#whistling-banshee

[dashes-and-letters]

[ngtskynebula]

Currently baking buttery cookies. Wish me luck, guys 🫂

[ragingbookdragon]

The woman sits down beside him on the park bench as he watches JJ run around with the toy soldier in his hand, yelling commands and jumping over playground equipment, pretending to be his dad. She smiles and leans over, asking, “Which one is yours?”

He eyes her from the corner of his hood and mutters, “Tyke with the action figure.”

She smiles wider. “He’s cute. JJ, isn’t he?” She points to a young girl following JJ around with her little nurse box. “He plays with Amelia a lot.”

“Yeah?” He’s not exactly interested in the conversation, but one look tells him she’s a tired mom who just wants to talk to someone not in “Mom-Land” 24/7.

“Amelia was really sick as a baby. When she was well enough to play…a lot of the kids didn’t want to play with her. Said she’d make them sick.”

“Cancer?” He asks before he can stop himself, and she blinks before she nods.

“Free now, but kids can be cruel.” She waves at JJ when he looks over. “JJ was the first to play with her. They like to play soldiers and medics.” A laugh escapes her when JJ tumbles and calls for Amelia, and the little girl bends beside him and starts opening the little box of toy supplies. “Is your wife working?”

He wonders if it’s a hope for a mom friend but he shakes his head. “Not married. JJ’s my godson.”

“Oh? But the woman who brings him?” She blinks. “I thought she was…”

“Missus Price is my CO’s wife. She and him took a vacation. I’m watchin’ JJ.”

“You must be close with them,” she surmises. “I thought she was your wife. She’s always so nice and sweet.”

He smiles at that. “Missus Price is a good one.” He whistles sharply all of the sudden, and JJ’s head pops up in the grass before he gets up and hauls Amelia with him, running over.

JJ mock salutes. “Reporting for duty, sir!” He looks at Amelia. “Lia, you have to salute.” The little girl follows in suit and the woman giggles at them.

“It’s gettin’ time for lunch,” he says and JJ whines.

“But Uncle Simon, we just got to the sandpit.”

Simon glares at him. “Soldiers need sustenance for survival. Without it, you’ll starve.”

JJ’s eyes widen and he turns to Amelia. “Medic, I have to leave my battle station.” He salutes her and she does it back clumsily. “Ready for sustance, sir.”

“Sustenance,” Simon corrects and stands up, placing a large hand on his head; it dwarfs the boy’s skull, fingers going over his eyes.

“Unc’ Simon, I can’t see,” he giggles.

“C’mon Banshee,” he says and nods to the woman before he starts walking.

JJ follows, but stops, a faint pink covering his cheeks as he hurries back and hugs Amelia tight. “Bye Medic Lia.”

Amelia hugs him back and smiles with a wave as the woman watches the young boy run next to his godfather, spouting off about enemies in the sandpit and the security of the nation.

The woman hurriedly rises and picks up Amelia, following with, “Wait!”

Simon stops and turns, looking at her expectingly.

“Um…Amelia and I will be back tomorrow around ten…if JJ and you want to come back and play?” She smiles, feeling heat on her cheeks and Simon gazes at her before he looks down at JJ who is nodding rapidly.

“We’ll be ‘ere,” he agrees and the woman smiles.

“I’m glad,” she holds out her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, his grip firm but warm and inviting. “You as well.”

As they walk off, JJ looks up at him and asks, “Do you like Amelia’s mum?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I just met ‘er, Banshee.”

“I like Amelia’s mom. She’s nice. She always brings me a snack.” He takes Simon’s hand. “I think you should like Amelia’s mum.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says, and happens a glance back at the woman who is listening intently to her daughter vividly depict her playtime with her friend; a small smile graces his lips and he thinks to himself, “I’ll think about it a lot.”

[vampsywrites]

I — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun & Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped

Word Count: 2.4k | AO3 LINK

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"With the return of the sky people, our journey led us far, far up the horizon, where a towering mountain stood. Beyond the winding paths of its rocky terrain, nestled in the heart of nature's embrace, lay the village of the Iuva'ri clan—the ikran people of the mountains.

Iuva’ri was a beauty which both awed and intimidated those foreign to it. The village was tucked deep in a sheltered valley, bathed in the warm golden glow of the setting sun against the snow-capped peaks. A sanctuary hidden from the outside world. A perfect place for us to disappear without a trace.”

Flutters of the ikran's wings echoed loudly through the crisp air, alerting the people of their arrival. The once peaceful ambiance of the secluded village turned into a stir of commotion. Warriors sounded their horns, their urgent calls spreading like ripples through the village. The sight of the newcomers had ignited a sense of both curiosity and apprehension among the villagers, for rarely did travelers venture into their remote home.

As the crowd gathered at the center of the village, their gazes fixed on the newcomers, a mix of intrigue and wariness painted their expressions. Jake dismounted from his ikran gracefully, gesturing for his family to do the same. Neytiri's hand instinctively moved towards her bow, a hint of concern in her eyes. But before she could react, Jake rushed to stop her, his expression urging caution.

"Don't. Leave it," he murmured lowly, gently easing the weapon away from her grasp and tucking it back into the banshee's pouch. His mate sent him a disgruntled look in response but made no attempt to fight his decision.

"Alright. Come on," with a wave of his hand, Jake began to lead his family into the village, arms spread at his sides in an attempt to appear as docile as possible. "Let's be nice."

Neteyam followed in his father's footsteps, carefully observing his surroundings as he ascended the treacherous mountain slopes. His calculating eyes swept across the rugged terrain, taking in the awe-inspiring beauty of the snow-capped peaks and the vast expanse of the chalky landscape.

As they climbed higher, the air grew colder, and Neteyam shivered from the biting chill that enveloped them. The icy wind gnawed at his bones, and he pulled his shawl closer around him, seeking any respite from the relentless cold. This mountain was a stark contrast to the warm and humid forest he was accustomed to, and he felt the tingling sensation of numbness spreading across his exposed fingers.

As he navigated through unforgiving terrain, he found himself yearning for the comfort of home, longing for the lush green forest that offered a familiar warmth. Despite his reservations about this desolate place, he remained silent, his lips drawn into a tight line as he focused on the task at hand.

His attention was momentarily drawn away when a low whistle lanced through the air. Tilting his head up, Neteyam's gaze followed the sound, and he watched as a banshee glided gracefully through the skies. 

With a thud, the beast landed before them, sending a thick cloud of dust into the air as its rider dismounted. The rider was a tall, elderly woman, her midnight black hair contrasting against her milk blue skin. Her frosty eyes scanned their features, taking in every detail with a sharp intensity. A thick coat of fur was draped over her shoulders, and a billowing cape trailed behind her as she sauntered towards them, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Olo’eykte Ìumayi,” Jake bowed his head low, fingers extending from his forehead in a gesture of welcome. “I see you.”

Neytiri too bowed her head, gaze drawn to the ground as she murmured out her greeting, “I see you, Ìumayi.”

The woman continued to remain silent, circling them like vultures. Neteyam stood firm in his spot, his eyes never leaving the chief’s stalking figure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence, her voice dripping with a leering caution, "Why do you come to us, Toruk Makto?"

Neteyam observed his father's reaction to the title, noting how he tensed up and his face contorted into an unsightly grimace. Given that the Iuva'ri clan's culture revolved around their sacred bond with Ikrans, it came as no surprise why his title held such immense significance to them.

In contrast to her husband's visible unease, Neytiri stood tall, her demeanor unyielding as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"We seek uturu," she declared.

In response to Neytiri's words, Ìumayi whipped around violently, her expression hardening as she directed a stern glower towards them. "Uturu?" she questioned sharply.

“Yes,” Jake affirmed. “Sanctuary. For my family.”

The people around them erupted into a hushed, agitated chatter, but the chief was quick to silence them all with a snap of her fingers.

“We have heard tales of your times at war, of your blood from the sky people, and of the victories that have earned you praise among many Na'vi," Ìumayi spoke with a measured tone, her voice heavy. "But my people are not at war. I apologize, but I cannot allow you to bring your bloodshed here."

Jake's response was immediate, a mix of desperation and determination evident in his voice as he hurriedly spoke, "I'm done with war," he asserted, lowering himself to scoop up Tuktirey into his arms. The little girl sought refuge in the safety of his embrace, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. "I just want to keep my family safe."

Observing the tender scene, Ìumayi's stern exterior softened slightly, her warm eyes studying the family before her. Bowing her head in contemplation, she took a moment to weigh the consequences of her decision, fully aware of the significance of this encounter. With a heavy sigh, she finally lifted her head and made her verdict, "I will allow it."

The relief that washed over Jake was palpable, but before he could express his gratitude, Ìumayi raised a bony finger, signifying there was more to be said.

"I will allow it. On one condition," she continued, her gaze now turning towards Neteyam, holding him with an inquisitive gaze. "I understand you are the eldest, correct?"

Neteyam acknowledged the chief's attention with a nod, his heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

With a wave of her pale hand, Ìumayi turned to the crowd before her, calling out a name as she gestured for someone to come over. The crowd parted instinctively, revealing your figure. As you stepped closer and closer, Neteyam found his mouth growing dry once he fully took in your features.

Inky jets of midnight-black hair cascaded over your shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, adorned with an enchanting array of bioluminescent gems woven into each braid. Your skin, a mesmerizing hue of cool blue, appeared as though it were delicately bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Jagged, milk-white stripes adorned your limbs and face in an intricate pattern, reminiscent of a celestial canvas. It was as if the very hand of Eywa herself had delicately painted them onto you.

“This is my eldest daughter, Y/N," Ìumayi spoke with pride, gently guiding you to stand by her side, a strong, protective arm enveloping your shoulders. "With the recent passing of my beloved mate, she has stepped forward, assuming the role of Tsahìk."

You took a moment to study their curious expressions, your eyes reflecting an understanding for their situation, “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

Neteyam stood in awe, watching as you gracefully acknowledged and greeted his family members. The solemnity of your father's absence was palpable, but your calm welcome brought a glimmer of warmth to the otherwise tense atmosphere. And as you turned to face him, the warrior felt his heart leap to his throat.

“Neteyam,” you called out, his name dripping off your lips like a sweet, thick syrup. The Omatikayan watched intently as you curled your fingers, tracing your hand up from your chest up to your forehead before extending it out towards him, icy gaze piercing through his very being, “I see you.”

Fuck.

Neteyam feels his mouth go slack, skin breaking out into a cold sweat as a rich, deep warmth spreads through him. It was a simple greeting, no more. You were merely welcoming them into your village—Trying to be courteous. And yet, why is it that the way you were looking at him left a searing burn in his chest? Twisting at his heart and sending his pulse into a rapid thrum until he could barely breathe?

Both Lo’ak and Kiri observed his reaction with amused grins. To knock him out of his trance, Kiri roughly shoved at Neteyam’s side, gesturing towards your awaiting figure. Almost immediately, he grounds himself, cheeks burning into a dark indigo.

"Tsahìk Y/N," he uttered shakily, his fingers clumsily returning the respectful gesture. His heart pounded blaringly in his chest as he gazed at you, trying to steady himself in your presence. "I see you."

Your smile, gentle like a soft breeze, acknowledged his greeting before you turned your attention back to your mother.

"I have reason to believe that this meeting with Toruk Makto's family is fated," your mother spoke out, "Many nights ago, before his death, my mate was blessed with a vision from Eywa herself. In the sacred embrace of dreams, the spirits revealed to him a profound prophecy of two clans uniting as one—a woman and a man forging an unbreakable bond."

The words of their chief hung in the air, and a hushed silence fell over the gathering as the significance of her statement registered with everyone present.

"As you all know," she continued, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, "I am not getting any younger, and my time draws nearer to its end. And I remind you all that the weight of this responsibility was not one I bore alone; a Tsahìk needs an Olo’eyktan by their side."

A moment passed as the implications of her words settled into Neteyam's mind, and then realization dawned on him.

"This vision bestowed upon my mate," she began, "is not to be taken lightly. It is a direct call from Eywa herself, and as I stand before you today, I believe that the very individuals foreseen in that vision are here before us."

Ìumayi's gaze locked onto Neteyam, her eyes seeming to peer into his very soul. "With Eywa's guidance," she continued, "I propose a union between my daughter and Toruk Makto's eldest son."

The people around them erupted into chaos, their voices rising in a cacophony of opinions. Some had cried out in agreement while some were outraged at the idea of an outsider leading the clan. And as the concerns of his parents too filled the air; Neteyam felt a tumult of emotions within him. He knew their apprehensions were driven by love and care, yet there was an unexplainable energy surging through his veins, compelling him to step forward, to embrace the path laid out before him.

Before he could fully process the weight of his decision, his lips moved with a life of their own, the words escaping him faster than he could think, "I accept."

The crowd falls deathly silent at his declaration.

As the weight of his own words settled in, a storm consumed Neteyam. Accepting this union had been an unforeseen choice, one he had never anticipated making. It led him down a path he had never imagined walking, and uncertainty clawed at the very core of his being. 

And yet, as he turned to look at you, he found these worries falling silent. The sight of you ignited a surge of emotions within him, an overwhelming rush that defied comprehension. It was as though an irresistible, magnetic force was drawing him closer to you, as if every beat of his heart called for your name.

The warrior heaved a sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground and bowing his head as a gesture of respect to your mother.

“I am willing to accept this union," Neteyam affirmed, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, "Only if she will have me.”

Lo’ak's lips twitched, a hint of a grin threatening to break free, but he bit down on his lips, holding back the laugh that threatened to escape. His gaze met Kiri's, and they exchanged a knowing look, both equally amused and astonished by their older brother's unexpected behavior. Neteyam had always been the pillar of stability and composure in their family, making his impulsive acceptance of the proposal all the more surprising.

Lo’ak turned to glance at their parents, noticing his mother's eyes which were wide with concern. It was evident that she wanted to say something, but their father subtly pulled her back, silently urging her to hold her words for the moment.

Neytiri took a moment to study Neteyam's face, the resolve and determination etched across his features. Their gazes locked, and she saw a depth of conviction in her son's eyes that she hadn't witnessed before—a fierce certainty that he had made the right choice, even if it was sudden.

In that moment of silent understanding, Neytiri nodded her head, her concerns momentarily quelled. "If that is what he wishes," she said, her voice softening with acceptance, "we will support him."

Ìumayi’s smile grew slightly wider, her eyes shimmering with approval as she turned her attention to you. "Good. Now, ma’ite, what say you?" she inquired, her tone gentle yet expectant.

The world around you seemed to blur for a moment as you locked eyes with Neteyam, the unspoken bond between you both intensifying.

From the days of your childhood, you had already accepted the prospect of a planned marriage, or at best, one founded on companionship. To you, as long as your partner proved amiable and undemanding, it would be enough. And yet, you could not have even begun to imagine that you would end up in a marriage with Toruk Makto's son.

In the face of the unexpected proposal, you responded with a firm nod, your voice steady with conviction, "If Eywa wills it, then I shall accept as well."

The sight of Neteyam's smile and the exuberant whip of his tail around his feet brought a surge of unforeseen warmth to your heart. The moment felt surreal, like a dance with destiny that had been set into motion long before this day. Perhaps, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad after all.

Your mother nodded, her expression reflecting satisfaction and pride.

"Then it is settled," she declared firmly, "Toruk Makto and his family shall stay with us, and his son shall be promised to my daughter. We'll teach them our ways and treat them as our own."

“May Eywa bless their path."

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

[hedgehog-moss]

The story of my 3-year-long quest to identify a very rare bird

So I've been trying almost since I moved here to figure out what bird made this strange call that I sometimes heard near my house:

I tried to google "european bird that sounds like a laughing hyena?" and also to imitate the noise over the phone for a friend who once took an online bird course, but she had no idea. (Well, she said "that's a hyena." I said, "but I hear it all the time! Near my house!! Wait I'll do it better." She said, please stop making a hyena noise :(( and I stopped because the cats thought I was losing my mind)

Eventually I managed to record the actual bird call on my phone, and used a Shazam app for birds—but once again, no luck. The first app I tried just assumed it was being trolled and was like "it's you, isn't it? That's not a bird that's your stupid human laugh, you're making fun of me. I'm not an idiot"

The second birdsong app was more insecure and apologised a lot for failing to identify my bird. I thought it must be a rare bird! (The only uncommon bird I know of in this region is the vulture but it sounds less like a hyena and more like if elephants were birds.) Every time I heard the call (usually during the day) I opened the window trying to a) get a better recording so my app would finally have an epiphany, and b) see something flying off a tree.

At one point I was cutting brooms in the pasture and heard the call very loudly, as if the bird was just a few metres away, and it wasn't coming from the sky. I googled every possible version of "flightless (?) bird that nests in thorny bushes?" and found nothing, and started wondering if it was actually a mammal. But I couldn't think of any plausible local mammal that would make this sound—definitely not a fox or badger, who say WAOOHHH, and nothing like the polite whistle of marmots. We've got pine martens in the woods and I found a video called "mating pine marten scream bark" and thought oh!! that must be it! ... but then I listened to it and it sounded like yiiiaaaaaeeeeee, like if you stepped on a baby banshee's toe, nothing at all like the heheeheuruurhh of a hyena who just heard a good joke.

Anyway, this morning I was in the pasture and I once again heard the hyena laugh! I was standing by the moose butler tying up the hay net, away from any trees or shrubs and the call came from just behind me. I turned around thinking there was absolutely no way for the mystery bird to hide, it had landed on the ground behind me and this time I was going to see it!

And

it was HER:

Absolutely no doubt. I saw Pampy's throat vibrating along with the last echoes of the hyena laugh. All these years I've been saying that llamas are very quiet animals who just make cute little "hum-hum" sounds (I rarely hear adult llamas humming to one another, it's mostly for mother llamas to communicate with their baby and with me) and I had no idea that the shrieking hyena-bird I occasionally heard outside my house was Pampelune! I googled "llama alarm cry" and immediately found youtube videos featuring llamas making this exact sound. There was a stray dog nearby this morning that Pandolf eventually chased away, so maybe Pampy was the first to hear him and sounded the alarm. Maybe she uses this cry to tell Pan to go do his guard dog job, because he left the pasture and ran into the woods when she made the sound (while I was turning round like "aha! you can't run, hyena-bird!")

I wanted to share this discovery! I've had llamas for nearly 4 years and I'm only now finding out that they can laugh like hyenas when the situation calls for it. I feel bad for the poor birdsong app that I've repeatedly gaslighted feeding it a llama call and insisting that it identify this bird for me while it hung its head in shame like "I swear I don't have your bird in my database. I'm so sorry. I'm a bad app."

Llamas are fascinating creatures. Please experience their majestic alarm call again, and be alarmed:

[the-kr8tor]

I'm doing it! I'm writing a request! :D

(Ik you're suuuuppperrr busy I'm so sorry you can take as long as you want I'm in no rush you're so sweeet and literally a lifesaver cause every time I read your posts, I get infused with the energy of 2 million Suns)

So I was thinking about a oneshot where r is waiting for Hobie to come backstage after one of his performances and this know it all groupie type guy is like, really giving her a hard time and he won't listen to anything she says he just sucks or wtv. Then Hobie comes out like, total golden retriever all giddy and happy to see r and the other guy is just baffled. Dunno it's kinda silly and based off of a post I saw a while back presenting the idea of it.

Thank you for requesting! Sorry for the wait, I hope you still like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

As the band closes their last song, the crowd cheers and hollers at them. Hobie, all pumped up and sweaty, bows to the audience. The colourful stage light illuminates his features well, lighting up all of his perfection; from how sweat clings to his cheeks, sliding down to his chiseled clavicle. His piercings shine brightly under the warm light, the cherry red guitar in his ringed hand acts as a beacon to the rowdy crowd. Yuri goads them on, arms riling up the crowd for an encore. Turning the clapping and screaming to thunderous applause and screeches.

You're situated along the side of the stage, and on the other side of the bannister where the crowd is currently starting the largest mosh pit you've ever seen. You crane your neck up to the stage, unintentionally meeting with Hobie's hazel eyes that were already turned towards you.

He confidently winks in your direction, a few people behind you screeches like a wild banshee. They don't know the wink was for you and for you only. You wink back, more bashful than the one he threw at you. It's your little signal, a signal that you and Hobie made when he's about to finish his set so you could wait for him backstage where he always runs towards you with his arms wide, grinning triumphantly and embracing you until you're breathless. You're familiar with his affectionate winks, but that doesn't mean you're used to them. He always catches you off guard with them, loving the way your eyes widen with your hand flying to your chest as if he just jumpscared you. Truthfully, you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Fine,” Hobie reluctantly cuts off your little staring contest with the silent promise of being by your side the moment the band finishes this one song. His lips press on the mic, eyes roaming around the packed stadium. “you lot better be fuckin' ready.” An immediate wave of whistles and yells echo around.

With his guitar riff starting back again, lights turning red and acting as the band's spotlight, you walk towards the event bouncers. Once they see your v.i.p ID they let you through the doors and into backstage.

Passing by the snack table placed by the event organizers, you stumble back to it. You then take an armful of water bottles for the entire band, and then you take a single black and white cookie just for Yuri and her sweet tooth.

Arms full, you wait by the side with the perfect view of the band playing with their whole heart. Hobie jumps on an amplifier and backflips off it. Your heart almost fell into your stomach when you thought he couldn't land on his feet. But of course he did, Hobie practically backflips off the bed every morning (not really he’s a grumpy riser) so it's only natural that he lands on his feet like an experienced gymnast.

Yuri and the others jam together in harmony, Ned belts out while James looks like he wants to crowd surf from the look in his eye. You hope he doesn't, not after what happened last time.

“Cool t-shirt.” A voice suddenly says next to you.

“Thanks.” You glance at the tall stranger while you adjust your hold on the water bottles and cookie.

“It's vintage isn't it? I know from the crude design.” You furrow your brows at the comment, especially that you and the entire band stayed up late to finish an entire sack full of the handmade shirts. “It's from their first album, right?” The man raises a brow, like he's questioning your knowledge.

You flick your eyes down to his own shirt, it's a recent one, definitely better than what you have on but it doesn't share the same amount of sentimentality. “Yeah, I know, I was there.”

“Right.” He scoffs, you take a step away from him, turning your attention back to Hobie, who's still not done with the last song. “Of course you were there.” Your jaw tightens, annoyed at best but you're not willing to leave backstage just because of him. “If you were there, you'd know that the shirt was technically designed for their second album. Not the first.”

You turn your head sharply, “you're right, it was.” Smiling, your eyes tell otherwise. “But it was made for the first album because the band couldn't be arsed to make another design for the second one so the second release of the shirts were in a bigger quantity. Hence the misunderstanding that it was for the second album instead.” You finish off your sentence with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure, lady.” He scoffs, unconvinced. “You probably can't name a single song from that album.” He makes another annoying entitled scoff “As if you were actually there—”

“There's our girl!” Yuri appears behind you while you basically throw daggers at the man with your stare. She clasps your shoulder, nudging you happily. “Ooh, cookie! Thanks, babe!” Yanking the snack from your hand, pecking your cheek, she spares the fan a glance then quickly makes her way to the green room to rest before the meet and greet.

“Where's our cookie?” James pouts, feigning a frown.

“I've got some water for you, Jamesy.” You almost forget about the fan gawking and aweing next to you.

“It's not the same though!” And yet, James still takes the bottle from your hand, patting your shoulder as thanks.

Ned clicks his tongue and shakes his head, following James, he takes his share, walking backwards and still teasing you with a disapproving face. “The sheer favoritism!” To add to his so-called discontent, he slams the doors of the greenroom. You're sure that you even heard a muffled, “give me that fucking cookie!” from him.

Before you come looking for your favourite guitarist, Hobie appears from behind you, arms snaking along your middle to wrap you in his anticipated hug. “How's our number one fan?” You lean back, smiling up at him, not minding how his sweat now sticks to your back. You meet with his eyes as he pecks your temple with a resounding smack of his lips. You can see the adrenaline waning off him in waves as he carefully puts more of his weight on you without making you fall from the increased weight. You find yourself giggling more and more, already forgetting about the intrusion.

“I'm good. Hi.” He expects that reply from you, not from the man across from you. “I'm your biggest fan, Hobie!” Holding up a trembling hand to shake Hobie's hand, you seethe in place.

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie, being polite, shakes his hand. “But if you were the biggest fan, you'd know that this shirt…” he pats your stomach, hand lingering there. “was lovingly made by my girl for the first album.”

He's had his fair share of people like him, he takes their words in stride, but the moment someone does it to you, he'll be sure to fight back. He's convinced that if you weren't interrupted you'd be wiping the floor with the rude fan’s face by proving him wrong. Or literally wiping his face down on the ground if need be.

You grin wider as you see colour drain from the fan's face. “I ordered shawarma for everyone.” You provide the biggest slap to the rude fan by ignoring him. “I hid the biggest portion for you.”

Hobie chuckles into your shoulder before taking your hand and leading you away without another word to the strange fan. “And everyone says Yuri's your favourite.”

[lets-try-some-writing]

What’s the TFP kids as sparklings unique signature calls?

Dang its been a hot minutes since I did TFP kids as sparklings. For the sake of understanding, I will stick to using their humans names for now. To answer your question, here are their calls.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rafael took the longest to create a unique signature call. Being a minicon, his ability to vocalize was not as strong right off the bat. As such, for a rather long time he stuck to the base call that all sparklings have. It concerned Optimus quite a bit when Rafael simply didn't seem to have any intention of developing a call at all. However, as cycles passed and Optimus and the team listened closer, they determined he did have a unique call, it was just very difficult to pick out on its own.

Rafael's call was a short and high pitched whistle that bordered on a chirp. It could even sound like a shriek if he went high enough in pitch. It scared the ever living daylights out of Smokescreen when on a long night, when he went to go wander around and hopefully ease himself back into recharge, a terrifying cry echoed in the base. He may or may not have screamed and tripped over the nearest object, but the team don't speak of it often. They've all been startled by Rafael's short and sweet banshee like shrieks on occassion.

Miko, being a flier, developed a call almost as soon as she settled into her Cybertronian frame permanently. Most sparklings tend to create a call that is entirely unique, but fliers have a particular method to their creation process. They pick pieces of their parents calls and then integrate those pieces into a new call. No flier call is every really unique, instead is carries history and lineage. Particularly skilled fliers who are familiar with various houses can pick up a family line just by hearing a bot's signature cry.

Generally Cybertronians stop using their calls after they get out on their own. They only begin using it again when they have a sparkling of their own since it allows the sparkling to track them. With this in mind, Miko took Optimus's gentle melody of a call and combined it with Starscream's shotgun like shriek in order to create a sound which Agent Fowler has described as: "Incoming missiles and Gatling guns". Many a time those who are not used to Miko have flung themselves behind cover when her slowly increasing call echoes around the area.

Compared to his siblings, Jack came up with the tamest call. Against what one might think, warframes tend to develop the calmest and most composed calls. Smaller frame types need to be loud and in charge with their calls in order to scare off predators and get the attention of others. But warframes? They don't need to bother with anything like that. Instead they need to try to show that they are not as wild as one might expect. It is the Cybertronian equivalent to the puppy dog eyes small creatures on Earth perform to get attention and sympathy.

Much like his Sire, Jack created a more sing-songy call. It was a simple two note tune going from high to low in frequencies that only a Cybertronian can pick up. To humans, he is totally silent. But to a Cybertronian, he is singing a soft high low tune intended to catch the attention of the person he is trying to interact with and nothing else. He doesn't need to scare them. He just needs momentary attention. If he really wanted something, screaming is a far more effective option.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

a/n: i posted the first two chapters of this story before, but they're being reworked -- so just poof what you know about them out of your mind when reading it now and think of it as a clean slate.

wordcount: 3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage

story playlist

The wind had finally died down that day, the trees somewhat still over the horizon. Their branches still wobbled with some errant breeze, whistling through the wood like a song. 

The window was pushed outward, the crisp air crossing paths with the smell of smoke, whirling and mingling like lost friends. A small fireplace was warming the room as the lady perched on her windowsill, dark copper curls hanging around her like tendrils. Shera took in a deep breath of air— it was crisp and refreshing, pushing away the errant effects of sleepiness. 

Her skin prickled in goosebumps beneath her nightgown as she turned to her bed. A large black mass was snoozing softly still, taking up the majority of the mattress. Slinking over, she snuggled herself close to the giant canine, blowing softly on his muzzle to wake him. Large amber eyes met brown and milky blue, pupils dilating and constricting in tandem, before the wolf let out a sleepy chuff. 

“Wake up, my love,” Shera whispered, fingers digging into his shaggy mane as she scratched just the right spot. “Moongeist, we must start the day.” she hummed. 

The direwolf rolled over onto his back, belly exposed to the chilled air. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, one leg kicking as his companion got the one itch just out of reach of his own claws. 

“Oh, you’re a ham,” Shera mumbled into his fur, peppering him with kisses. “You’re no wolf, you’re a honey glazed ham,” she tickled his belly, causing him to let out an almost laughing whine. “With a side of sweet potatoes and winter chard.” she rolled next to him, snuggling into him like he was a person. Sprawled out from the tip of his outstretched legs, up to his nose, he outmatched Shera’s height by about one and a half feet. Westeros would surely need to watch out if her wolf ever learned to walk on two feet! 

They lazed together for the better part of an hour before Shera called in the maids— but not before donning her veil and choker. The maids would only help dress her from the neck down, and were ushered out after for Shera to do her hair alone. She took in a deep breath as they fastened the corset around her form. 

“May need to lay off the blueberry hand pies , my lady,” one of the maids murmured. “‘Tis getting hard to lace you up.” 

Shera felt a swirling pit in her stomach at the comment— it wasn’t a secret that she was no svelte ermine. She had curves and a bit of extra mass in the softer areas of her body, coupled with scarred stretch marks around her sizable bosom and thighs. “… hm.” she snorted, not wanting to dignify the maid’s comment with a response. This was, unfortunately, the norm. The jabs, the pokes, the insults between sentences— even the serving girls have become brazen, snickering as Shera walked past. She didn’t exactly understand it— mayhaps it was because she could hardly speak to defend herself, mayhaps they think her daft and non-understanding of their less than tactful barbs. 

As normal as it was, it made it no less tiring. “Just… lace it up,” she quipped, a bit too harshly, as she held her thumb and forefinger to her throat at the scratch of pain. “… I have things to attend to…” 

“Yes, my lady.” the maids responded in tandem, squeezing poor Shera into a corset much too tight. 

After they left, Shera picked up a shoe and threw it at the door, startling Moongeist. “Damned ptarmigans… clucking hens… when do they cease?” she groaned, patting the wolf on the head as he, ever dutifully, retrieved her shoe. “I’m… we’re the wolves— they’re supposed to be afraid of me.” she continued, as it usually went. She would whisper and murmur to herself (to Moongeist) while she readied herself. Sitting in front of the open window, her fingers deftly weaved through her auburn locks, working absentmindedly into a braid. She pinned the braid upon her head, glanced at the mirror, then unpinned it. 

It became a back and forth task as she meticulously decided on a hairstyle— she wasn’t usually so vain, but apparently, Prince Jacaerys was arriving for a meeting. She’d spent some time with him the past few moons as they ‘courted’. He was polite, of course, and had grown into himself well since their childhood. But… Shera felt nothing for him, princely charm be damned. And she was increasingly sure he felt the same, more inclined to enjoy the company of Cregan rather than her. 

But that was the way of the world, wasn’t it? To be trapped in a loveless box for titles, for armies and alliances, for oaths— that was fate. And fate… was usually unchanged. Shera oft cursed the Gods, the Old and the New, for weaving her tapestry of life in such a bereft and depressing manner. If she were to look upon it, it’d be dreary and uncouth, not fit to hang upon a wall, destined to rot and mold in a cellar for eternity. 

But what did Shera know of love, anyhow. How could she— for who would love a banshee?

She settled on twin braids that settled upon her back, pinned up into two loops. Adjusting her veil in the mirror and assuring she wasn’t too visible, she made for the door, Moongeist pressed to her. 

The winding halls of Winterfell had become second nature, muscle memory— but her mind wandered, imploring herself to think… Did she remember such paths at the Red Keep? She hoped her memory, if nothing else, would serve her well one day. 

None of the denizens she passed by in the corridors spoke to her, only gave her stiff nods before avoiding her eye line. Was she such an abhorrent sight? Her heels clicked against the stone, fingertips skimming the walls as she stayed close to them, using the familiar winding gait to guide her to the Great Hall. Her stomach grumbled under her tight corset– she hadn’t even had time to break her fast before already being shoved to the dragon’s maw. She heard the whispers of the ‘dashing dragon prince’ arriving early, upon his dragon which was the color of a witch’s brew, green and sprightly. Shera couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she pushed the heavy oaken door to the hall. 

Cregan was there, beard trimmed so as to not be unsightly, and laden in dark aurochs fur. Their ancestral weapon, Ice, was strapped to his back like a second spine, rigid and unyielding. He was faced towards the fire in the hearth, while Jacaerys was to his side, the two already deep in conversation.

The sound of the door opening was as good of an indication of her arrival as she would get, and they both turned to her in tandem. Jacaerys, gallant and princely as ever, rushed to her side, but not before stopping a few paces before, as Moongeist was pressed to her thigh with a wary look in his eye.

“My lady,” Jacaerys exclaimed, flashing his dazzling smile, his brown mop of curls bouncing as he approached, albeit cautiously. “You look radiant as ever.” 

Shera’s brow rose from under her veil– her facial expressions were hardly seen, and she was able to give her unabashed reactions to things quite often. She was woe to master the art of masking, so she simply did not. He called her radiant– an alluring lie if she ever heard one, he couldn’t see her face, how could she possibly be radiant? She presumed his mother had been schooling him in the art of politics. That is what this is, isn’t it? It’s all just… politicking. 

“My prince,” Shera responded softly, giving Moongeist an ever subtle command to sit to the side, allowing Jace to take her arm. She didn’t much like being touched by other people, it made her skin crawl, but she too needed to… continue the charade. “Thank you– you are quite early, I hope I look… presentable.” 

“We were waiting for a bit, Shera,” Cregan commented offhandedly, cracking his knuckles slightly. He was a bit annoyed, she could tell. “But, ladies do take long to get ready, do they not, my prince?” 

“It wasn’t a long wait, no worries,” Jace responded coolly. “But yes, it takes a small army and frequent turning of an hourglass for my mother to finally be ready, I imagine it’s similar for most ladies.”

Ah, yes. As if it doesn’t take Cregan an hour to pick out his furs for the day, pompous ass. And did Jacaerys don himself in that heavy dragonscale plated armor? Doubtful. Shera suppressed the urge to give an indignant huff. “My… deepest apologies,” she murmured. “I do hope my dear brother wasn’t such a terrible conversationalist.”

Cregan snorted as Jace guided Shera to her seat, pushing it in for her. “My mother– she wishes to meet you, of course,” Jacaerys prattled, scooting into the chair next to her (and Cregan). “We are going to go to the Queen for approval for the official betrothal… and subsequent wedding.” 

Shera blinked slowly as she absorbed the information. She expected to have to meet Princess Rhaenyra at some point and for the Queen to become involved in the betrothal– but the wedding? Subsequent? The nail on her pointer finger dug into the nail bed of her thumb idly, picking, picking, picking as she mulled over her next words. “... will the wedding be soon, my prince?” she asked, sneaking a glance at Cregan, who had a glazed over look in his eye.

“... my mother wishes to secure the… union before her ascension, my lady.”

“The King is not yet dead– I don’t understand the rush.” Shera blurted out, her nail sinking deeper into her flesh. She felt like there was some sort of secret she was not a part of, some undisclosed plan that she wasn’t privy to Oh, yes, of course– she was just the pawn, wasn’t she? 

“That is well and true– my grandsire, the King, has been in poorly health for the past few years. It is… only a matter of time.” Jace stammered, trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation. 

“Rhaenyra’s ascension will happen sooner than later, Shera. It is only a wish that you and Jacaerys are well bonded by then, mayhaps even producing an heir.” Cregan interjected. 

She wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream, she wanted to lash out at everyone– she was a vessel, a puppet for a greater vision of Westeros that nobody cared if she was specifically a part of– ‘twas only her luck she was the sister of the Warden of the North, who held an amassing army and ferocity for those he was bidden for. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Warmth spread onto her fingertip and Moongeist shuffled at her feet, a low whine coming from the back of his throat. She felt such a rage come over her for a split second, her vision blurring as she felt the overwhelming need to sink her teeth into someone and make them feel her despair. 

“Okay.” she finally said, her voice sounding far away and small, as if it wasn’t even hers.

Jacaerys and Cregan conversated further while Shera stared off into some small point in the distance until her eyes watered from not blinking, blood pooling and staining against her nails. 

“Thank you. I must break my fast now,” Shera suddenly spoke up, not caring if the two of them were in the middle of a conversation. “We will leave within a fortnight.” 

The journey from the hall back to her room was a blur, she remembers curtsying to Jacaerys and bidding him goodbye and some other innocuous pleasantries. Sitting back at her desk, she tore off her veil in frustration, bracelets and earrings alike jingling. She put her head in her hands, feeling the all too familiar ache of tears building. 

She didn’t want to go— why did she have to be married? Why was it her destiny to be a pawn? To be a wife? Especially to someone who was there. Her throat clenched as she tried to hold back the tears— to no avail. They burned and stung, her already tender demeanor withering. 

Prying her hands away, she looked over her desk. It was strewn with miscellaneous books to which she struggled to read, along with some half-done charcoal sketches of prospective sewing projects. Shera wasn’t known for outbursts, as her quiet and ghostly prefecture was one that stayed in the background of things. But, she felt a roiling in her stomach, wrought over like forged castle steel, molten and aching and hot— it burned in her like a plague, working its way through her and exiting her body in the form of a wail, coupled with her arms sweeping off the contents of her desk to the floor. 

The momentary feeling of anguish subsided as soon as it came and her throat ached from her cry. Her eyes felt heavy as she tried to get up and subsequently failed, sinking to the ground like a discarded rag. Moongeist let out a whine, propping his head under Shera’s arm, having her rest some of her weight upon him.

“I’m pathetic, my love,” she whispered, feeling all the part of a fallen porcelain doll, placated on her bottom upon the floor, legs out in front of her as if she were a child on a playroom floor. “Nothing like the Winter Kings of yore. I’m sorry.” Shera’s thumb rubbed on the wolf’s ear as she wallowed momentarily in self-pity and self-loathing. 

Gathering some strength, she pushed the papers below her desk to the side. The sweeping motion befell something new— no, not new. ‘Twas old, upon inspection. It was a stack of letters, covered in dust now, but neatly tied together with wool twine. Unveiling one, she skimmed it over to the best of her ability.

Dearest Shera, 

It isn’t the same without you here. My head hurts all of the time, I keep bumping into things and I can scarcely write. In fact, I am having Helaena pen this to you right now. She says hello. 

Mother is in shambles, frayed at the ends like your old blue dinner dress. Her and grandsire are constantly whispering and she cries more often. I think she misses you. 

As does Helaena. As do I. Mayhaps even Aegon.

Does your head hurt as well? What do you do to help with the pain? Are you able to walk without bumping into things? 

I hope to hear from you soon. 

Best, 

Aemond Targaryen

That had been the first letter sent to her from King’s Landing— Cregan, to his own dismay, sat down and read it to her after she had spinned herself into a crying fit, sending the maesters into a tizzy as she threatened to reopen the stitches upon her throat. 

In her poppy-addled young mind, she hadn’t recognized that it was not Aemond’s writing or words, but most definitely Helaena’s, as the letter Shera sent back were those of Cregan, and not hers. 

Prince Aemond, 

It is an honor to hear from you. I’m recovering quite well, at the behest of my brother. Winterfell is very different from the South, but I am finally finding my footing here in the cold. 

I have been a wolf at heart this entire time, like my forefathers. 

My ability to walk has been improving, as the maesters here are excellently equipped for such a feat. 

It is my hope that we can both find a sense of normalcy in our lives once more. 

I wish you well. 

Regards,

Shera Stark

She’d hardly remembered when Cregan read it aloud, and she didn’t catch the cold, rigid wording, bereft of any warmth and camaraderie that she would have included. Truth be told, at the time of it being written, Shera couldn’t even hold her own spoon to sip at bone broth, much less walk. 

It was unclear to her still, to this day, why Cregan felt the need to lie about her condition— but it was apparently a well placed one, as the next letter to come was in another tone all together. It was about three moons afterward, and the handwriting was different. It was a bit shaky, but proper and dignified. 

Lady Stark, 

I am most gracious for your reply. It is a balm to the Queen to hear you are doing well. 

Let us both hope we are well on the road to our full recoveries. 

Stay warm.

Signed,

Prince Aemond Targaryen

Shera’s fingers traced over the letter, she could still recognize it as Aemond’s handwriting— but the tone seemed clipped and cold, colder than even Cregan’s letter was. 

There were a few more envelopes in the stack, but if she remembered correctly, there was nothing of substance. Her chest ached occasionally when she thought about it all— did Aemond think of her still? Or was she just a silly footnote in his life? She abhorred to admit to herself, much less anyone else, that she still did. Aemond Targaryen still had a place in her mind, an undeterred host in the recesses of her brain that she couldn’t rid herself of— if she even wanted to. She wondered what he looked like now. Was he finally as tall as Aegon, mayhaps more? Did he finally get his hands upon the book he had been wanting to read? She hoped he spent his days flying upon Vhagar’s back— a gift that he had paid the price for. 

She did as well. But her price wasn’t for Vhagar. It was for Aemond.

Her throat burned and constricted with the threat of tears once more as she pulled herself from the floor, Moongeist’s body pressed to her hip to guide her. Padding to the fireplace, which was nursing a few hot coals and sparse flame, she fed the letters into the fire one by one. The flames grew as they burned, the ink upon the pages fettering into nothing but ash and sickly memory. 

Were they strangers now? 

Does he remember her? 

… why does she still wish to see him? 

A wolf travels south at the behest of one dragon– but her mind upon another.

How sordid.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl like you 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as kidnapping, marital discord, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a fight with your husband leads to an unexpected situation.

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Jake Jensen

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

Jake lays you down on a bed as you twitch again. Your teeth clack as your muscles continue to spasm now and then. You groan and swat at him as another swell of rage takes you. You sit up, too fast, and fall back dizzily. 

You bring your hands up to frame your forehead and steady your eyes enough to look around. What the hell is this place? A basement? More like a bunker.  

The walls are a gentle shade of peach and in the place of real windows, there’s some painted onto the plaster with curtains hung at the edges. And the bed; white metal with four posts with curls at the top. The blankets are floral and smell of freshener and the pillow cases are frilled. 

The furniture matches; every piece dainty and white, or marked with some petal or stem or the other. You take deep breaths, trying to put yourself together enough to think. This is deranged. It can’t be real. The sheriff wouldn’t do this. Or Jake. 

You sit up, head bobbling, and find Jake watching you from against the wall. He looks guilty behind the pair of thick rectangular lenses as the Sheriff gives a whistle and jingles the keys on his belt. You frown and bat your lashes. 

“What is this?” You ask. 

“Now, honey, that’s what I was tryna explain, wasn’t I?” Bodecker tuts, “but ya had to go and scream like a banshee. You’re too pretty for all that.” 

“I... what?” 

“You shouldn’t have tased her,” Jake mutters. 

“And what were you doin’? You wanted help, you got it. I didn’t it like it none either,” the sheriff retorts and steps forward. As he nears the foot of the bed, you lean back, support yourself on the heels of your hand. “Look around, nice place, isn’t it? And me and the geeky one aren’t gonna be yawlin’ at you like that blockhead I found ya with.” 

“He’s my husband--” 

“Don’t act like one, does he?” Bodecker scoffs and crosses his arms. Jake hovers behind him uncertainly, touching his fingertips together as he tries to see past the pudgier of the pair. “You know when he goes down to that bar, you know what he says about you? Old bag? Even takes his ring off--” 

“What?” You can’t help but wilt. “The bar?” 

“Suppose he don’t tell you that’s where he’s going,” he shrugs. 

You look down and slowly bend your legs, hugging them as a chill washes over you, “squash practice...” you murmur. You wondered where that came from.

“Hey, you cold? I can put the heat up,” Jake stops just behind Bodecker and you lift your chin to meet his gaze. You don’t answer. You don’t care. 

“Now, obviously, I don’t agree with that. Just look at ya. Pretty thing. Lookin’ fine and all. Well-dressed, nice hair, and you got that sweet voice--” 

“You can’t keep me here,” you insist through a quiver. 

Jake goes to the wall and unlocks a control panel. As he hits buttons, the sheriff looms, “we can do whatever we want, can’t we? You just walked out on your man. You came down to the station, called your sister, and went off... who knows what happened after that.” 

“No--” 

“Enough goin' on at the station, I could get a couple boys to corroborate,” he snickers, “you don’t need to be chattering on. We’re good men, Jakey and I. We just want a woman to treat right.” 

You scowl, “you tased me.” 

“Like I said, didn’t wanna do that but you were gonna hurt yourself worse if you kept on. One bad fall on that cement and--” he makes a popping noise and taps his head, “well, wouldn’t matter what I did to ya then.” 

Your lip trembles and you search around. You can’t get past him. He might be chubby but you’re not fast enough to get past him. Your eyes meet Jakes and you pout, “Jake. Jensen, please. Why... how can you do this? You’re a nice guy. Remember, I... I got them to leave your Green Lantern flag.” 

He smiles and shrugs, rubbing his neck before he drops his arms and he face turns sallow and sober, “I know.” 

“So, please, let me go--” 

A clang makes your skull ring and you wince as you look at the sheriff, his nightstick in hand as he leans it against the metal bed frame, “now, don’t go playin’ games. It was his idea, after all. He playing those games. You know the ones where you’re just living. Little freak had one of the lady ones in a room...” 

“Lee,” Jake sneers. 

“What? It is what it is. We got her here, no point sugar coatin’ any of it,” he pulls the nightstick back and rests it against his shoulder, “look, we don’t wanna be mean or nothin’. I see ya walkin’ around in those heels, your kiester all tight. I know that man ain’t loosen you up in a while--” 

“Disgusting--” 

“Eh, maybe a little, but not for nothing. What d’ya want, honey? A husband who can’t give ya a nice word or two husbands who wanna give ya everything?” 

“Everything?” You blink and gesture to the room, “this is a prison cell.” 

“Only if you make it one,” he says.  

Your eyes sting and your nose tingles. You really can’t believe this is real. You can’t believe you’re having this conversation. At least Jake has the grace to look guilty but the sheriff only seems more certain with each protest. 

“It is,” you insist, “Jake--” 

“Now, now, I’m talking. Not him.” 

“Argh,” you grit your teeth, “please. Think about it. This is wrong. You’re an officer. You’re supposed to protect and serve--” 

“Exactly what I’m doing,” he says nonchalantly. “I’m keepin’ ya safe,” he points the stick at the walls, “and I can serve you, sugar, in many, many ways.” 

You hug your legs again and shrink down. You’ve been arguing with one may for next to decades, you don’t have the energy; not for Brock, not for either of them. You shiver again. 

“There’s a housecoat for you,” Jake offers as he goes to the hook behind the door and the lilac robe hung there, “if you’re cold.” 

You don’t respond. You just stare at him, then the sheriff, then the wall. You unwrap your arms from around your legs and lay flat. You roll onto your side and hide your head under your arm. This isn’t real. You refuse to accept that this is real. 

“Is she okay?” Jake asks. 

“Pfft, she’s a woman. They need time to think, Jen, not like us,” Bodecker says, “she’ll be alright. 'sides, that zap probably took it out of her.” 

“Oh,” Jake lets out the single syllable. 

You hear their steps. One comes closer and you feel a weight settle over you. Jake spreads the housecoat across your body and you heave, shoulders shaking. You can’t help but cry. This is horrible. You really are just as stupid as Brock says. 

“Now, sugar, you got some time to get your head straight,” Bodecker says, “but we ain’t gonna wait forever.” 

You don’t respond. You keep your face under your arm and curl up even smaller. If you don’t look, it might just fade away. If you close your eyes, you might wake up from this nightmare. 

[thezombieprostitute]

So, there've been a few "cast your friends as your characters" going around. I was tagged in three of them:

@stargazingfangirl18 paired me with Mr. Freezy saying, "she’s a pure-hearted caretaker who is always looking out for and encouraging others."

@bigtreefest paired me with Curtis saying, "I can just see her loving the comfort Curtis provides and wanting to return the favor, paying attention to exactly what he needs."

And then @krirebr paired me with dark!Andy saying, "It's because I think if anyone could finally take down Andy, it's you. You're so strong and fierce that you'd leave that house in ashes behind you...He wouldn't stand a chance."

You can maybe see why I was laughing for so long over these. Apparently I'm quite the loving caretaker but I will shank a bitch. And I haven't been able to let go of this story idea based in Kris's Trapped AU that she assigned me to:

Normally Lloyd wouldn't care. Normally, someone yells at him for a defective girl, he tells them "caveat emptor" and blocks their number. But this was an unusual case.

Barber had asked for the most compliant girl in the group he'd been presented. Naturally Lloyd had recommended you. Surveillance indicated you were very polite, calm, quiet, all the shit Barber was looking for. Even after you'd been picked and kidnapped you were always well behaved, polite to the guards and other girls. You cried, sure, but so did all the girls. Hell, you even looked after the others. You were calm, quiet, compliant. But Barber was claiming you were hellion? A banshee? That couldn't be right. Lloyd needed to look into this.

He arrived at Barber's home. Took him a minute to make sure it was the right one, all the houses in this boring little suburb looked the same. He rang the doorbell and, thankfully, didn't have to wait long. His jaw almost dropped when he saw Barber, usually looking clean and crisp in his suits and button-ups, completely disheveled with bruises and scratch marks on him. Was that a bite mark as well?

Barber urges Lloyd inside quickly, "you sold me a defective product! I asked for quiet and compliant and you gave me a hellcat!"

Lloyd raises an eyebrow, "she did that to you?"

"Yes!" Barber takes a breath to steady himself. "I didn't think her being big and tall would be such a big deal. Just make her diet and she'd get that model-thin figure. But that's only if she behaves! She can, and does, fight back!"

Lloyd removes his sunglasses, "let me go talk to her. Where is she?"

Barber leads him downstairs to a door with a pad-key lock, "I'm lucky I thought to soundproof the damn basement. The neighbors definitely would've called the cops by now. Thank God there's no windows for them to see her, either."

The basement looks like a small, windowless apartment. There are dents in the walls and Lloyd's not sure if it was you or Barber who put them there. He sees you at a little table and whistles. As bad as Barber looked, you looked worse.

You look up at the sound of the whistle, expecting another fight, but actually smile when you see Lloyd. "Oh, hello Mr. Hansen," you chirp. "Does this mean I'm being returned to my preferred circle of hell?"

"What the hell happened? You were so well behaved when you were locked up, with a lot fewer niceties." Lloyd looks around the basement. "This place has heat, probably air conditioning. Looks nice, the food is probably better and you get much better clothes and blankets."

"Thank you!" Barber chimes in. He moves to speak more but between the rolling of your eyes and Lloyd's holding up a finger to stop him, he clams up.

"So why have you been so poorly behaved?" Lloyd cautiously moves closer to you but you're giving him no indication of lashing out.

"Because he makes no sense, Mr. Hansen," you tell him. "Your rules were easy to follow and made sense. His rules are incredibly stupid and whenever I asked for a reason for them he told me some bullshit about 'good wives don't question their husbands'. Which, quite frankly, is very dumb of him. A good wife calls you out on these things so you can become a better person."

"You need your rules to make sense?"

"Yes, Mr. Hansen. And, quite frankly, several of his rules and expectations are impossible for any human to really follow. I think he'd be better off with a robot wife or something."

Lloyd chuckles at that, "and you didn't take too well to being punished for not following the rules?"

Barber tries to speak but Lloyd, again, raises a finger at him, silently indicating he needs to shut up.

"It wasn't so bad, actually. The time-out room was nice and quiet and I didn't have to deal with him. So he tried to use the punishment room to get me to obey. Turns out, when I'm unable to fight back, I start laughing and can't stop. You can imagine how well that went over with Mr. I-Deserve-Only-The-Best-Things."

Lloyd chuckles, "you know, Sweetheart, when men buy their wives they're allowed to have expectations."

"Oh yes, of course, Mr. Hansen," you agree. "But requiring me to wake up over an hour before he does so I can do a makeup routine that he's set out for me and get my hair to look like how he wants it? Expecting me to be grateful I was kidnapped and sold? Expecting me to comfort him over his own ruined life when he's ruined mine?

And then there are the contradictory rules! I have to not lie to him but I have to tell him I love him? That I think he's handsome? That he's good to me? Directly contradictory!

Maybe any guy who buys me would want similar things but to insist it's my obligation because he thinks he deserves a good wife? Let's face it, Mr. Hansen, he's a semi-delusional, whiny bitch who just doesn't want to put in the work for an actual relationship."

Barber stomps towards you, clearly set to smack you and yell but Lloyd punches him in the stomach before he can. With the wind knocked out of him, Barber backs away and Lloyd moves over to you.

"You know, I normally don't give a shit what happens to my products after they're sold," he tells you. "But he is an unsatisfied customer. And a DA at that. That can be bad for business."

Your face contorts into a pout, "you're leaving me here with him? Can't you just kill me instead?"

"I've got other plans for you," Lloyd purrs. "You might not be good for Barber, but I think I've got someone else who would love you. But, I can't have an unhappy customer, either."

"I don't want anyone else to suffer because of him," you lower your head. "I'll behave, Mr. Hansen."

"Oh, no, no, you misunderstand," he chuckles. He pulls out his gun and shoots Barber, startling you. "We're gonna burn the place down and leave plenty of evidence that Mr. DA was dealing in human trafficking."

"Thank you, Mr. Hansen," you beam. "May I help with the burning down of this place? I could really use the therapy."

Lloyd laughs, "of course! And I'll go ahead and tell Everett I found him a girl who is kind, caring, attentive even, but can also defend herself from unwanted attention."

A million thanks to @krirebr for permission to write this!

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[rosyjn]

I see you are taking requests, how about rough sex with Jake, because he's jealous? If not that's fine

-🦊

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST. PLS SEND MORE.... aight here we go

DILF jake sully jealous rough seggs SMUTTT (BTW WIREMU IS A MADE UP ASS GUY I JUST MADE HIM UP CUS IM SICK OF PPL USING TSUTEY FOR THE JEALOUSY TROPE LET HIM RESSTTTT)

18+

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops in laughter, playfully punching Wiremu's shoulder. He laughs with you, leaning back joyfully. His ikran roars behind him.

"No way!" you exclaim in shock at the story he tells. His braids swing in his face as he turns around to nod at his banshee.

"He confirms it, look" he jokes and gestures at the ikran, who is nodding and roaring, looking over the Hallelujah Mountains. As Wiremu continues his story, you can't help but to think of Jake.

Jake's coldness, the way he scowls at you when you're disobedient. You bite your lip and gaze up at Wiremu, who is rambling on and on. You ponder about Jake. How angry he'll get if he sees the way you're looking at another man, his mad face, how his muscles flex when he yells, you just hope he'll catch you with here with this other man.

Your eyes relax and you look down at the ground, trying to suppress your naughty thoughts. Your throat com chimes and Wiremu's brows furrow. You hold up a dainty finger to your mouth and giggle while trying to shush him. He smiles and stops talking, his ears perking up.

"Aye, Y/N..." Jake's voice comes in, raspy and alert. Your face lights up and Wiremu's pupils contract in fear.

"Yes?" you hold onto the com, staring out into the floating mountains.

"Where are you?" his tone is interrogatory and strict. You hear wind whistling in the back, indicating that he's probably flying on his ikran right now, looking for you. Wiremu looks out into the sky.

"Ayram alusìng," you tell Jake, noticing your friend's panicked look. You take your hand off of your throat com for a second and tilt your head, mouthing a "What's wrong?" to Wiremu. He scratches his head nervously.

"I'm here, shout for me, okay?" Jake's sternness doesn't fade. You look out onto the horizon again, a confused expression spread on your features. The sky is clear, without any mist to obscure your view.

"I must go," your friend shakes his head and hastens towards his ikran. You grab his arm and stop him.

"No-" you begin. You want Jake to see him here with you. You want him to wonder why you were with a man that wasn't him. You want him to get jealous. "Just stay, help me call for Jake, greet him when he comes, and then you can leave," you urge Wiremu.

"Yes, alright," your friend cannot say no to you. He is hesitant to agree to your plan, but he listens. The two of you stay there, standing at the edge of the mountain. Your ikrans screech as you call and click your tongue for Jake, Wiremu joining you.

After about 30 seconds of clicking and shrieking, a dark blue, yellow spotted banshee named Bob flies into view. Jake holds onto Bob tightly and you can feel his intense eyes before you can even make out what he's wearing.

"Come," you grab Wiremu's hand and step backwards, making room for Jake to land on the mountain. You make sure to not let go of the hand until Jake notices. Your hair blows in the wind as Bob's wings flap into relaxation. Out of fear, you let go of your friend's hand. Instincts kick in. Jake doesn't greet Wiremu. He just stares at the two of you.

"I am sorry sir, I was taking her for a friendly-" Wiremu steps forward and lowers his head, quickly trying to clear up the situation.

"She's gonna come with me, thanks for watching her," Jake sighs with disappointment and holds his hand out to you. You scramble over to him and take his hand, and when he feels the warmth on it, he shakes it away, making you frown. Wiremu just nods, he hops onto his ikran and flies away, quickly. He doesn't look back. You watch him ride off into the sunset and turn to Jake, who's also watching.

You put your hands on his shoulder and chest and try to turn him towards you. His stance is strong, so it only results in you positioning yourself in front of him. He doesn't look in your eyes. He doesn't look at you at all. The fantasy that was in your mind just a minute ago has completely disappeared. Now, you are full of worry. Worrying that Jake no longer trusts you, worrying that you are acting out of sorts, worrying about your relationship.

"Y'know, that boy likes you," Jake finally looks down at you to talk. His eyes are sincere and strict.

"I'm sorry..." you push out an embarrassed whisper, staring at the ground in fear of looking in his eyes.

"You shouldn't be with him again," he enforces, his voice getting tougher and meaner.

"I won't," you timidly mumble. Your eyes stay focused on the ground beneath you, while your hands remain gripping Jake.

"But you were," his brows furrow and he tilts his head, an agitation joining his tone. You finally gain the courage to look up at him, pupils dilating in fear. "And you're gonna have to face the consequences," his eyes meet yours.

"M'kay..." you back away from him, waiting for instructions.

"On your knees, slut," he grabs your hair and pushes you down. You squeal in surprise and pain. "I don't need to tell you what to do" his hand never leaves your head as you untie his loincloth, his throbbing cock springing out at you.

You inhale before you take it. You start by lapping the tip, admiring the taste and the shape. You close your eyes and kiss it, teasing him. When he pushes at your head, you know it's time to move faster. You put your lips around the girth and push into it, whining when it hits the back of your throat. But Jake doesn't let you move. He holds your head there, his tip pressing into the back. Your eyes well up with tears and you whimper.

"Mmm," you purr as he pulls your head away, letting you breathe. Your mouth is filled with pre cum and saliva. You stick your tongue out to show him your mess.

"Good, good girl. Lay back now," he smirks. You sigh and lean back onto the ground, pressing your legs together as your pussy clenches around nothing. Jake climbs over you, his erection rubbing up on your body.

"Spread 'em," he orders. You nervously open your legs and he roughly pushes them, making you squeal as he positions himself in front of your entrance. He doesn't talk you through anything. He doesn't even make eye contact when he puts it in. He grabs his cock in his hand and strokes it a few times, before pushing his hips into yours. He thrusts his dick in gradually, inch by inch, making your back arch.

“Please,” you whine and start to pant. His cock stretches you out so well. It hurts at first, but then it feels so good. He grunts at the feeling and you grab his love handles and squeeze.

“Is this what you wanted? Hmm?” he starts to thrust before you can adjust completely and you yelp. You wrap your legs around him and squirm, unable to respond to his question. When he sees your struggle, he fucks you harder. Your eyes clench shut and your cunt pulsates as you moan with each thrust.

“Ma’Jake!” you squeak and your heat starts tightening around him.

“Why were you with that boy? You know he could never fuck you the way I can,” he groans every time his hips rut into yours, leaving slapping noises.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you dig your nails into his love handles, making him hiss and fuck you harder. You open your eyes and your pupils roll back in pleasure. You practically melt under him, your walls clenching his throbbing cock. His breath hitches and he slows down his thrusts. Now, instead of rhythmic, shallow movements, he fucks you suddenly and deeply. You cry out as his tip brushes against your cervix.

“That’ll teach you to stay away from other men,” he exhales and his tail swings your cunt squeezes his dick. You’re seeing stars and shaking under him. Your folds are swollen and puffy with arousal and your stomach takes overwhelming pleasure.

“Jake, I can’t,” you try to pull away as your eyes well up with tears. You weakly push on his hips to get him to pull out. “Can’t take it all, be gentle,” you beg.

“Nah, not until you learn your lesson,” he pants, grabbing you and holding you in place. You tremble and whimper with every movement he makes. He smacks your breast, and you jump, a tear rolling down your face.

“Gonna, gonna cum-“ your voice is small and desperate. You shake and cry under him, unable to control your pleasure. When he hears your words he grabs your hips and pulls them all the way towards him. His tip presses into your cervix and your clit rubs up on his pubic area. You could pass out. The pleasure that takes over you is so overwhelming.

His cum squirts into your womb and you sob out your orgasm, squirting onto Jake’s torso and pulsating around his dick. You try your best to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re suffocating. He groans and throws his head back, riding out his climax. You squeeze him hard with your legs as he pants and watches you, limply trembling on the ground.

“You okay?” he pulls out and sets himself down on the ground next to you, pulling you into his arms. You cant respond. You’re too busy recovering from the sex. He lets you come down from your high, paying close attention to your breath and heartbeat.

“I’m… good,” you close your eyes and try to relax, Jake rubs your back. You let out a “hmph” noise and melt into his embrace.

“Wont be hanging out with Wiremu again, huh?” he teases. You kick your feet and laugh, tucking your head into his chest.

“No, I won’t,” you assure him. He kisses your head and you playfully bite on his chest, trying to leave a mark for the clan to see.

[captain-mj]

So I got an idea I need to share-

Banshee Soap? I know Banshees are technically female but I'm just in love with the idea of Soap being a banshee in disguise and him having to reveal that in order to save Ghost or something-

Sorry I just needed to share this :)

I love this!! Sure! I feel it fix October vibes.

Ghost had heard the wailing of the spirits before. They were there the night Roba buried him alive. Howling and screaming at him. Wanting to get to him.

They had silenced once he had burst out of the dirt, but they had watched. He had no proof. Had not seen a damn thing. But he knew something was out there observing him. They had watched him shake each bug off of his skin.

He had heard men talk about the war as an entity. A being that screamed and called people to their deaths. Maybe they had been crazy. Ghost preferred that thought. Quite a bit actually.

But another part liked the guarantee that he wouldn't be dying alone. That no matter what, something would be out there for him. Watching him. Observing him.

Tonight, on this roof, he accepted that he'd hear those spirits again.

Soap sat next to him, guarding the entrances so Ghost could try to snipe who he could in relative safety. Someone kept trying to snipe him back, but they had just managed to hit the lip of the roof so far. But they were moving, making it hard to pinpoint where they were.

There were too many people. They weren't going to last forever. Ghost was running out of bullets. Soap's gun didn't have the range. The element of surprise had been lost hours ago.

He sighed. His biggest regret would be that Soap was going to die along with him.

Ghost refused to show fear though. "Just keep shooting Johnny. We'll get out of here."

Soap smiled at him. "Course we will, Lt. You're doi-"

A gunshot whizzed past their ears and Ghost quickly got back on his sniper. He sent a gunshot right through him, watching them fall down. Not the one that was moving, but they were a little safer. Ghost slowly let out a breath and relaxed.

Soap hesitated and looked at Ghost. "Lt?"

"Don't look at me like that. Just keep watching."

Soap frowned at him.

Someone whistled. Low and long.

Ghost heard the spirits.

"You religious, Johnny?"

"No."

"Neither am I. Guess neither of is going to pray."

Soap hesitated, stepping a little closer. "Sim-"

That sniper Ghost had been fighting with. The bullet went straight him. Blood splattered on the ground.

Soap stumbled but he didn't fall. He just stood there, blood dripping down. The next bullet went through his head and Ghost covered his face.

He didn't want to see.

How selfish.

But he didn't want to see.

The spirits. They screamed so loud and so long. Ghost scrambled to cover his ears and he tried to breath. Something was wrong. There was so much blood on the roof. It had to be an inch thick and it kept coming.

Ghost tried to stand up but the moment he wasn't covering his ears, pain would lance through him. The sound tried to drive itself all the way into his skull. Clawing his eardrums and worming its way into his brain until his temples were pounding.

The glass on his helmet fully shattered and Ghost started to scream himself. Anything to drown out the noise.

It started to hit him that Johnny was dead.

His partner.

His best friend.

Ghost screamed louder. Until the earth itself felt like it was tearing.

His hands felt wet.

Slowly, he started to pull his hands away, planning to just let his eardrums bust. Maybe let his brain hemorrhage.

Hands grabbed his and slammed them back over his ears. Someone straddled him, head butting against his so their foreheads sat together.

Ghost squeezed his eyes tighter and waited.

Time moved like honey through his fingers. Slow and languid but steady.

"Simon."

Ghost took a steady breath.

"Johnny?"

Soap was pressed them closer together. "Just breath. Your head must be killing you."

Ghost opened his eyes.

Soap was there. Gorgeous, but not solid.

Ghost stared.

"Sorry about that, Lt. Didn't mean to hurt you. Just keep your ears covered and keep your eyes on me."

Ghost shook his head slowly and looked.

Bodies. Dozens. Helmets shattered. Blood pooling out of the orifices in their face.

He tasted blood, realizing it was his own. Judging by the sun, hours had passed.

Ghost swallowed and shivered, feeling an intense cold.

Soap stood up, feet barely touching the ground. "Don't tell Price. Please."

"Kill me if I do?"

"Nae. Could never kill you Ghostie." Soap carefully helped Ghost get his helmet off. Broken shards of it falling out. He watched him lift his mask up and then off, blood smearing. "Let me get the blood out of your hair."

Ghost nodded and sipped the canteen of water he had on hand. Soap gently started to get the blood out of his hair. Gentle and loving. He kissed Ghost's forehead. "I'm sorry for hurting you. Are you okay?"

Ghost had a lot of feelings. Okay was not one of them.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What are you?"

"Banshee. There's a reason I never had a problem clearing out places when I was alone." Soap gently combed his fingers through his hair. "You're okay. I promise."

Ghost nodded and took a deep breath. "I'm okay..."

"You're okay." Soap said softly. "Try not to do this since usually it kills my companions but... I was pretty sure you'd be fine."

"Was dead anyway."

"Exactly. I had to take the risk. You'd either die or... maybe not die." Soap smiled at him.

Ghost nodded. "Glad you took the chance. Even if my ears are still ringing."

Soap laughed and offered his hand to help him up. They both stared for a moment.

Ghost realized he didn't have his mask and it must've showed.

"Don't worry. No living humans for miles. You're perfectly safe."

"There's you."

"Yeah. There's me."

Ghost took a deep breath, feeling it shudder in his chest. "anything I should know about banshees?"

"To see them usually brings misfortune, but I turned that off for you."

"Touching you is... fine?"

"Yeah, of course. Nothing different from before today."

Ghost nodded and slowly reached up. Soap went solid again beneath his fingers. He gently trailed his fingers over his cheek, smearing the blood.

Soap leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"Simon, we should be going. This is going to be hard to explain."

Ghost nodded and followed him.

He was pretty sure he'd never quite get rid of the tinnitus.

[tainbocuailnge]

banshees make their pens and whistles out of bone and they seem to do a lot of crafting in general (banshee's kiss, dreaming essence, phonor-0) and all of these crafts carry a lot of emotional significance they seem to culturally be pretty sentimental and romantic it's cute. and they're all women except the ones that trans their genders like logos and they love him so it stands to reason that carving yourself or your loved one a bone packer is another one of those super sentimental significant crafts right. and logos gives a very serious and grave impression but he's also known to get into office chair races with misery and shit like he has a sense of humor he knows how to get sillay and he's a known prodigy at banshee incantations too he's gotta be good at semantics and wordplay. this post is me trying to workshop a pen(is) mightier than the sword joke i can put in his mouth

[strawberryys-stuff]

Neteyam x avatar!reader

part 2 :))

genre: fluff

part 1 part 3

a/n: i have no clue what to add to part 1, but here you go!

When Lo'ak suggested that you should try and experience the adrenaline of riding an Ikran, the vibrant blue color got drained from your face. You admired the creature, no doubt in that, but the thought of being among the clouds frightened you, especially if it meant having Lo'ak as the escort.

"No," you push yourself through the doorway of your bedroom, passing the youngest son of Toruk Makto with a full box of Norm's paperwork in your arms. "I am not stepping out of this laboratory to fly a banshee, especially if it means you get to skip your sparring match with Neteyam."

"Come on," Lo'ak rolls his eyes and skips after you, dodging the 'happy birthday' sign that Max insisted Norm hangs above your bedroom door the day prior with a quick bend. You place the box down on Norm's precisely clean desk with a huff, your best friend stealing a peek over your shoulder at the statistics with a frown. "It'll be fun! Definitely much more of a fun than this.." he points to the papers, "mess."

You pinch the bridge of your nose and turn to face the blue-skinned boy with a sigh. "Lo'ak-"

"Don't be a wuss," you send a scowl his way. He brings his hands up in surrender, the corners of his mouth curving into a weak smirk. Lo'ak knows how to hit the nerve of yours. "Flying an Ikran is our tradition. If you wanna fit in, you need to do it." you walk away from him with an annoyed groan. "Besides, i'm gonna be there with you!" Lo'ak calls after you, chuckling when he receives a whine in return from the hallway.

---

"I hate you," you breathe out, knees weakening and heartbeat speeding up. You are currently sitting cross-legged on the upper chamber of the Hometree, hands tied behind your back.

When you noticed a note on your door in the morning from Norm that reminded you of his and Max's quick trip to collect more examples from Pandora's flora, you used their absence to sneak out in your avatar and wander around the forest, unaware of the pair of yellow eyes watching your every move.

"I wanna pluck your eyes out right now," you state with a threatening tone when Lo'ak approaches you with his Ikran. You pull your knees to your chest as they stop in front of your shivering figure, clearly amused by your reaction. "I thought you said you and Neteyam have a sparring match in the morning."

Lo'ak pats the side of his banshee before he kneels beside you, excitement present in his gaze. "We do," he nods as his hands travel to your tied ones. He frees them but immediately traps them in his, knowing you will try to escape any minute if he doesn't. "I'm just not going to show up."

"That's awful," you voice your opinion about the situation and let the Na'vi push you forward. Your chest tightens when the two of you reach the Ikran, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Lo'ak, please.."

Your best friend places one of his hands on your shoulder while the other finds its way on his banshee and begins to caress her skin affectionately. "Do you trust me?" he locks his eyes on the back of your head and notices the hairstyle change, which probably is from Kiri and Tuk.

"I do," you swallow hard when his Ikran slightly rubs her head against the back of your shaking hand, not noticing Lo'ak connecting his queue to hers. "I do trust you."

"Good," he grasps your waist and lifts you up with ease, putting you on the creature. Unintentionally, you swing one of your legs over to the other side of his colorful Ikran, heartbeat increasing when she releases a screech. Lo'ak positions himself in front of you and finds a steady grip on the banshee while you wrap your arms around his waist. "Ready?"

"No-" with a whistle, the Ikran runs to the edge of the upper chamber and you bury your scrunched face in Lo'ak's shoulder. "I hate you!"

The beginning of the unpleasant flight is mostly filled with gliding and slow pace, but after Lo'ak notices the lack of your screams and swears, he starts to mess around with the speed and adds some tricks to spice it up.

"It isn't that bad, is it?" he glances over his shoulder at you, chuckling. You slap his shoulder-blade in disagreement. When your hand meets his vibrant blue skin, Lo'ak takes a sharp turn to dodge a floating island he didn't notice before he dedicated his attention to you. The sudden change accompanies the pressure of the wind around you, pushing your side. Your fingertips brush Lo'ak's bicep as you fall off his Ikran, eyes widening. "Shit!"

A panicked shout of your best friend's name scratches the inside of your throat and strikes Lo'ak with guilt and fear. His Ikran senses the enormous amount of panic and dives after you.

Your falling avatar is caught by a strong pair of arms, saved from a harsh fall and possible death. You catch your breath as Lo'ak stops next to your savior, relief present in his gaze.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Neteyam pulls your shaking figure to his chest and glares at his irresponsible brother. Your arm sneaks behind his shoulders while his lecture continues to pass through your ringing ears.

"I didn't expect them to fall!" Lo'ak tries to defend himself, unable to absorb the situation. Neteyam scoffs and adjusts your position in his embrace, encouraging you to spread your legs and make yourself comfortable - promising he has a secure grip on you and that you're allowed to move. "Y/n, I'm sorry."

"It's okay-"

"No, it's not," Neteyam cuts you off and points to his younger brother, ears pulled back. He clicks his tongue, "You're so fucking lucky they aren't injured. If they were, you would be headless."

Lo'ak lowers his head in shame as you lean backwards, your savior's breath hitching when your back is fully pressed against his chest. To say you are intimidated is an understatement. Neteyam doesn't curse often, hell, he doesn't curse at all because he wants to live up to his father's expectations, but when your health and safety is involved, he isn't afraid to break the rules.

"Go home," The Olo'etykan-in-training commands, fighting the urge to beat some sense into his brother. "And help Kiri with the preparations for the ceremony." Lo'ak opens his mouth to protest, but with one quick raise of Neteyam's eyebrows he doesn't waste a second and swallows his words.

"Again," The younger son makes eye contact with you and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm sorry." you send him a nod of forgiveness and assure him that you are going to be okay with a soft smile. With a stern look piercing through his skull, Lo'ak disappears in the clouds above you.

Neteyam places his forehead on the nape of your neck and sighs with relief. "You okay?" he hums, his lips brushing against your skin which sends goosebumps down your spine. Your hand travels to his knee and leaves gentle rubs on top of it as he shifts in his spot behind you.

"You scared the hell out of me," he confesses and pats the side of his Ikran, tightening his grip around your waist. You chuckle under your breath, pressing your back to his chest when the banshee begins to move forward. "Thank you, Eywa, for the sickening feeling I got when Lo'ak didn't show up to the sparring match."

"Thank you, Eywa, for sending this brave warrior to save me."

Neteyam slaps your thigh gently and presses a sweet kiss on the back of your head, chuckling. "Shut it."

[sleepyghostcats]

Engraved in the Sea (Neteyam x (f) reader

I have a lot of ideas to continue this in several parts but only if y’all are interested :), I’m enjoying getting back into writing

----

The flight had been long and tiring. Neteyam felt his eyes tearing up from the cold wind as they whisked above the ocean. The sounds of waves colliding with the boulders nearby hit his ears.

But even with the loud winds zipping past his ear, he could still hear the audible sigh little Tuk let out.

"Are you alright, Tuk?" He yelled over the wind. His mother pulled the little girl closer to her chest, looking down at the youngest Sully to hear her reply.

"Are we there yet?" Tuk whined.

Lo'ak groaned and rolled his shoulders, "Not yet, Tuk. Can't you see we are lost?"

"Hey," Jake cut in, looking behind him to turn to his son, "We aren't lost. I know where we are going."

"So how much further then, daddy?" Tuk asked.

Silence etched across the group, all waiting for Jake to reply.

Neytiri sighed at her husband, "You are lost."

"No, I'm not. Just trying to find the right reef barrier." He assured them.

"We're lost, Dad," Kiri groaned, slumping over in her seat on the ikran.

"….No, we're fine," Jake said.

The others sighed.

----

The day was gorgeous, tranquil, and with crystal blue waters. Nothing seemed to break the peace.

Until you gagged and spat out the bite, you took from your fruit, "Damn, that's not ripe."

You sighed and leaned forward on your ilu, "Do you want this gorgeous?"

The creature chirped happily and gladly took the remainder of the fruit. You smiled and readjusted yourself in your seat.

"Welp, that was our break, little one. Time to get back to work," you sighed, adjusting your bag strapped over your shoulder.

The ilu chirped once before moving forward, taking a small runup before descending below the surface of the ocean waves. You gripped your hold firmly on your ilu, carefully eyeing the ecosystem around you as you swam by.

'Everything seems in order.' You thought to yourself. You were just near the edge of your protected reef, where the waves we quiet but still present. Even below in the water, you could still feel the pull of the currents.

After a while, your lungs started to feel tight, and you gently tapped your ilu on the side of the head, signaling to go up. Together, you broke through the surface. You were just on the edge of the reef, ready to take another dive before your ilu stiffened.

You frowned, "what's wrong little one?"

The ilu lifted its head ever so slightly; you followed suit, peering your gaze at the sky. Your eyes winded when your caught sight of-

"Ikrans," you whispered before tapping your ilu, "Those are mountain banshees. They have riders."

You peered at the sky once more, eyeing their flight pattern. The one in the front seemed to hover ever so slightly as if second-guessing which way to go.

You eyed the reef barrier before sighing and commanding your ilu to go forward, breaking through the reef barrier.

"Looks like we will have some guests, little one."

---

"Ma Jake, if we are lost, we should rest somewhere first," Neytiri sighed, hugging Tuk closer.

"We're not lost. We need to get a little closer," Jake replied.

Neteyam sighed and looked around the waters, hoping to find somewhere noticeable for them to land.

An eerie noise hit his ears, a quiet but steading whistling. Even in the sky, he could hear it faintly. Looking down below, he could see the light blue figure waving at his family near the outer edge of what looked like the reef barrier his dad had discussed.

"Dad, look down there," He said, pointing to the figure.

"It's a Na'vi," Kiri replied.

Jake flew down closer, and his family wearily followed suit.

The Na'vi down in the water sat on a water creature, a spear held in one hand. She was greener than any Na'vi Neteyam had seen before, far different from his appearance.

"You're a long way from home," The figure yelled up to them, jutting her head, "Na'vi of the Omatikaya clan, far from home, traveling these waters."

Neytiri straightened up in her seat, tightening her grip on Tuk and her bow.

The Na'vi lowered her spear so it dipped in the water, "I can tell from your Ikrans, if you are to pass through these waters, you talk to the Olo'eyktan Tonwera and his Tsahìk Ronal.

"The village is close?" Jake asked.

The girl nodded sideways, "Awa'atlu is just further north, past this reef barrier."

"Lower any weapons when you arrive," the girl added, eyeing the bow in the Neytiri's hand, "If you come in peace, act as such."

With that, the creature she sat upon chirped and dived below the water. With the Na'vi still on it, they glided through the water and towards the village.

Jake looked to his family, taking a deep breath, "Let's go, everyone. We can do this."

Wearily, they followed their father to the village, the kids still eyeing the spot where the girl was a mere second ago.

---

You emerged from the water upon the shores of your home.

The rest of your clan circled near the edge of the decks. You could see your family through the gaps of the circle. Starting with your mother and father, the former of which was hissing at the new arrivals, with their mother responding as such. Even from here, you could see the tense aura and sighed.

"Go play with the others, little one," You whispered to her ilu. Grasping your bag over your shoulder and leaving your spear near the beach, you walked up the shoreline towards your clan and the newcomers.

People caught your eye and moved out of the way as you walked through the crowd, they nodded to you in respect, and you replied before reaching the front, catching the last of your mother talking.

"What reason should we have to welcome such Na'vi into our home?"

"With all due respect, your scout led us here," Jake replied, hugging Tuk closer to his embrace.

Tonwera frowned, "Scout?"

You sighed and stepped forward, gently placing your hands on your sibling's shoulders, Tsireya and Ao'nung, eyeing the forest Na'vi children, one with distrust and Tsierya with curiosity. The two stepped out of the way and let you pass, allowing yourself to stand tall.

"It was me, father. I was collecting medicine from the reefs," You spoke, keeping your tall and firm stance even when all eyes turned to you.

Tonwera nodded his head to me, "My oldest, Y/n."

"You led them here, daughter?" Ronal asks.

You nod before stepping towards their guests. You look to your father, who gives you a subtle nod.

Nodding back, you eyed each of the members of the Omaticaya clan, taking in their darker blue and patterns etched into their skin, lack of tattoos, and lean muscles. Their figures wouldn't make them strong swimmers, nor would their tails. Their hair would be heavy in the water.

You stopped in front of one particular figure. He was the tallest out of the siblings and the eldest. His gaze bore into yours, but it seemed more like a stare. You smirked and glanced at the rest of them. They were doing the same but trying to be more subtle about it—one thing you tend to forget about yourself on occasion is your appearance. While dressed the same as the others in your clan, in seashells and tattoos, hair neatly braided, there was a distinct feature permanently marking your face, which the kids seemed unable to look away from.

From the tip of your browbone to the side of your jaw was a deep pink scar that grazed across your face, specifically your right eye, making it look pale compared to your other eye, which was startling blue.

The scar was noticeable, and Neteyam couldn't help but stare. The oldest daughter brought her hand up to her face and gestured out a greeting. Neteyam blinked out of his frozen state and hastily gestured back. Your pale eye and blue one bore into him before turning back to the rest of his family.

Your gaze stopped upon Tuk, the youngest and the most frighted, which you could tell by the way she tucked into her father's shoulder.

You eyed Jake, "Jake Sully, we know who you are and what dangers follow you, especially regarding the sky people."

'I'm just trying to protect my family. And get away from all of that," He replied, which caused your eyes to flicker to Tuk and Neytiri's anxious eyes again.

You turned back to your parents, looking directly at your mother, "They may not be the strongest in our waters, and it's a risky move on our part, but if our family was in their position, would you pray for our safety in another's sanctuary too?"

Ronal sighed and looked at her husband, our Chief.

Quietly, You walked back to your siblings, and your father began speaking again. You whispered to Ao'nung, 'stop glaring. It's ugly when you do."

"Says you scarface," he replied.

"Always creative with your insults, brother," You said and turned back to face their guests.

It was decided they were to stay. The family card stuck with the Chief and his wife, being parents themselves.

Jake dropped his shoulders in relief and thanked them. Then began the discussions of teaching them the ways of the metkayina, to which you and Roxto chuckled when Chief said they would be like babies.

"My children will teach yours the way of our people."

You eyed Tsierya as she smiled before following her gaze to the younger brother of the Sullys.

She sighed, "Someone caught your eye, aye."

Your younger sister blushed, and you nudged her shoulder.

"Children," Tonowei spoke up, looking at his family. We all straightened up, "They are your responsibility when teaching. Look after them."

Father then walked up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, "But don't let it get in the way of your responsibilities. You can't afford to fall behind now."

"Of course."

You eyed the Sullys behind your father's shoulder. They looked at each other with reassurance and sought comfort in being near their parents. You looked to Neteyam again, taking in his firm and protective stance over his siblings.

I guess I'm not the only one with such a protective role. This would be interesting indeed.' She thought to herself.

"Don't worry, father, and I'm sure this will be well worth it."

"Let's hope so."

You licked your salty lips, bringing back to bitter taste from earlier.

"Also, the fruit picked this morning is not ripe."

Your father groaned, "Damn, I was looking forward to those."

[neochan]

how do you think haechan would react when he sees you naked for the first time?

there's two distinctions i'm gonna make 1) if it's on accident and 2) if it's on purpose.

accident; if you're oblivious, haechan won't hesitate to check you out - his eyes raking up and down your exposed figure until he feels himself growing half hard in his sweats. but if you catch him looking, he makes a show of it. stumbling back into the wall of your bedroom, slapping a hand over his eyes and screaming like a banshee. you, however, see the tightening fabric of his sweatpants and call him out on it. all he does is point to his crotch and go "this? a boner? nahhhh, this is my gun." and move his hips whilst saying pew pew pew.

on purpose; whistles