#not just the skill level but also my cultural knowledge

[airenyah]

now that i've turned thai drama into my bachelor thesis, the only question left is: how to turn thai drama into my master's thesis

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Problem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey–”

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

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

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

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

“Tawtute?”

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes.” You say.

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

“How would you like me to–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

[phantomrose96]

Hey not to go all "tumblr is a professional networking site" on you, but how did you get to work for Microsoft??? I'm a recent grad and I'm being eviscerated out here trying to apply for industry jobs & your liveblogging about your job sounds so much less evil than Data Entry IT Job #43461

This place is basically LinkedIn to me.

I'm gonna start by saying I am so so very sorry you're a recent grad in the year 2024... Tech job market is complete ass right now and it is not just you. I started fulltime in 2018, and for 2018-2022 it was completely normal to see a yearly outflow of people hopping to new jobs and a yearly inflow of new hires. Then sometime around late-spring/early-summer of 2022 Wallstreet sneezed the word "recession" and every tech company simultaneously shit themselves.

Tons of layoffs happened, meaning you're competing not just with new grads but with thousands of experienced workers who got shafted by their company. My org squeaked by with a small amount of layoffs (3 people among ~100), but it also means we have not hired anyone new since mid-2022. And where I used to see maybe 4-8 people yearly leave in order to hop to a new job, I think I've seen 1 person do that in the whole last year and a half.

All this to say it's rough and I can't just say "send applications and believe in yourself :)".

I have done interviews though. (I'm not involved in resume screening though, just the interviews of candidates who made it past the screening phase.) So I have at least some relevant advice, as well as second-hand knowledge from other people I know who've had to hop jobs or get hired recently.

If you have friends already in industry who you feel comfortable asking, reach out to them. Most companies have a recommendation process where a current employee fills out a little form that says "yeah I'd recommend such-and-such for this job." These do seem to carry weight, since it's coming from a trusted internal person and isn't just one of the hundreds of cold-call applications they've received.

A lot of tech companies--whether for truly well-intentioned reasons or to just check a checkbox--are on the lookout for increasing employee diversity. If you happen to have anything like, for example, "member of my college Latino society", it's worth including on your resume among your technical skills and technical projects.

I would add "you're probably gonna have to send a lot of applications" as a bullet point but I'm sure you're already doing that. But here it is as a bullet point anyway.

(This is kind of a guess, since it's part of the resume screening) but if you can dedicate some time to getting at least passingly familiar with popular tech/stacks for the positions you're looking into, try doing that in your free time so you can list it on your resume. Even better if you make a project you can point to. Like if you're aiming for webdev, get familiar with React and probably NodeJS. On top of being comfortable in one of the all-purpose languages like C(++) or Java or Python.

If you get to the interview phase - a company that is good to work for WILL care that you're someone who's good to work with. A tech-genius who's a coworker-hating egotistical snob is a nuisance at best and a liability at worst for companies with even a half-decent culture. When I do interviews, "Is this someone who's a good culture fit?" is as important as the technical skills. You'll want to show you'll be a perfectly pleasant, helpful, collaborative coworker. If the company DOESN'T care about that... bullet dodged.

For the technical questions, I care more about the thought process than I do the right answer, especially for entry-level. If you show a capacity for asking good, insightful clarifying questions, an ability to break down the problem, explain your thought process, and backtrack&alter your approach upon realizing something won't work, that's all more important than just being able to spit out a memorized leetcode answer. (I kinda hate leetcode for this reason, and therefore I only ask homebrewed questions, because I don't want the technical portion to hinge at all on whether someone managed to memorize the first 47 pages of leetcode problems). For a new hire, the most important impression you can give me is that you have a technical grasp and that you're capable of learning. Because a new hire isn't going to be an expert in anything, but they're someone who's capable of learning the ropes.

That's everything I have off the top of my head. Good luck anon. I'm very sorry you were born during a specific range of years that made you a new grad in 2024 and I hope it gets better.

[captain-lovelace]

I think the thing that really makes it so frustrating that people insist that you can write good horror without liking or reading or watching horror is that it comes from a refusal to acknowledge that horror as a genre requires skill specific to it. It's this assumption that because they've felt fear they understand it, and can therefore inflict it on their audience using whatever skills they already have. There's just one issue: not a single person on this planet has never been afraid, so it's a really easy emotion to get wrong in fiction. It's extremely easy for a portrayal of fear to come off as, for example, cheesy, or unintentionally funny, or disingenuous, or for it to just be too personal to be scary to other people. Studying how fear is written and portrayed, both effectively and ineffectively, makes you better at doing those things yourself. In order to write better horror, you have to treat horror as a genre worthy of attention and study. And I, personally, would argue that means that you have to interact with it.

One of the biggest and most important pieces of advice that I got as a writer was to read. It's hard to be a good author who doesn't read, and it's even harder to be a good genre author who doesn't interact at all with the genre that you're writing in, because you have massive gaps in your knowledge that you're not even aware of. You might not even be able to properly critique your work! You have nothing to draw from, nothing to be inspired from except things that were not made for the purpose of inciting fear-- you're fitting a square peg in a round hole and hoping it works.

The people who say no, you can write horror without having read horror, are the same people who would never say the same thing about whatever genre they like the most. On some level they're aware of how much it sucks to have someone with no experience in a genre come in with 100% conviction that they are actually the genre's savior, before coming up with something stale, bland, and full of half-baked inspirations from whatever bits and pieces of genre media they picked up through cultural osmosis, all of which they're convinced are so original because they have no idea they're drawing on any sort of larger tradition. But, because it's horror, this for some reason does not cross their minds.

The argument seems to be that you don't have to read horror to write horror. You don't have to like horror to write horror. You don't have to care about horror to write horror. It's a genre that requires zero effort, zero knowledge, zero skill you can't get elsewhere. It has no value-- but you, the person who doesn't know anything about it, you can give it value.

They don't seem to realize just how insulting that is to hear.

(Final note: queer horror and horror by POC both have rich histories, as does horror that isn't USAmerican or Western European in origin. It's a genre that is popular almost worldwide and has a lot of really excellent offerings from everywhere. Also, in addition to horror movies and novels I really recommend checking out horror short stories/anthologies, which can really show where the genre shines. Don't shy away from older horror, as well! Some of my favorite horror stories are from the 19th century.

If you love the idea of horror but have never really found anything that clicked, I guarantee that there is something out there that you will probably like, and if you want to write horror seeing the sheer breadth of what's out there will help you write better horror-- if at least to show you what you would like to see more of, or what might be missing.)

[mmani-e]

Disco Elysium-Inspire Skill Portraits for Danganronpa, Part 1: Intellect

I just recently finished Disco Elysium and I adore the game so so much. I'm so autistic for the skill portraits they make me go CRAZY!! So I decided to combine it with my favorite fandom hehe.

Individual images + descriptions and extras under read more

[CASE-SOLVER] (Represents LOGIC in DE)

Each deduction a step towards the exit. Each case, a leap.

Cool for: Thinkers, Puzzle Wizards, Detached Investigators

It is the deep and primal urge in you to take in every detail, check every little nook and cranny of every room, and pick apart the testimonies of your friends. You can't help but feel like you've been walked through these sorts of things before. You wonder why.

At high levels, you will be able to solve every case with even the most minor of clues, or at the very least try your best. You'll be picking apart your friends' statements, even in simple conversation, making you just delightfully insufferable. At low levels you'll have a hard time with even 9-piece puzzles and asking people smarter than you what anything means.

[CREATIVE RE-ASSEMBLY] (Represents CONCEPTUALIZATION and VISUAL CALCULUS)

The gift of spatial awareness and the capacity for creativity.

Cool for: Artists, Whoever is reading this, Whoever is typing this

You feel yourself as not exactly an artist, but something close. A conoissuer of all things pure and beautiful in the world, an observer to the finer details of the media you consume, you can pick apart everything and reconstruct already existing concepts in your head with ease and daydreams, and not just with fiction.

At high levels, Creative Re-Assembly allows you to find joy in even the smalles of details, details you easily pick-up and reconstruct in your head thanks to your particular love for the visual arts. However, you'll also become something of a recluse, as the visual arts are just so pure and delightful that you can't waste time on others, conversations that don't involve your beloved media become pointless. At low levels, you struggle with object permanence.

[ELOQUENCE] (Represents RHETORIC and ENCYCLOPEDIA)

Speak with clarity, walk with culture.

Cool for: Speakers, Smartasses, Trust Fund Kids

Eloquence is key to delivering your truth effectively and in a dignified manner befitting someone considered to be worthy of the time of Nobility, granting you access to good breeding and manners, along with confidence in your speech and the knowledge to back it up.

At high levels, Eloquence will allow you insights and knowledge on the wider, educated world, along with a dignified and refined manner of conversing that makes people really listen. You will become a proud, honorable man, and your voice will become so proud and powerful that it will even be audible from all the way up your ass: where your head is most commonly situated. At low levels, you'll be a boorish negotiator and an unenlightened swine, unable to hold a conversation without resorting to multiple "likes", "umms", and "w-well, uhh-"s.

[JIKKO] (Represents DRAMA)

You're a performer, now perform.

Cool for: Actors, Liars, Manipulators

A killing game is a game nonetheless, and there is no greater tool to a performer's toolbelt than their ability to lie and immerse themselves in a world that cannot be. You yourself realize, maybe more than anyone, that this whole thing is a sham, a show, and not just the killing game. Everyone is always hiding their true selves.

At high levels, Jikko makes you a master of dramatics, capable of telling when others are lying with ease. High levels also make you an insufferable drama queen, making a mess out of anyone and everything just to keep the spotlight on you for that much longer, deny it all you want, but fame feels good. At low levels you'll have trouble picking out the most obvious lies apart, you cry when people tell particularly nasty yo mama jokes.

EXTRAS

[i-heart-hxh]

Do you think some people misunderstand Killua's intelligence? I've seen some people that blame him completely for the communication issues that he and Gon had during the CAA, while they excuse Gon for still being a child and his naivety, since Killua is supposed to be the smart one, and the "mature" one they expect him to be the one to fix all their issues, I believe they both have their own part to blame, but I do think some people confuses Killua's smarts, that to me is more like he knows more than Gon about how some things around the world work, and his is overall more strategic than Gon, but they also think that Killua being smart means that he also his emotional intelligence should be better than Gon's, but based on how they were raised, in my opinion, and considering their are both still kids, Gon should know more about relationships and better general understanding of how to treat people, since he was raised by a loving mother figure, where as Killua's value as person to his family has always been linked to how useful or skillful he can be to his family, and not at all about who he is as a person, the few relationships he had where his potential wasn't the most important aspect for how he was treated were cut out of his life for different reasons, like with Alluka and Canary, I think it is unfair to put the blame more on Killua or Gon about their fall out during the CAA, I just find it curious how some people think Killua should know more about relationships than Gon, when in reality they both were pretty clueless on how to deal with the traumatic experiences the went through during the CAA.

Hello!

I'm actually surprised you've seen people blaming Killua entirely for his lack of communication. I've seen plenty of people blaming Gon for what happened between them, but I've only ever seen people assigning partial blame to Killua at the most. Like you said, I don't think either should be "blamed" for what happened, after all they're both young and they were in a horrible situation that they both didn't have the emotional maturity to cope with. I do think both of their own issues and trauma contributed to what happened between them, however, and putting it on only one side or the other isn't fair.

I agree with your more general point about Killua's emotional maturity, however--I do think people sometimes look at his character and expect more from him than they should with his age and life experiences, or try to present him in a more mature light than he actually is--especially since he and Gon are the same age. He's obviously a brilliant strategist and knowledgeable about a broad range of subjects--he's undeniably very smart--but, as one might expect from his upbringing, he does lack some of the social skills we can see in Gon. He struggles to communicate his feelings directly, he tends to be distrustful of others, he can be somewhat volatile and petty, and he hides things based on his own judgment.

Having his siblings and Gotoh and Canary, etc., means he didn't completely lack in social connections, but certainly the connections he had were all massively affected by the culture and expectations in his family. He's been a victim of severe physical and emotional abuse his whole life. His character growth has been remarkable considering that, but expecting him to fix everything on his own is unreasonable.

Gon did have a stable family life by comparison, but he's still inexperienced in having close friendships with peers. He's more socially savvy than Killua (in his own unusual way), but the close bond he has with Killua is still uncharted territory for him, too.

Ultimately, I think it's important to remember how young both of these boys are and how ill-equipped they were to handle what happened to them. Going deep into territory of what they "should have done differently" or blaming them misses the point of what the series is trying to say. They were doing the best they could with their maturity levels and respective traumas and difficulties, and, in the circumstances, it just wasn't enough to prevent horrible things from happening. One of the great strengths of HxH is is that it portrays the characters in such a human and nuanced way--if they acted "perfectly" rather than as flawed human beings, it would take away so much of what makes HxH deeply moving and emotionally resonant.

[darkwood-sleddog]

Hi! I came across your post answering an ask ahout your most ✨controversial takes✨ on the world of dogs from back in April.

I read that you thought the AKC should not allow "professional handlers", and saw that you also seemed to distinguish these from breeders and owners. I've never given it much thought, but I think I would've assumed a handler was just another word for "owner" on my own.

What's the difference between these things, and why do you take your stance against handlers?

(I can infer what a breeder is as opposed to the others lmao, so I guess I'm asking about owner vs handler vs "professional" handler)

In dog conformation the dogs are handled by a handler when they go into the ring. This handler does not have to be the owner and in many instances is not. Professional handlers are just what they seem: people that handle dogs at dog shows for a living. A good handler knows how to make the dog look good, not just from a grooming standpoint, but when moving around a ring. Hiring a pro handler outsources this knowledge, time needed, and skill to somebody else.

There are several problems with this for me:

1.) dog shows, especially at the upper levels, are highly politicized. Hiring the ~right~ handler could give your dog the upper hand from a dog of equal or better value handled by somebody “lesser”. It keeps you and your dogs in the in-crowd.

2.) A dog that shows or “campaigns” a lot becomes known to judges, has more opportunities etc. When dogs are shown by professional handlers the owner/breeder is not always going with them and dogs can be on the road with their handlers going to show after show for months and even years at a time. This is not something the average purebred dog owner can afford.

3.) professional handlers are NOT cheap and conformation dog shows aren’t either. Having the monetary means to hire a well respected pro handler is not feasible for most people. This sets the people who already have the means to compete in dog shows and campaign their dogs year round leagues above people who cannot afford this. This further pinches top dog shows into a 1% that is near impossible to break into for new people, people from marginalized backgrounds, young people, etc.

4.) because of the competitive nature of modern dog shows and it becoming a “sport” instead of an evaluation of the quality of breeding stock you get people willing to look the other way on corrective grooming, poor temperaments, non correct structure to have “their people” win, to have their friends win, to have the people they are connected to win. Dog shows are not an even playing ground and very much an unspoken club of who is “in” and “out”. The culture and ability of hiring pros to take your dog around the country, to groom your dog, to show your dog ensures it stays this way.

In my opinion dogs should be lightly bathed and put into the rings with their owners/breeders/co-owners. Nothing more. This would imo, better level the playing ground and provide more equity in the purebred dog world.

[longlostlorian]

I don't want to add on to that good webcomic post with what I'm p sure is just my own fruitless navelgazing, but I started doing webcomics as a kid in the mid-aughts and the scene was basically unrecognizable from what it is now. I would come home from school and post sketchbook comics scanned in with minimal touchups, and I don't think I've ever gotten as much engagement on anything in all the years since. I didn't know how to implement a comments section (I was hardcoding everything in html on a domain my dad helped set up for me, lol) but I got tons of emails from excited/curious readers every week! A phpbb board (early internet forum) with 300+ human members (and all the fun of viagrabots I had to cull by hand)! People were just excited by what it was possible to see online. And that was for a bad comic made by a kid with minimal skills that nobody remembers today!

For better or worse, the grand majority of readers live on apps now. Webtoons and tapas host hundreds of the most niche, beautiful passion projects you can imagine, better than nearly anything available 20 years ago, but there's just as many stories that were literally churned out by content farms (studios with large teams producing a groupthink product they aim to sell/IP farm - in other words, something that's nobody's baby). And by and large, the userbase is simply too young to discriminate. They've literally been trained to view webcomics as content. Does that mean readers today are the problem? No, of course not! And it's hard to complain about greater access to free, often queer art that's technically better than it ever has been before. I'm glad young readers have easy access to things like that.

But webcomics have become subject to the same level of scrutinization as any other aggregated content. Don't post for two weeks and people will talk about you like you've died, and a week later they stop talking about you altogether. The culture that I grew up with by and large doesn't exist anymore, though remnants of it struggle bravely on. Part of this comes as the "wild west" aspect of the internet circles the drain. When comics are produced with the knowledge that they will go up on webtoons/tapas - sites with strong censorship requirements - people dull down their work. They have to. Anything that goes on those sites automatically becomes a product. And so the truly weird, the unexpected, the indie, and the unapologetically, freely, charmingly bad (and messy) aspect of webcomics is systematically sucked out, both by the exacting standards of a captive consumer base and by the requirements of the platform.

I don't know that I view wt/tapas as net evils or anything like that. I use them myself. And I've heard things about places like comicfury that make it sound like a great substitute for the culture that used to exist around smackjeeves, drunkduck, etc. I also think it's more accessible than ever before for creators to monetize their work, even if for most of us, passion projects never come close to paying the bills. So maybe what I really miss is the early internet and I don't think it's ever coming back.

[nocturnalchaos]

Another one of my ideas for my abandoned DamiRae Pregnancy fanfic:

Raven is forced to put more effort into her attempts to master Arabic because Damian had taken to talking to the unborn baby in Arabic.

This was one of the scenes I was writing for this idea:

Raven sighed as she let the pencil drop into the open workbook on her desk. Leaning back, she stretched her back and neck in an effort to relax the muscles that had been locked into a hunched position.

Looking out of her bedroom window at Titans Tower, she admired the sunset’s light playing on the water. Leaning back in her chair, she absentmindedly strokes her growing belly.

Removing her hands from her belly, she closed the Arabic language workbook on the desk.

She loved Damian. Really, she did. But loving him took work and effort. Not just the obvious stuff. Like his anti-social hyper aggressive attitude and lack of social skills. Sure, in the beginning, her friendship with him had felt more like she was his therapist … or an animal rescue volunteer who was fostering and socializing a half-feral lion cub at times. And over the years, he had vastly improved and matured. Turning from a friend into a crush then into her life partner.

Since her first meeting the younger boy, Damian Wayne was someone who required a lot of learning on her part. Like studying psychology and Arabic culture.

Most people did not realize that, at the beginning of her time with the Teen Titans, she didn’t talk much because she didn’t quite have mastery over the English language. While not entirely fond of large groups of people, on Azarath she was not such a loner. English was only used at home with her mother. So, outside of the home, she rarely used it while she was in Azarath. This meant that her knowledge of the English language was small and limited to daily life vocabulary. When she initially came to Earth, it took her months to adjust to the English language and about a year before she could say she had some mastery of the language.

Then, for the sake of learning different magics, she reluctantly had to learn new languages.

Since learning about her pregnancy, in their quiet moments, Damian had taken to talking to the baby (while looking very intensely at her midsection) in Arabic. Before her pregnancy, she had already been in the middle of learning Arabic. However, her learning of the language had been something that she was doing at a casual and relaxed pace. To her, learning Arabic was a side-project among many side-projects. After all, Damian rarely used his mother tongue with her. They used English to communicate with each other. And had used that language since their first meeting. She only ever heard Dami speak in Arabic when he got upset about a topic, mumbled in his sleep, or … was being very passionate with her. Also, on some level, she secretly thought it was better that she was better off not to know what Damian was yelling at her when he was angry. To be fair, she tended to slip into Azarathian when she was upset with him as well.

—

For those curious, I’m currently writing a JayRae (Jason Todd & Raven) pregnancy fanfic. I’m new to the whole creative writing thing. So, constructive criticism is appreciated.

[clumsiestgiantess]

My borrower headcannons:

There are four main subgroups of borrower which coincide with different human styles of living.  Culture and appearance range widely between the types.  Borrowers living in the suburbs and the city have different lifestyles with some similarities, but borrowers living in rural places or completely in the wild have entirely different ways of life, and even different adaptations; they’re nearly two different species.  (Kind of like how polar bears and grizzly bears are technically the same species with different adaptations for their environments)

All borrowers have at least a semi-human appearance, and stay under a foot tall.  (The largest recorded borrower measured 10 inches tall).  They all come from a common ancestor: the feral subgroup, which adapted to an easier lifestyle of thievery over hunting.

Urban subgroup:

They can care less if they’re spotted, most humans just ignore the sighting after a moment anyway.  Being caught is a different story, of course.  A caught urban borrower can let out a deafening shriek loud enough to startle whatever’s caught them to drop them. They can fall a good 30 feet without serious injuries, so being dropped is completely fine.

They’re practically tone deaf, but have heightened visual senses and can even see in blinding light.

Have a type of sign language to communicate, and rarely make noise other than to show displeasure or affection (depending on the sound).

The smallest type; usually grows about 2-3 inches tall.

Homes look like nests stashed with every kind of material imaginable.  This type of borrower is a collector and will steal anything they want without need for it.  The shinier the object, the more valuable it is to them.

Body structure is nearly identical to humans with enhanced reflexes.

Many choose to live solitarily or with a small close family, but some live in larger groups for protection.

Suburban subgroup:

They have a type of sign language that they use between eachother, though most also learn whatever language the humans around them know to at least a basic level.

Homes look drastically different depending on how practiced a borrower is.  A normal home looks like a mix of an underground colony system and a den.  However, the better they are at stealing, the more resources they have to make things aesthetically pleasing.  Thus, borrowers who’ve perfected their skills have homes whose interiors are similar to human ones.

Their average height is 4-5 inches tall.

This is the largest subgroup, and also the most interconnected; they often have hidden meeting places spread out like small towns to come together and share stories, trade materials, get help, find mates, etc.  These are few and far between.  A borrower will consider any place close to these meeting areas prime housing, as living in these meeting areas is forbidden.

Many things are forbidden.  This group put together a series of codes that keep them in ‘perfect’ safety.  They also have professions they take on in order to help the community as well as themselves.  These range from perfecting ‘borrowing’ supplies (this is where their namesake comes from), practicing medicine and healing, crafting tools, becoming strong fighters, studying humans and other animals, etc.

These borrower codes contain many fascinating rules, including a contingency plan if they’re ever caught.  Upon capture, they are to “play dead, play dumb, then run.”  Closer studies have found that these borrowers can vomit bile on command, and use the stench to make themselves seem dead and rotting.  If they’ve been caught in the act, this trick fails and they move to playing dumb.  Using their surprisingly expansive knowledge of small animals other than themselves, they are able to mimic the actions of mice or even bugs to appear less intriguing to humans.  If both ruses fail, they will bolt at speeds seemingly impossible for their bodies to move at, and can maneuver with pinpoint accuracy.

They have longer and wider ears to hear potential danger, double-jointed limbs for maneuverability and manipulation, lankier legs for faster strides.

Rural subgroup:

These borrowers usually live outside the houses they take from, preferring natural burrows and tunnel systems than the walls of houses.

If the home has a garden, there’s a large chance there’s at least a small borrowers’ burrow there to stash items.

Some learn a human language as a second language, but most speak in their own language, which is a mixture of animalistic noises and human ones.  Their relations work more animalisticly; body language is a huge part of understanding one another.

Unlike the first two subgroups, these borrowers will attack when threatened rather than bluff.  Their pronounced canines can leave small needle-like holes in the skin, which can easily heal over and become infected.  When biting down, these borrowers’ jaws can lock into place, making it impossible to remove one without killing it.  Even shaking it does no harm due to its swiveling neck, which can turn 360 degrees in either direction.

Average height is 5-6 inches tall.

Their ears are long and pointed, they have thin tails to help balance their quick movements, and slightly padded feet and palms.

Feral subgroup:

These are, as the name suggests, the most wild of the subgroups, and also the oldest subgroup.  They live entirely away from humans and are completely independent, relying on the things they gather and make themselves.

They are the largest subgroup with an average height of 6-7 inches.

They live in long tunnel systems underground or inside trees.  These tunnel entrances can be told apart from other creatures’ by the rudimentary door system.  

If you see these burrows, DO NOT DISTURB THEM.  There can be as many as 30 borrowers per burrow and they are aggressively protective of their homes.  Springing open a large burrow will lead you to be swarmed.  Mind you, these are creatures that can be nearly as long as your forearm, and a dedicated group of about 5 or 6 can kill you if you don’t fight them off or run.  You will not be able to fight off 30 of them.  If you survive the initial attack, seek medical attention.  Their saliva has a good chance of carrying infectious bacteria.

Another caution:  They can and will lay traps.  Usually they aren’t strong enough to capture a human, and will likely only stun you.  However, again, do NOT stick around or you will be swarmed.

They have clawed fingers, long thin tails, and are capable of running on four limbs for faster movement, as well as the longer ears and padded hands and feet of the rural subgroup.  Their pupils can dilate widely enough to have fair night vision, which is useful for getting around burrows.

They are omnivores that can eat raw meat, and their teeth are sharpened versions of other subgroups’.

Due to the sheer amount of space between the habitats of different subgroups, it’s not often that they meet. When they do, the stories are often chalked up to tall tales. Most subgroups view the other subgroups as cryptids of sorts.

(quick ref I made for body structure & height, penny for scale)

[ghostboy-art]

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

By: Queen

anytime i refer to them as gay I mean that with our silly human terms. obviously. an angel and a demon dont apply to our silly little terms.

im so gay :>

this is filled with typos and ramblings. i wrote this at 2:00am. apologies.

this is a surface level rant on my part. honestly if i had the time and research skills id look up the context of why this was written and how its been used in media up till this point. honestly i might. either way its fairly surface level.

This song is heard when Crowley is going back to Aziraphale in season 2 after he found out about the book of life erasing thing. After listening to this song I have to say. THIS IS AMAZING. obviously the song is good its queen.

Crowley's songs are always queen songs and given the title and given Aziraphales regular dress and general pop culture knowledge i think we know who the “good old fashioned lover boy” is.

This is obviously a romance song but similarly to “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.” the lyrics fit their relationship so nicely!!! (as well as being an absolute bop. LISTEN TO THIS GODDAMN SONG. i like the part at 1:44. so cheery!!!)(also this is why Neil Gaimen is AWESOME such small details in the fucking SONG a fucking BENTLEY plays.)(its like 1:09am and im still up after not getting sleep last night and prob none today so ima go on tangents like this hehe)

“Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock) precisely

I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon, will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours, that will be fine

Come on and get it”

like come on man. “Dining at the Ritz” its Aziracrows THING. their whole routine is dine at the ritz, Aziraphale eats and crowley drinks copious amounts of alcohol, Crowley is always seen paying the bill (or doing something of the sort), they drive in a cool fucking bentley (with a James Bond bullet hole window screen insert), and they go back to Aziraphales bookshop. and the “that'd be fine” matches Aziraphales general attitude when inviting Crowley back to his place in the 1st season and in older flashbacks. Now thats the most obvious. there are many other examples of lyrics that very conveniently match to them.

“Say the word, your wish is my command”

throughout history when Aziraphale and Crowley met up they did favors. whether it be making Hamlet successful, performing magic on the west end stage, getting holy water (“You go too fast for me Crowley.”YOU MF AZIRAPHALE WHYYYY) or magicing away some paint on a very old well kept jacket. they always do things like this for each other. focusing solely on Crowley's perspective he, throughout history, has always been the one to accept Aziraphales requests with little to no complaints. (until Armageddon i suppose)

even in season 2 he lets Aziraphale use his bentley. Although there is some bickering there, he still lets it happen. He doesn't sell books while Aziraphale is away and he even carries them around (the sleeve garters are a whole other thing in this scene)

now realistically the “good old fashioned lover boy” is, im sure, referring to both of them. also the song just feels gay. just listen to it. its gay. i swear.

Now. not saying it matches perfectly. obviously it doesn't but even the GO fandom links the two pieces of media on occasion(see second link). they are inexplicably connected, whether its false pattern recognition (i have currently forgotten the proper term for that. T-T) or intended by mr gaiman i think its so intriguing that the songs picked to play fit so nicely into the deeper narrative. this. is good media

“Write my letter, feel much better

I'll use my fancy patter on the telephone”

Essentially means smooth talking on the phone. Which you have to admit Crowley does to Aziraphale quite often. And Aziraphale writes letters. honestly its cute. specially im thinking of season 1 when Aziraphale is writing a note to Crowley while they are on the phone. its later in the season in the last ditch rush to stop the antichrist.

I used the bit of lyrics that fit them the best in the beginning of the rant. and time for my least convincing point. the vibe just fits them so well. the slightly old school beat with simple romantic lyrics. Its not anything overtly sexual. just the simplicities of romance. IT FUCKING FITTSSS!!!!

There is so much more but i dont want to make this 10000000000000000000 paragraphs long and i have other good omens stuff i want to rant about:>

just my opinion on a silly song that appears for like a minute in the show!

[vigilskeep]

Thoughts on how the only (known) Dwarven civilisation left in Thedas is located/accessed in Ferelden and how that must affect politics with the dwarves and humans (do some countires consider dwarves to be effectively Ferelden? Does Ferelden get priority in trade deals with Orzamamar?) and even affects on the Lyrium trade?

MANY AND MUCH...

i do think orzammar's position in the frostbacks gives orlais a level of access to trade too (though i'm unsure if gherlen's pass can be taken through to orlais? or if there's any other entrance to orzammar, though none is mentioned to my recollection) and it's certainly true that the orlesian civil war canonically has a catastrophic effect on orzammar's access to goods and food. it's also true, iirc, that orlesian nobles make the assumption that a dwarven inquisitor in we&wh is a servant. that implies a dwarven presence in orlais but also that they might be better off in ferelden or the free marches where they typically hold higher rank outside of the carta

i do believe there's a large surface dwarf population in the areas of ferelden closest to orzammar i.e. in the coastlands and around lake calenhad. i would just think that anyway, but we see this carried out in canon; ser jory references surface dwarves plying their trade as smiths in highever, vigil's keep has dwarven stonemasons, brother burkel and the mercenary dwyn call redcliffe home, etc.

the (legal) lyrium trade is controlled by the chantry but it could be a factor in orlais' imperial interest in ferelden and the chantry's involvement. i also think it's very fair to make an argument that the extensive nature of the mage underground in ferelden is allowed for by access to less reputable links to orzammar. they have to get lyrium potions and stave enchantments from somewhere

other evidence of trade connections is a little far-fetched for me to pick up on but i'll do it anyway... i'd like to decide the tabris wedding dress being a dwarven model means something, for example. but in general there are dwarven traders just wandering around ferelden, and when a fereldan sees a dwarf, they canonically immediately assume they're a trader. they seem to be considered makers of quality/luxury goods

the fereldan crown maintains close diplomatic relations with orzammar; cailan has met king endrin, and considers him a role model, and people like loghain hold the dwarves of orzammar in high esteem. someone chantry-educated like alistair has a fair bit of basic knowledge, especially with his sense of curiosity (my beloved), but it's a little generalising and confused in a way that reads like it's been taught to him by a chantry source like genitivi that treats orzammar as an oddity/exception, rather than from dwarven sources

culturally there's also people like the ash warriors, a fereldan unit whose skills claim descendance from dwarven berserkers and who hold dwarves in high esteem. other such transfers could be possible. they originate from a man called 'luthias dwarfson', which also brings me to the note that there should be a decent number of half-dwarves in ferelden, too! and though we haven't seen them in game, all sources point to half-dwarves being a more standard genetic blend than whatever the hell bioware was trying to do with 'elf-blooded'

that's what comes to mind!

[kafus]

excuse me for being old for a second but it genuinely freaks me out how much of a generational gap there is between me and people just a few years younger than me with computer literacy. i’m as freaked out by gen Z’s lack of computer knowledge and lack of desire to understand computers as all of the older millenials and boomers writing articles about it. it’s not even in a judgemental way, i certainly do not think “kids these days are stupid”, i just find it particularly frightening that it’s not a skill we teach in schools and that the culture is raising kids in an environment where computer literacy is Actively Discouraged. though i do find the lack of desire to learn about computers strange on an individual level but maybe that’s just my autism about it. also i don’t mean everyone should be able to build a PC or be a programmer i just mean like being able to manage files and install software and the essentials of that nature 😭 aaaaaaaa

[efangamez]

New Prices on my Stores!!!

Hey y'all!

With the announcement of limited community copies, I have altered some prices for games, lowering many of them!

Here are some of the AWESOME games I'm offering for just $9.99!

MOURN: A Retro FPS Styled TTRPG

Darkness, death, and despair. Three things this world has known for far too long.

On the moon of Delta 4, far beyond the soiled Earth humanity left behind hundreds of years ago, there was an age of unbridled peace for generations. Wars were viewed as unnecessary, famine became a dark tale told by fathers to troublesome children, and the many plagues that haunted humans since their birth had all but become a distant memory.

This peace was deep and cherished, giving humanity a golden age unknown on their previous home planet.

That was, until the Qyu appeared.

The Qyu, a warrior people from a planet farther than one can fathom, that contains thousands of species of conquered species, set fire to Delta 4, reducing many cities that once shone with bright towers now to piles of ash and cinders. The people-led government, the communal systems, and the vibrant cultures of the once great moon fell under the iron fist of tyranny and dictatorship. Kindness turned to capital, freedom turned to fear, and knowledge turned to nepotism.

Now, only some factions of humanity remains on Delta 4, barely clinging to the formerly illustrious society they once cherished. All seemed lost, for surely no one could stand up to the might of the Qyu.

That was, until you arrived.

GAMEPLAY

MOURN is a fast, lethal, and easy-to-learn game just as the games this game is inspired from (DOOM, DUSK, Blood, Amid Evil). Rip and tear through hordes of enemies with your allies using only coin flips to decide your fates.

This game includes…

-DEVASTATING weaponry that adds a layer of strategy to every encounter

-INNOVATIVE use of mathematics in its multiples-of-5 system and coin flip skill checks

-IMMERSIVE lore that can make your world as interesting as possible

-HUNDREDS of ways you can customize your character through a simple, yet masterful, character creation process

This game will surely satisfy anyone looking to crave the itch of playing a retro FPS styled game in a tabletop format.

Neon Nights 1st Edition

In Jeriko City, everybody wants to be somebody. Who do you wanna be?

Neon Nights is a cyberpunk/dystopian tabletop RPG set on Earth after a nuclear war devastated the entire planet. After hundreds of years of thousands of people roaming the desolate, irradiated Great Wastes, megacities emerged from the dust of deserts. Where there was once crumbling roads and dancing dust devils now stand skyscrapers towering over hundreds of thousands of roaming pedestrians walking the streets of Jeriko City, located on the East Coast of the once powerful United States of America.

Neon Nights contains an astounding amount of content, including:

*Dozens and dozens of unique, build-friendly Perks

*Dozens of occupations that make your character feel fleshed out and original

*Dozens of skills attached to each occupation that feels personal and useful to your character

*A plethora of weapons and supplies that make your loadout feel personal without too many things to keep track of

Neon Nights also has near infinite build freedom, making each of your playthroughs feel unique and interesting. No more classes and no more level-specific spells or skills!

*Want to specialize in long-range combat using sniper rifles? Go for it.

*What about using deception to trick and lie your way to victory? It’s here!

*What about a steroid-fueled maniac who craves nothing more than gore on their baseball bat? This game is perfect for you. 

Freedom is paramount in this RPG, and the moment that you begin playing will be all you need to fall in love with this completely new and original system designed by Ethan H. Reynolds.

So, will you follow the law, and use the state to pave your way to power? Or will you rebel, and watch banners fly because of your courage? It's up to you to decide.

Tales from the Aerosphere

Tales from the Aerosphere is an original steampunk TTRPG that is powered by the Neon Nights system, a system that prioritizes seemingly limitless character creation freedom.

In this game you will find…

-HUNDREDS of interesting, unique, and fun Perks

-DOZENS of weapons, CogWare augmentations for your body, equipment upgrades, and items to add to your beginning character

-OVER 20 unique and dynamic NPC sheets that are simplistic and accessible to use at any table.

From medics, to assassins, to mechanics, to a literal barbarian, there are THOUSANDS of character combinations you can play  in Tales from the Aerosphere.

The game also includes free updates whenever a new patch is released that adds content or fixes errors. 

Wrath of the Undersea

"The Great Ones promised retribution for the folly of Man. Their empire spreads across the once great kingdoms that now reside below the ocean's depths. Only then did we, chosen of great Dagon and Mother Hydra, climb ashore to heretical ground to lay our foundation once more. We gave the usurpers the children of the sea to feast upon, and ancient shells that whisper hints of prophecy in exchange of resettlement.

This was the way it was...until betrayal plagued our kind."

Wrath of the Undersea is a 17 page game where you play as Lovecraftian monsters seeking revenge on the people who kill your kin and have stolen your land. Use powerful Incantations to cast spells, pray to the Great Ones for help, or use fang and spear to reclaim the shore for yourselves once more.

Disk Masters

In Disk Masters, a party of 2-4 players and a Game Master create the Summons (monsters) of their dreams. Using these Summons, players can explore the Gatcha region created by their GM and become the Disk Masters of the land by either battling their way to victory or saving the Gatcha region from a terrible threat!

In this handbook, you will find…

-DETAILED graphic artwork of Sample Summons you can plug and play easily with!

-STRATEGIC monster-led combat that will test the skills of each player!

-INFINITE Summon varieties and ways to build your monster!

-EASY TO UNDERSTAND RULES that will be a breeze to digest!

Become the Disk Master you were destined to become and download Disk Masters today!

------

All of these games AND MORE can be found on my Linktree attached below!

Please support a disabled and trans game developer today!

[theoreticallysensible]

I visited a friend in Oxford this weekend, and having read Babel last year, RF Kuang’s incredible historical fantasy about the role of universities in British colonialism, it was impossible for me to admire the architecture there without thinking about its imperial legacy and persisting imperialist function, and the effect it had on me, on Oxford residents, and on Oxford students. I didn’t take any pictures because I always forget to do that, so enjoy these ones I found on Google. 🙃

The main Bodleian building is probably the most iconic from Oxford, and it’s impossible to communicate the absolute grandeur of its presence when you’re actually there. It’s also perhaps the building most similar in both form and function to Babel in RF Kuang’s story, it being also a central towering library. This is just one of several imposing and beautiful old buildings there though, all of which inescapably give you the impression of being part of - or at least in the presence of - a mighty, cultured civilisation. My friend said she felt the same thing in Durham, where we studied, but Oxford is on a whole other level.

The Oxford motto is apparently “fortis est veritas”, or “the truth is strong”, which I did see around on various buildings. I couldn’t believe how on the nose it was. It perfectly encapsulates what Kuang is critiquing, and they emblazon it proudly on their city: we use this knowledge to enrich ourselves through conquest; this beauty you see around you, this skilled craftsmanship, is both the product and the tool of empire. Knowledge and material is taken from other lands, developed by those with the privilege not to be concerned by more immediate things like food and shelter, and then used to conquer more lands.

I think it was the statues that really affected me though. There was something so intimidating about being surrounded by all these figures of “great men”. It’s hard not to feel fundamentally inferior. But what must it be like to see them when you know that you’ve been invited to join their number, when you’re a student in their institution? I can’t imagine it’s freeing. I have to think that - unless you resist it, as I’m sure many do to varying degrees - it feels like a terrifying pressure to conform to the precise idea of greatness embodied and projected by those statues - a European, masculine, individualist, imperialist one. It’s no wonder it’s often a very specific type of person who comes out of Oxford. It’s no wonder so many of our politicians are from there.

If you haven’t read Babel, I can’t recommend it enough. I read Kuang’s new book, Yellowface, in a single sitting yesterday too, so read that one too. 😂 They’re both excellent critiques of intellectual culture while also being incredibly gripping reads. They combine nuanced characters with blunt didacticism, which in Yellowface in particular she reflects on and defends as a style, in a way that feels so edifying once you get over the popular prejudice against didacticism. Maybe we should be uncompromising in certain truths about the evils of colonialism, racism, and capitalism, ya know?

Both books were advertised to an almost obnoxious degree in every bookshop there, and my friend said everyone she talked to on her short course was talking about Babel, so I like to think there’s hope.