair. Your heart skips a beat at being called a “good girl”. He didn’t mean it that way but your body can’t differentiate between reality and how devastatingly sexy that was. Seonghwa turns to address the nurse and you quickly press your thighs together for some relief.

“I’ll send these off and go set up for the next patient” Nurse Kim says, grabbing your samples. She turns to smile at you one last time before disappearing from the room. “Remember what I said” she whispers, “Slut. It. Up.” Unfortunately, of all the things she’s skilled at whispering isn’t one of them and Seonghwa hears her.

Rising from his seat, he walks alongside you, stopping when he reaches your chest. “Just lower your gown for me for a second.”

You do as you’re told, carefully rolling your gown below your breasts. “So, slut it up, huh? What’s that about?” he teases, cold hands cupping one of your soft breasts. You inhale sharply at the contact, a thankfully normal reaction to cold hands touching you. Though for you it’s more that they’re his hands than anything.

“She thinks I need to get laid” you blurt out, caught off guard by your own bluntness.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, his fingertips pushing gently into your breast. “I’ll have to talk to her about that. She shouldn’t be judging people for their life choices.”

“I mean, it’s not really a life choice. I’m just not…I’m not a girl who…” you ramble, shutting yourself up immediately after realizing what you’re saying. Seonghwa pauses, glancing over at you, two fingers circling the perimeter of your nipple. It stiffens at the closeness, your touch starved body grateful for the attention. 

“Not a girl who what?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely interested.

It doesn’t seem that he’ll keep going if you don’t answer so you give in. “I don’t know, guys just don’t hit on me I guess. I’m not that girl.”

Seonghwa continues his examination, flattening his fingers at the base of your breast and dragging them up to your nipple. They bounce back each time, looking rounder and fuller as if he’s worked some magic on them.

“I don’t think that’s necessarily it” he sighs, moving on to the other breast, “A lot of men are intimidated by beautiful women.” 

Beautiful women? Did Park Seonghwa just call you a “beautiful woman”?

“B-beautiful?” you stutter, at a loss for what to do with yourself, “That’s really nice of you but I’m not…”

Seonghwa can’t help but smile at how adorable you are when he compliments you. You’re as good at concealing it as Nurse Kim is at whispering. Seonghwa knows that you’re attracted to him. To be fair, a lot of his patients are, but you are truthfully his favorite. Always so beautiful, always so easy to tease, and such a pretty pretty pussy that’s always wet for him. 

“But you are” he insists, both hands cradling your breast, thumbs running up the side, “You must have a mirror at home, no?” 

“Dr. Park, are you trying to make me blush?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows. 

The pads of his thumbs graze your hardening nipple and your back arches, a whimper lighter than air escaping your lips. You catch Seonghwa quickly nibbling at his bottom lip, his eyes glimmering at the shock and pleasure painting your face. You caught him. You saw it this time. Really saw it. 

Seonghwa knows he should stop here, end the examination, and send you on your way before he does something stupid. It’s just…that little moan you let out? It’s a melody he’s been fantasizing about since the first time you laid across his table. He has to hear it again.

“I don’t know. Is it, aaah…” he breathes in, one of his thumbs circling the tip of your bud, “Is it working?” 

Slipping his left hand back across your chest, he palms your other breast, pinching your sensitive nipple each time he rolls his wrist.

“Yes, it…oh god…it’s working” you mewl, your mouth falling open, moans pouring out at the perfect volume for only the two of you to hear.

Your feet tremble in the foot rests, your legs still spread to leave your dripping, vulnerable pussy exposed to the cool air of the room. Hypnotized by the sight of Seonghwa playing with your tits, high off the electric current it sends through your body, it’s easy to forget that you actually came here for a reason. 

“I should probably finish your exam” Seonghwa whispers, doing his best to ignore the hard cock pressing against his slacks. Your body may be tempting but it is technically his job to make sure you’re healthy too. His hands gradually cease their movement, gliding down to do away with the gown that was hardly hiding to your naked body.

“Fuck, look at you” he gasps, massaging your squishy belly, tracing your love handles, and rounding the curve of your hip to reach your thigh. His fingers dig into your thigh, savoring their softness all the way up to your core.

His gaze travels back up your body to those starry doe eyes that hang on his every move, “Think I’ll need the lube or are you already wet enough for me, baby?”

Seonghwa rubs two fingers along your slit, collecting your arousal on the tip of his glove. He brings them to his mouth, extending his long tongue to lick your juices up.

“Mmm, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you” he hums, taking his time to enjoy the taste of you on his tongue. 

“Dr. Park, please…” you beg, thighs pressing together again, the need for his touch unbearable. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart” he apologizes, his fingers immediately returning to their place between your legs. “You want me to finger that perfect little cunt?” 

“Yes, please, I want…need it so bad.” 

Seonghwa brings his lips to yours, your eyes gleaming with lust as they meet, “You need it, baby? That bad, huh?” 

Two gloved fingers push into you, your pussy welcoming them with the tightest of hugs. “Fuck, yes, so good” you whine into his mouth as you begin to ride his fingers. Seonghwa dips his tongue between your lips, your mouths passionately crashing together. You grab the collar of his white coat, drawing him closer to deepen the kiss as his fingers work your core. Inside of you his fingers stimulate spots men who aren’t in his line of work wouldn’t even know existed. Some you didn’t even know could bring you such pleasure until now.

Your eyes squeeze shut, elbows giving out from under you, “Harder, Dr. Park, wanna feel you so deep.” 

Seonghwa catches your head before it can hit the cushion beneath you, lowering it down carefully as he draws another kiss from your lips. “Only if you promise to be a good girl and be quiet for me.” 

“I p-promise. Quiet. I’ll be…” you moan, throwing your hands over your mouth when he suddenly picks up the pace. Shifting between your legs, he tucks a hand behind your right knee and pushes it to your chest. Your palms are sweating, fingers locked together to keep you from screaming. Seonghwa’s fingers are much deeper than you thought they could go and his pace is too unforgiving for you to brace yourself for any of it.

“Ssh, ssh, you’re getting too loud, baby” he teases, coming in to kiss your inner thigh. Your juices stream down his fingers, soaking the thin paper beneath you. Hating to waste something so delicious, he begins licking around his own fingers. Between your lips. Around your clit. Anywhere his fingers send it splashing, he licks it clean. 

Your hands begin to slip from your mouth, your poor wrecked little body going too limp to keep it together. Thinking quickly, you bite down on your hand just enough to keep the noise in but you aren’t sure how long it’ll last. You’re dangerously close to coming. You can feel it and Seonghwa does too. Your hole’s so greedy, sucking him in and refusing to let go. It’s just begging to come but he won’t let it. Not like this at least.

Reaching down, he blindly fumbles around with his pants until he feels his cock spring free. He groans into your pussy as he closes his hand around his cock, rocking in and out of his own grip.

“Dr. Park, I’m gonna, mmph, aaah, fuck…gonna come” you squeal, hips stuttering against his face.

“Fuck, yes, come for me, sweetheart” he grins, rimming the head of his cock with his thumb, “You wanna come on my cock?” 

Seonghwa’s proposal has you biting down on your hand hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh god, yes, fuck me please. Fuck me, Seonghwa.”

Popping his fingers free, he grabs you by your legs and drags you down until your ass hangs off of the table. “Seonghwa!” you cry out, eyes rolling back as he thrusts into you. That stretch. That one exhilarating, earth shattering stretch, is all it takes to ruin you.

“Mmm, that’s it, come baby. Give it to me” he moans, hips snapping into your fluttering core. You expect, like any other orgasm, for your high to fade after the initial peak but it doesn’t. You’re still there. And your body’s giving out. You brain’s going hazy. You can’t take it but you want to even if it makes you go crazy. 

Seonghwa’s eyes never leave your pretty face, never stop eating up how hot you are when you’re at his mercy. The sensation of his own high crashing down on him has him pushing your thighs together, the thickness of them making your pussy feel twice as tight around him.

“So fucking tight, shit, you’re gonna make me come. Where do you want it?” 

“I, ooh, I want it…want.” The words are there but you struggle so very hard to find them. You dig deep, collecting the strength needed to run your hand down your belly and spread your folds for him. Your voice is so cute and broken when you say, “On me.”

Seonghwa folds immediately, pulling out to coat your clit in the thick warmth spilling from his cock. Stopping to catch his breath, he leaves it there resting against your clit. Both of you twitching together, his seed dripping down your pussy so that no part of you isn’t marked by him. 

“Don’t clean it off” he instructs, kissing down your leg as he places your feet back in the foot rests, “Leave it so you’ll think of me when you’re driving home.” 

Easing your fingers from between your folds, you pop them into your mouth, sucking them like a lollipop. “Anything else, Dr. Park?” 

Seonghwa zips his pants up, searching his brain for any other pressing information. “That depends, are you free tonight?” 

“Hmm, let me think” you muse, staring off into space for dramatic effect. “I can be. That depends on what you had in mind.”

“Well, I was thinking I could pick you up for dinner and then…” He blows you a kiss that communicates his plan wonderfully, “Dinner.” 

You giggle, your sweet little crush on him more severe than ever, “Sure, I’d like that but, hold on, you don’t know where I live.” 

Seonghwa takes his gloves off, tossing them in the trash can by the door. “You’re my patient, remember? I literally have all of your personal information.”

“Isn’t that, like, a violation of patient privacy or something?” 

Seonghwa laughs off your comment, walking over to sneak in a goodbye kiss. “I’ve already violated your privacy once today, sweetheart. Can't hurt to do it again”

[franavu]

I think one of the problems with C3 is structural. Matt seems to be wanting to tell a story with themes about Gods, Divinity and Religion, which, great. But if you're going with those themes one of the worldbuilding questions that should at least be thought about is "in a world where the Gods are real, what does that mean for culture, society and community?" and the answer seems to be "it doesn't". It's like the religion parts are worldbuilding-adjacent, like, "I guess they're religious too." And this was fine for the previous campaigns and literally any other story, but for what C3 is doing, it should at least have been minimally addressed.

Part of it was that Matt could have gone in pre-campaign-prep, "For reasons, your character needs to have an opinion on the Gods that is rooted in your background." Something like, "the orphanage that Ashton grew up in was run by Lawbearer people and they came down hard on even minimal rule breaking, which made it a miserable place for a kid like Aston to grow up in, so he's understandably bitter." Or, "of course Chetney prays to the All-Hammer, he's a craftsman, he tries to go to the temple on his holy day, but he hasn't managed it for the last 20 years, and he feels vaguely guilty about it." That would have at least given the PCs some connection to the larger narrative.

It's also that in the whole first arc the Gods weren't relevant unless the BHs specifically needed a priest for something. And themes of religion could have been there from the beginning, which could have connected with the overall Predathos narrative. I think something really interesting could have been done with Jrusar, and worship of the Lawbearer and the Wildmother, and civilization rising from the wilds. It needn't have been particularly invasive, just there in the background, the same way the governmental structure was explained but not particularly relevant for what the BHs were doing there.

And it's such a shame, because Matt is really good with personal faith, and individual interaction with the Gods, but it seems to break down with organized religion. And I don't know if it's a blindspot, or if he was so busy during pre-campaign-prep that he just went with what he had, which, again, would have been perfectly fine for literally any other story, just not this one. It's just that this whole campaign feels like missed opportunities, and the feeling like it could have been so much better. 

(Like, for example, a personal frustration is that the Vasselheim parts could have shown diversity in forms of worship for different parts of Exandria, and diversity in ritual from priests of different Prime Deities, and show that despite their differences they are all working together towards a common goal. Instead in communal situations, we get fantasy-Protestantism, with a sprinkle of fantasy-Catholicism ritual on top. (And don't get me started on the alcohol ban, don't the fruits come from the Wildmother's bounty, grown and harvested under the Dawnfather's aegis? Isn't the All-Hammer the God of all craftsmen, including the vintner and the brewer?) It could have still been a bleak and hard place, just rooted specifically in the religions and Gods of Exandria.)

[thescarlettbitch]

Honoring Forgotten Gods

I made a post about Gods Lost To Time, and a couple people expressed how sad it made them, how it feels bad, how they wish they could worship forgotten Gods.

You can. I do, here is how I do it. (A reminder: I am not a priest or a priestess, I am by no means an expert. I myself have only recently started worshipping and honoring these Deities.)

But first, I will say this once and not again

This is an incredibly intuitive practice. If you are going to comment "how do you know you're not working with demons faking being gods to steal your soul?" Your comment assumes two things. 1) that I believe in demons 2) that I believe demons are inherently malicious. I don't believe demons are inherently malicious. My mother believes I was possessed by one when I was a child, but I don't. I believe they are a spirit in this world like everything else and that they deserve respect. If they want to come to my altar, that is fine by me. As long as they are respectful to me and my Gods, all are welcome.

Next,

What are the Forgotten Gods?

Forgotten Deities are the Deities that existed in ancient times who's names and practices have been lost to time. Could be from a not-yet discovered civilization, or maybe they're older than the written word, or even older than humans as we know them, or maybe they were lesser-worshipped in known civilizations. There is no way to know for sure if these Deities did or did not exist, we have no way to ask Neanderthals if they had a God. Their names haven't been spoken in centuries. They haven't been honored in centuries. But if we, as humans, have always had some sort of religion, it's not a far stretch to assume that pre-humans did as well. ("How do you even find out about a forgotten God?")

Prayer

Obviously the prayer is going to be a little different from how you pray to your main deities. We don't know the names of these Gods. We don't know what they represent, or anything about them. I usually start the prayer with "To all who have been lost to time" and go on to my appreciation. "Thank you for keeping our ancestors safe. For teaching them how to farm and how to use the land. For giving them fire and animals and plants to nourish their bodies." Etc etc. Then I give them an offering and say a final thank you, or I express my condolences for them having been lost, say a final thank you, and give an offering.

Building an Altar

My altarspace is currently a mess as I'm prepping to move (not moving yet, still finding a place) so I haven't "built" one yet, but I have a few ideas.

I'd start with a space, obviously, set up a place for offerings, and a candle. It could be on your major altar, or it could be its own space. I'd keep it simple, at least while starting out. Maybe something for the elements, but nothing too big or flashy. As you build relationships with these Deities, you can add and change and remove items at will.

Offerings

I do libations, the act of pouring a liquid directly on the ground, but if I had the means I would 100% burn the offerings. Leaving offerings on your alter space is also a good idea.

Here are some ideas!

Water - water has been around as far back as we can tell. Seems like a pretty neutral and safe offering idea to me.

Fruit - figs are the oldest fruit, but anything. Food is important to life, and for all we know, these Deities are the reason we have them.

Berries and nuts - see above - vegetation was an important part of the diet in ancient evolutionary periods.

Flowers - natural, neutral in my mind.

Wine/Mead/Beer - wines, beers, and meads have been around for lots of years, humans have always been fermenting foods to get drunk.

Bread and cheese - also been around for a very long time

As you grow and build relationships with these Deities, you'll learn to differentiate their energies, you'll learn who likes what, who identifies with masculine or feminine pronouns, you may even be able to give them a nickname to differentiate them from the others.

My Own Worship

Currently, my worship with Forgotten Gods does not stray far from a simple thank you, I'm sorry, and a libation. I don't work closely with any one specifically but rather the idea of them as a whole. I try to say a thank you to them once a day.

[linderosse]

For me, Link and Zelda from the Skyward Sword story are my favorite versions, I really like this kind of doomed love, but I always felt that Zelda's character had more room to develop. Like, can she remember her past memories of being a goddess? Does she feel guilty for taking advantage of Link? Will she be able to get along with the rest of her companions as she once did when she returns to Skyloft? or will her people begin to worship her as a true god? And Link, what would he think?

This is a very, very good question!!!

I’ve been saving it in my inbox for quite a while— but now I finally get to answer it.

Sun is a complex character for sure.

She’s Hylia reborn; the incarnation of the goddess who fought the first Imprisoning War. She remembers most of it— the war, and how it ended. But like she says in the game, she’s also still herself; still sunshine and clouds and freedom and sass; still the same Zelda that Sky fell in love with. She is both at once, and that kind of contradiction has the potential to weigh someone down.

Fortunately, Sun in Wisdomverse has had a lot of time since her adventure to figure out how she feels about her new/old identity. She’s long since made peace with that duality, and is comfortable being both Hylia and Zelda.

However, various others across the eras may react to her differently because of her identity as the goddess Hylia.

Let’s go over them!

(Warning: This is pretty long, but I had a lot of fun writing it. Enjoy!

And don’t worry, there’s a tl;dr at the end for the folks who want it. :)

The people of Skyloft

I’d say most everyone is now aware that Sun is Hylia reborn. Some of the townsfolk do revere her as a goddess, but others treat her mostly the same. Sun usually prefers that, since it can be difficult to form connections when people put you on a pedestal. Her closest friends know that, and hang out with her as normal.

Sun also makes an effort to be a leader as well as a goddess. Her status as an incarnation of Hylia gives her an advantage, but she still has to work to earn people’s trust— especially with a proposition as bold as moving to the world below. Right now, she’s focused on building a life for her people on the surface. More on that in Wisdomverse :).

Wild

This is also why, in the Wild|Sun comic, Sun refers to the past actions of the goddess in third person. Wild knows that Sun’s the reincarnation of Hylia (in TotK, the goddess statues’ voice will remind him of her). But Sun doesn’t want to remind him of that at the moment; doesn’t want her identity as the goddess to put distance between them.

Still, when Sun speaks, she does so with the authority of Hylia herself. She can truly attest to Hylia’s faith in the heroes who share the spirit of the man she loves. Wild knows that, and appreciates the reassurance.

Sky

Sky has long since forgiven Sun for “using him.” He doesn’t regret the adversity he faced, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. Sun was always a goddess to him.

But Sun hasn’t fully forgiven herself for Hylia’s plan; for leveraging Sky’s emotions to get what she needed and save the world. She reckons a fragment of that guilt will always be lodged in her soul.

Flora

Wild is at least mildly religious, but Flora is not. Flora believes that the goddess existed, of course, but she no longer prays to her, and prefers to live life on her own terms.

Flora hasn’t yet worked out what to think of Sun as a goddess, now that they’ve met. They’re friends, and they still hang out, but that internal tension still pulls at Flora— the question of “For all those years, why didn’t you help me?” Wild privately thinks that the goddess tried; and was able to help Flora release her abilities when it mattered most. But that isn’t enough for Flora. Flora has currently compartmentalized it— treating Sun and Hylia as two different people. Eventually, though, Flora will need to search for answers: with Sun, and within herself. Sun does not know that Flora feels this way.

Wild again

For that matter, it was probably really strange for Wild, the first time he met Sun. Kind of like if a mildly religious modern Christian got to have a chat and go skydiving with Jesus. I’m not Christian, but I am religious, so I can imagine how weird but potentially cool that might be.

This is actually a thing for a lot of Links and Zeldas in Wisdomverse/LU; many of them get to meet their heroes. Dawn meeting Fable for the first time probably felt something like an American meeting George Washington— same thing with Hyrule and Legend, or Legend and Four.

Of course, there’s a bit of tension there for some of the other pairs, due to relevant events. It’ll be fun exploring that when the time comes— in both The Secrets We Keep, and in Wielders of Wisdom :).

Tl;dr:

In short, it’s clear that Sun remembers.

In Wisdomverse, she has access to some of the memories and a portion of the powers she did as Hylia (like the sealing ability she used in Wielders of Wisdom Ch1), but she prefers people to treat her as Zelda most of the time.

Sky has forgiven her for using him, but Sun hasn’t forgiven herself. Wild thinks she’s cool, and Flora has a bit of repressed frustration about her. The people of Skyloft appreciate her, but still wouldn’t blindly follow what she says.

Sun is both Hylia and herself at once, and comfortable in that identity.

She’s one person— she’s Zelda— and that’s enough for her :).

Masterpost

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

How to get back into your practice after a burnout

Alot of times in our practices, we often just straight up forget. Not going to lie to you I didn't practice much until I got out of my mom's home...which was one year ago. And I also have a theory that since paganism isnt dogmatic and is meant to be ran by a community we fall out really easy, it's natural, paganism is different now. But anyways here is chaos's master guide on how to put on your big girl panties and get back the work.

(disclaimer: just because these things worked for me doesn't mean it's going to work for everyone else, this post is completely upg. I'm just offering advice.)

Starting out small

What never stuck to me is those post that are like: "stir your intentions into your coffee, light incense, pray" because like yeah thats a good way to start off I really dont think itll set in our brains to do this everyday. Instead what I recommend is finding days to practice and sticking to that day. Find a day where you useally do nothing and dedicate it to getting back into your practice.

You could use this day to research on all the things you forgotten (been there)

Or you could just leave offerings out for your deities and call it a day

I think if you uphold a certain schedule your mind will get into the habit of "oh today's witch day, time to do witchcraft" this is basic psychology, and I promise it works 😭😭

Deity work and getting back into it

Little reminder: your gods are not mad at you. They do not hate you. They love you.

I have had so many falling outs with deities because I just couldn't uphold a schedule. Hekate being one of them. Hekate really showed me the way once I moved out of my mother's house, and after so many ins and outs of my worship to her, she still showed me love and compassion. I promise your gods will do the same. They understand our mortal lives more then you comprehend. After all, this is their earth.

Stuff you can do to get back into worship with your deities:

- offerings, big or small

- dedicate days to them, in my schedule Hekate is worshipped on Monday, and Aphrodite on Friday.

- research ways to connect with them more

- don't make big promises that you will get back into your practice and never fall out again, thats just putting yourself in more responsibility, your gods will now expect that responsibility. I've done this before and I definitely got side eyed by Hekate 😭😭

I recommend reading over these lovely post by @/khaire-traveler

Subtle deity worship

I honestly used this alot to get back into worship with my deities 😭😭 these posts go into worship you could do for deities while you are either hiding your practice or just want to do something for your gods. Really helpful post 10/10.

Getting back into witchcraft

I know I kind of went over this already, but I feel like there needs to be some small steps to getting back into witchcraft before we get to rituals, spells and stuff of that sort.

To get back into witchcraft, I recommend meditating, either by yourself or with your deities. Meditation allows you to just focus on the present and let go of all your stresses. I like to meditate with my deities because I get visions from them easily this way, it's easier for me to communicate.

From there you can do research on the basics of witchcraft and work your way up to rituals and spell work... hopefully all of this makes sense

Anyways yeah that's all the advice I have to getting back into your practice, if I have anything else to add I'll reblog this and add more. But yeah! I really hopes this helps at least someone lol.

[knavesflames]

hiii 🩷 i saw that you like raiden... i was wondering if we could have a fem!reader sucking her strap 🫣 maybe while wearing a collar & leash, and some praise from raiden?🩷 (she probably isn't good at it, but she tries!!)

- 🍰

Hi 🍰 anon!! Sorry this took literally so fucking long :( I also forgot to include the leash and the collar D: either way, reader sucking strap… yummy

Word count: 1022

Contents: reader sucks The Strap, mentions of praying, devotion to a god, yeah

Nsft utc!

For someone who meditated in isolation for 500 years, her skills in bed are.. about what you’d expect. She’s clumsy, unsure, but all she ever seems to want to do is please you. On occasion, when you request something she’s unsure she can fulfill, she orders the Shogun instead. Even though the Shogun is different, more robotic, less emotional, only saying and doing what she is programmed to, Ei watches, memorising the way she had memorised the Mosou No Hitotachi all those years ago. Of course, you’d much rather Ei do it herself, but the fact she’s a powerful god, the slayer of orobashi, means nothing when she’s alone with you.

“I do not understand your request. You want to.. suck it?” She asks softly, a tilt of her head causing her purple braid to sway gently with the movement. “I do,” you murmur, your finger gently tracing the vein on the strap she had so carefully crafted for you. Made from pure electro energy, it gave the perfect buzz when she needed it to, but only when she wanted it to. You loved it, and it gave you what you needed. Plus, the sounds you made when you were both alone in Tenshukaku sounded better than anything she had ever heard. “I think it would be fun. I think.. I don’t know. I want to try it.”

“I do not wish to hurt you, my petal. If you require the Shogun, you really must say—“ you cut her off with a firm shake of your head. You don’t want the Shogun. Quite frankly, you’re sick of the Shogun. You don’t want to look up, mid groan, only to see the puppet with its emotionless eyes. You want the woman you love, the god you worship so dearly. You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t gotten on your knees in other ways for her, kneeling at the shrine and praying for unholy things. You wonder if she hears your prayers (she does. She listens with her mouth slightly open and her breath quickening, and yet, she can never do anything about it). You assume she does not. You love her anyway.

“I see. You do not wish to engage with the Shogun any longer.”

“No. I do not worship a puppet, I worship the divine being stood in front of me. Do the thing.”

“What thing?” Again, she’s confused. You sigh. You wonder why she has to be so clueless for a god so old and smart.

“Make it vibrate. I want you to feel good.” Ei’s problem is that she can’t accept pleasure. At least, not from anyone but herself. Long mediation sessions that only include thinking about the faces you make every time she hits the right spot, or kisses the right place. Watching over you with the omnipresence she so happily flaunts as you touch yourself to the thought of her (and, on occasion, being tag teamed by her and the Shogun. You’ll never ask).

“Oh.” Speechless, is the god who is so feared and respected by the nation. The nation who seems to have no idea how shy and flustered she can truly get. “Right. If you wish, then I shall oblige. Anything for you.”

When she fastens the hand crafted strap onto herself, her own breath hitches at the slight sensation. Neither of you know exactly how to work this situation with the small vibrations, but the fact you can feel your heartbeat between your own legs and the way you notice you can’t take your eyes off of it, you know that it’s the only thing you’re thinking about, and damn the archons if you don’t get to. Tentatively, you let your tongue move across the surface of it. Her violet eyes pierce down at you— she doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s slightly intimidating nonetheless (maybe that’s what you like). You see the softness that lies beneath anyway.

“I think you need to hold my head, it’s— it’s big, and I’ve never done this before.”

“Hold your head? Is that not violent? I will not injure you for pleasure.” She states, but when you gently explain that it’ll help, her hand slowly moves to your hair. Her fingers, smooth despite the centuries of fighting, weave through your hair before gripping a small handful. Looking at you with her eyebrows knitted, waiting for a sign of consent, she stands still. When you give that sign, a murmured “please”, she begins to help your mouth and throat adjust by pushing you down. She’s gentle, almost a little too gentle, but the second you make that tiny little sound, she gasps. Your own eyes flutter to hers, a silent look of consent.

She’s hesitant at first, her hand barely guiding you, but when she starts losing herself at the sight of your eyes (beginning to water with what can only be described as tears of pure, unadulterated devotion), she lets herself loose, gently testing the waters with a roll of her hips. At the pleased choking sound you make, she does it again, and again, until she builds a rhythm, her breath coming out in little pants and stifled groans. Her lip is bitten in any attempt to hide the fact she’s enjoying this more than she thought she would. When a small whimper finally breaks through, she lets her head tilt back. Ei has decided she can’t look at you any longer or she’ll probably cum at the sight of you with spit on your chin and wet eyelashes.

Ei is a sensitive being, believe it or not. Unfortunately, for her and her ego, she does, in fact orgasm at the sight of you, the vibrations secretly doing nothing for her. She lies, and tells you that the vibrations did the trick. You know, it's different. You say nothing. You wouldn’t dare disrespect your god and accuse her of deceit.

And of course, when she notices the fact you’re throbbing, her hands gently pry your thighs apart, her braid tickling your ankles as she brings you to an eternity of pleasure.

[zackprincebooks]

Beloved of the Blood Moons

While the planet of Baal and its twin moons are seemingly lacking in spectacular displays of nature, there is a singular phenomenon, albeit it is a rare occurrence: the Blood Moons. When Baal Prime and Baal Secundus are in perfect alignment, they reflect the sunlight back onto Baal with a red tint from the sand. This turns everything on Baal a red tinge for forty-eight hours. It’s a sacred time for the Blood Angels. They say Sanguinius was buried on Baal during the Blood Moons, and it’s a time for mourning and praying. Work is halted except for extreme emergencies. This year, things get…weird, during the Blood Moons. At least for you. (Sanguinius x Reader, explicit. 2nd person POV; Reader is AFAB but not addressed with any pronouns. Because this is Sanguinius, there is blood drinking involved.)

Want to read it on AO3? Click here!

Want to read my original fiction? Click here!

As Baal Prime and Baal Secundus move closer together, the sun’s rays align with their planetary surfaces. They become glittering rubies in the sky, projecting the image of their red sands onto the planet of Baal below so everything is bathed in a red tinge for forty-eight blessed hours. 

The Blood Moons are a momentous occasion. Not only is it a beautiful sight to behold, but it is a sacred sight as well. While not as sacred as Sanguinala itself, a Blood Moon had occurred during the burial of The Great Angel.

As the lid of the Golden Sarcophagus closed over Sanguinius, a red haze filled the air. Blood Angels and serfs alike looked up from their despair to marvel, for there could be no greater sign that Sanguinius was with them and always would be. 

From then on, the Blood Moons became a time of rest, worship, and reflection. Work would be cleared weeks in advance so they could dedicate their time to prayer of The Great Angel. They anoint themselves in special oil and lay artifacts and offerings at the Golden Sarcophagus. It is a beautiful time, and for a serf to witness the Blood Moons in their tragically short life is a miracle. 

Unfortunately, your first—and likely only—Blood Moon is spent in quarantine. 

You sniffle loudly and whine, trying to project your disappointment to the Apothecary, Brother Caphriel. He doesn’t lift his head from the computer he’s hunched over. “I understand your frustration, as this is a holy time of your life that will likely not occur again. However, until your temperature returns to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, you are under strict quarantine.”

Brother Caphriel reaches over and plucks the thermometer out of your mouth, plugging it into the computer. “Your temperature is still 104.5 degrees Fahrenheit, which is considered a high-grade fever. This will require strict bed rest, elevated consumption of fluids, and strict quarantine," he repeats. Though you cannot see Caphriel’s eyes, you can feel his judgmental stare on your prone, feverish body.

Too weak to protest, you shake your head and whine again, dislodging the wet washcloth from your burning forehead. You spent the last month planning for the Blood Moons; finishing your chores early, creating an outfit to wear, and preparing an offering for the Golden Sarcophagus. When you felt the tingle in the back of your throat, you thought it was just a sign of dehydration. When you began wheezing and sweating at night, you prayed it would clear before the Blood Moons occurred. 

Maybe you hadn’t prayed hard enough.

“I am not any happier than you,” Caphriel sighs, fetching the washcloth. He wrings it out and places it in a laundry basket. “I am also missing the Blood Moons in order to care for you.” Taking a clean washcloth, he submerges it in cold water and wrings it out. “If you rest and take your medication, we will both be out of quarantine faster.” 

Though the cloth brings some relief, your sour expression does not sweeten. No matter how much you rest or how much medication you take, you will not get better in time. 

You flip your pillow to the cool side and close your eyes. Sleep embraces you in its arms, and you fall faster than expected.

---------------------------------

Though you come to consciousness slowly, you do not feel ill or fatigued. You are able to sit up unaided in bed, and when your Apothecary does not berate you, you realize his post has been abandoned. The computer he used to read your temperature is dark, with the thermometer still plugged in. 

You swing your legs out of the bed and shakily stand on your bare feet. The chilled floor of quarantine sends goosebumps up your legs and you wrap your arms around yourself. 

“Hello?” Your voice echoes in the medical bay. “Is anyone there?”

Stony silence greets you. Combined with the ruby haze of the Blood Moons, it feels as though you stepped into an ancient temple untouched for thousands of years—still sacred, still mystical. 

The door to quarantine is wide open. If you wanted, you could leave and bring your offering to the Golden Sarcophagus. You could do it and run back fast enough that you could get back in bed and the Apothecary would never notice. 

You take off running, the sound of your bare feet slapping against the metal floors. It’s not just the medical bay: everywhere in the Arx Angelicum is empty. No one is in the feasting hall, no one is in the armory, and no one is in the serf’s dormitory when you fetch your offering and tuck it into your medical gown. There’s no time to change into your devotional attire, so your cloak wrapped over your medical gown will have to suffice. 

You can only hope The Great Angel will forgive you for your disheveled appearance as you leave the dormitory and make your trek to the Holy Sepulchre. Every now and again, you have to duck behind a corner as you hear a voice or a creaking door nearby, trying to escape the exasperated frown of your Apothecary.

But each time, there is no one. The Arx Angelicum is completely empty, and you appear to be the only soul inside. There aren’t even any signs of habitation, such as abandoned snacks or weapons carelessly leaned against a doorframe. 

At least, until you approach the Holy Sepulchre and the sound of singing and chanting fills your ears. While the Golden Sarcophagus always gives off a glowing golden light, it seems brighter now as it spills down the stairs leading into the Holy Sepulchre. Under the Blood Moons, it has been painted crimson; like a velvet carpet, it invites you to ascend. 

One shaking, footstep at a time, you climb the marble steps. The singing and chanting grow louder until it vibrates your entire body. They praise the Blood Moons and thank The Great Angel for the gift of His presence.

…His presence…

With each step, the Holy Sepulchre is revealed to you: Blood Angels garbed in their ceremonial robes line the entrance, their voices lifted to the vaulted ceiling where incense burners gently sway. The Blood Moons shine through the stained-glass windows depicting The Great Angel’s many victories and splash muted colors on the walls.

Once you have ascended the stairs, you can see the Golden Sarcophagus. You have seen it on previous Sanguinala celebrations, where you gazed at The Great Angel’s visage in His eternal rest. It always occurred to you that He looked…lonely in there, laying in an ocean of red silk. You wanted to climb into His coffin and rest His head on your chest, stroking His hair. Candles throw soft light on the details etched across the lid and sides of Sanguinius’s great battles and victories.

Halfway through your approach, the lid of the coffin moves, for the first time in ten thousand years. You pause, heart in your throat, as you watch the lid shift in place before slowly lifting. It falls away behind the altar on which the Golden Sarcophagus sits, briefly overwhelming the chanting and singing with its clattering and clanging.

Two hands extend from the Golden Sarcophagus to grip it on each side. Before The Great Angel leverages Himself out of His coffin, you’ve already taken a knee and averted your eyes from this sacred vision. The resurrection of Sanguinius is a hope that has sat in the heart of many an Imperial subject; a dream that blesses their slumber every night. You have been blessed with the opportunity to witness it firsthand, and you refuse to squander it.

Deep, rich laughter fills the Holy Sepulchre, silencing the singing of the Blood Angels and drowning out the roaring of blood in your ears. Sanguinius lifts Himself from His coffin and descends the altar, approaching you on bare feet adorned with jingling anklets. His wings rustle overhead, stretching after laying on them for so long. A single, white feather floats into your view, begging you to pick it up.

“Rise, Sweet One. I have need of you.” Sanguinius offers a hand decorated in gold rings and bracelets, beckoning you to His side.

Your throat unsticks enough to speak, “I am…worthy of this, Your Grace?” You reach for Him, but where you are hesitant, Sanguinius is not. His fingers encompass the length of your hand and wrap around the entirety of your arm as he pulls you up. Sanguinius could easily dislocate your arm in one pull, but He is gentle.

He is close enough that you can hear His breathing; a sound no one has heard for ten thousand years. You are at stomach height with Sanguinius and though you don’t dare to lift your head to His face, you can see His chest rise and fall through His gold and red robes.

“I have a gift for You, Your Grace. In honor of the Blood Moons.” Sanguinius makes an inquisitive noise and you reach into your cloak, through your medical gown, to pull out the necklace you made for Him. “It is a modest thing,” you confess weakly as you offer Him the chains of citrine and red tiger eye cabochons; as close as you could get to the rubies and gold of his armor on a serf’s meager salary.

“’Tis a princely gift,” Sanguinius insists, “for you made it with your own two hands, with all the earnestness in your heart. I shall accept it, and I shall do so with gladness.”

And—to your shock and horror—Sanguinius kneels in front of you.

He pays no heed to your stammering protests of unworthiness; you try to avert your eyes but you have no idea of where to look. It would be rude if you did not give The Great Angel your full attention, no matter how undeserving you are of His.

And so, you look.

Sanguinius sits with His hands folded neatly in His lap, waiting patiently as a child waits for their teacher. While the majority of His hair falls loosely around His shoulders, a singular braid encircles His noble brow in place of a crown. The lids of His sapphire eyes are painted with glittering gold, and His cheeks dotted with gold flecks. His nose, eyebrows, and ears have been pierced with gold rings and rubies, and when Sanguinius blinks, gold dust scatters across His cheeks and nose. Even when kneeling, He is eye-level with you.

“Will you please put it on for me?”

Your sweaty hands tussle with the clasp as Sanguinius patiently waits for you. After stopping to wipe your hands on your cloak, you’re able to unclasp it. He leans forward so the tip of his nose brushes yours and the smell of sage incense and sandalwood oil floods your senses.

When you put the necklace around His neck, your hands tuck under His hair. Touching Him feels like a holy act, and you savor the moment as long as you possibly can. Sanguinius indulges you, leaning His head back so your hands are engulfed by His soft, golden locks.

The gesture bumps His chin against your lips and you freeze. Sanguinius looks at you from under hooded eyes and some of His gold flecks shower across your brow like starlight.

“Fear not, my Sweet One. Show me your desire.” The hoarse register of Sanguinius’s voice goes straight between your legs and they squeeze together tightly. This does not go unnoticed by Sanguinius, as His eyes slip from your face to the opening in your cloak. His pupils are dilated so wide, the blues of His irises are nearly eclipsed by black.

You allow your cloak to fall to the ground. Under the eyes of Sanguinius, your rumpled hospital shift feels like a luxurious gown. “You were ill?” He tilts His head to the side, reaching out to pluck the fabric.

“A brief sickness,” you reassure Him, “I am well recovered.” And you find that it is the truth; your chills have subsided, your temperature feels normal, and your appetite has returned. Though the hunger lingering in your lower belly will not be sated by food…

The hand that plucks at your gown turns into a fist, and Sanguinius rips the fabric off your body with little fanfare. It joins your cloak on the ground and you are laid bare before Him, in all your mortality. The heat rolling off His form envelops you and Sanguinius’s eyes follow a bead of sweat trailing down your throat.

“What a luxurious gift,” He murmurs, following the bead of sweat as it continues down your chest. It stops near your nipple and Sanguinius lets out a deep breath that ruffles your hair. “Would you give this to me, as well?”

“I would, Your Grace.” Your voice is barely a breath, but it echoes to the ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre. “I will not deny you anything.”

His wings encircle you as Sanguinius lifts you effortlessly into His arms. He barely needs to exert effort as He carries you to the altar and lays you gently in the Golden Sarcophagus.

“Lord,” you protest, “I cannot! This is a holy place!”

“It makes for a most comfortable bed,” Sanguinius counters with ease, “for I have lain here for nights uncountable and had naught but the sweetest dreams.” And you cannot gainsay him when the silk cushions you and your skin is tickled by His discarded feathers. “You look lovely against the red silk.” As the Golden Sarcophagus needed to house Sanguinius comfortably, you can lay in it as though it was a bed.

“I once thought you looked lonely, laying here,” you confess as Sanguinius climbs in with you, “and I wished to lay alongside you, to comfort you during your long sleep.”

“Such kindness,” Sanguinius muses, kneeling on top of you. Your eyes are laser-focused on His fingers as they untie the knot of His robe; once Sanguinius realizes this, He slowly pulls the ties apart.

Sanguinius is a treasure. Inch by inch, His golden skin is revealed to you, glistening with oil under the light of the candles melting on the altar. His nipples, pink and pearly, are pierced with rings linked by a golden chain with rubies hanging from it. It’s so beautiful, it only makes you feel more self-conscious about your modest gift.

He is almost shy when the robe parts on His thighs, revealing His cock to you. As expected of a Primarch, Sanguinius is generously endowed, though longer than he is thicker. His pubic hair is well trimmed, and a darker color than His flowing locks. The veins along His shaft pulse enticingly, though the most mouthwatering part about Him is the gold ring pierced atop His cockhead.

“Would you like to touch it? I promise it’s not as frightful as it looks.” As though to demonstrate, Sanguinius grasps His cock and strokes it. Your eyes are fixated on the way that it bobs and twitches under His touch, and the shuddering groan that passes His lips is sweeter music than the chanting Blood Angels.

Emboldened by His noises, you reach out for His cock. Your fingers brush over His as Sanguinius moves His hand, and your fingers close around His cock. Sanguinius is oiled here too, and your strokes are smooth as you pump up and down. It’s warmer than you expected, and when you squeeze, a droplet of precum appears on the head.

“Have you touched another in this manner?” His voice comes out breathlessly, bucking His hips into your hand. You duck your head and bite your lip, but Sanguinius lifts your chin with two fingers. “Please, do not hide from me. I merely wish to understand.”

“A couple of times,” you admit, “but more than not, it is often my own hand.”

“Have you imagined me thusly?”

Your hand stutters in its stroking. Some of the statuary and tapestries in the halls of the Arx Angelicum of Sanguinius striking down the forces of chaos inspired your hot and heavy dreams later that night. “On the odd occasion,” you confess, resuming your strokes. He does not inquire further, but His throaty chuckling is a bolt of heat down your spine.

“Would you like to do more than merely touch? There is a myriad of things I would like to show you.” Sanguinius runs His palms up and down His thighs as He watches you, his eyes drawn to the quiver of your throat.

“Please show me,” you beg of Him, and Sanguinius gently disengages from your hand to lay down on top of you, supported by his elbows. When you’re so close to Him, you resist the urge to close your eyes as His breath cascades across your cheeks.

His lips are soft against your chapped and bitten ones, and His tongue swipes the space between to wet the kiss. Soft, slick sounds fill your ears, which burn red with arousal. Sanguinius is not quiet as He kisses you, humming against your lips as He pushes His tongue inside your mouth.

Sanguinius tastes like fresh figs and plums; sweet but with an earthy undercurrent. He kisses you gently at first, letting His tongue toy with yours in your mouth. When you try to push your tongue into His mouth to give Him the same treatment, Sanguinius presses against you almost aggressively, your wrists caught in His hands.

He finally deigns to pull away from you, a string of saliva stretching between your lips. “Please, allow me to take the lead in this. When you inflame me so passionately, I may lose control.” His lips are red and swollen, but beneath His upper lip is a glint that makes your heart stop.

“I understand,” you whisper softly, “though if you feel overtaken by your hunger, please grant me the honor of your bite, my Lord.”

You cannot stop your eyes widening when Sanguinius licks His lips and one of His fangs is exposed. It’s a sharp weapon, ready to plunge into your skin at the slightest provocation. Sanguinius must have powerful self-control indeed to reign in his Red Thirst during the throes of passion.

“You are the one who honors me.” He ducks His head to nose against your throat. Sanguinius runs the tips of His fangs along your jugular, scraping your heated skin and delighting in the shiver that runs through your body. But Sanguinius toys with you, continuing to tease you with the tips of His fangs against your neck. When He presses just a little harder against your jugular, your entire body seizes.

“I can feel your heart beating through my fangs,” He murmurs against your skin. Sanguinius licks the red marks He left behind before moving down your body. Where Sanguinius kisses you, warmth floods that spot even after He has moved on. It seems that Sanguinius is particularly fond of your nipples, as He swirls his tongue around the pink bud and applies pressure with His lips.

Or perhaps it is your reaction, as you cry out in pleasure and immediately fist your hands in His golden hair, loosening the braid encircling His brow. To ensure that your other nipple doesn’t go neglected, Sanguinius slides His hand over to twist and pinch it, playing the instrument of your body so your voice soars to the vaulted ceiling of the Holy Sepulchre.

Sanguinius is polite enough to let you come down from your ecstasy before moving on, though this is not the height of your pleasure. You watch with your heart in your throat as Sanguinius moves down your body, peppering kisses across your hips and belly in preparation for feasting on His prize.

His thorough affection for you has gone straight to your pussy, and by the time Sanguinius settles between your legs, you are wet and your clit throbs with need. “What a delicious meal,” Sanguinius murmurs. He slides one of your legs over His shoulders, nuzzling the interior of your thigh.

“I will not bite you here,” Sanguinius promises as His fingers spread your pussy lips. You are caught, unable to look away as Sanguinius blesses your swollen clit with a kiss but overwhelmed and wanting to look away.

Blissfully unaware of your internal struggle, Sanguinius keeps one hand on your thigh while His other hand slides up and down your pussy lips, gathering wetness until He can slip a finger inside of you. The hum that passes His lips vibrates your clit and your walls flutter around His finger.

It’s just His finger, but the enormity of His size means that even a Primarch’s finger inside of a baseline is stretching you deliciously. While He lavishes your clit with kisses and licks, Sanguinius slowly pumps his finger in and out of your pussy. His blue eyes are hooded by His golden lids, but you are pinned under Sanguinius’s gaze just as much as His strength.

The hand that holds your leg open begins rubbing the soft skin of your inner thigh. Sanguinius puts pressure on your femoral vein and holds it there, letting it throb against the pad of His thumb.

A second finger is added to your pussy and you whine, pulling harder on Sanguinius’s hair. His braid comes completely undone so His hair falls around His face and tickles your thighs. “Oh, o-oh, I’m so s-sorry,” you whimper, trying to push His hair behind His ears. Your fingers brush the shell of His ears, feeling the chains linking each earring.

“Hmmm?” Sanguinius chuckles, sending vibrations up your body through your clit. His eyebrows bounce into His hairline but doesn’t stop His attention on your clit. Once you settle around His fingers, Sanguinius resumes pumping his fingers in and out of you. They curl up into your pussy and stroke your sweet spot, making your toes curl and your mouth drop open, though no sound comes out.

Sanguinius finally lets off your clit with a soft, wet popping noise, but His fingers continue stroking you inside. “That’s it, give yourself over to me. Do not hide your pleasure from me.” His words of encouragement dance on your ears, distracting you as Sanguinius moves from your pussy to where your thigh is slung over His shoulder. Keeping His thumb on your femoral artery, Sanguinius runs His tongue along your inner thigh until He stops and sucks on the spot to make it tender.

You know what He’s going to do before He does it, but Sanguinius curls His fingers inside your pussy again to stroke your nerves. As pleasure bolts up your spine and white stars explode in your vision, Sanguinius sinks His fangs into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Any pain you would feel is lost underneath the waves of your orgasm. By the time you come down from it, the pain has faded and His fangs in your thigh feels…almost sensual.

It's hard not to, especially when Sanguinius wears a look of sheer bliss on His face. When you stroke His hair, a rumbling noise escapes Him almost like a purr.

“Drink to your satisfaction, Your Grace,” you whisper tremulously. His eyes have slipped closed as He drinks deep of your blood, the sound of His swallowing making a nest for itself in your brain forever. When you tilt your head back slightly, you are treated to the sight of Sanguinius’s neck bulging slightly as He drinks your blood.

You’re not sure how long He drinks; it could be anywhere from a few seconds to multiple days. But with a long, guttural groan, Sanguinius pulls off your thigh and cleans the bite wound with his tongue.

“I was right to call you my Sweet One,” He coos, “though I cannot tell if your blood is sweeter than your cunt.” Your blood decorates His mouth in a ring of shining crimson and when He licks it off, your eyes follow His tongue.

His arms wrap around you and pull you towards Him, so His cock slaps against your belly. Your legs can barely wrap around His waist, thighs straining with the effort. But it is worth it for Sanguinius to dip his head and nuzzle your forehead.

“I can no longer wait,” He warns you, using one hand to guide the head of His cock inside of you. It splits your pussy lips and the piercing rubs your clit. Sanguinius rubs Himself on your open core, wetting His cock with your juices while getting you wet with His precum. Only when you are both glistening does Sanguinius begin feeding His cock into your pussy.

It’s a tight fit. Your hands fist into the red silk and your eyes squeeze shut, your head hammering with overstimulation. Sanguinius’s wings flutter, sending more feathers drifting into the sarcophagus to brush against your bare skin and make you whimper.

“Do you think you can take all of it?” The rasp in His voice makes your pussy clench around Him, and Sanguinius moans.

“I want to take all of it,” you whisper, and grit your teeth as Sanguinius pushes the rest of His cock inside of you. The piercing on His cockhead rubs against your inner walls before it comes to rest at the entrance of your womb.

“And so, you have.” Sanguinius takes hold of your wrists again, holding you in place. You are helpless under His strength as He begins to move out of you, slowly at first until His glans brush the lips of your entrance—

—Before Sanguinius slams back inside of you, rocking the Golden Sarcophagus back and forth on the altar and knocking a few candles onto the floor, where they harmlessly sputter and die.

Your mouth opens to scream, only to have the breath punched out of you by another merciless thrust. Sanguinius closes His mouth over yours, forcing His tongue into your mouth. You taste your blood on His tongue, and Sanguinius scrapes your lips with His fangs when He pulls away.

“I will not apologize for my rudeness,” He groans, “not when I have been waiting for ten thousand years! I will have what I want, even if I must take it.”

“Take…every-thing…f-from me,” you wheeze, and His growl sends ripples through your body. Sanguinius does not slow down his punishing pace, continuing to rock the sarcophagus hard enough that you are afraid of falling out. His cockhead slams into your womb, opening you up with His piercing in preparation to receive His seed.

You barely feel your second orgasm; you’re only aware of it when Sanguinius’s thrusts suddenly become wetter and louder. Your body has become a vessel for His pleasure, and His alone.

It is the highest honor He could have bestowed upon you.

Or at least, one of them. Sanguinius gathers your wrists under one hand with ease, while His other hand grips your head and forcibly turns it to expose your bare neck to him. “I am yet thirsty,” Sanguinius moans, no longer hiding His fangs behind His lips. He is forced to slow His thrusts as He bends over your body, but Sanguinius compensates by grinding into your cunt so His piercing rubs on your womb and His pelvis rubs your swollen clit.

The overstimulation sends you into a smaller orgasm right as Sanguinius sinks His fangs into your neck. Blood flows from your neck and pools under your hair, staining the silk underneath you. It’s hard to tell which act Sanguinius derives more pleasure from: drinking your blood, or filling your womb with His cock.

Black spots fill your gaze. The last thing you see before you faint from blood loss is Sanguinius hunched over you, lips stained with your blood.

“Oh, my Sweet One…we have only just begun.”

------------------------------------

Your mind and body float through space, cradled in Sanguinius’s arms. At some point He stops pummeling you and lets you rest, though you’re not sure when or why. You’re not sure if He finished, and when you raise your head to ask—

He is gone. Instead, the sterile wall of quarantine greets you, and you blink to clear your vision. Given the deep crimson color, the Blood Moons have not yet reached their apex.

For some reason, your arms are above your head and your blankets have been kicked down your bed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Brother Caphriel leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. His helmet sits on the floor beside his computer, revealing his mane of white hair.

“You had an active night for someone with a fever, however…” Popping a sanitized cap onto the thermometer, he puts it into your mouth. After it beeps again, he plugs it into the computer.

“Your fever broke last night, so it seems your fervent praying to The Great Angel was successful.” His eyes cut over to you and you throw the blanket over your head to hide your pink cheeks from his knowing gaze.

[matchpointfaist]

you tell me the sun is shining in paradise // if i believe you

apollo! art x devotee reader

tw for religion, mentions of sacrifice but not like death, smut, lowkey manipulative art a little? kinda got freaky sorry <3

you’d never been religious- too many mornings forced to behave in a church pew had steered you clear of the organization of it all. but sometimes, late at night, when you were at your lowest, you just needed someone. someone beyond this, someone to make it all worthwhile, to bring it all to reason. the folklore and mythology course you took your freshman year of college was the first time it occurred to you; it didn’t have to be a singular god, it could be an entire institution, an entire universe of higher beings, webs weaved by hands you’d never touch. that’s where it started, the journey that led you to him.

you’d had a bad few months- a bad year, truthfully- and you were isolated, at a university thousands of miles from home, with no real friends to turn to. your only real solace became the courtyard outside of your dormitory building, the small patch of grass where the sun shined despite the near constant cover of clouds. the warmth of the sunbeams on your skin became a safe haven, the sanctity of your little spot untouched by any outside factors. there, you could be anyone you wanted. you could be silent, you could cry, get angry, anything you needed. the prayers started three weeks into your sophomore year. a bad year had led to an even worse new semester, with your grades falling and your attention slipping. you lived your life through intricate fantasies, daydreaming of a life far away from your own. you’d make your way to the small courtyard, away from any prying eyes, and lay out a small blanket, decorating it with tarot cards you’d learned to read back home, and small offerings you’d researched in the campus library.

athena was first. who better to cure your failing grades? but there was no connection, no comfort, just the cold isolation of praying to a god who would never extend their hand. then aphrodite; if you couldn’t be great, you could at least be loved, desired. she, too, was fruitless. days turned to weeks, and you felt as if you’d reached anywhere you could, turned every page. but then, apollo. where better to find your patron than in the haze of the sun, his very own sigil? you laid out your altar- the sun tarot card you’d always felt a special connection to, scribbled out sheet music for your favorite song, pages torn from your favorite novel. the connection was immediate, all consuming, a fire burning within you. it felt as if you’d been asleep your entire life until this moment. he’d settled, curled inside your chest, made a home that you never knew to miss.

you started to see him everywhere. in the trees as they blew in the summer breeze, in the plants that bloomed facing the sky, in the philosophy your professor preached every tuesday afternoon. he was your lifeline, running through your veins, as much apart of you as your earthly family. worship came easy to someone like apollo, the fairest god of them all, the welcomer of the lonely. he flew his carriage to the sun, and delivered you from darkness, one afternoon at a time.

next came the blonde headed boy on campus. he was warmth incarnate, bright hair and brighter eyes, sunkissed skin and a freckled nose, tall and clumsy, like he hadn’t yet learned to operate this body properly. you saw him between classes, eyeing you from across the courtyard, always close enough to see but never enough to touch. in any other situation, you’d have been afraid, unnerved. but his presence brought you peace, enveloped you with a sense of belonging that could only be found when you were placed at the center of someone’s routine, a stop in their walk through the day.

you finally gathered the courage too approach one particularly warm afternoon, your typical anxiety seeming to fade away the closer you got to him, to knowing him. “hi,” it was simple, a start, and you extended a hand for him to shake, hoping it didn’t look foolish, “i’ve seen you around,” his hand on yours was enough to take the breath from your lungs, setting your skin alight, waking you up all over again, “i’ve seen you, too. i’m art,” you wanted to tell him it was ironic that someone so beautiful, so awe inspiring, would be named art, for that was what he appeared to be. “are you new here?” you asked, meeting his eyes, taking note of the broken color in one iris, the blue making way for a golden brown. “yes,” he nodded, a small smile on his lips, like he knew a secret, “very new. and you?” “no, i’m on my second year,” you returned the smile-it felt like the only natural response, “well it was nice to meet you, art. hopefully i’ll see you around?” “yes, i hope so,”

you continued to visit the courtyard, continued to think of apollo, but each day, you felt your thoughts sneaking back to art. with each picture in your mind of your patron god, art’s face came to the forefront of your mind, his coy smile and radiating eyes, the warmth of his hand in yours. a form of guilt had started to make a home inside of you with each thought of him, and soon your prayer requests turned to apologies. how could you lose sight of apollo, of all he’d done for you, over some boy? some boy you hardly knew, especially. “do forgive me,” you blinked up at the sky, cheeks warm, “you have extended a kindness to me that i have not forgotten, i will not lose sight of it,”

when you opened your eyes again, art was standing over you, the sun rays casting a halo around his glowing hair. “forgive you for what?” he asked, his voice ringing with familiarity. “oh!” you startled, placing a hand on your chest, “i’m sorry, that wasn’t meant for you, i should go,” you gathered your things quickly, but failed to locate your beloved sun card, looking around frantically. it was placed between his fingers, his thumb tracing over the man and the sun almost lovingly, a sort of longing in his pale eyes. “not unto everyone doth apollo appear,” his voice was soft, quiet, “but unto him, that is good,” “what?” your breath hitched, “what did you say?” when you reached for him, he was gone, the card in his hands gone with him. next to you, on the blanket, lie a new card in it’s place. the lovers.

you didn’t see him for days. you struggled, attempting to grasp what you’d seen, coming up empty each time. surely this boy, this man that had stood just in front of you, real as anything, was not apollo. and if he was, by some miracle, what would he want with you? deities did not come down to earth for nothing, you knew. and you, in the grand scheme of things, were nothing. you were just another lost soul, searching for some sort of anchor, some fabric of the universe to tether yourself to. you’d start to lose hope, contemplated throwing away everything you’d collected for your altar, starting anew and leaving this chapter behind. he gave you space and time, waiting until your last moment of desperation to appear to you again.

“you called for me,” his voice startled you from your daydreaming, standing right in front of you, alone in your dorm. “what?” your brows knit, “i didn’t- i barely know you,” “you know me,” his hand rested on your cheek then, warm and painfully cool all at once, “don’t you remember? i heard your prayers, heard you beckoning for my return. i was made of the god of light, i first tasted of him love and sweetness. my hands will keep the gold they took of him.” goosebumps raise on your arms when he quotes your words back to you, the false solitude crumbling around you. “you were there?” the words come out weak, vulnerable. “my darling, i am everywhere,” he practically hums, running a thumb over your jaw, “i am in the trees, in the wind as it carries fallen pedals onto your lap, in the sunshine as it kisses freckles onto your face. don’t you recognize me? i am here,” his hand comes to tap against your chest, over the beat of your heart, “i am flowing through your veins. from the moment you prayed to me, i have been one with you, carrying you through this life,”

“oh,” your eyes fall closed, skin tingling with pleasure at the simplest touch, his hand ghosting over your throat, down to the crook of your shoulder. “you’ve dedicated yourself to me,” he sounds so sure, so certain, “did you mean it? that you’d do anything for me?” “yes,” you don’t have to think twice before you nod; you’ve never meant anything more. “good,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “i’m sure your mythology courses have taught you the way things go. god’s don’t come to earth, not just for a simple prayer. but you? you were worth descending for,” you look up at him with baited breath, “but why me?” “i’ve grown fond of you, in the way that you speak, the way you pledge yourself to me, the way you ask for help but never demand. i had to meet you, had to be with you,” his eyes fall to the various worship objects littering your room, the melted candles and dusty tarot cards, the sketch you’d done of him days after seeing him for the first time. “so devoted,” he murmured, “my most cherished subject,”

in the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. gods didn’t take human lovers, didn’t indulge in the forbidden fruit, didn’t take what was so easily disposable to them. but he’d grown a soft spot for you, abandoned all of his virtue and taken this earthly form, for nothing more than a chance at this very moment, at your bleary, impressionable eyes staring up at him like you were waiting on a sign. “i’ll give you something to believe in,” he murmured, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours, “if you’ll let me,” “i believe in you,” your voice was painfully sweet, chilling him to the bone, your hand coming to take his. his breath hitched as you led his hand to your chest, placing it just over your heart, “you have given it a reason to beat,” you said it like a secret, like a sin, “i’ll be yours, in whatever way you want me to be,”

he stood, fully, ready to flee. this was too much, even for him, to take a girl so empty, so broken, to turn her into something new. but then you were pulling at his jeans, eyes sparkling, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet at the foot of your bed. “oh,” his hand came to your hair, watching as your trembling hands stripped him, your lips parting as you glanced up at him. “i have prayed for this,” his mind fleeted back to your prayers, the part of his brain devoted to memorizing them, and came up empty. you hadn’t prayed to him for this, surely, he’d recall. “you did not,” his voice was hoarse, “i would have heard you,” “not to you,” you pressed a kiss to his thigh, startling him, “to aphrodite. i prayed she would make me beautiful enough for you to take me. i guess she finally listened to something,” and then your mouth was on him, wet and warm, staggering his confidence as he watched his cock slide between your lips.

you were nothing if not meticulous, your tongue running along his veins, eliciting sounds from him that he couldn’t recall ever making. your eyes never left his face, watching his every reaction, even as you took him down your throat, even as tears beaded your vision. he was entranced, awestruck, holding your hair like a vise as you laved at his cock, greedy and effervescent. “stop,” he had to force the word out, already taut with pleasure, his skin hot and flushed, “let me touch you, darling,” you hesitated, like you didn’t want this to stop, until he gently pulled you back, exhaling roughly as he watched you wipe your lips as he helped you back onto your bed.

your clothes were gone in an instant, his hands working quickly to rid you of them, desperate to admire you fully. “beautiful creature,” he murmured, trailing his fingers over your curves, “divine,” he laid you back, your hair splaying out around you in a curtain as he kissed down your neck, hovering over your chest for a moment before taking one of your nipples into his mouth just enough to have you mewling, your back arching. one hand came to the other, rolling it between his fingers, pulling louder, more breathless sounds from you. his free hand slipped between your thighs, breath hitching when he found you slick and hot, moaning incessantly when he ghosted his fingertips over your clit. your legs fell open, eager for more, your hips bucking slightly into his hand.

he backed down the length of your bed, nestling between your thighs, watching you through blonde lashes as he buried his face in your cunt, lapping at you hungrily. “oh!” you gasped, hands flying to his hair, holding it tightly, “art- apollo, oh my god,” he grinned against you, sucking at your clit as he eased a finger inside of you, nearly moaning as you took him in greedily. he added another when you relaxed, curling them experimentally, satisfied when you cried out, your thighs squeezing around his shoulders. “gonna-“ you cut off with a moan, clenching around his fingers, his tongue never slowing as he worked you through it. he laved at you, grinding against the mattress as his desperation grew, slowly withdrawing his fingers and gazing up at you as he sucked them clean.

your cheeks glowed, eyes shiny and half lidded as he crawled back up to you, sitting on his knees between your still parted legs. “gorgeous,” he hummed, leaning down to kiss you, hard and heavy. your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as you kissed him back, whimpering into his mouth when his fingers teased your clit again. “take me,” you whispered, resting your forehead on his, chest heaving, “please, i’m yours,” his eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your begging, and he nodded, kissing your jawline, “mine,” he murmured, one hand going down to rub his cock against you, biting back a moan at the wetness he found there, “so ready for me, angel,”

“please,” your eyes fell closed, your lips parted, “oh, art,” he eased into you, slow and steady, trembling with self restraint as he let you adjust, feeling you fluttering around him, “so desperate for me,” he grit out, slowly pulling out before thrusting into you again, watching your reactions closely, like he needed to memorize them. you were a mess beneath him, panting and moaning, writing when his pace quickened. “art, so good,” you mewled, eyes rolled back. “apollo,” his voice was hoarse and rough, “call me by the name you pray to. watch me while i undo you,”

you were obedient as ever, your eyes opening enough for him to watch your pupils dilate, “apollo, my god, thank you,” you looked close to tears from pleasure, “thank you, thank you,” “good,” he could feel the pressure building, impossibly close to the brink, “tell me you’re mine, pledge yourself to me,” he was making a horrible mistake, taking advantage of you, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care when you were sprawled out like this, moaning like a slut, all for him. “i’m yours,” you nodded, quick and eager, “all yours, apollo, my life is yours,” “oh, darling,” he groaned, twitching inside of you. you pulled him back into a kiss, and he lost it, coming inside of you with a shudder and a flurry of muffled moans.

he slowed down before stilling, pulling out of you slowly, sitting back just enough to watch the mess spill out of you, his eyes rolling back. god, he could be condemned for this. “was i good?” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, soft and vulnerable. “oh, of course,” he nodded, laying beside you, pulling you close, “you were perfect, darling. a goddess divine,” he pressed kisses to your cheeks and against your hair, breathing you in, savoring the moment he was sure could never last. “thank you,” you murmured, leaning into his chest, “i love you,” he knew it wasn’t true- you loved the image of him, the deity, the physical form he’d taken to come here to you. but then he remembered all the days you’d cried to him, alone and helpless, begging him to bring you some form of happiness. he’d indulge you, for now. “i love you too,” he mumbled, “get some rest, darling,”

he stayed until you were fast asleep, trying his hardest not to think too long on the things he’d suffer when he returned to the sky. he’d take it, for you, take the scrutiny, take the pain. maybe he’d be stripped of his title, be sent to earth in this form forever. then, he thought distantly, he could be with you, no consequences.

[screeching-bunny]

I’m not sure if you accept thirst asks, but if you do, then, goshhhh imagine giving ‘it’ to one of your concubines and they just keep repeating the words “Thank you thank you thank you” as they suck and lap at your 🫢. They repeat the words like a prayer, almost as if they were worshipping a god (you).

But if don’t accept thirst asks then please feel free to ignore if this ever makes you uncomfortable.

Yandere! Concubine Harem Asks 1

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’ NSFW!!! MINORS DNI. This is my first time writing nsfw content so it’s kinda bad 💀.

In a magnificent office filled with many luxuries sat a grand ruler by their desk surrounded by towering piles of paperwork. The ruler's regal figure was draped in a robe of royal purple, adorned with gold trimmings, symbolizing their authority and power. As the sun's rays filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a warm glow upon the room, you sighed wearily, with brows furrowed with the weight of your responsibilities. All was quiet but if someone listened closely they could hear the faint sound of slurping.

“Can’t you be quieter? Can’t you see I’m trying to get some of my work done!?”

Beneath you and between your legs was your consort on his knees. He was undressed and was as naked as the day he was born. The man was known for his fierceness and cold heart was currently panting under you like a dog. The sounds of gasps and moans could be heard coming from the man. Currently his lips were red and swollen from the rough treatment that you have given him. Saliva dripped down his mouth as he was desperate to have a taste of you. He sucked and licked as if you were the only source of water he had in years. There was a look of desperateness in his eyes, it made you chuckle at how pathetic he looked. A constant mumbling of “thank yous” came from him each time he had a chance to breathe air.

The consort, whose name you couldn’t have bothered to remember, was as hard as a rock. Having enough of how slow this was going you decided to throw him down onto a couch. You made your way on top of him, positioned yourself, and slammed down right onto his member.

“Ahhh, agh!!”

Tears leaked from his eyes as he began to tremble. Your arms were pressed firmly into the cushions as you made your fierce movements as he was beneath you. He was huge and swollen within you. You began to rock your hips continuously down on him. His breathing became more harsh and stuttered. You leaned down and began to nibble down on his bottom lip. The kiss was very strong and aggressive. When your consort needed to breathe you made sure to slam your lips back on top of his again. His hands on your waist while your tongues intertwined with each other. Devastating pleasure overcame your consort. His eyes were hazy and you could feel a pump of warm liquid form inside of you. When you released from the kiss his mouth was red and swollen with a string of saliva attaching the two of you.

“Ah, ah, agh!!”

“I can’t believe you came from a kiss. Ugh whatever, a few of my advisors will be here any minute. If they catch us doing this, I won't be letting you off easy tonight.”

It was safe to say that the advisors were never allowed entrance into your study due to… your other matters. However, the next day whenever the maids came near that room, their faces would instantly turn bright red. The sounds that came from that room yesterday were definitely something else and they couldn’t help but blush from it. They just couldn’t believe it went on for an entire day! The good thing was that at least the maids that were in charge of cleaning up your mess got a massive raise but holy cow did you really have to break a sofa?!?! The only thing that they could do was pray for your poor consort.

[god-syndicate-if]

Sigourney Drabbles

[Wrote a bit on the car trip here. I also have one in the bank for Harper. I’ll end up posting drabbles for the other characters who haven’t got a mini game, enjoy the unedited mess. ❤️]

Shortness of breath. Increased heart rate. Sweating. Chills.

Symptoms too irregular to diagnose as any one ailment, too frequent to ignore. Unfortunately the pattern suggests that the present symptoms only happen in the vicinity of…

The obvious cure would be to separate from the source, stop talking to it, stop thinking about it. She wouldn’t give this advice to her patients, of course. But she’s a surgeon, not a therapist, and as a surgeon cutting things out of people is her specialty. A scalpel for skin, scissors for muscles, a saw for bone. Nothing so clean for this though. It would be so easy to cut out… the source of these feelings. But it would be messy. Evidence suggests increased time away from the source only seems to cause a variety of new symptoms. Melancholy. Irritability. Chest pains. Stomach aches.

If a cure will only give worse symptoms, then Sigourney fails to see that as an option.

The cause of her symptoms lies beside her. She wasn’t an insomniac but she felt like one tonight. Grand. Difficulty sleeping added to the symptoms you cause. Surely there’s a logical explanation for all of this. She’s no hypochondriac but watching you sleep felt like an infection was taking hold of her.

The warmth of your body. Your fluttering, dreaming eyes. Your parted lips.

You probably didn’t feel the ways she did. You slept soundly whilst she could not. You were cool whilst she was not. You were divine.

Could divinity feel as humans do? Would it not make sense if they felt more than humans? Less? It’s a question she asked herself for years, a question she forgot about until you. Surely you feel less about her than she feels about you. You’re a god. She’s mortal. Gods could not… like mortals. Not the same as she… likes you. She wants you to feel the same way as she did. Even now she wishes to kneel at your altar and pray. A suitable desire to have about a god she supposes. But her desires only spiral as the thought persists. She doesn’t have an altar yet she wants to see you kneeling at one for her, head raised, fingers pressed against her thighs, tongue-

Was this blasphemy? She was raised too catholic to have an unbiased view of religion. Lingering fears poison most thoughts she has about your very nature. The nature she’s studied very intimately. But humans had relations with gods in your day. Wanting to fuck in a temple, on an altar, it’s only natural. Anyone in her position would feel the same.

She needs to focus. This wasn’t about lust. It wasn’t about worship either. Whatever was causing these feelings was clearly an illness, something she was used to dealing with. That’s all this was. Just because it’s name eluded her didn’t mean it wasn’t curable. If she just found the right disease maybe she’d be able to get rid of the symptoms.

Perhaps she should consult a colleague. Right. That’s what she’ll do. She needs a gameplan. Something to get rid of this. Something to make her normal again. Doctor Cassidy was an asshole but he’d at least take it seriously. She couldn’t trust him to keep a secret though. Maybe not him. Doctor Rahal was a bit too flirty for her to typically go to him. But he’d keep a secret for her.

Maybe none of her colleagues were right for this. She’d schedule an appointment with someone in midstate. No. Upstate. Far away, with good reviews. Someone who will tell it to her straight and someone who wouldn’t start blabbing to the first group of vaguely bored nurses they see. Or at least if they do talk it wouldn’t make it to the hospital.

“You’re spiraling again.” Somehow your voice makes things worse and better. It’s infuriating. Soothing and scaring her. Another reason why gods frustrate her. No mortal has done this to her, it's clearly some weird power you must have.

She turns and sees you, features soft and lazy from sleep. She shouldn’t look at you but she does, the little hum of energy inside of her exploding as you meet her eyes. “I’m not.” Her voice is firm, almost clipped, but you’re not deterred.

“You are. I can practically feel it.” Annoying. “You’re like a ball of static, Sig.” The way you drawl out her name makes her want to kiss you. Or bite you. Probably both.

“It’s winter. The air’s dry and we’re under a wool blanket. Of course I’m going to be staticky.” She says dismissively, words coming out quick and chaotic. Though she knows she’s wrong to do so. You can’t dismiss a god but you can turn your back on one. So she does, literally it seems. Turning to face away from you.

Infuriatingly you take this as an invitation, moving up behind her, nuzzling your face into her hair and wrapping your arms around her waist. “Mh.” You moan quietly behind her. “Tell me about it.” You whisper.

Ha! Like that would get her talking about her feelings. “I’m anxious.” Fuck. Where did that come from? She thinks quickly and continues. “About a patient.” It’s not a lie, there are only a few laws saying you can’t be your own patient, she can ignore those for this.

You run a hand over her stomach, pulling her closer. She can feel your breath hot on her back, it makes something in the pit of her stomach turn. “What’s happened?” You ask, voice still thick with sleep.

She shakes her head a bit. “She’s just sick. With something strange. She’s been dating this person and every time she’s near them she feels ill. Feverish symptoms, increased heart rate, sweating. And I don’t know what it could be.”

“Mh.” You moan quietly again. “Life threatening?”

She gently shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” Though it felt like it all too often.

“Sounds like love.” You whisper.

Her back tightens, going rigid under the words. If you hadn’t been holding her she would have run. “This is serious.” She says.

You laugh in that annoyingly fantastic laugh. “Sorry. Then maybe it’s allergies?”

“No.” She says. You don’t have any pets, after all. That wouldn’t make any sense.

“You should rest.” Your voice is a whisper, you press your lips to the back of her neck and the heat you bring makes her sink. “You’ll have a clear mind in the morning.”

She won’t. Not with you.

[willowingstar]

regarding @edalyn37578 question!!

1) Ody can't visit Ithica. After the fight/events on the sea and Ody seeing that Tele is potentially dead because he got washed up somewhere (+the fact that Poseidon heavily hurts him, dare I say even abuses him heavily by physically harming him and harming the things Odysseus actually worked so hard for aka the sea, and therefore being scared of ever coming out and appearing to people) he locked himself up in a shell (hehe he became a pearl) and never showed face to anyone ever again (unless Zeus and Poseidon cracks open his shell; which they do, most of the time, to either use his body or just make his life miserable overall; sometimes they'd even have Ody be out of his shell for multiple days and those days were TORTURE for Ody, and he cries every time he lives another day of being out of the shell.)

(and even if it was Ody's own will to get out of the shell, he would cry because he remembered he can't visit Ithica, tele might be dead, Penelope must be crying every night and all of that homesick stuff + the fact that he only lives to be pleasure for the gods.)

- there's a silver lining at least for him though!!! After the whole events of tele's adventure and when he actually managed to get back to Ithica he tells his mother about goddess Ody and ever since then Penelope started worshipping him and praying to him every night, she even made the people of ithica worship him and he became to Ithica as their protector of both the land of ithica and ithica's sea.

- And Ody at least somehow gets better though!!! When he started receiving offerings being thrown to the sea and hearing the prayers of the people the pearls he cries actually glowed again, he started appearing on people's (most esp. tele and pene's ) dreams and he works his miracles for ithica. He also started fighting back at least somewhat to Poseidon and Zeus even with limited power and movement.

2) Poseidon HATTEEESSS sharing Odysseus. There would be times where Zeus would just snatch Ody and just drag him to stupid gatherings of other gods to flex as his "wife and love of my life" (EVEN INFRONT OF HERA!!! But dw hera and Ody has a GREAT friendship built from hatred to Zeus, and hera actually feels bad for Ody because every gods knew he was mortal, and hera knew of Ody's tale when he fought troy) and also Zeus keeping Ody as his cup bearer for like two, three,,, years. When Poseidon would find out about this he snatches him back. This would go on for eternity over and over again, and the only people Ody would ever see in his everyday life is Poseidon and Zeus,,,, occasionally other gods.

[broomsick]

regarding your "we aren't meant to fear the Gods" - I agree, but do have any advice on how not to fear them? There's someone who's called out to me and I want to work with him, but he honestly kind of intimidates me

Hi there!

This is quite the relevant question, and I’m actually glad you asked. To be honest with you, this sort of nervousness is part of so, so many aspects of our lives. To feel intimidated before stepping into something new is inevitable, at least for most of us. But we are also nervous before making a new friend, or traveling somewhere new! Taking the leap is what makes the difference. So before diving into detail, I’ll give you this first piece of advice: if you want to work with this deity, take the leap!

I can tell you that being intimidated by the divine is a fully natural reaction, and it’s not one that’s meant to be stamped down or ignored. The nerves are your way to protect yourself in the face of the unknown. The process of trusting a deity works in the same way as trusting a new friend. See it this way: working with a new deity is exactly like meeting somebody new! You don’t need to jump head first into a deep connection. You can take it step by step, and most importantly, allow yourself to stumble and learn with time.

You’re allowed to start at the beginning: by introducing yourself, even if it seems silly! There’s no such thing as embarrassment before the Gods. And in my personal opinion, if this deity has reached out to you in some way, then they are already interested in knowing you! Talk to them about yourself and what you know about them!

If it helps, I’ll tell you something that I’ve learned after years of being polytheistic. The Gods are remarkably like us. I know I’m repeating something that I’ve mentioned in previous posts, but bear with me. They are as beautiful as they are flawed, and they are not all-powerful. They have their own personalities and presences, just like we do. And more importantly: they are nothing to be afraid of. In my experience, and I’m sure lots of fellow pagans would agree, they are warm, kind and caring. No deity will be angry at you for wanting to work with them. Lots of them have been worshipped for centuries after all! They are eager to guide and to help.

Now, I’ve tried not to make this post too long, but I’ve written down a few ideas of things you could engage in in order to loosen your nerves!

Write him a letter! Something to introduce yourself and share your thoughts about him, as well as your concerns.

Look into other people you know who have worshipped him, if there are. How have they experienced his presence?

Send him a short prayer, and stay in tune with how praying to him generally feels.

Play some ambient noises, or ambient music, close your eyes and meditate on him. How do you picture him? What feelings do you associate with him? Just spend a moment fully focusing on your perception of him as a God.

Start incorporating a few elements of his worship into your daily life! For example if he’s associated with a particular animal, then carry a representation of this animal around (same thing goes for any of his symbolism).

Start noticing what songs remind you of him, and why. You might even make a playlist using these songs!

You could also start noticing what activities remind you of him, and invite him to join you (I practice I engage in and which I’ve detailed here).

I hope my little response helps you gather the courage to take this leap. Deity work is rewarding beyond words, no matter the deity. All are so different and all have so much to teach.

[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: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts,

Part 17: To worship (NSFW)

First of all, I want to apologize for making this part so long. I don't know why I'm doing this. :') So this part is set in the past, from Neteyam's perspective and how he experienced the past three years. The present, from which we count back, would be the first part of this fanfic, 'To belong'. This story has 2 volume because it is so long. :')

Part 18: vol 1.: To remember

(2 years and 9 months ago)

Neteyam had prayed for guidance. Months ago.

Under the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices, with the whispers of Eywa surrounding him, with the tsaheylu he had knelt and asked for wisdom. For strength. For a path that would make him the leader his father wanted him to be. He had thought of his people, of the weight of responsibility that would one day rest on his shoulders.

And then, you arrived. A human. Small and fragile. Out of place.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, watching from a distance as you stepped into the village again, trailing behind the other scientists. You were speaking with Kiri, your voice animated, your eyes bright with curiosity. Always asking, always looking at everything as if it was the first time. It made something inside him twist—something he didn’t want to name.

You have been here before. Several times now. At first, it was just the introductions, the formalities of trust. But you kept coming back with the scientists. With your wide, searching eyes and your endless questions.

It should not have bothered him. But it did. Because you weren’t supposed to belong here. And yet, somehow, you were starting to.

Neteyam turned away, his jaw tightening as he adjusted the bow slung over his back. He had more important things to do than stand around watching you try to pronounce Lo’ak’s name properly.

“You are angry again,” Kiri’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned his head slightly, realizing too late that she had noticed him watching.

“I am not angry.”

“You are,” she said, unconvinced. “Your tail is moving like you are about to fight something.”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose and forced his tail to still. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Kiri crossed her arms, her ears twitching. “She is trying.”

“She wouldn’t understand,” he shot back, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “She never will. She is—” He cut himself off before he could say the words lingering on his tongue.

Human. Fragile. Useless.

But the truth was, he had seen your hands stained with dirt from examining plants, had watched you write furiously in your notes, had overheard you arguing with Norm about something scientific that he barely understood. You were not useless, at least not in the way he wanted to believe. Kiri hummed, a knowing glint in her eyes. “You act like you do not care, but I see the way you look at her.”

Neteyam’s ears flattened, a flicker of something sharp curling in his chest. “I do not look at her.”

Kiri only smiled. He hated that smile. It meant she knew something he didn’t want her to know. Before he could respond, a familiar voice reached him.

“Neteyam.”

His shoulders tensed. He knew that voice. Too well.

When he turned, you were standing there, your exo-mask reflecting the light. You were looking up at him, those bright eyes full of something he could not name. For a moment, he only stared at you. You had a way of looking at people—not just at them, but through them. As if you could see past the layers of expectation and duty, past the role he played, straight into the parts of himself he kept hidden.

And that unsettled him more than anything else.

“I—” You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “I had a question about the ikrans. If you have time.”

A question. Of course. You always had questions.

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. He did not know why it frustrated him so much. Maybe it was the fact that you would never understand, no matter how many times you asked. Or maybe it was that you would leave one day, and none of this would matter.

“Ask someone else,” he said, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. You blinked, startled by his coldness.

Kiri sighed beside him, muttering something under her breath before shaking her head and walking off. Neteyam turned away, ready to do the same.

“Wait.”

Your voice was quiet, but something in it made him pause. When he looked at you again, there was no frustration in your gaze. No irritation. Only that same quiet patience. That same quiet understanding. As if you saw the anger and the confusion swirling inside him—and chose not to fear it.

He hated that. He hated that you looked at him like that. Because it made him feel like you saw him. Not as his father’s son. Not as the perfect warrior. Just him.

(2 years and 7 months ago)

You were following him again.

Neteyam could feel your presence at his back, light steps crunching softly against the dirt path as you trailed behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know you were staring, your wide, inquisitive eyes scanning everything—the village, the people, him. It has become a habit.

He didn’t remember when he stopped avoiding you. Maybe it was that moment in the family kelku, when your small, strange hand had pressed against his, your fingers tracing the curve of his stripes like they were something worth studying. Like he was something worth studying.

He had been frozen then, caught between the instinct to pull away and the strange warmth your touch left behind. That moment had shifted something. Now, when you were in the village, you drifted toward him more than the others. And he let you. He had told himself, at first, that it was because you were persistent. That you asked too many questions, that you would only find someone else to bother if he pushed you away. But the truth was, he had stopped minding. And that was dangerous.

Because he had once resented your presence. Had once thought you a disruption to the path Eywa had set before him. But now? Now, he found himself answering your questions. Even the ones that had no answers.

“What does it feel like?” you asked, voice quiet beside him.

They were near the edge of the village, past the woven homes and hanging bridges, where the land sloped downward toward the trees. He had been tending to his weapons when you had found him, lingering nearby, waiting. He knew better than to think you would stay silent for long. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What does what feel like?”

Your gaze flickered to the distant trees where the ikrans nested. “Riding.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to his bow. “There are no words for it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked despite himself, pulling the bowstring back to test the tension. “Maybe not. But it is true.”

You sighed, dropping down onto a rock beside him. “You always say that when I ask something you don’t want to answer.”

That wasn’t true. Was it? His hands stilled for a moment. Perhaps it was. Because sometimes you asked things that had no explanation.

Like how he knew where to step in the trees without looking.

Like how he could feel the presence of another without seeing them.

Like how he could sense the forest breathing, living, shifting all around him.

You wanted to understand, even the things that had no words. Because humans did not see the world the way he did. But you were trying. And it was getting harder to pretend he didn’t notice. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting toward the trees in the distance. “It is like... becoming part of something greater than yourself,” he said, voice quieter than before. “Like hearing a song for the first time and somehow knowing the words.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. But when he glanced at you, you weren’t laughing. You were just watching him, your expression unreadable. For a moment, you looked like you wanted to say something. But instead, you only nodded, your fingers curling around the fabric of your pants.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And that was the most dangerous part of all. Because he had never thought he would find comfort in a human’s presence. But when you were there—just there—he did.

(2 years and 5 months ago)

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he listened to the forest breathe around him.

Patrolling gave him space to think. Away from the village, away from responsibilities, away from the weight of what he was supposed to become. Out here, he was just himself—feet light against the damp earth, bow in hand, senses attuned to the quiet rhythm of the wild. Which was why the sound of human voices in this part of the forest made him freeze.

His ears twitched, catching the faint hum of conversation ahead. Carefully, he moved through the foliage, his body instinctively blending into the shadows of the trees. He didn’t expect to find humans here—not this deep, not where the paths faded into untamed land. But there they were. The xenobotany team. His eyes scanned the group, noting their gear, their careful movements. And then—his shoulders tensed.

You were here. You were crouched near a cluster of plants, your exo-mask reflecting dappled light as you scribbled something into a notebook. Your hair had come loose from its usual tie, strands falling across your face as you concentrated. Neteyam frowned. You weren’t supposed to be this far into the forest. “What are you doing here?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, head snapping up. But the moment you saw him, your expression shifted from surprise to something brighter. “Neteyam!”

Your happiness at seeing him was immediate, unguarded. His ears flicked at the sound of his name on your lips, and he ignored the strange warmth that stirred in his chest. He crossed his arms. “It is not safe here.”

You blinked at him before glancing around. “We’re fine,” you said, pointing toward the soldiers stationed a few feet away, their guns slung over their shoulders. “We have protection.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. Sky People and their weapons. They relied too much on them, thinking they could control what they didn’t understand. A gun would not stop the forest from turning against them if it wanted to.

You must have noticed his disapproval because you quickly added, “I’m just helping the others record data. I’m not doing anything dangerous.”

He huffed, his tail flicking. “Being here is dangerous enough.”

You only smiled at that, completely unfazed. Then, as if the entire conversation had already shifted in your mind, you said, “Oh! I want to show you something.”

Before he could respond, you were reaching into the bag slung across your body, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. Neteyam watched, curiosity outweighing his irritation, as you flipped through the pages. The sight of your notes was familiar now—sketches of plants, markings of their Na’vi names, careful observations in a language he was starting to recognize as yours.

Then you stopped on a page and turned it toward him. His breath caught.

An atokirina. It was drawn in careful, deliberate strokes, its delicate tendrils captured with a reverence that surprised him.

“I saw one earlier,” you said softly. “Just for a moment. It landed near me before it floated away.” Neteyam stared at the drawing, at the way you had tried to capture something so sacred with only ink and paper. Deep down, he knew what it meant. A woodsprite did not appear without reason.

Eywa’s presence. A sign. A message. But what was Eywa trying to tell you?

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you were watching him, waiting. Expecting... something. He didn’t know what to say. So he only nodded. “You saw something rare,” he murmured. Your smile widened, pleased, and you carefully tucked the notebook away.

Neteyam exhaled, glancing toward the trees. The weight in his chest had not disappeared. If anything, it had grown heavier. Because the longer you stayed in his world, the harder it became to believe you weren’t meant to be here.

(2 years and 3 months ago)

Neteyam had lost count of how many times you had followed him now. It had started months ago—you're trailing behind him, asking endless questions, always looking up at him with those wide, curious eyes. At first, he had tolerated it. Then, somehow, without realizing when it happened, he had come to expect it. And now? Now, he didn’t know how to go without it.

He had noticed the moment you left Kiri’s side earlier. He hadn’t turned to look, hadn’t acknowledged your approach, but he had known. He always knew. You were behind him now, weaving through the village paths with light, eager steps. You had no hesitation anymore, no uncertainty in the way you moved through this world. Not like before.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, adjusting the strap of his bow across his chest. “I am going to check the training area.”

You hummed. “Then I guess I am, too.”

He shook his head, but the corner of his lips twitched. He had given up on telling you to go somewhere else. You never listened. A moment of quiet passed between you, only the sounds of the village filling the space. He expected your usual questions—about the Na’vi, the village, Pandora itself. But instead, your voice came softer. More thoughtful.

“What is your favorite time of day?”

Neteyam slowed his steps just slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You tilted your head, repeating, “Your favorite time of day. Morning, afternoon, night?”

No one had ever asked him that before. He hesitated, considering. “Dawn,” he said finally. “Before the village wakes. When the sky is still dark, but the world is awake.”

You smiled, as if pleased by his answer. “That makes sense.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You shrugged. “You’re always the first to wake up, right? And you like quiet. You get to have a moment just for yourself.”

Neteyam blinked. You weren’t wrong. You tilted your head, watching him. “Okay, next one.”

His ears twitched, and he huffed. “How many of these questions do you have?”

“As many as you let me ask.” His tail flicked, but he didn’t stop you. “You never go where the others go.” Your voice was light, thoughtful. Neteyam glanced over his shoulder. You were a step behind him, your head tilted in curiosity.

“I do not need to be where they are,” he said simply.

You hummed as if considering that. “You like being alone?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I like the quiet.”

Your lips quirked up slightly. “Then why do you let me follow you?”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Because you do not listen when I tell you to leave.”

You grinned, not at all deterred. “That’s not an answer.”

He glanced at you again. Your eyes were bright, expectant. He sighed. “You are… not loud.”

It was a weak answer, but you seemed pleased with it anyway. You walked in silence for a while, the forest stretching endlessly around you. It was peaceful. Easy. Then, after a few moments— “What is your favorite fruit?”

Neteyam blinked. “What?”

You repeated the question, tilting your head. “You know, your favorite. The one you always go for first.”

He frowned slightly. “…Tumpasuk,” he admitted after a pause. “When it is ripe.”

You nodded, filing the information away in that strange mind of yours. “And your ikran? What’s her name?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. “Tawkami.”

You smiled, rolling the name over your tongue like you were testing it. “That suits her.”

Another pause.

“What’s something you’re bad at?”

Neteyam let out a short laugh. “Nothing.”

You snorted. “That’s a lie.”

His smirk deepened. “I am not bad at anything important.”

“Oh? So you’re bad at unimportant things?”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “That is not what I said.”

You grinned. “Still. I want to know.”

He rolled his eyes, but for some reason, he thought about it. Then, reluctantly, he muttered, “I am bad at carving.”

Your brows lifted. “Really?”

“My father is good at it,” he admitted, glancing ahead. “So is Lo’ak. But when I try, the lines are never right. The wood does not listen to me.” You let out a soft hum, like you were committing that to memory. He knew you were. It should have been irritating.

It wasn’t. You asked him more.

What’s your favorite food?

Who was your first ikran ride with?

When was the last time you did something just for yourself?

And then—

“When are you happiest?” Neteyam’s steps faltered. He didn’t answer right away. You didn’t press him. You just walked beside him, looking at him the same way you always did—like you saw him, not the warrior, not the perfect son.

Just him. He inhaled, glancing toward the sky, toward the place where the clouds drifted endlessly. And he thought—

Now.

He did not say it. He found himself smiling. Just a little.

But you tripped over a root a second later, barely catching yourself before you fell. Neteyam huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to steady you. “Pay attention, tawtute.”

You looked up at him, laughing at yourself, and that strange warmth returned to his chest. This. This was why he let you stay. Being with you was beginning to feel like riding his ikran. Like freedom.

When he flew, when he was in the sky, nothing else mattered. Not his duty, not his expectations, not the weight of being his father’s son. Up there, he could breathe. And somehow, you made him feel the same. Even just for a moment.

(2 years and 1 months ago)

Neteyam glanced back over his shoulder, ears twitching as he listened to your exaggerated huff. “This path is ridiculous,” you grumbled, pushing aside a thick vine. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

He smirked but didn’t slow his pace. “You ask that every time.”

“And yet, every time, the answer is never reassuring.”

Despite your complaints, you followed him without hesitation, your smaller frame weaving through the dense foliage, careful but determined. You had seen this plant on your datapad days ago, its image glowing on the screen as you turned it toward him, eyes bright with interest. He had recognized it immediately and, without thinking, had told you he could show you the real thing.

Now, here you were, deep in the forest where even most of the other scientists rarely ventured. He should have questioned why he had offered in the first place, but he didn’t want to think about that. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing the pond ahead.

You gasped.

Neteyam watched as you stepped past him, your boots sinking slightly into the damp earth as you took in the sight before you. The water was a perfect mirror, reflecting the vibrant greens and soft purples of the forest canopy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, catching on the surface and making the ripples shimmer like liquid gold.

But he knew you weren’t looking at the water. You were looking at the flower.

The Toktorayl floated atop the pond, its petals wide and soft, pulsing gently with a bioluminescent glow even in the daylight. Its roots swayed just beneath the water’s surface, moving with the current as though it were breathing. Your eyes were wide, filled with unguarded awe. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Neteyam felt a strange tug in his chest. He turned away before he could dwell on it, stepping toward a huge fallen tree trunk near the water’s edge. He sat down, letting his legs stretch out until his feet touched the cool surface of the pond. But his gaze drifted back to you.

You knelt at the edge of the pond, your fingers hovering just above the water as if you wished you could touch the flower but knew better than to disturb it. The filtered sunlight cast a warm glow over you, illuminating the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Your skin look softer in this light. Almost golden.

His eyes traced the way strands of your hair had slipped loose from your usual tie, catching the sunlight like fine threads. The gentle rise and fall of your breath. The way your mask reflected the water’s glow, but not enough to hide the brightness of your eyes. You were always looking at the world as if it was something to be discovered.

And for the first time, Neteyam found himself looking at you the same way. The thought made his stomach twist. He forced his gaze away, back to the water, to the ripples spreading from his submerged feet. It was strange. How much he noticed. How much he wanted to notice.

*

You sighed as you climbed onto the fallen tree trunk too, gripping the rough bark for balance. It was wide enough to sit comfortably, but not so much that there was room to stretch out. Neteyam glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you settled beside him. Your legs, far too short to reach the water, dangled over the edge. After a moment, you kicked them lightly, the motion almost absentminded.

A slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You are like Tuk,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a look. “What?”

“When she sits like this, she does the same thing.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well, sorry for having short legs.”

His smirk widened, tail flicking. “Not your fault you are so small.”

“Not my fault you’re unnaturally tall,” you shot back, bumping his arm lightly with your elbow. He chuckled, shaking his head. Silence stretched between you, but it was not uncomfortable. It never was.

He had learned this over the past months—how easy it was to exist beside you. You didn’t fill the quiet with unnecessary words, didn’t demand things from him the way others did. Instead, you just were. And somehow, he had come to crave that. Still, the ease of it sometimes unsettled him. He didn’t understand why you were here, why you followed him when you could be anywhere else. With someone else.

Why did he let you?

Sometimes, that invisible pull between you—the one neither of you ever spoke about—frustrated him. With a slow inhale, he leaned back on his arms, letting his face tilt toward the dappled sunlight above. His legs remained submerged in the cool water, a contrast to the warmth spreading over his skin.

For a moment, he allowed himself to just be.

The sounds of the forest surrounded you—the distant calls of ikran overhead, the rustling of leaves as small creatures moved through the undergrowth, the soft lapping of water against the trunk. His ears flicked instinctively toward every sound. His tail swayed in a slow, lazy rhythm behind him.

And then— He felt it. Your gaze. Steady. Intent.

It wasn’t the kind of look he got from others—people who measured him as the future olo’eyktan, as Jake Sully’s eldest son. It was different. Like you were seeing something else entirely. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the warmth curling in his chest. But the longer you looked, the harder it became to pretend he didn’t feel it.

Neteyam kept his eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. He should have ignored it—the weight of your gaze, the way it lingered. But he didn’t.

Instead, he cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the way you were watching him. Your head was tilted slightly, eyes following the slow sway of his tail, the flick of his ears. You weren’t just looking at him—you were studying him. He let the silence stretch for another breath before speaking, his voice low and amused. “Why are you staring at me?”

You startled, your whole body tensing as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Your gaze snapped away, cheeks flushing slightly as you turned toward the water. “How did you know?” you mumbled, barely audible.

His ears flicked lazily. “I always know.”

You huffed, curling in on yourself slightly, clearly flustered. For a while, you said nothing. You just watched the pond, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the bark of the trunk. The water reflected the sunlight in rippling waves, golden flecks dancing across the surface. Every so often, some kind of Pandoran fish leapt into the air, sending small ripples outward before disappearing again.

Neteyam stayed quiet, listening to the rhythm of your breath, the steady beat of the forest around you. Then, finally—

“I was just thinking.” Your voice was soft, contemplative.

Neteyam turned his head slightly, studying your profile. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Something in your tone told him that, if you wanted to say more, you would. So, he just nodded, exhaling slowly, and let the quiet settle between you again. For a while, you didn’t speak.

You just watched the forest, eyes tracing the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, the way the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. The world around you moved in quiet harmony—creatures shifting in the undergrowth, birds flitting from branch to branch, the water lapping softly against the shore. Neteyam let his eyes drift closed again, letting himself sink into the moment.

“Did you ever think that your life could be different?”

Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if you weren’t sure you should ask.

Neteyam’s eyes opened slowly. His first instinct was to brush it off. Of course not. His path had always been clear. He was Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan—firstborn son of Toruk Makto, future olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya. His life was not something to be questioned. It simply was. But the words wouldn’t come. Because maybe—just maybe—he had thought about it.

In the quiet moments. In the rare spaces where he wasn’t just a warrior, a leader in training. In the stolen pockets of time where he was simply himself. Like now. Like when you were beside him.

He turned his head slightly, studying your expression. You weren’t looking at him—your gaze was still on the forest, your hands resting lightly on the bark beneath you. But there was something in your posture, in the way you asked, that made him wonder if you had been thinking about it, too.

His tail flicked, slow and thoughtful, as he considered his words. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure what to say. Neteyam exhaled slowly, watching the ripples in the pond as he considered his answer. Did he ever think about his life being different?

The truth sat heavy in his chest, unspoken for so long that it almost felt strange to acknowledge it now. But you were waiting, patient as always, asking him questions no one else ever did. Finally, he spoke. “I do not know,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Sometimes, maybe.”

You hummed in reply, a soft, thoughtful sound. You didn’t press, didn’t demand more. You just let his words settle between you, accepting them as they were. Your feet kicked lightly in the air, a slow, absentminded movement. You still weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost somewhere in the shifting greens and golds of the forest.

“What was your childhood like?”

Neteyam blinked. His ears twitched at the unexpected question, and for a moment, he was caught off guard. Most people asked about his training. About the responsibilities placed upon him. But you weren’t asking about that Neteyam. You were asking about him.

The boy before the warrior. Before the expectations. His throat tightened slightly. You wanted to know him. Neteyam stared at the water. His childhood.

He had never thought much about it—not in the way you were asking. His memories were not separate pieces but a path leading to where he was now. Training. Responsibility. Becoming the warrior his father needed him to be. But there were other memories, too.

Ones that weren’t about duty. Ones he hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. “I was… happy,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “At least, I think I was.”

You turned slightly but still didn’t look at him, letting him speak at his own pace. “I grew up with my siblings always at my side. Lo’ak was always causing trouble. I had to pull him out of it, even when we were little.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “Kiri was different—quieter but bold. She saw the world in a way no one else did. Tuk… Tuk was just Tuk. She made everything brighter. She is like sunlight.”

He paused, his tail flicking lightly against the log.

“I remember climbing the trees before I was supposed to. My father would scold me, but my mother always said I was just like him. I remember the first time I caught a fish with my hands—I thought I was ready to be a great hunter. But when I tried to show my father, it slipped away. He trained me from the moment I could hold a bow. And she made sure I knew what it meant to be Omaticaya. To be a son of this clan.”

You laughed softly, and he found himself smiling at the memory. For a moment, he forgot to guard his words. “I used to think I had all the time in the world. That I could just… be.” His smile faded slightly. “But things changed. They always do.”

You finally turned to look at him then. And when you did, you were smiling. Not out of amusement or politeness, but something softer. Something real. Like you saw the honesty in his words and valued it. And somehow, that was enough to make the weight in his chest feel just a little lighter. He cleared his throat and looked away.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the distant call of a bird overhead. Then, you spoke. “I had a good childhood too,” you said, your voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Even though Earth was—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Even though it was dying.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed slightly, and he turned his head to look at you again. You were still staring at the pond, at the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. “It was different,” you continued. “Everything was different. The sky was dull, the air was heavy.” You gestured vaguely toward the water before you. “Nothing was untouched. The world was… dead.”

Neteyam listened, unmoving. He had heard about Earth before. From his father, from Norm, from the others who had come from there. But hearing you say it, hearing the distant nostalgia in your voice—it was different. You took a slow breath.

“But I was happy.”

His ears twitched. You looked at him now, your lips curling into a small, wistful smile.

“It was home.”

Neteyam’s fingers flexed slightly against the bark. And for the first time, he realized something. He knew who you were on Pandora. He knew your voice when you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. He knew how stubborn you were, how you followed him even when he pretended not to want you to. He knew you were kind, curious, fearless in ways most humans weren’t. But he didn’t know your past. Didn’t know what you had left behind. Didn’t know what had shaped you before you ever stepped foot on this moon. And for some reason suddenly, he wanted to know.

*

Neteyam studied you for a long moment. You had told him you were happy on Earth. But how could that be? From everything he had heard, your home was nothing like this—no forests, no sky untouched by human hands, no true connection to the world around you. How could anyone be happy in a place like that? Before he could stop himself, the question was already leaving his lips. “What was your life like?”

You turned your head sharply, eyes widening in surprise. He could see the hesitation flicker across your face, like you hadn’t expected him to ask. Like maybe no one ever had. But then, after a pause, you smiled. “My life?” you echoed, glancing back toward the water. “It was… different.”

Neteyam leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he waited for you to continue. You exhaled, as if sifting through old memories.

“My parents were good people. Busy, but good. They worked a lot, so I had a lot of freedom growing up. Maybe too much.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I was reckless. Always getting into trouble. Climbing things I shouldn’t, sneaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Neteyam huffed softly at that. “Sounds familiar.”

You grinned but didn’t deny it. Then, your expression softened. “But my favorite memories were with my brother.”

His ears twitched slightly at the shift in your voice.

“We used to sneak onto rooftops at night,” you continued, tilting your head as if you could still see those distant nights in your mind. “The sky was always this dull, greyish color—too much pollution. You couldn’t see the stars. But we used to lie there and imagine what it would look like if the sky was clear. If we could see the stars the way they were meant to be seen.”

Neteyam felt something strange twist in his chest. You had grown up beneath a sky without stars. Without the forest. Without the breath of a world that lived the way Pandora did. And yet, you had dreamed of it. “I used to wish,” you said, voice quiet now, “just once, that I could see a real forest. Not the artificial ones in the zoos or on screens. A real one. Something untouched.”

You laughed then, shaking your head. “I never thought I’d have to leave everything behind just to see it.” Neteyam didn’t know what to say.

You had left your home, your family, everything you knew. And yet, when you looked around, when you marveled at this world, you never seemed bitter about it. You had found what you were searching for.

And for the first time, Neteyam wondered if maybe—just maybe—Eywa had brought you here for a reason.

*

“Is it difficult to meet your father’s expectations?” Neteyam’s breath caught, just for a moment. His gaze shifted to you, searching your face. Your voice had been soft, careful, like you knew you were treading into something heavy. Something personal.

He turned away, staring down at the water instead. You had asked so many things today, but this… this was different. For a long time, he didn’t answer. He watched as the ripples in the pond smoothed out, as the faint reflection of the trees above shifted with the wind.

He thought about all the answers he could give—No, it is my duty. No, I was raised for this. No, I do not think about it.

But none of them felt true. Before he could find the right words, you spoke again.

“Because from what I see—” your voice was lighter now, teasing, but not unkind—“how hard it is for us—humans—to comply, it can’t be easy for you.” You chuckled, an honest, knowing sound.

And for some reason, that made something in his chest loosen. Neteyam exhaled slowly. You understood more than you let on. More than most did. Neteyam didn’t answer you. He didn’t have to. Because when he met your gaze, when he saw the quiet understanding there, he knew—You already knew his answer.

Even when he couldn’t say it. He swallowed, looking back toward the water, watching the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. Then, before he could think too much about it, he asked—

“When did you know you wanted to come here?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. For a moment, you didn’t answer. He could almost see your thoughts shifting, pulling you back to a time long before you ever set foot on this moon. Then, you took a slow breath. “Humans discovered Pandora over a hundred years ago,” you began, your voice quieter now. “By the time I was born, people had already been coming here for decades—to learn, to take, to destroy.”

Your hands curled slightly against the bark of the tree trunk, and you glanced down.

“I know what the humans before me did. What they took from your people, from this world. I understand why we’re hated. And… I don’t blame you for it.” Neteyam remained silent, watching you closely.

You exhaled, then continued.

“When my little brother and I were kids, we saw these old holovids about Pandora.” A small, wistful smile tugged at your lips. “We couldn’t believe it. That somewhere out in the universe, there was a moon with floating mountains and glowing forests.”

You huffed softly. “And more than that, we couldn’t believe that there were ten-foot-tall blue aliens living there.” The moment the words left your mouth, you winced. Your head snapped toward him, your expression instantly apologetic. “I mean—” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not aliens. That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

Neteyam raised an amused brow, biting back a smirk. You sighed, visibly flustered. After a pause, you cleared your throat and continued.

“The first time we saw how small humans looked next to the Na’vi, I decided.” You glanced at him, your voice steady. “I told myself that one day, I was going to get here. I was going to see this moon with my own eyes.” Your fingers traced idly at the bark beneath you. “And now… here I am.”

Neteyam watched you for a long moment, taking in the weight of your words. You had come all this way—not to take, not to destroy, but because you had dreamed of it. He wasn’t sure if he was the one teaching you about his world— Or if you were teaching him something about his own.

Neteyam hummed at your words, a low, thoughtful sound deep in his chest. His tail swayed idly behind him, the slow rhythm betraying the fact that he was still thinking about what you had said. About how you had dreamed of this place before you had ever set foot on it. About how you had come here not because you had to—but because you wanted to.

His golden eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, watching the way the light caught in your hair, the way your fingers absently traced the bark. Then, before the thoughts could take root too deeply, he turned his head away. Silence stretched between you again, but this time, you were the one to break it.

“Do you fear something?” Your voice was quiet, careful. It wasn’t the question itself that caught him off guard—it was the way you asked it.

You weren’t talking about predators. About battles. About physical dangers. You meant something else. Something deeper.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the water again. He had never really spoken about this before. Not to Kiri, not to Lo’ak, not to anyone. But you were waiting. And you had given him your truths. He could give you this.

“I fear…” He hesitated, then tried again. “I fear not being enough.” The words felt heavy, but also strangely freeing. His fingers curled slightly against the rough bark. “I was born to lead, to be strong, to always do what is best for the people.”

He swallowed.

“I know my duty. I have never questioned it.”

He paused, watching as a leaf floated down from the canopy above, landing softly on the pond’s surface. “But sometimes, I wonder…” His voice lowered. “What if I fail?” The words felt strange on his tongue, like he wasn’t supposed to say them out loud. Like speaking them made them real. His ears twitched slightly. “I have trained my whole life to be the leader my father needs me to be. To be the son my mother expects. But what if—”

He exhaled, shaking his head.

“What if that is not enough?” His tail flicked once, a restless movement. Then, after a moment, he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It is foolish, I know.”

But when he finally turned back to look at you, there was no mockery in your expression. No judgment. Only understanding. And somehow, that made his chest ache more than anything else.

Warmth.

It was a subtle thing, a gentle pressure against his thigh. Soft, small fingers resting against his skin. Neteyam barely had time to process it before your voice came, quiet but firm. “It is not foolish.” His ears flicked, his gaze snapping to you. You were smiling—not teasing, not dismissive, but something real. Something certain. “Maybe I’ve only known you for a year,” you continued, your eyes steady on his, “but I’m sure as hell you’ll be a great olo’eyktan for your people.”

The words settled deep inside him, deeper than he wanted to admit. But before he could say anything, you seemed to realize what you had done. Your fingers twitched, and you quickly pulled your hand away, placing it in your lap as if you had touched fire. Then, after a small pause, you added, almost offhandedly—too offhandedly— “Even if a human’s words don’t count as much.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Neteyam’s chest tightened.

You looked down, your gaze falling to the water below, as if watching your own reflection ripple beneath the surface. “I used to fear too,” you admitted softly. “Fear that my parents were going to be disappointed in me.”

Your voice was quieter now, your fingers curling slightly against your lap.

“They wanted me to become a doctor,” you sighed. “It was understandable. On Earth, there are lots of sick people. It could have been an easy source of money. A stable life.” You inhaled slowly, then exhaled, your shoulders sinking slightly. “But I knew I wanted to come here.”

Neteyam watched you closely, the way you seemed lost in your own memories. You had made a choice—one that had taken you far from everything you knew. And for the first time, he thought about what that must have meant for you. For the girl who had once laid on rooftops, staring up at a sky with no stars— Who had left behind an entire life just to see the world he had always taken for granted. Neteyam hesitated before speaking.

“You said you wanted to come here.” You didn’t react at first, your gaze still fixed on the water below. “To see this place.”

He studied you carefully, searching for something—anything—in your expression. But there was nothing. No flicker of emotion, no shift in your posture. Just stillness. His tail flicked slightly. “But you never talked about your family,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Why is that?”

This time, you reacted.

Not with words, not with a look, but with the way you swallowed, the way your fingers clenched against your lap before releasing again. You turned your head slightly, looking away. Then, you sighed. Neteyam instantly regretted asking. The air between you felt different now—heavier. He knew that feeling. Knew what it meant when someone carried something too painful to touch.

He almost wished he could take the words back.

Just one minute.

One breath.

But after a long, endless moment—

“They died.”

Your voice was steady, but something about it made his chest tighten. You took a slow breath, as if choosing your words carefully. “Right before I got my approval from the RDA.” Neteyam didn’t move. You weren’t looking at him, your gaze fixed somewhere distant, somewhere unreachable. “It was a car crash,” you continued, voice flat, emotionless. “Just a moment. And they were gone.”

A pause.

“In a matter of seconds, I lost everything.” The forest seemed quieter somehow. Like even the wind had softened to listen. You sighed again, your eyes drifting toward the trees, watching the leaves shift in the breeze. “I always thought I should’ve been with them that day,” you murmured. “If I had followed the path they wanted me to, I would’ve been with them.”

Neteyam barely breathed.

“I was at the RDA headquarters,” you added, voice hollow now. “Studying my ass off. Doing everything I could to manage to get here.” Then, you let out a small, bitter laugh. Neteyam had never heard you laugh like that before.

*

He watched you. The slow, steady rise and fall of your breath. The way your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh, like there was something unsaid beneath your skin, waiting to spill out. You were thinking. About what, he wasn’t sure. But he could sense it—just like he could sense when a storm was brewing on the horizon, when the wind shifted before the rain. He didn’t push.

You would tell him if you wanted to.

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible for everyone?” The question was like a stone dropped into still water. Neteyam’s body tensed slightly, but he didn’t move.

Did he ever get tired? The weight of expectations had been on his shoulders since the moment he could walk. He had never questioned it. Never allowed himself to. It was not a burden—it was simply who he was meant to be.

And yet—

There were moments.

Moments when he saw Lo’ak running through the trees without a care, Kiri lost in her own world of discovery, Tuk laughing freely at the simplest joys.

Moments when he wanted to step outside of his duty, just for a breath, just for a moment— And be. But that was not the life he had been given. So he swallowed it down. Like he always did. Minutes passed, and he still hadn’t answered. Beside him, you shifted slightly, then sighed.

“You don’t have to answer,” you said, your voice gentle.

When he turned to you, you were already smiling, soft and knowing. Like you understood why he couldn’t say it out loud. Like you already knew his answer. Neteyam inhaled slowly. And for once, instead of burying it, instead of swallowing it down— He let the truth slip free.

“Yes.”

His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Sometimes I do.”

You nodded at his answer, a knowing smile playing on your lips. Like you had known all along. Like you had only wanted him to know it, too. Neteyam exhaled, his gaze drifting back to the water. He wasn’t sure if admitting it made the weight any lighter, but it was strange—to have someone look at him, really look at him, and see it. See him.

Then, after a few moments, you spoke again.

“You know, I used to get overwhelmed too.” Your legs swung absently in the air, your shoelaces bouncing with every kick. You watched them, as if fascinated by the way they moved—like a shadow following your own rhythm. You shrugged. “If I don’t work hard enough, they’ll send me back to Earth.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched slightly, his head turning toward you. You glanced at him, just for a moment, before looking away again. “If I’m not useful to the RDA, they’d terminate my contract.” You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms. “Fuckers.”

The sharpness of the word made Neteyam’s lips twitch, but he didn’t interrupt. You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I studied my whole life to get chosen by them,” you said, voice quieter now. “And now, I have to prove myself every single day.”

Then you laughed—soft and breathy. But there was no humor in it. Neteyam’s tail flicked, something unsettled stirring in his chest. You had worked so hard to get here. You have fought to earn a place among your own people. And yet, you were still fighting.

Still proving yourself. He knew what that felt like.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—you were not so different after all. You shook your head, as if shaking off the weight of your own words, and when you looked at him again, your expression was different.

That same smile. The one you had worn the first time you stepped into his village, wide-eyed and full of wonder. The one that had irritated him once, back when he thought you were just another human passing through. Now, it made something in his chest loosen.

“But enough of this puny human’s sad story,” you declared, your lips curling into a smirk. Neteyam raised a brow at your sudden shift. “I’m not that interesting,” you added, tilting your head slightly. “Especially if I’m next to you or someone else from your village.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head. He could feel the change in your energy, the way your spirit had already lifted, like the serious conversation from minutes ago had never existed. You were like that.

Moving between emotions with an ease that almost fascinated him. Then, you leaned forward slightly, your voice dipping with curiosity. “Is it true that the warriors dip their arrowheads into venom to make their kill faster?”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. For a moment, he simply stared at you, trying to determine if he had heard correctly. You looked at him expectantly, completely unbothered by the fact that you had gone from sharing something deeply personal to asking about poisoned weapons in a matter of seconds.

His ears flicked, amusement flickering across his features. “Of all the things you could ask,” he murmured, shaking his head.

You just grinned.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose before answering. “Some do,” he admitted, his tail flicking lazily. “It depends on the hunter and the prey. Certain poisons make a kill faster, cleaner. Others… not so much.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Not so much?”

He smirked. “Some poisons are meant to incapacitate—not kill.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You mean… like paralyze them?”

Neteyam nodded.

You let out a low whistle, shaking your head. “Remind me to never get on a Na’vi’s bad side.”

Neteyam chuckled, his smirk deepening. “I think it is too late for that, tawtute.”

You gasped in mock offense, shoving his arm lightly. “Hey!”

He only laughed, his tail flicking against the tree trunk. The heavy conversation from earlier still lingered somewhere beneath the surface, but for now, it was replaced by something easier. Something lighter. And Neteyam found that he didn’t mind it one bit. He glanced toward you, his gaze lingering longer than he meant it to.

You didn’t notice. You were too mesmerized by the few Yerik across the pond, their slender forms dipping low as they drank from the water. Your eyes followed their movements, quiet, awed. Like you were seeing something sacred. And maybe, to you, it was. He had seen this look on you before—this quiet reverence, this complete presence in the world around you. It was one of the things that had started to unsettle him the most.

Because you saw things. Not just with your eyes, but with something deeper.

And at some point—without him even realizing—you had started looking at him the same way. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his fingers curling idly against the rough bark beneath him. A year ago, he would have sworn he’d never speak to you more than necessary.

He would have kept his distance, fulfilled his duty, and let you remain an outsider in his world. And yet, now— Now, you are here.

Far from the village, far from the human outpost. Talking about things he had never spoken about before. Letting you ask questions he had never dared to ask himself.

When had that changed?

When had you changed?

Or maybe—

Had he? He still didn’t know why Eywa had placed you in his life. He had spent too much time trying to understand, to make sense of it. But maybe it wasn’t something to understand. Maybe it was something to feel. Maybe it was about seeing.

About having a life beyond his never-ending duty. Neteyam’s gaze softened, a small, unfamiliar smile tugging at his lips. He still didn’t know what this feeling was, didn’t know where to place it—this strange warmth in his chest, this quiet pull toward you. You were far too small compared to anything he knew.

And yet, the way you had woven yourself into his mind, into his life, into the quiet spaces he had once kept to himself— It was terrifying.

(2 years ago)

Neteyam stepped into his family’s kelku, shaking off the lingering tension from the day’s training.

But…

He saw you. You were sitting cross-legged on the woven floor, a mess of tangled grass in your hands, your brows furrowed in frustration. Kiri knelt beside you, effortlessly weaving the long strands with practiced ease, her fingers moving in quick, fluid motions.

You, however, were struggling. Neteyam leaned against the entrance, watching silently as you huffed, attempting once more to bend the stubborn grass into shape. But the material resisted your efforts, slipping from your fingers at the last moment.

You let out a quiet groan, your shoulders slumping. Neteyam felt the corners of his lips twitch. You were always like this—so determined, so desperate to understand things that had no logic, no precise method you could study or analyze. Some things had to be felt.

Learned through patience, through instinct. But you had never been good at patience, at least outside of your job. And for some reason, that amused him far more than it should.

Since your talk at the pond, something has changed between you. He couldn’t quite name it, but it was there, lingering beneath every glance, every quiet moment shared between you. And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress the pull he felt toward you. 

He stepped forward. “Is that supposed to be a basket?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Neteyam smirked as he approached, glancing down at the poorly shaped attempt in your hands. It was lopsided, the strands uneven, some already fraying at the ends.

“I am not sure it can hold anything,” he mused. “Perhaps a single fruit, if you do not move too much.”

Your eyes narrowed. Then, before he could react, you threw the half-finished basket at him. Neteyam caught it with ease, raising a brow as you scoffed.

“You know, there are people who can’t be talented in everything,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Unlike some.”

Your squint was exaggerated, your annoyance barely masking the amusement lurking beneath it. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, turning the misshapen basket over in his hands. It was terrible.

But, somehow, he liked it.

(1 year and 11 months ago)

The rainstorm had come fast. One moment, the sky was its usual deep blue, and the next, dark clouds had swallowed it whole. The rain had started slowly—fat, lazy drops plopping onto the village roofs, tapping against the leaves. But then the wind picked up, and suddenly, the heavens had split open. Sheets of rain hammered against the trees, sending waterfalls cascading off the woven platforms, soaking everything in sight.

The humans had been caught off guard. Neteyam had watched them scramble when it became clear they wouldn’t be able to return to their outpost in the near future. The storm was too strong, the paths too slick. Which was why you were here. Sitting cross-legged across from him, huddled beneath the family kelku’s woven canopy, warm and dry.

Unlike him. Neteyam exhaled sharply, reaching for a length of twine to restring his bow. His hair was still damp from earlier, loose strands sticking to his skin, dripping onto his shoulders. He ignored it, fingers moving expertly as he tied a careful knot. He could feel you watching.

You had been fidgeting for the past few minutes, shifting slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. Every so often, you’d open your mouth as if to say something, then hesitate. He raised a brow.

“What?”

You blinked, then shook your head.

“Nothing.”

Neteyam hummed, unconvinced. A beat of silence. Then—

“You know,” you said slowly, tilting your head, “your hair is kind of a mess.”

Neteyam frowned, ears twitching. He lifted a hand to his braids, feeling where the strands had loosened from the rain, the damp weight of them resting against his shoulders. It wasn’t that bad. You must have seen his unimpressed look because you grinned.

“No, seriously. It’s bad. Like—battle damage bad.” 

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “The storm was worse than expected.”

“I can tell.” You leaned in slightly, studying his head like you were analyzing something critically wrong. “Your little warrior braids are all over the place.”

Neteyam scoffed, shaking his head. “They are fine.”

“They are not fine,” you countered. “You look like you lost a fight with a banshee.”

He huffed, turning back to his bow. “I will fix them later.”

“Or…” you said, stretching out the word, mischief flickering in your eyes. “I could fix them for you.”

Neteyam froze. Just for a second. You must have taken his silence as permission, because suddenly you were shifting onto your feet, standing up, moving closer, reaching toward him with small, delicate fingers. Neteyam leaned back immediately, narrowing his eyes. “No.”

You laughed. “Oh, come on.”

“I do not need your help.”

“You obviously do.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in warning. “I can do it myself.”

Your grin widened. “Yeah, but I can do it better.”

Neteyam scoffed. “You do not even know how.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Excuse you. I do know how.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

“Okay, well,” you amended, “Kiri tried to teach me once.”

Neteyam smirked. “I have seen your attempts at weaving.”

“That was different.”

“You tangled the fibers so badly that Kiri had to cut them apart.”

You groaned, dropping your head back. “That was one time!”

Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head. But before he could protest further, you scooted closer. He stilled. You were right there. Too close. Your knees bumped against his side as you reached up, fingers hovering near his temple, waiting. “Just let me fix one,” you said, lips quirking. “If I ruin it, you can make fun of me forever.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, weighing his options. He could refuse. He should refuse. But the way you were looking at him—expectant, teasing—made it impossible. He muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly lowered his hands, giving the smallest nod. Your smile was blinding. “Stay still,” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

Then, gently—so gently—you reached for his braid. Neteyam clenched his jaw.

Eywa.

Your hands were warm. Small fingers brushed against his scalp as you carefully unraveled the ruined braid, working through the damp strands with surprising care. His ears twitched at the feeling, something foreign curling in his chest. No one touched him like this. His mother did, when she tended to his hair as a child. Kiri sometimes, if she was feeling particularly annoying. But this—

This was different.

You were close enough that he could see the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lip slightly as you focused. Close enough that he caught the scent of rain on your skin, the faint traces of whatever strange human soap you used. The firelight flickered against your features, casting soft shadows along the curve of your cheek, through the glass panel of your mask.

Neteyam swallowed. He should not be thinking about your cheekbones. You huffed, frustrated, trying to smooth out a particularly tangled strand. Your fingers brushed against the base of his ear, and Neteyam almost flinched. His tail twitched violently behind him.

You noticed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “Does that tickle?”

Neteyam scowled. “No.”

You smirked. “It does.”

“It does not.”

You narrowed your eyes, grinning like you had just won something. “Interesting…”

“Do not.”

You wiggled your fingers threateningly. “What would happen if I—”

Neteyam grabbed your wrist before you could even try. His large hand circled around your thin wrist so easily. You gasped, eyes wide in exaggerated offense. “Neteyam!”

He exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip slightly. “You are impossible.”

You just grinned. For a moment, you stayed like that—your wrist in his grasp, your eyes flickering between his face and his hand, something unreadable in your expression. Then— “…You’re really warm,” you murmured.

Neteyam stilled. The words were so soft he almost thought he imagined them. But you were looking at him now, really looking at him, your usual teasing energy replaced by something else. His heartbeat picked up. The air felt… heavy. He should let go. He should let go.

Instead, his grip lingered—just for a second longer than necessary. Then, abruptly, he released your wrist, looking away. “Are you finished?”

You blinked, snapping back into focus. “Oh! Right. Yeah, yeah.”

You made quick work of the rest of the braid, fingers moving more carefully this time. When you were done, you pulled away, sitting back with a pleased look on your face.

“See? Perfect.”

Neteyam reached up, fingers grazing the newly woven braid. It was… decent. He hummed. “It will do.”

You scoffed. “Wow. You’re welcome, your highness.”

Neteyam smirked. “I did not say thank you.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are insufferable.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. But later that night, as the rain continued to fall, Neteyam found himself touching that braid— Again and again. And even though he knew it was just hair, he couldn’t help but think—It felt different now.

(1 year and 10 months ago)

Neteyam didn’t know why he was here. His patrols never took him this close to the human outpost. There was no reason for him to be here. No threat, no duty. And yet, here he was. His steps were silent as he moved through the dense foliage, keeping to the shadows, his golden eyes scanning the small group of scientists in the clearing ahead.

There you were.

Sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your datapad in one hand and a small instrument in the other, completely immersed in whatever you were studying. Strands of hair had fallen loose from your usual tie, and you absently tucked them behind your ear as you worked. Neteyam exhaled slowly. He didn’t understand this.

Didn’t understand why he had ended up here today, why his feet had carried him in your direction instead of somewhere else. You were just a human. Just a human. He had more important things to do. He remained hidden, watching you from a distance. He thought he was sneaky enough. Years of hunting had taught him patience, how to blend into the world around him, how to move unseen.

But then—

You turned. And smiled.

It was wide and bright—brighter than the twin suns overhead.

And Neteyam’s heart stuttered.

“I knew you were there,” you said, grinning as you looked directly at him.

Neteyam blinked, stepping into the clearing with a frown. “How did you know?” he asked, his ears flicking in irritation at being caught so easily.

You only shrugged, tossing your hair over your shoulder with an easy movement. “I just did.” Then, your expression changed. You tilted your head slightly, looking at him like you were about to tell him something secret, something only meant for the two of you.

Neteyam’s body tensed slightly as you leaned towards him just a little despite your size difference. And before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself leaning down, just enough to hear your whispered answer. “I don’t know,” you murmured, your lips twitching. “Maybe I’m a Na’vi hunter in disguise.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, straightening immediately. You burst into laughter, clearly delighted by his reaction. And despite himself, despite everything— He smiled at you. It was so easy to do. Why? 

You crouched back down, returning to whatever work you had been doing, your laughter still lingering in the air. Then, casually, you asked, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in the village and be a perfect leader?”

Neteyam’s lips parted slightly, but no answer came. Because he didn’t know. Why was he here? Why had he chosen this path, today of all days? Why had he let himself be pulled toward you when there was no reason to be?

Somehow, you must have sensed his hesitation. Because before he could even attempt an answer, you glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer now. “Either way, I’m happy to see you.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. You said it so simply, so easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like his presence meant something to you.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe— He had come here because, deep down… He had wanted to see you, too.

(1 year and 9 months ago)

You didn’t hear him. Neteyam had been watching you from the thick branch above, waiting, studying. You were alone, cross-legged against the trunk of a massive tree, your head tilted slightly as you gazed at the forest around you.

Just watching. He didn’t understand you sometimes. Most humans were never still. They talked, they moved, they always did something. But you—you could just be. And yet, that doesn't mean you should be here.

Alone.

He exhaled through his nose and leaped down. The moment his feet hit the ground, you screamed. A sharp, startled sound. You scrambled slightly, your hands pressing against the dirt as you looked up at him with wide eyes. Neteyam straightened to his full height, towering over you. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your exhale shaky. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sharper than he intended.

You blinked at him. Then, instead of scolding him for scaring you—or worse, looking afraid—you smiled. A soft, small thing. “I just wanted to be alone,” you said, shrugging.

Neteyam frowned, his ears twitching. That wasn’t a good enough answer. “Where are the other humans?”

You turned your head slightly, your gaze flicking toward the right as you thought about it. Why did you have to think about it? Then, finally— “Back in the outpost,” you answered.

His frown deepened. That was not the answer he wanted. “You should not be alone,” he said, his tail flicking in irritation. “You are small.”

You scoffed. Then, to his utter disbelief, you laughed. “Neteyam,” you said, amusement lacing your voice. “I am fine.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you tilted your head up at him. “Or what?” you teased. “The mighty warrior would be sad if a viperwolf dragged me into its den?”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. You were infuriating. And yet, his lips twitched. You looked up at him, waiting. Neteyam held your gaze, his tail still flicking sharply behind him. Then, gently, you smiled. “Don’t worry, I was fine.”

His ears twitched.

Fine?

You were alone in the middle of the forest, completely unprotected, with no one around except the creatures lurking in the shadows. Yet you smiled at him, as if his concern was unnecessary. His tail flicked again, betraying his frustration. You noticed.

Your lips twitched slightly before you continued, “I was here a few times. And it was always peaceful. Even safe.”

Neteyam’s frown deepened. Safe? You thought this place was safe? You had no instincts, no natural awareness of the dangers hidden beneath the beauty of the forest. He had spent his whole life learning how to listen to it, how to sense the smallest shifts in the air, the softest disturbances in the leaves. You had none of that.

He muttered something under his breath in Na’vi, shaking his head.

You didn’t react—didn’t understand the words—but when he muttered tawtute, your eyes brightened slightly. Then, instead of looking offended, you smiled again. His tail lashed once behind him. Before he could say anything else, you tilted your head and asked, as if you hadn’t just been arguing—

“How was your day?”

Neteyam blinked. The sudden change in topic threw him off balance. For a moment, he could only stare at you, caught between lingering frustration and something he couldn’t quite name. You just waited, patient, watching him with those same curious eyes. And he found himself answering.

“My day?” Neteyam repeated, arching a brow at you. You nodded, completely unbothered by the shift in conversation, as if you hadn’t just been laughing at his concern. He exhaled, shaking his head. “It was… fine. Nothing special.”

Your smile widened slightly. “Nothing special?”

Neteyam huffed. “Training, patrols, the usual.”

“So, running around the forest, scaring away potential threats, and looking perfect while doing it?” you teased, tilting your head.

He smirked. “That does sound about right.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed.

Neteyam watched you for a moment before asking, “And you? Why did you want to be alone?”

You hummed, thinking. Then, with a bright smile, you said, “I don’t know, I just wanted to listen to the forest. I love how alive it is.” Your eyes lit up as you spoke, your hands gesturing slightly, as if trying to grasp something intangible. Neteyam didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t that.

He blinked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something he didn’t want to name. Sometimes, he doesn't understand you.

You weren’t Na’vi. You had no connection to Eywa, no way to truly feel the world around you as he did. And yet… Somehow, you did. Somehow, you felt it anyway. If you had been Na’vi, you would have been deeply connected to Eywa. He knew it. You would have been strong among his people. A hunter, maybe. A healer. A tsahik.

His tsahik.

The thought struck him so suddenly that he nearly stood up on instinct. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself still. It was a dangerous thought. Yet… It wasn’t bad.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the ridiculous notion. You were just a human. That was all.

And somehow, only being a human seemed… enough. Still, he crouched down next to you, studying you as if he could understand you just by looking. You noticed, of course. You always did. “What?” you asked, tilting your head.

Neteyam smirked. “I am just trying to see what kind of creature chooses to sit alone in the forest, thinking it is safe.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “A creature? That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

Neteyam hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

You scoffed, bumping his knee lightly with yours. “For your information, mighty warrior, some of us like peace and quiet.”

“You? Quiet?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I do not believe it.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse you, I can be quiet.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

Your lips twitched. “…Okay, maybe not all the time.”

He smirked. “Not ever.”

You gasped again, shoving his arm playfully. “Take that back.” He only laughed, shaking his head.

“I cannot. It is the truth.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re terrible.”

“And you are still too small to be alone in the forest,” he countered smoothly.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Let it go, Neteyam.”

Neteyam just smirked, his tail flicking lazily behind him. For all your stubbornness, you didn’t realize that you had already won something far more important. Half a year ago, he wouldn’t have sat here like this. Wouldn’t have let you pull him into these easy conversations. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But now? Now, he wasn’t sure how to go back.

(1 year and 8 months ago)

Something wasn’t right. Neteyam could feel it. He sat outside his family’s kelku, absently sharpening the tip of an arrow, his movements precise, controlled. But his mind was elsewhere. You weren’t here.

Again.

The humans had come to the village today, just as they always did, hauling their equipment, speaking in their strange clipped words, taking notes on things they would never truly understand. But you weren’t with them. Just like last time. And the time before that. It had been almost a week since he had last seen you, and for some reason, the thought unsettled him more than it should.

You always came. Twice a week, sometimes three. Without fail.

Even before—before he had let himself see you, before he had stopped pretending that you were just another human passing through— You had always returned. No matter how distant he had been. No matter how he had tried to push you away.

So why weren’t you here now? For a moment, the thought crept in— Had he done something? No. That was impossible. If there was one thing he knew about you, it was that you were stubborn. Even when he had tried to keep you at a distance, even when he had been sharp with you, cold, dismissive— You had always come back.

You had never let him scare you away.

And now, suddenly, you were gone? His grip tightened slightly around the arrow.

“She is sick, you know.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. Kiri stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with an infuriating knowing look. His brows furrowed. “What?”

Kiri shrugged. “I heard the humans talking. She is sick.”

Something in his chest twisted. Sick? You were sick? He sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “What kind of sick?”

Kiri smirked, stepping closer. “I don’t know. Maybe her weak human body finally gave up on her.”

Neteyam glared. Kiri only laughed, shaking her head. “Relax. It’s nothing serious.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Then why is she not here?”

Kiri tilted her head.“They ordered her to rest.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in frustration. He didn’t like this. You were always here. Always bright, always talking, always—present. And now, suddenly, you were confined to the outpost, sick, and he had only just now found out? Kiri grinned, clearly amused by his reaction. “You look worried, ma’tsmukan.”

Neteyam scowled, shaking his head. “I am not worried.”

Kiri only hummed, a knowing glint in her eye. He ignored her. But still—his fingers tightened around the arrow.

*

Neteyam didn’t remember deciding to come here. Yet, here he was. The forest was dark, the bioluminescent glow of the plants casting faint, ghostly light over the clearing. The air was thick with the sounds of night—distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the rustling of leaves in the wind. And beyond it, standing cold and unnatural against the wild, living world, was the human outpost.

Neteyam crouched at the edge of the clearing, hidden in the dense foliage, his golden eyes fixed on the metal structure. It was strange. Too strange. The walls were smooth, lifeless.

Nothing like the woven kelku of his people, nothing like the towering trees that breathed around him. It didn’t belong here. And yet… You did. This was your place. A place where you would be safe.

His grip tightened around the leaves in his hand. He glanced down at them, finally aware of their presence. Dark purple, thick-veined. The kind his grandmother used to crush into a bitter paste when he was a child. It soothed fevers, eased aches.

He had picked them without thinking. Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. What was he doing? Why had he come here? He had no reason to be this close. No reason to care that you were sick. No reason to feel so restless when you weren’t in the village where you should be.

Should be?

His tail flicked behind him, his ears twitching toward every sound. The outpost was silent. The humans had long since retreated inside, away from the dangers of the night. Still, Neteyam remained where he was, hidden among the leaves, watching. He told himself he was only making sure you were safe. And if that was a lie, then it was one he wasn’t ready to confront.

*

Neteyam’s sharp gaze flickered over the clearing, scanning the area outside the human outpost. There were plants everywhere. Some were small, contained in odd-looking transparent cases, while others stretched taller, their vines creeping over the edges of the metal structure. He recognized many of them—forest plants, things that belonged deep in the wild, not trapped here under artificial lights.

It was strange. The humans had taken them from their home, pulled them from the soil just to study them. They did the same with everything, didn’t they? Suddenly, a low hissing sound cut through the quiet. Neteyam tensed.

The airgate to the outpost slid open, releasing a controlled burst of sterilized air. A human stepped out, her exo-mask reflecting the dim glow of the outdoor lamps. She was young—close in age to you. He recognized her. She had been in the village once, months before you had first arrived.

He hadn’t paid her much attention then, but now, for some reason, seeing her here made him think. She moved toward a section of small orange plants, datapad in hand, completely unaware of the golden eyes watching her from the shadows. Neteyam’s grip tightened around the dark purple leaves in his palm. Why had he brought them?

The thought nagged at him, frustration curling in his chest. He knew the humans were smart—at least, smart enough to heal their own kind. They had their own medicines, their own ways of treating illness. And yet… A whole week had passed. A whole week of you not being in the village, of your absence stretching longer than it ever had before.

And Neteyam found himself doubting them. Doubting that whatever strange things they used to heal each other were enough. These leaves—he knew them. He had trusted them since he was a child. It worked. It had always worked. And now, here he was.

Standing outside the human outpost, clutching these same leaves in his hand— Not knowing why. Not wanting to know why. Neteyam’s muscles tensed. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward. The leaves rustled as he moved out of the foliage, his tall frame emerging from the shadows.

The woman froze.

Her breath hitched as she turned, her blue eyes wide behind her exo-mask. She gasped.

Neteyam saw the fear flicker across her face, the way she instinctively shrank back, pressing herself against one of the plant containers. He kept walking. His steps were slow, deliberate. Purposeful. Deep down, he knew how this must look to her—a lone Na’vi warrior appearing from the forest in the dead of night, silent and unreadable.

But he didn’t stop. The woman’s hands gripped the edge of the plant container as she stammered,

“I—I mean no harm, please don’t hurt me.”

Then, barely above a whisper, she muttered something else under her breath—something about whShe expected him to do something. Say ether or not he even understood English. Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose.

She was scared of him. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him. Neteyam stopped.

Just a step away from her now, close enough that he could see the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, the way her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the plant container. Her fear clung to the air between them, sharp and uncertain.

something. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand. She flinched slightly but didn’t move as he extended his palm toward her, revealing the dark purple leaves resting in his grasp.

“For (Y/N),” he said simply. His voice was low but steady.

The woman’s breath hitched. He met her eyes, unblinking, before adding,

“Crush it for her. She will be better.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her frantic, wide-eyed panic stilled—morphing into something else entirely. Her gaze flickered between his face and the leaves in his hand, as if she couldn’t quite process what was happening. As if she had expected anything but this.

Neteyam watched, silent, as her fear began to unravel, piece by piece. Slowly—hesitantly—she reached out. Her small fingers hovered over his palm for a second, unsure, before she finally took the plant from him, the contrast between her pale skin and the deep purple leaves stark against the dim light.

Neteyam held her gaze for a fraction longer. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the forest.

*

(few days later)

Neteyam heard you before he saw you. Laughter. Bright, unrestrained, cutting through the usual village chatter like a melody. His ears twitched instinctively, tail flicking as his steps slowed.

Then, a flash of movement— And suddenly, you were there. Within minutes, you had somehow slipped into his orbit, like you always did, standing before him with that unmistakable look on your face. A glowing, shit-eating grin. Neteyam crossed his arms, raising a brow. “You look better.”

Your grin widened. “Yes, of course.” You lifted your chin slightly, eyes twinkling. “I have a blue guardian angel.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Is that what we are calling it?”

You hummed, nodding with mock seriousness. “Absolutely. He appeared from the shadows, gifted me a mysterious plant, and then vanished into the night. Very mythical of him.”

Neteyam huffed, but he couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging at the corner of his lips. You were back.

Healthy.

Standing in front of him, talking too much, smiling too wide—just as you always did. And for the first time in days, something inside him settled. Like he could breathe again.

You launched into some story about how Norm had forced you to rest, how Kate had teased you about having a secret admirer after finding the plant, but Neteyam barely processed the words. He was too busy watching you. Taking in the way you moved, the way the golden afternoon light caught in your hair, the way you spoke like the world around you was yours to shape.

He hadn’t realized how much he hated not seeing you. Not until now. Then, abruptly, you sighed dramatically. “But seriously, Neteyam.” His ears flicked at the shift in your tone. You leaned in slightly, whispering like you were about to tell him some great secret. “I have never eaten anything more bitter in my entire life.”

Neteyam blinked. Then, he smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You groaned. “That’s not the point! It tasted like death.”

He chuckled, arms still crossed. “You sound ungrateful.”

“Oh, I am grateful.” You patted his arm dramatically. “I just think my guardian angel needs to work on his choice of gifts.”

Neteyam let out a real laugh then, deep and unguarded, shaking his head as you grinned up at him. He had missed this.

Missed you.

(1 year and 6 months ago)

He should have been somewhere else—training, patrolling, doing something productive— But instead, he was sitting on the mossy ground, watching you work. The xenobotany team had stopped questioning it months ago. By now, they barely even acknowledged his presence.

They were used to him appearing at your side only to disappear into the forest again after a few minutes, like a shadow that came and went with the shifting light. He never spoke to them, never lingered too long—just long enough to see you, to make sure you were safe, to convince himself that he was only here because you were a human in a dangerous place.

That was what he told himself, anyway. But the truth was… He couldn’t stay away from you. And he didn’t know why. You were crouched beside a low-growing plant, fingers delicately brushing the leaves as you observed them.

The glow from your datapad cast a faint, artificial light across your face, reflecting in your eyes as you studied the readings on the screen. Neteyam should have been watching the forest. Instead, he was watching you. Then—

Your eyes flickered toward him.

Just for a second. Then back to your datapad. Neteyam’s ears twitched, but he said nothing.

A moment passed.

Then—again.

Your gaze darted toward him, then away.

Back to your datapad.

And then—

Again.

At first, he wasn’t sure what you were watching. But after a while, he noticed the pattern. Your gaze wasn’t lingering on his face. It wasn’t on his hands or his posture or his weapons. No— Your eyes followed the slow, lazy sway of his tail as it shifted side to side against the moss. Neteyam blinked. His tail stilled for a moment, but the instant it moved again, your eyes followed.

A realization struck him so suddenly that his ears flicked back against his skull. You were fascinated by it.

By him.

The thought sent something sharp through his chest, something he didn’t have a name for, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. You didn’t even realize what you were doing. Didn’t realize that you were staring. Didn’t realize that your innocent curiosity was affecting him.

Neteyam forced himself to exhale, looking away before you could catch him watching you just as intently. But the damage was already done. Because now, he knew. You saw him.

And that knowledge settled deep in his bones, thrumming like the distant beat of war drums, impossible to ignore. For a moment, Neteyam wondered if he had misheard you. Because there was no way you had just said— “Can I touch your tail?”

He blinked.

You glanced at him again, your expression expectant—curious—like you had just asked something as simple as can you pass me that leaf? His ears flicked up in surprise. He didn’t know who was more stunned—him or you. Because the moment the words left your mouth, your entire face drained of color.

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in horror, like you had just realized what you had said. “Oh, fuck,” you breathed.

Neteyam’s tail flicked behind him— Not because of your question, but because it was taking everything in him not to laugh. “I—I didn’t mean—” you stammered, hands coming up as if to physically take the words back. “I mean, I did mean it, but not like—I—you—fuck—”

Your voice had dropped into a frantic whisper as you looked up at him, terrified, like you had just insulted him, like he was about to exile you from the forest forever. Your hands clenched into fists against your lap as you sucked in a breath. “I meant scientifically,” you blurted. “For science. Obviously.”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head. “For science?”

You nodded—way too fast.

“Yes. Obviously.”

His tail swayed again, and your eyes immediately flicked toward it before snapping back to his face like you had just been caught. Neteyam smirked. “You want to touch my tail… for science?” he asked, amused.

You swallowed thickly. “Yes?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just watched you. Watch the way you fidgeted, the way your lips pressed into a thin line, the way your entire soul looked like it was about to ascend from sheer embarrassment.

Finally, he lifted a brow, fighting back a grin. “I don’t think that’s how your science works,” he mused.

Neteyam watched as you very slowly turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with mortification, your entire body screaming retreat, retreat, retreat. His smirk widened. “What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

Without looking at him, you let out a deep, suffering sigh and muttered, “I’m going to dig a hole and become one with Eywa.”

Neteyam’s chest rumbled with laughter. A real, full-bodied laugh that he couldn’t hold back this time. Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowed in betrayal. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning forward slightly. “You are very entertaining.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I said that. Out loud.”

“You did,” he confirmed, his tail flicking playfully. “Quite clearly, actually.”

“I know!” you whined, tilting your head back toward the sky, looking like you genuinely wanted to cease existing.

Neteyam just shook his head, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a low hum. “So,” he teased, golden eyes glinting mischievously. “Do you still want to touch it?”

Your hands flew up, waving frantically in front of your face. “No!”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking once more. Liar. You were dying.

At least, that’s what it looked like. Still sitting next to him, you had buried your face into your hands, groaning softly like you were trying to will yourself into the ground, fully committed to your plan of becoming one with Eywa.

Neteyam smirked, tail flicking lazily behind him. Oh, this was too good. You had made it far too easy. Without a word, he shifted slightly, lifting his tail— Then, with deliberate slowness, let it settle right onto your lap.

He felt your body stiffen immediately. Neteyam almost laughed. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, waiting—curious—to see what you would do. A long pause. Then, slowly, your fingers parted, revealing wide, startled eyes peeking through. You blinked.

Then blinked again. Neteyam’s smirk grew. “You wanted to touch it,” he murmured, voice like silk. “So go on.”

You inhaled sharply, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure. And for a moment, he was certain you were going to refuse.

But— You moved.

A small, tentative hand reached out, fingertips brushing over the sleek, sensitive skin of his tail with the lightest, gentlest touch.

Neteyam’s entire body locked up. His breath hitched, something hot and unfamiliar searing through his spine.

Eywa.

He had never— No one had ever— This felt different.

His tail twitched under your touch, betraying him for a split second before he forced it to still. His jaw clenched. He could not react. He could not let you see what this was doing to him. Because this was nothing.

It was just a human—just you—touching his tail. It shouldn’t feel like this. But it did.

When they were children, he and his siblings had been rough, yanking and swatting at each other’s tails without a second thought. He had touched his own tail before, out of habit or necessity. But it had never felt like this. Like warmth sinking into his skin. Like something delicate. Like something dangerous. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral, keeping his breath steady—doing everything in his power not to let you know.

Not to let you see what you had just done to him. You were marveling at it. That was the only way to describe it. Your expression was nothing short of captivated, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in quiet wonder as you lifted his tail ever so slightly, bringing it closer to your face as if inspecting something rare—something precious.

Neteyam swallowed hard, his ears unconsciously pinning back. Because— Eywa— You were too much. You shouldn’t be looking at him like that. Like he was something special. Like he was something worth cherishing. Your fingers wrapped around his tail carefully, gently, like you were afraid to grip too hard, afraid to hurt him.

Neteyam felt his heart stutter. Your hands were so small. So soft. With each passing second, your face lit up more and more, like you were experiencing something magical, like this was the most fascinating thing you had ever touched.

And fuck— The way you touched him— Your fingers moved slowly, tracing along the length of his tail with delicate precision. Then— Your touch drifted lower, toward the dark fur at the end of it, fingers hesitating, lingering. Neteyam felt it—knew exactly what you were thinking.

You wanted to touch that too. But before you could— His tail betrayed him. The tip curled away from your reach, an involuntary movement, a silent challenge. Like it refused to be taken so easily.

You blinked in surprise, tilting your head slightly, watching as it twitched playfully in your lap—like it had a mind of its own. Neteyam clenched his jaw. Because fuck, this was—this was— Your other hand moved. Fingers closing firmly yet still so gentle around the twitching end, holding it still.

And just like that—

Neteyam stopped breathing. Neteyam’s brain is completely short-circuited. Because you—you were— “Wow,” you breathed, looking up at him with a beaming smile, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “It’s soft.”

Neteyam blinked. You were still holding his tail, fingers gently curled around it, cradling it in your hands like it was something precious. And you— You looked like a Na’vi child discovering their parent’s body for the first time, wide-eyed, fascinated, utterly enchanted by something so simple, so ordinary to him.

Except this wasn’t ordinary. Not at all.

His tail twitched, but you held it firm, running your fingers lightly along its length, watching how the fur caught the dim light. You were studying it, waiting— Waiting for him to tease you, for him to say something sharp, something smug. But the words never came. Because he couldn’t think. Instead, he just stared at you. Like he had just bitten into the sourest fruit in the entire forest.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and his chest felt tight, too tight, as if he couldn’t quite breathe right. Because you had no idea. No idea what you were doing to him. No idea how wrong it was that your small hands felt this good on his tail. No idea that if you kept touching it like that—slow and curious— He was going to lose his fucking mind.

Neteyam snapped. One second, he was frozen in place, your soft hands wrapped around his tail, your fascinated eyes locked onto him, completely oblivious to the havoc you were wreaking inside his chest. The next— He was moving.

Standing up so quickly that the shift was almost abrupt, pulling his tail from your hands with more force than he intended. You startled slightly, blinking up at him in confusion. “I need to go,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, strained in a way he hated.

He didn’t wait for your reply. Didn’t dare look at your face. He turned on his heel and strode into the forest, tail flicking sharply behind him, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. His heart was pounding.

Fuck.

He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his skin, the way your fingers had held him, gentle but certain, like he was something to be cherished. His stomach churned at the thought. He didn’t know why this affected him so much. Didn’t know what it was about you that made him lose control of himself, made him want things he shouldn’t, things that were impossible.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“What was that?”

Neteyam’s ears flicked, catching the words just before he fully disappeared into the foliage. Another voice—yours.

“I don’t know, Kate.”

Neither did he.

And that was the problem.

This part has a 2. volume!

Part 18 Vol 2.: To remember

[ghcstao3]

Ghost never really learned how to properly tie a tie.

He never had reason to. Never had a father that would teach him, either. And when it comes to formal dress after joining the military, he’d always fidget and tug and prod at knots until they looked right, whether or not they were done properly.

He’s tried looking up tutorials, sure, but it’s just… overwhelming as to how many ways ties can be knotted. So he never bothers. Just does his best to pretend like he knows even when he’s so, so lost.

Because it doesn’t matter.

At least, not until—years down the line—his and Soap’s wedding.

Ghost figures it’s his time to finally learn, then, because it has to be perfect. He can’t mimic a knot for such an important day, just praying for the best, he has to do his tie up properly.

But he can’t.

He tries, over and over, watching videos and looking at picture-by-picture instructions, but he can’t. Ghost gets frustrated, hands trembling more and more every attempt until eventually he just… gives up. Rips off the tie and resigns himself to slumping into the nearest chair, running fingers desperately through hair he’d taken so long to make look nice.

Soap finds him much too close to the start of the ceremony, quick to rush to his side and ask what’s wrong.

Ghost isn’t sure when the tears had started welling, or when his bottom lip had started to wobble. He lets Soap gently guide his hands away from his head, pressing thumbs lightly into open palms.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” Ghost mutters. His tie is loose around his neck, an irritating reminder of why he’s yet to be ready to meet Soap at the end of the aisle.

Soap smiles softly at him. He looks so handsome, as always—him and his perfectly tied tie.

“I doubt it,” he says, oh-so kindly. “Never is.”

Ghost laughs quietly, the sound shaky, watery. He swallows the lump that threatens to rise in his throat, peering into the comfort of Soap’s eyes to lend him strength as he confesses, “I can’t get my fucking tie right.”

“That’s all?” Ghost nods and Soap sighs, sitting down on his knees, pressing the back of Ghost’s hands to his forehead like an odd sort of worship. “Thank God. Had me worried you were rethinking things.”

"I'd never rethink this, I just—" Ghost takes a shuddering breath. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ghost mourns the loss of Soap's warmth as he lets go of his hands. He lifts a hand to drag through Ghost's hair, surely mussing it in a way that looks better than the tangled mess Ghost had probably left it as. "All you had to do was ask for help."

Ghost's gaze falls to the ground as shame burns his ears. "I just didn't want you to think—"

"I'd never think any less of you for not bein' able to tie a tie, Simon," Soap assures him. "There's a stupid amount of ways to do it 'right', anyway. C'mere."

Ghost leans forward enough for Soap to have a comfortable grip on his tie. He watches Soap's face the entire time, the subtle concentration in his expression, though surely he should be paying attention to how he ties the knot instead.

He doesn't move even as Soap has switched to adjusting his collar and smoothing the artificial wrinkles of his dress shirt.

"Pure braw," Soap murmurs. He sits up to capture Ghost in a kiss, sweet and innocent and comforting.

"You're supposed to save that for after the vows," Ghost says once they break apart.

Soap barks out a laugh. "Prude," he teases.

He stands slowly, then, wincing when his knees crack as he gets up. Soap offers out a hand to Ghost, of which Ghost happily accepts.

Soap grins at Ghost, then, bright and blinding and full of love.

"Let's go get married, then, shall we?"

[lochlogie]

The way Saxon wants Lochlan to be like him is the exact same framework of the relationship Tim has with Saxon: your only goal in life should be to become me, but you better fail.

Tim has a very condescending relationship with Saxon. We really only get two scenes highlighting this, but the first is his conversation with Saxon after his tantrum. He flat out lies to him and says he's impressed by Saxon's career thus far. Saxon knows that he doesn't have a lot going for him at work, and expresses frustration that he's not being trusted with more responsibility. Then at the party, Tim just keeps deflecting Saxon's accusations and ignores his heartfelt confession that all he'll ever be is Timothy Ratliff's son, and that he's okay with that. Because that's what Saxon has been ordained to do, follow in Tim's footsteps, but never overtake him.

Saxon takes this relationship and pays it forward to Lochlan. Except Lochlan is a high schooler, he has no career (and seemingly no ambitions in terms of a future career), so Saxon takes the only thing he is quote unquote good at, and constructs the same framework of a relationship. He's good at sex (allegedly). Therefore, Lochlan should want to be him, follow him, learn from him, mold himself into him, but he better not succeed. That defeats the entire purpose of this narcissistic... I don't even know what to call it. I also think it's telling that Saxon is much more involved and intense about it than Tim is with him.

Tim seems a little aloof with all of his children (Piper the least), and maybe Saxon is so much more forward because he wants to feel like the Man, the Alpha, the Big Dog. He doesn't get affirmation or respect from his dad so he turns the dial hard trying to farm these feelings from his little brother. If his self worth can't come from making his dad proud it sure will come from having his little brother worship him. And a cornerstone of that is that Lochlan can't actually succeed. He can't learn from Saxon and then score chicks (heavens forbid start pulling more girls than Saxon). That defeats the whole point.

So Saxon is constantly putting Lochlan down, making snide little comments, seemingly sabotaging his efforts, making Lochlan look young and inexperienced and awkward and cute in front of the women he is supposedly trying to get his brother to fuck. Lochlan can only ever be the student, always in need of more advice or assistance, shadowing Saxon, watching and learning. Maybe by being Saxon's wingman, his adorkable baby brother who makes Saxon look more tolerable to women? Lending a helping hand? No not like that Lochlan!

I think Victoria's relationship with Piper is somewhat similar. But it's different because they're women. What does Victoria value most in life? Comfort, beauty, status, wealth. Piper's only goal in Victoria's eyes is to not embarrass the family, find a husband, and start her own family. And the thing is, Piper is already younger than Victoria, she's already succeeded at besting Victoria at her own game. So I think that's why Victoria has a much more fraught relationship with her daughter. If her narcissism demands Piper become her but fail... but Piper can't fail because she'll always be younger and prettier than Victoria is... I can see that resentment clouding every aspect of their interactions. Piper can't be Victoria's doe eyed apprentice or lackey like Lochlan is to Saxon as Saxon is to Tim.

Even when Piper wants to do something pretty harmless like take her eat pray love gap year in Thailand, which would not harm her "prospects," at all, certainly not more than Tim's crimes and humiliation, Victoria is adamant that Piper is throwing her life away. I can easily imagine that Piper has spent her whole life having every decision scrutinized by Victoria. She's been nitpicked clean, and she can't take it anymore. That's why she's daddy's girl, and it's also why mama's boy Saxon takes up the charge and bullies Piper on their mom's behalf.

Which brings me to Victoria's relationship to Saxon: if Piper will always be a younger version of her, and she resents that... Saxon will always be a younger version of Tim. But also a combination of Tim and her, their first born, the boy that made her a mother. Of course he's the apple of her eye. And there's no doubt in my mind her life plan includes Saxon taking care of her if Tim should ever pass. And isn't Tim about to lose everything for them and probably go to jail (if only for a few months)? She's probably been adultifying and toying with emotional incest with Saxon for a long time.

Same thing with Tim and Piper, but the inverse obviously. Piper is not a threat to Tim's grandiose master of the universe narcissistic persona. She's daddy's girl, she is a precious object that Tim is meant to cherish and then give away to a man who impresses him (a man he will undoubtedly expect to be similar to himself). He kind of has a soft spot for Piper, but he's very comfortable pretending that he's getting rid of their phones for her sake, and the way she lights up at that... ouch.

Meaning neither parent really ever gave a fuck about Lochlan. The heir (Saxon) has a spare, and he's a boy, so he's not a resource to be traded to another rich family for more status. He can't do anything for them so they're content to just focus on the most "egregious" ways he embarrasses the family name, namely posture.

The Ratliff family structure is built by bricks and mortar of pure narcissism. Narcissistic parents pitting their children against each other, demanding their loyalty and emulation, but unable to cope with the idea that their children could ever surpass them (you know, like normal parents would be thrilled about). Those children in turn recreate a similar dynamic with the youngest, who they almost treat more like their pet than anything else.