#May never go back to traditional art now

[starlightsearches]

Yes, absolutely! So. Eddie x FemReader. They are best friends and have this special bond but all of a sudden Eddie pushes her aside for another girl he's dating or is interested in, letting her sit in the reader's seat, canceling traditions of years like movie night, etc. But somehow he wakes up and realizes he has been an ass to her (maybe because he actually wanted to get over his own feelings for her) but the reader isn't so quick to let it all go - she wants him to prove how sorry he is!

Jealousy, Jealousy

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼 requests are open!

thanks for the request, bestie! and an even bigger thanks for your patience 😬 i hope you enjoy!

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Comments likes and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think 💖

Warnings: mostly just language and a little drama and angst and then fluff I think but let me know if I missed anything. I've always wanted to play around with POV switches like this, which is probably why it's taken me so long to finish this one 🙄

You're fuming in the front seat.

Eddie keeps his eyes on the road—more than he probably ever has while driving—afraid that if he even glances in your direction all the smoke you're letting off will start to fog up the windshield. Like he's driving around with a forest fire in his van.

"Listen," he says, even though he's not sure what's going to come after, "it's not even a big deal."

They're the first words out of his mouth since he told you, and they're definitely the wrong ones. Your eyes flash, smoldering at the center like cigarette ends.

Your look may be fire, but your voice is all ice.

"To you."

"What?"

"It's not that big of a deal to you, Eddie," you tell him, shifting against the dirty leather seat like you can't even stand to be near him, "but it is a big deal to me."

Valerie fucking Reed—just thinking her name has you seeing blood. Everything about her puts the wrath of god in you, from the fake-ass pitch of her voice to the way she flips her hair over her shoulder whenever she thinks she's said something clever.

You'd hated her from the moment you'd met her, after the painfully cliche the freaks sit over there cafeteria routine she'd put on for you your very first day in Hawkins. You were more prepared for that shit now—had educated yourself in the art of biting comebacks and fought only with words even when you wanted nothing more than to bash her head into the linoleum tile.

But at a brand new school when you were desperate to make friends? Absolutely devastating.

If you were held at gunpoint and forced to say one honest, nice thing about her, there'd only be one you could offer up: it was her fault you'd met Eddie. With tears still stinging in your eyes, you'd carried your lunch tray in the direction of her pointed finger, falling into the nearest empty chair and tucking your chin into your chest so no one would see you cry.

That was when Eddie swooped in, big doe eyes and denim vest rattling with pins, and a thousand stupid jokes—not exactly a knight in shining armor but you'd never wanted one of those anyway.

Now Valerie wants to take him away from you, too.

Eddie drums his hands on the wheel, fidgeting with the volume on the tape he'd let you choose to soften the blow. He let's Fleetwood Mac fill the empty space between you, all the words he should say replaced with Stevie's soft vocals.

He's not used to fighting with you. Your friendship has always been as easy as breathing—except when it's not.

. . . But you really can't be blamed for that. It's not your fault he feels all weird inside every time you smile.

He wishes you'd smile at him now.

"You know," you say, feet planted on his dash and your chair pushed all the way back, "I didn't say shit when you started ditching me at lunch to deal to her and her friends, or when you skipped on movie nights for all those parties she threw because I get why you had to go, but a fucking date?"

"She just needs a place to smoke . . ." Eddie mumbles, skin hot at the word date.

You roll your eyes with enough bite he actually feels the sting.

"Right. She just needs to get high with you at your place, because she has nowhere else to go.”

Your lips drip with venomous sarcasm—absolutely soaked through with the belief that he couldn't possibly sit in the same room as Valerie and not touch her.

Do you really have so little faith in him? Eddie's got way more self-control than either of you would give him credit for. There's never been a moment he hasn't wanted his hands on you, and he's alone with you all the time.

“Come on,” he says, swallowing so his voice won't crack, “we do that.”

“It’s different," you snap back quickly.

Yeah it fucking is, he thinks, but Eddie doesn't say a word. Maybe the silence will speak for itself—or maybe it could, if you'd let it.

You carve a frustrated hand through your hair, staring him down. “Like, how do you think it would feel for you if I went out with fucking Jason Carver?"

He resists the urge to gag. "It's not like that."

It's really not like that. Just the thought of it has Eddie feeling both sick and violent, unsure if he was more likely to throw a punch or throw up.

He takes the turn into your driveway, watching you collect your stuff with a brutal speed.

"Yes it is, Eddie," you tell him as you slide from your seat before he's even fully hit the breaks, "actually, it's worse. Because Jason is a dick to everybody, and Valerie's got some fucking target on my back. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all part of some evil plan of hers to make me jealous because—"

You cut yourself off immediately, words stoppered by some invisible dam, eyes wide. Eddie's body goes cold when you slam the door without saying goodbye, stomping off to your doorstep.

He scrambles for his seat belt, practically falling out of the van in attempt to catch up to you before you get inside.

"Wait a second," Eddie says, holding the door open with his hand and trying to catch his breath, "why would that make you jealous?"

You scuff the toe of your boot against the step. "Nothing, it's stupid."

Eddie raises a brow, but you can’t look at his big, brown, beautiful eyes right now, tracing down along his leather sleeve to where his hand is planted against the door, black-painted nails splayed wide and already chipping, although you only did them a few nights ago.

Rude that the only time you get to hold him is when you're doing him a favor.

"Stupid how?" he asks.

You shrug. "I dunno . . . she just thinks I have a crush on you or something."

It's a surprise he hadn't already heard; about half of the girl's locker room were still stripping out of their gym clothes when Valerie had to bring everybody's attention to your black lace bra, before sharing a few theories on who you were wearing it for.

"Like I said, stupid." You ignore the heat in your cheeks, gripping the door again and trying to force it shut, but Eddie's not finished.

You wouldn’t notice, but his chest is heaving under his black t-shirt, palm sweating against the door. A crush? On him?

Is Valerie as delusional as he is?

"Wait," —his mouth is on a roll before his brain has caught up— "do- do you?"

Your eyes go wide with surprise, and then shrink into slits as you push him back from the door, one hot hand planted against his chest.

"Fuck you, Eddie," —he catches the words just before the slam— "fuck you for real."

It wasn't a no.

He repeats the words in his mind like he’s casting a protection spell. Like it’s some kind of ward against your anger as he scales the tree outside your window.

It’s harder than it looks, and he’s already making it look pretty difficult—but one hand’s busy clinging to the greasy paper bag packed full with burgers and those crispy tater tots you love. He manages to wiggle his way up to your window sill without losing his pants, even though the tears at his knees got caught on every twig and branch he passed.

Eddie steals a glance of you through the sheer curtains, holding back his fist from knocking. Just so he can look at you properly, without all the static of having you look back.

You're stretched out on your bed, feet in the air and headphones caught over your ears while you flip through the pages of a book. He hasn't seen these pajamas before—the little shorts that just cup the edge of your ass, and a sheer tank top. His nails are leaving little indents in his palm.

Eddie hasn't made a sound, but with the way his eyes are tracing over you, you gotta feel it. You find him at the window, and he panics, rapping his knuckles against the glass a second too late.

You roll you eyes at him, but at least you let him in.

There are honest-to-god butterflies in Eddie's stomach when he flops beside you on the bed. And he wouldn't lie—at least not to himself—but he'd tried to feel something like this before, when Valerie first started paying all that attention to him.

Her manicured hand would brush over the sleeve of his jacket while he'd be getting her product and he'd wait for this same feeling, hoping he had a weakness for all pretty girls, that any attention would him stumbling over his words and these feelings didn't have to be the end of the best friendship he'd ever had.

But it's you.

You cross your arms over your chest, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

Eddie's smile is sheepish, but not nearly apologetic enough for your taste. He holds up the paper bag in his hand, dotted with dark splotches where the grease leaked through. It lets out the heavenly scent of fried food.

"I brought dinner, you know, for movie night."

He slips a tray of tater tots from the bag, and you're resolve falters. You hold back your hand from reaching for one even though you already know how incredible it would taste, the little rivulets of salt and shining grease coating the golden skin.

"What about Valerie?" you ask, stealing your eyes away from the junk food. You hate how petulant your voice sounds.

He just shrugs, pouring out some ketchup onto the tray, licking the excess off of his pinky finger. "Told her I had other plans."

Eddie pops a tater tot into his mouth and bites down with a heavy crunch, but it feels like your heart's the thing being popped between his teeth.

And what more were you expecting? That he'd tell her to fuck off and take her money and friends with her? She's the queen of Hawkins, and you're . . . not.

Maybe you and Eddie are both delusional—or stubborn—enough to pretend like you don't care about the politics of high school, but people had abandoned their morals for less.

“So you blew both of us off, then?”

He pauses mid-bite, like a prey animal, like if he doesn’t move you can’t be mad at him.

“What?” he mumbles through a mouthful of chewed-up potatoes.

You snatch a tater tot from the tray, chewing and swallowing even though your stomach is starting to churn because something bad is going to happen and you can feel it coming like a storm in the air.

“Why are you here, Eddie?”

“I- uh, to say sorry,” he stutters.

The food's getting cold in his hands before you respond.

“What’re you sorry for?”

What’s he sorry for? Eddie has a whole list: sorry for making a fool of myself, sorry for hanging out with Valerie because I thought it might make you jealous, sorry sorry sorry for trying so hard to get over you and doing such a bad job at it.

“I, you know . . . I shouldn’t have made other plans on movie night.”

Those were the wrong words again. Crazy how easy it is for him to fuck this up—like it was something he was born with.

For a second, Eddie thinks you'll yell at him, and he's comforted by that. If you yell at him, you still care.

You take in a deep breath, and Eddie braces himself. He can take whatever you give him, will shoulder any insults you hurl and forgive you for it the second it's over.

But your shoulders slump. You let out a heavy sigh.

And he knows he can't take that.

"I'm really, really tired, Eddie," —you won't even look him in the eyes when you say it, sliding the window open again,—"see you tomorrow?"

But Eddie doesn't see you for two whole days.

That's a fucking record.

He thought you might need space, you know. So he gave you Saturday to cool off, kicked around at the trailer and gave Wayne vague answers about why you weren't around and ignoring the look in the old man's eyes. Listening to sad records and getting high and trying not to stare at your smile in all the photos plastered on his wall.

Sunday, Eddie drove by your house with the volume all the way up on your favorite Rolling Stones album, windows down while he idled at the curb. There was a twitch in the curtains, but you weren't there to shout at him for all the noise before climbing in on the passenger side.

Eddie knocked at your door this morning, hoping at least you’d want a ride to school. Your mom opened it with a sad little frown, telling him you’d already taken your bike.

And really, the two days have only ended on a technicality. Eddie sees you right now, reading a book with your head bent low, sitting at the far end of another table.

"Hey—" Eddie twitches when the flying french fry lands against his cheek with a wet slap— "are you gonna go talk to her, or did you just wanna stare?"

Mike laughs at his own joke, and the other guys giggles along.

Eddie's used to the ribbing. He's never minded it—when you're not around. Kind of enjoyed it a little. Even with his heated cheeks and stammered shut ups that completely gave him away, he needed somebody to acknowledge what he was feeling. It made it more real.

But Eddie's not in the mood for jokes today. And he doesn't need anybody to remind him that he's in way over his head with you.

He shoots the freshmen a look that works just as well as throwing a hand over their mouths—without the risk of being licked—and brushes the potato chunks from his hair while the rest of Hellfire pick timidly at their lunches.

And Eddie goes back to staring.

This time, though, you're staring back.

He meets your eyes. Just for a second, wide with surprise before you snap your head back in the direction of your book, tucking your nose between the pages. Doesn't matter how quick you were though. Eddie caught the look you were giving him.

And his heart is beating hard, like it did on the day he first met you. His limbs all staticky and weird, palms sweating because even from the first second he knew you existed he's wondered what kissing you would feel like and the question never left his head.

Eddie's on his feet before he can think about how bad of an idea this is.

"Hey," Dustin calls to him through a mouthful of square pizza, "what're you doing?"

Eddie just shrugs.

"Probably something stupid."

You can see Eddie's long legs moving in your direction from the corner of your eye, and your stomach drops out of your ass like a dip on a roller coaster in the dark and you can't see the end. He says something to the guys—his lips are moving—but you can't make it out over the sound of the cafeteria rumble, the chatter of the other girls sitting at the same table as you, talking animatedly about all the dates they went on over the weekend and completely ignoring your presence.

You dip your head closer to the pages of your book, so close all the words blur together, trying to hide from Eddie like you've been hiding the past few days. You shouldn't have even glanced in his direction, should have let the burn of his presence so close and still too far away swallow you up.

It’s getting hotter with every step he takes toward you, and you’re getting smaller, body tight and your lips caught between your teeth.

He slides quietly into the seat beside you, fingers drumming against the table, and the sound feels louder now that the girls have quieted down, not-so-sneakily listening in on whatever's about to go down between you and Eddie—hungry like sharks for any new gossip, ready to spread the nitty-gritty about why the freaks are fighting.

Eddie dips his head down, eyes big and already so sorry it feels like a punch to the gut.

"Hey," he whispers, trying to smile and failing miserably, "come here often?"

You try to smile back, but it's not much better. "Hey, Eds."

It's quiet, but not the comfortable kind of quiet you're used to around Eddie. It's a hot and sweaty quiet, a trapped-in-a-car kind of summer burn that makes your lungs go shallow.

Eddie perks up, the first words he can think of spilling out of his mouth.

"The guys were thinking about going to the record store after school. Would you wanna come?"

You wouldn't have thought for a second about refusing an invite like that a week ago. Heaven was nothing compared to wandering around a music store with Eddie.

"I don't know if I can today," you say instead, and then when you see the look of hurt on his face, you soften the blow with, "I gotta go to the library for some . . . stuff."

He hums. "Stuff?"

You shrug, playing with the pages of your book. If you're quiet enough, maybe he'll give up.

But he doesn't go anywhere. His hands stay planted on the table, silent and still for once. The black nail polish is almost completely chipped off his nails—probably picked off and littered all over the linoleum.

Eddie's voice is a whisper when he breaks the silence. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

"About what, Eds?"

"Why you're so mad at me . . ."

You've seen Eddie through a lot of shit, but you've never seen a look like this on him—eyes like saucers and brimming with shiny tears.

And you thought being in love with him was rough, but hurting him is a thousand times worse.

"I'm not mad at you, Eddie," you admit, hiding your eyes in the palms of your hands and pressing down until you see stars, "it's just . . ."

You don't get to finish your sentence.

Valerie's calling Eddie's name from across the whole fucking cafeteria. You watch her waving, standing on her tip-toes like she's not the only place in the room anybody can look, like every facet of her doesn't already scream give me attention!

Eddie sandwiches his lips together, pressing until they turn white. You're not going to like whatever he has to say next.

So you slip the dagger from his fingers, standing from the table. He can't hurt you if you hurt yourself first on his behalf.

"Actually, we can talk about this later," you tell him, slipping your bag on over your shoulder.

"Hey—"

There's sparks in your hand where he holds you, an eruption of butterflies in your stomach. It's just your hand in his, but that's all it takes for you to forget yourself, eyes caught on his soft mouth and pink tongue.

Valerie's approaching. You can see her stalking toward you over Eddie's shoulder. There's no room for vulnerability within a mile radius of her. You've got to get away before she sees all the softest parts of you exposed and decides to go for the jugular.

The door's within reach when the room goes quiet. Quiet enough Eddie doesn't even have to raise his voice when he says your name.

He's no stranger to standing on tables, but it's the first time you've seen him look so awkward, hands swinging at his sides in tight fists.

"I- I think I might be in love with you," Eddie says, "and I'm really, really sorry."

There's a chorus of ooooooooooohs from the audience, and maybe a few confused whispers from all the people who passively assumed you were already dating. Then all eyes are on you, waiting.

It's too fucking hot in this room, and your vision's starting to blur at the edges, feeling like you're on a stage and you can't remember the next line after Eddie's verbal punch to your gut.

You mumble a sound, falling backwards through the door and into the safety of the hallway.

Eddie's down off the table as soon as you disappear from the cafeteria, totally ignorant to the laughter and the jeers from all the dickheads watching.

Valerie's in his line of sight when he hits the ground.

"That was weird," she says, and Eddie can't tell if she's purposefully getting in his way, or if she's just got that aura of somebody who could tackle you to the ground but would never bother because she doesn't have to. "I mean I always knew she was a freak but—"

"Fuck off."

Eddie really would like to get into it more with her, maybe mention that he's been up-charging Valerie every time she mentioned your name, or that half the stuff he's been selling her was mixed with ten-year old spices from the cupboard above the oven.

There's more noise, but nobody else trying to get in his way, the path clear all the way to the door.

It's quiet in the hallway, and that alone leaves Eddie disoriented, swinging his head wildly, unsure which way you went.

"I'm down here."

You're on the floor a few feet away, head rested back against one of the lockers, and all of the bad shit goes away. It's that simple—like a light-switch—Eddie's panicked, and then he's not.

You're looking up at him with a soft kind of smile, despite the tight look in your eyes and sheen over your skin.

He slides down to the floor, long legs stretched out into the empty hall, shoes leaving little scuff marks across the linoleum.

"I'm sorry,"—you tell him as soon as he hits the ground, "about, you know. It was just, um, a lot."

"Don't be," he laughs, "that wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had."

The smartest idea he ever had was talking to you that first day, snatching you up before anybody else could.

Your tongue snakes out from between your lips, and Eddie has to physically hold himself back from tasting you. Your eyes dropped to his lap, your voice is small when you ask, "did you mean it?"

"Yeah, honey,"—probably should've kept the nickname to himself— "meant every word."

He's about to mumble something like, but if you don't feel the same it's totally fine, even though it definitely wouldn't be, when your head drops onto his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know . . . just felt like a personal problem."

You laugh, and the sound shakes through him.

"I dunno, Eds. You being in love with me kinda sounds like something that I'd wanna know."

"I'll keep that in mind, for next time," he whispers. You're looking up at him with those big, soft eyes, breath pillowing against his face.

"It's the same for me," you tell him, "in case you were wondering."

In all the time Eddie's thought about kissing you, he never imagined it happening like this—on the floor with somebody's combination lock digging into his back. With your hands in his hair and the dull roar of the lunchroom somewhere nearby and his thumb tracing along your jaw and you smiling against his lips.

He was definitely missing out.

There's the metal clank of the door, and a chorus of footsteps somewhere down the hall. Eddie recognizes Dustin's voice.

"Oh my god, dude. Fucking finally."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson #requests #my writing #eddie munson fluff

[literaticat]

I'm at my wit's end. I've spent a decade trying to break through - 10 years with 5 novels coming super close with a variety of big publishers, who rave about my writing, ideas, etc. Feedback has been mostly positive. One even rejected saying "I don't know why we're rejecting this, it's EXACTLY what we're looking for and ticks all our boxes, but we feel compelled to reject it anyway." Is there just a "Do Not Publish" sign on my head? How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

(OP continues...) "Sorry about the rant, Jenn, and I know there's not much you can say as you don't know my specific situation. But it's just maddening. 10+ years of my life! I know everyone faces rejection, but I seem to mostly get positive feedback and so many "close calls" of almost getting a deal - a lot of interest, but then it just peters out. That "compelled to reject anyway" just made me start feeling like I'm just fated to never be published, no matter what? I'm unagented now, starting from scratch..."

OK first of all -- that rejection, if that is literally what they said, is utterly insane. I have to presume (HOPE? PRAY?) that you are paraphrasing, that that is what it *felt* like to you, but that's not LITERALLY what they said??? Because there are certainly things where, on the surface, yes, this is what a publisher is looking for and it "ticks the boxes", but ultimately, it doesn't have that X-factor, je ne sais quois, or whatever -- so I can see a publisher saying something like, "while the writing is admirable and the premise is interesting, ultimately, we weren't compelled enough to make an offer for publication" -- which is ALMOST what you said, but there's a key difference that makes it actually normal and not insane. Because in YOUR version, it sounds like they are under an imperius curse or something, where they don't know what they are doing or why they are doing it, they just have to do it, even though it is against what WOULD be their better judgment if they weren't cursed. And... it's wild to think that a publisher would make a statement like that. (Maybe they were having a very OFF DAY???) -- BUT ANYWAY, on to the crux of your question/rant:

I understand your frustration. If it makes you feel any better (??), you're not alone. I know many -- MANY -- MANY career authors, who spent 10 years honing their craft, trying and failing, getting rejections, getting close-but-no-cigars, etc. I was chatting with a wise (and now famous) author I know, who spent 10 years or so in the query/wrong-agent/rejection/close-call trenches. She told me a theory that I feel pretty sure is right, though I don't have proof per se, it does track with my observations. She said:

Just about everyone who sticks with writing or the arts in general as a career has about a ten-year rough patch. That doesn't mean it takes everyone ten years to get published! (Though it does take LOTS of people 10+ years) -- Some lucky people get their break a lot sooner than that. BUT. Everyone has to pay the piper that ten year fee, either all at once, or in installments. So let's say you sell your book right away and start raking in the accolades etc -- fab! Just know that nobody stays popular and beloved forever, and at some point, the ten year slump is coming for you. Aren't you lucky that you're getting yours out of the way now?

OK, if that didn't work for you, how about this:

How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

You know you don't have to, right?

Like, if writing and seeking traditional publication is making you miserable -- you can stop. In fact, stopping may be a great idea.

I say this not to be discouraging, but rather, encouraging, actually. I encourage you to give yourself permission to prioritize your own mental and emotional well-being.

If you realize you miss writing and can't live without it -- go back to it! But maybe instead of having "publication" as your goal, your goal can be writing for the pure joy of it, without worrying about future queries or would-be agents or anyone else's expectations. What freedom! Embrace that!

Then when you do have a brand-new shiny manuscript, you can decide your next steps. Maybe it's trying again for traditional publishing, and this is the turn around the track that changes everything. (It should be close, if the 10 year theory is correct!)

OR, maybe it's self-publishing. (Lots of people have a lot of success there -- maybe you're one of them!) --

OR, maybe it's just chilling out and writing some more for your own pleasure -- creating art for the sake of creating it, for fun, for self-fulfillment, etc. Like, you know, a normal hobby, that nobody is expecting you to monetize or make into a "gig".

[emrys-rusts]

A traditional lineart-sketch of soft Brian and Jonny propaganda after I successfully infodumped my sister about the mechanisms (she favours Brian!!) Is Brian looking for lice or braiding his hair? We may never know...

.

.

Been playing around with the concept of long haired Jonny a bit, and my impression is that usually jonny doesn't get to grow out his hair much because it gets burnt/pulled/cut off in fights, so when there is a lot of action going on, especially when they are on an adventure lavishing in violence and more violence, it just..stays short. It doesn't help that he barely takes care of it and sheds like crazy (speaking as someone who also sheds hair easely, but I keep it long)

Now, sometimes through the millenia, it takes a bit of time to seek out good violence, so whenever the crew can do nothing else but stay on the aurora, jonnys gets to grow out his hair a bit! He honestly doesnt care enough to cut it off (and noone trusts him with scissors so they dont suggest it) but he still has some sensory issues from time to time, though he doesnt count them as relevant enough. Brian notices though, especially when cuddling, so he usually plays with his hair, pulls it back, all that. Brian generally admires any physical trait about jonnys body, as he doesn't have one of his own (that is his impression of himself at least). Usually there ARE fights between the crew mates that damage jonnys hair still, sometimes enough to have it all short again, or at least charred, but I think during this particular span of time where brian and jonny are comfortable with eachother there just happens to be more time spent cuddling brian than bullying tim! I don't know why I'm putting so much thought into this but the little things matter to me aah

The sketch before the lineart looks like this:

Just for comparison :) traditional art is PAINFUL

And yes that is Brians coat that Jonny is bundled up in!

#i care them your honour #i should get to drawing more silliness and angst #i love angst too you guys I have so many ideas #two of hearts #the mechs #sketch #traditional art #help #the mechanisms #jonny d'ville #drumbot brian

[hannieehaee]

Svt & learning to cook food from s/o’s homecountry (aka not korean food). A different culture & food for each member would rlly cool

making you a meal from your country

content: established relationship, fluff, foreign reader (non-korean), etc.

wc: 872

a/n: this was such a cute concept omg!! i picked the food items and the home countries at random btw sorry if i got some dishes wrong pls lmk if there's any corrections i should make 😭

masterlist

seungcheol -

he wouldn't be able to stand your homesickness for even one second, feeling too sad at your sadness and deciding to do everything in his power to make you feel better. he'd ask around for traditional south african dishes leading him to make you some chakalaka while you were at work. the hours of trial and error wouldve been worth it the moment he saw the happiness in your eyes at his efforts.

jeonghan -

being quite used to simply ordering takeout whenever he so pleased, jeonghan was not used to cooking at home too often. however, if his sweet s/o wanted some homemade tom yum soup, then he'd deliver! after a quick call to mingyu (and an hour or two of messing around in the kitchen), he'd be ready with your food. he loves thai food, so this would be a win-win situation for him.

joshua -

he knew you sometimes missed australia and were unable to go back and forth as you pleased, so josh would occasionally indulge you in making meat pie for you, following a recipe you'd once made for him early in your relationship.

jun -

he'd had indian food before and loved it, so it did not take any convincing for him to decide to make you some indian street food. he'd do it out of his own volition pretty often, actually. by now, he had mastered the art of various dishes, specially panipuri, which he would frequently make for you, and sometimes he'd even share some with his members.

soonyoung -

if he sensed you growing homesick and missing your usual chinese cuisine, he'd go out of his way to seek out jun or minghao to ask what food may make you feel a bit better. he'd then take on the task of making you the most delicious street breakfast, jianbing, knowing it wasnt too difficult a task for him and that it was a meal you'd often have in your youth.

wonwoo -

wonwoo was quite known for his lack of ability in the kitchen, but that would not stop him from making you some laksa whenever you were feeling particularly homesick. despite not knowing how to make any other singaporean dishes, he'd have specifically mastered at least one in order to take care of you in such a domestic way whenever the opportunity arose.

jihoon -

never having been one to cook much (he'd much rather stick to washing dishes), he'd struggle a lot through making you some pastéis de nata for your anniversary, deciding to make a korean-portuguese fusion of meals to celebrate your relationship. ok, maybe he called mingyu over to help, but the joy in your eyes as you shared the meal with him had made it worth all of mingyu's nagging as he followed his instructions to the letter.

seokmin -

he's never been to spain, but he's had a few spanish meals throughout his life, so he'd quickly understand why you'd often complain about the lack of authentic spanish food near your shared apartment. would take it upon himself to learn how to make paella in the most perfect manner imaginable just to see a smile on your face.

mingyu -

making a pizza from scratch was easier said than done, but mingyu had taken on the task the moment you let him know of the fomo you felt at seeing him and his best friends explore your country of origin, italy. you'd watched nana tour happily, but still felt a bit off at knowing you couldn't be there with your boyfriend. but fear not! mingyu was about to bring the authentic italian experience to your door!

minghao -

he's been to the united states so many times by now that he just knows american food by heart. wouldnt even need a recipe to know how to make you some classic barbecue on a sunny afternoon. would even make an entire day out of it, grilling under the sun while you sunbathed next to him.

seungkwan -

seungkwan has always thought himself to be quite a good cook. or at least he was quite good at making korean food. japanese food was another story. he knew how badly you missed homemade sushi, never enjoying any from your nearby restaurants. he'd have to ask for your help at some point, but the end result would be the two of you sharing a nice moment making a meal together, so it all went according to plan.

vernon -

he doesnt know how to cook neither korean nor american food, but you best bet he'll try his hardest to make you traditional vietnamese food in the form of bun cha and bánh xèo. it looked easy and like it tasted good, how hard could it be? would try his bestest but eventually need to ask you for help completing the task. a+ for effort, though.

chan -

he already loves mexican food, so making it for you wouldnt even be something you'd have to request from him – he'd just do it on his own! he'd already mastered all types of street food, eventually opting to make you menudo, knowing how much you enjoyed that meal as a child.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines

[myebi]

And another year in the mix!! I originally wasn’t planning on posting these but frankly, I felt bad breaking my own tradition. My tumblr & instagram feeds are like my album, I’d feel sad not getting to look back on my review and my thoughts a year or more down the line. 2023 was busy and frankly a nice year in retrospect, but I don’t know if it’s me not having pushed myself enough or the Covid effect still making me feel like everything is going by super fast, but man did it go fast - and December’s already here and I don’t exactly know what to do with myself haha. I’m definitely a lot happier than I was in 2022 despite new complexities though, I feel full of resolve and drive and that is such a nice feeling.

Art wise I feel like my art is on its way to improvement, like it’s liberating itself somehow. I’m so ready to test things out and experiment and just lean into making it more expressive, more dynamic, more heartfelt in general. I’ve never loved my characters as much as I do now and I’ve found true friends in them (genuinely, these little guys won’t ever leave me, ain’t that a comforting thought) - and of course, irl, I’m so happy to have found such reliable and fun friends to cherish to navigate through the years together 🫶

I have cool things happening in 2024 so I’m just so excited for this new breath of fresh air. Fire!! Motivation!! 🔥

To all of you who follow my work and my journey even if it’s from far away, who make my art exist through you, thank you. Artists or not, you’re valued and precious and I’m so happy that you’re here. I hope that my account remains somewhere nice and that the silly shapes in my art keep making you think “Those tangents right there look awkward as hell but hey, it’s weird ass Mye Bi” afjshhfhd

I drew something fun for tomorrow, see you then for that post 💛 In the meantime, happy holidays!! May you and your family keep hope and health close, and my thoughts are with Palestine and Ukraine.

#art vs artist #art summary #2023 art #artvsartist2023 #art vs artist 2023 #myeart

[lastoneout]

Okay, honest question, who is Yotsuba?

OH HO HO ANON I AM ALL TOO HAPPY TO EXPLAIN :3

Yotsuba is a character from the greatest manga ever made, Yotsuba&!(or Yotsuba to! it translates weird, most fans just call it Yotsuba) which is a comedy slice-of-life manga about Yotsuba Koiwai, a five year old girl, and her very strange yet wholesome family and friends!

It's from the same mangaka who gave us Azumanga Daioh, though while that manga is told in a four-panel comic style and doesn't really have much of an overarching plot, Youtsuba is done in a traditional manga style and despite also being very episodic there is a bit of a throughline surrounding Youtsuba getting settled into the neighborhood she just moved to, growing up, and eventually, in the later chapters, getting ready to go to school for the first time. Also, there are storylines that take place over multiple chapters as well! Despite the fact that the manga has been releasing since 2003, the chapters are pretty sporadic and the comic has only really covered about one year of the character's lives, but it never really feels slow or aimless. It feels almost...timeless? I guess. It's really nice.

Anyway, the manga is legit one of the most wholesome, funny, heartwarming things I have ever read. Kiyohiko Azuma is a fucking MASTER of comedy(you may have seen screencaps from a Sailor Moon fan comic he made going around on tumblr in which Jupiter accidentally sends Venus shooting across a pool that made me laugh so hard I cried) and he balances it well with lots of slow moments with GORGEOUS artwork where you can really take in the scenery and all of it is seeped in a wonderful nostalgia for childhood that legit makes me super emotional.

I don't think the manga has ever really taken off in terms of popularity, at least not to the degree that it deserves imo, which is likely in part due to the creator being firm about it never getting an anime adaptation and the sporadic release schedule, but it's far from unknown. There's been an official(I think??) score released and plenty of figurines and merch. It's also birthed a lot of memes, and it def has the same issue as One Piece where if you read it and love it you will turn into a walking billboard and try to drag your friends and family in with you. It's just THAT good!

You may have seen art of or people cosplaying Danbo, a "robot" made of old cardboard boxes that Yotsuba adores (Totally a real robot btw, def doesn't have a middle schooler shoved inside there, that would be silly wdym /s)

And this pose from the back of one of the manga volumes featuring Yotsuba, her father, and their extremely tall friend Jumbo has been redrawn with other characters like 500000 billion times

And you've also probably seen this going around tumblr before (that's Fūka she's my favorite cringe fail daughter I would literally die for her).

Also, I would be doing a disservice if I didn't mention Yanda, who is a friend of Yotsuba's dad and also Yotsuba's nemesis. He's a loser who constantly gets dunked on by a toddler it's fucking hilarious.

But yeah it really is just like, a manga that feels like a hug, or a warm blanket or something, it's so comforting and funny and fantastic, I find myself re-reading it any time life gets to be too hard just bcs it's that good at distracting me and reminding me that live is worth living.

And also given that it's literally my favorite manga, I saved up a bunch of screencaps to use as reaction images after a read one time, and thus now it's my own little joke that if you send me anon hate I'm just gonna send you back a picture of this cutie

Bcs come on how can you be angry when you're looking at this???

Anyway here's some screencaps of the main supporting cast bcs I love all of them so much <3

YOU WILL READ YOTSUBA I AM NO LONGER ASKING

#Ask #Anonymous #long post #sorry anon you hit the yotsuba button #I am legally obligated to gush about it #yotsuba #yotsuba&!

[intuitive-divinations]

Are you in the mood for love? 😘

Hello darlings😙! I got a new gorgeous oracle deck today😻! It’s art inspired me to do a tarot spread on your next relationship❤️‍🔥. Take a few deep breaths 😮‍💨 and use your intuition 👁️ .

✨ Pick - A - Photo ✨

Picture 1 🌹

#26 Full Spectrum, 4 of Coins reversed, 5 of Cups, 4 of Swords, Ace of cups

Group 1, can I give you a hug first ? 🫂. Omg it seems like you’ve been going through it when it comes to your relationships😭. I sense that you gave so much of yourself to a past relationship such as an ex or situationship, etc. Now you’re feeling the loss of yourself/resources you gave. I’m seeing your energy is a battery and it’s EMPTY 🪫 . I get the feeling that this past person was deceitful in some ways. That deceit motivated you to isolate yourself and have a negative view on love. It honestly feels like you’re somewhat lonely group 1🥺. On the brightside, your next relationship will fulfill all your wants and desires. Maybe you’re past person cheated on you? I’m hearing your next person is VERY LOYAL and they’d never do you like that 💀! They literally only have eyes for you. This person also won’t be afraid to display their love for you whether it’s in public or private. They could have alot of Leo/fire placements ♌️ 🔥 . They’re going to be proud to have you🤭. Your spread is also telling me that you have to look at the bigger picture of this situation. Understand that these past failed relationships are only preparing you for the best. No more giving 100% of your love and getting only 5% back. It’s making sure that you attract someone new who is willing to make you a priority and show you how to be loved. 😮‍💨❤️‍🔥

Picture 2 🌹

#30 Healing, 7 of Swords, Ace of Wands, The Devil, The Magician

Whew 😮‍💨! Group 2 your next relationship is so co-creative 🧬 . Your next person is going to be a source of healing for you. I actually sensed angels during this reading 😇 . I got goosebumps all over my body when I asked to feel their energy as confirmation✅. You’re very protected group 2! I’m seeing that your angels are guiding you towards someone who might actually be a healer on earth 🌎 . I’m picking up on reiki masters, shamans, breathwork specialists, etc. They could also be a doctor but they would be different in some way. For example, instead of western medicine they could specialize in Ayurveda or traditional Chinese medicine. I got curious and asked what your next person will help heal within you and it said your attachments⛓️! You have some very addictive/obsessive attachments. It could go from physical attachments like drugs or it could be mental attachments like self-sabotaging beliefs etc. Regardless of what it is, your next person will trigger your healing🪬. They’ll help you discover your highest potential. It’s going to suck because you’ll be forced to overcome these things but it will be worth it in the end! 🪄Your person has a beautiful energy and it feels like they are a gift from your spirit team 🎁 . After your healing journey you could start a business venture with this person or even have children. You’ll be creating alot of things with your person🗝️. This is definitely going to be a journey for you so buckle up. 11:11 could be significant.

Picture 3 🌹

#25 Freedom, 6 of Coins, 10 of Coins, The Hermit, 3 of Wands

Group 3, y’all are my sugar babies😚! Get ready because you’re next person has alot of sugar to give🤣. They are going to offer you financial freedom. You’re next relationship is going to be with a rich person who’s very GENEROUS! They don’t mind spreading the wealth because they have a lot of it. One word to describe your persons personality would be introvert. Literally, their daily routine is getting that money and then going home and relaxing🏠. They really don’t play about getting their money💀. Taurus/Virgo placements could be significant ♉️ ♍️ . Right now your person may feel kinda lonely. They aren’t really a social party person. They still want someone to have fun with though. Someone they can create memorable experiences with🧳. Traveling is also significant🧭. I’m seeing so many trips and vacations. You are EXACTLY the person they’ve been desiring. You both will be goofy together. Im seeing that your relationship is also full of laughter. I feel like this person is manifesting you subconsciously. They are an extremely powerful manifestor. They could’ve even subconsciously manifested their wealth😳. I’m imagining their energy as a magnet 🧲. You’ll have a day where your normal routine is messed up which will then cause you to meet this person unexpectedly. Yeah they are quite literally going to manifest you into their life💀because they don’t want to change their own routine. Also you and your next person could have an age gap 🙈. Angel number for this group is 222.

Thanks so much 😽 !!

#pick a card #tarot related #tarot community #tarot reading #tarot #oracle reading #pac tarot #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #love reading #pick an image #fs reading #future spouse #future spouse pac #intuitive readings #divination #divination readings #tarotblr #free tarot readings #tarot online #cartomancy #fortune telling #tarot reader #pick a photo #pick a group

[wheneclipsefalls]

Ma Neteyam pt. 15

Pairing: Aged up Omega Neteyam x Alpha Male OC

Masterlist I Ma Neteyam Chapters I AO3

Warnings: swearings, violence, angst, trauma, oldest sibling syndrome, omegaverse, abo, power imbalance, dom/sub dynamics, stockholm syndrome, sexual content, etc.

Summary: It is time for Neteyam to face the music, or in this case, face Eywa.

A/N: This may have taken forever but I couldn't be more excited to finally post this! Thank you all for hanging in there. Let me know what you think<3

Neteyam idly ran his thumb over the curved carvings along the bow. It was pristine, beautifully mesmerizing with the hand carved designs running up and down the wood smoothly. He couldn’t have carved one better himself. His own bow back with the Omatikaya still had scratchings from his early teenage years where he hadn’t learned the art of wielding a knife carefully. 

“I’m afraid I’ve been slightly negligent with courting gifts and this one took much longer than anticipated.” Kxolo admitted, watching Neteyam diligently as the boy observed the gift. “Hopefully it is up to your standards, my love.” Hints of a fond smile were laced with the slightest flinch of nerves. 

“It’s beautiful.” Neteyam breathed. 

It was everything and more that the omega could have hoped for in a courting gift. The type of gift that he had spent far too many nights dreaming about alone in his hammock to one day receive from a handsome alpha such as Kxolo. It was moments like these that he found it terrifyingly difficult to not pretend their situation was normal. To pretend that Kxolo was simply another alpha who had strolled in and stole his heart through charm and traditional courting. 

And yet, that couldn’t be the case, because this bow symbolized more than love or desire to court. It showed that the Olo’eyktan was now officially trusting him with weapons. Were it a traditional courting such a trust would never need to be forged again.There never would have been a doubt in the first place that he would keep violence directed away from his lover. 

Neteyam wished that this realization alone would have been enough to keep affection from spreading  over his heart as he marveled at the tender care and effort that was put into the gift. It was disorienting and borderline painful that such conflicting emotions managed to cohabit his mind and heart. 

“It’s a start.” Kxolo corrected. “You like it then?”

“I love it.” 

“So then what is wrong?”

Neteyam could feel the radiating body heat coming from his mate as he shuffled to sit behind him, wrapping those muscular arms securely around his waist. Soothing pheromones came in gentle waves towards him, breathing in the musky scent that he knew only as Kxolo. It was no longer a thought that instigated his body’s reaction to his alpha’s face rubbing along his neck. Every reaction had become instinctual and impossibly difficult to go against. 

That is if he wanted to.

Did he want to? 

Silence hung as a heavy answer, enough to have Kxolo pressing further.

“Of course, I do not expect you to leave behind your Omatikaya bow. Perhaps I can send a good word over to your family and arrange for it to be brought over soon.”

The thought was almost laughable, especially with their reluctance to speak on the current trip Tamil was making over to the Omatikaya clan today. Neteyam didn’t need verbal confirmation to know that sending Tamil over specifically had been a strategic choice. And an even more strategic choice to keep Kxolo at home, far enough out of the range of his father's axe.

Neteyam could already feel the knot in his stomach tightening as he imagined the news being broken to his father. Neteyam had presented…and Kxolo had not stayed away. The only bright side Tamil could possibly present is still the lack of a mating bond. Even with Tamil’s calm countenance and measured words, it would not be enough to keep Jake from flying off the handle. 

Would it be enough to have his father, Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya clan, breaking peace in order to storm the village and rescue his son? Kxolo seemed convinced that it would not come to that, but the alpha always had a way of finding confidence in situations that Neteyam himself could not fathom. 

“No need…this one will do more than fine.” 

“I would be more than happy to take you out hunting, baby boy.” Kxolo paused, head swaying from side to side as he internally deliberated his next words. “Although I do recall your father once telling me that you often insist upon hunting alone at times, against his best wishes. Promise to be careful and I may be inclined to do so upon occasion.” 

Neteyam was nodding before the words had fully left his mouth. Promises of safety and caution rained from his lips and luckily Kxolo took them in stride with a chuckle and sweet peppered kisses. 

A viperwolf scattered along an overhead branch but Neteyam ignored it. A perfect hunting target and yet this newly crafted bow had only served as decoration thus far. He couldn’t even bring himself to load an arrow. Kxolo had left him alone to hunt at his leisure with an implied promise of bringing back a less solemn Neteyam. However, Neteyam knew where he needed to go-what he had to do. 

Every step on the path towards Vitraya Ramunong [Tree of Souls] felt weighted, the thumping sound ringing in his ears. He walked as if he could crumble under the true pressure of this impending moment, this occasion that could change his life. Neteyam was not one to underestimate the influence of Eywa’s conclusions. Amid his time here, however, the idea that Eywa was simply used as an excuse for this kidnapping had rooted itself deep into his mind. Never had he questioned her decisions because it had been obvious she played no real part in his current circumstance. 

That idea had increasingly become harder to hold onto and although a part of him didn’t want to know the truth, it was the right thing to do. His parents could only be held at bay for so long and Neteyam needed to know whether or not this mating would truly be worth going against them.

A mating that strong could only be one fated by Eywa. 

And yet when the shimmering vines came into view Neteyam could only feel a strong urge to bolt in the opposite direction. Perhaps there would still be time to get some hunting in after all.

He pushed the temptation aside and reminded himself that this was his responsibility. Framing tasks like that always made them easier to beckon because that was a concept he fully understood, one he was used to following ever since he was a small boy. 

The Tree of Souls was everything beautiful and more. 

How had he managed to stay away for so long?

Neteyam carefully lowered himself to his knees amongst the glowing roots. His bow was placed to the side and the omega spent more time than necessary putting it in the right place and fidgeting with his clothing. He even took time to bat away every stray hair sticking out from his braids. 

His throat constricted, feeling as if he had swallowed a yovo fruit whole as he reached behind to grasp his kuru. The braid was heavy in his hand as he brought it over his shoulder. The tendrils danced and waved in the breeze without care but even the thought of connecting it to a vine made his stomach flip. 

There was no turning back from this.

No matter the outcome he would no longer be able to sit idly in this gray area.

Fight his parents or fight the man who had captured his heart?

The dam broke. The last shreds of resistance keeping his emotions at bay burst at the seams and Neteyam could no longer fight the rising sob. The world mixed into a  blurry mess as large tears invaded his vision without reprieve. HIs lungs contracted and ached until the only sound in this oasis was his garbled sobs. 

It was complicated. Complicated and messy. 

There was simply no path that would be without heartbreak and trials. However there was more than struggle that awaited him, something deeper that raked his trepidation higher. 

Guilt.

Guilty for not trying hard enough to get home.

Guilty for pushing away a fated mate. 

Guilty for waiting so long to seek the truth. 

Surely even Eywa herself would look down upon his actions because Neteyam was raised better than this. He was the son of Toruk Makto, a Sky Person turned Na’vi legend. He was the son of Neytiri Te Tskaha Mo’at’ite who was only a young woman when she lost her sister and took her place in the clan only to then lose her father, home, and future role as Tsahik in one day. Neither had shirked away from the destiny Eywa had handed them. They had risen above their own expectations and became the people they were truly meant to be. 

They took world shattering news in stride before jumping into action and now Neteyam couldn’t even get himself to communicate with the Great Mother. 

This was not who he was supposed to be. Omega or not, Neteyam had always known he held the mantle among his siblings. What example was he setting for them?

The omega’s small hands covered his face in despair, foolishly hoping to hide his face from Eywa’s all-seeing eyes. 

“Neteyam?”

His sobbing choked into a garbled mess in his throat as he desperately wiped at his tear streaked face. It took several swipes for him to recognize Tamil’s figure in the distance.

He was back already?

How long had he sat there crying like a child?

“I-I’m sorry. I was just about t-to get back. Lost track of time.” Neteyam tried to dart to his feet but Tamil stopped him with a calm hand. 

“Mawey Neteyam. Stay.” Tamil’s voice purred forward with such tenderness and sincerity, Neteyam couldn’t help but relax back on his knees. Calming alpha pheromones radiated from him and although they smelt like stale dirt compared to Kxolo’s, the omega felt his muscles release tension. 

It was only when a small gargle sounded that Neteyam finally noticed the squirming baby in Tamil’s arms. The small child flopped to and fro as the alpha slowly sat across from him. Her eyes were the size of moons as they glistened in the glowing lights, chubby hands already reaching towards any vine she saw. 

Neteyam couldn’t pin down why if his life depended on it, but the sight of her made whatever resolve he had scrambled together break once more. The sobbing returned and no amount of self discipline could keep back is undignified crying. 

Tamil placed a comforting hand on the omega’s shoulder as he cried. 

The alpha didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t even urge the boy to calm his crying. 

He simply waited.

Tamil’s daughter simply watched on with curious eyes. Once the crying had become old news, she started to reach for some of Neteyam’s loose braids. A pout quickly formed on her lips when her father pulled her back from tugging on them. 

“Do you want to hold her?” Tamil asked softly. 

Neteyam nodded frantically, unsure of why he craved to hold the small child so badly. Tamil handed her over with such gentle care, Neteyam felt as if he was carrying the rarest jewel as he placed her on his lap. 

Although he tried to keep her neatly upright on his lap, she seemed to have other ideas. She could barely crawl but what she lacked in leg strength she made up for in her strategic scooting over his legs. Little huffs left her lips as she dug her nails in his legs and pulled herself forward. Those golden eyes never strayed from his swinging braids. She had a goal.

“What is her name?” He whispered, voice heavy. 

“Vili.” 

Finally her stubby fingers latched onto a braid and a delighted giggle escaped her as she tugged on it. Neteyam winced slightly but a surprised laugh replaced his sobs this time. Tears still rolled down his cheek but there was now something else to focus on. Her small body strained as she went for a specific blue bead in his hair.

“Apologies, hair is her current fixation. It is only by Eywa’s mercy that I am not already bald.” Tamil informed but there was anything but ire present in his tone. He laughed and tried to detach her vice-like grip from Neteyam’s braids. 

“It is fine.” Neteyam barely managed to get out, other hands softly stroking her thin curls. The touch snagged her attention, doe eyes looking up at him suddenly. When he repeated the action, Vili leaned into the touch clumsily. She released the hold on his braids and suddenly she was slumping against his chest, snuggling close. 

Another wave of emotion washed over him as he held the small baby close. 

“You are troubled.” 

“I…I was only…”

“It is fine, Neteyam. I would be concerned were you not.” 

Surprise flickered through him, eyes snapping up to meet Tamil’s. 

“I do not envy your position.” The alpha clarified, pulling Vili’s thumb from her mouth. 

It felt silly to be surprised by the statement but there were days where it seemed everyone took the kidnapping situation in stride,seeing it as simply a small hurdle for the new couple. Kxolo always kept a strong face, reluctant to let on his own concerns about the tension with the Omatikaya clan. 

“They are going to hate me.” Neteyam was startled to find what originated as a simple thought come out in whispered form, but since it was out, the words wouldn’t stop. “I was supposed to be finding a way to get out of here and yet all I have done is fail. No worse, I have gone against everything my parents have taught me and allowed myself to fall for the psycho that kidnapped me. I go to stop and back track….but then….I can’t. I’ve….I’ve betrayed my parents, my siblings, my clan! I’ve given over my own purity and now my parents will hate me. I am not the firstborn they deserve!”

Tears slipped down his cheeks so fast they began to drop on Vili’s head. Her nose scrunched in confusion before patting at her own head. 

Sharp teeth sunk into his bottom lips as he tried to hold back more disgraceful sobs. Although he was on the verge of breaking into a million pieces, there was satisfaction in having the words said out loud. As if they were something he no longer had to hold on his own. They were shared. 

Not daring to glance up at the alpha, Neteyam let the silence stretch between them.

“Vili had trouble breathing when she was first born.”

Neteyam quirked his eyes up finally. 

“Those were longest two minutes of my life. When she did start breathing normally I would refuse to take my hand off her chest. I fell asleep to the rise and fall of her chest. I say with no exaggeration, it was the most terrifying day of my life.” Their eyes connected, a seriousness falling over them.

“And without a doubt the greatest day I shall ever know. I thank the Great Mother for her every night.”

The tension slipped and Neteyam found himself smiling down at Vili who wouldn’t stop kicking her legs at his arm. 

“I do not expect you to understand, Neteyam.” 

Neteyam brows furrowed.

“Only a parent can truly comprehend what it means to love someone unconditionally in the way we love our children. But hear my words when I tell you there is not a single thing that my daughter could do to make me love her a morsel less. That will never change.” 

Neteyam gulped down the lump in his throat. Vili had found a new interest in the omega’s stomach, gummy mouth chomping down painlessly on his lower stomach. 

“Your parents love you. If I didn’t know it before I surely know it after today.” 

Neteyam perked up, hands already shaky in anticipation. 

“What happened? Were they upset?” 

“Naturally, but you need not over concern yourself. That is not my point.” Tamil, pursed his lips, lost in thought for a moment.

“Your parents love you and will continue to love you no matter what you do. You need not do anything to earn that love.”

The words turned over in his head on repeat. 

“But will they forgive me?” He whispered after a long pause, barely more than a breath.

“That assumes you have done something wrong.”

“Haven’t I?”

“Only one being can answer that.” He responded, ever so gently removing Vili from his lap. 

The Tree of Souls had never burned brighter, etching its presence into Neteyam’s consciousness until it could no longer be ignored. Biting his lower lip, the omega casted his eyes upwards as the sacred seeds cascaded down flawlessly.

“And if I don’t want to know?”

Already on his feet with Vili situated on his hip, Tamil paused and smiled warmly down at him. 

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” 

And with that, Tamil silently began to walk away. Before leaving however, he turned once more.

“Neteyam.” He called, causing the omega’s attention to turn. “I see you.” 

Emotion gripped at his heart as he quietly whispered the same back. Tamil smiled but left without delay. 

Echoes of the forest surrounded him in a gentle ambience. Subconsciously, Neteyam thumbed at the designs along his new bow. 

It was time. 

Afraid his nerve would be fleeting, Neteyam hastily threw his kuru back over his shoulder and let the tendrils connect to the nearest vine. 

He cleared his throat, expecting to follow his usual routine of addressing Eywa, but a light blinded him before there was a chance. The words were caught in his throat and the forest scenery melted away before his eyes. Panic went to a find a grip  but then something new washed over him. 

Peace flowed through him in ripples, the same pulsations of an active Tree of Souls. It thrummed through his veins in perfect time with his heart. Only blinding light could be seen but Neteyam was calm. More calm than he had been in years. A peace that he could only vaguely remember experiencing in early childhood. 

Eywa’s love wrapped around him in the same way his own mother had held him close as a babe. There was no judgment, no retribution; just love. His worries took the back burner as he settled into the feeling, no longer letting his brain overwork itself to understand the situation. He accepted the light, accepted the peace, and opened himself up like a flower does to the sun.

Slowly his vision began to recover, revealing the familiar forest before him. However, this time Neteyam found himself no longer underneath the glow of glimmering vines. Slightly startled and confused, he took in his surroundings rapidly whipping his head back and forth. His gaze snagged on Kxolo’s form and although it was surprising to see him there, Neteyam couldn’t help but feel relieved. 

“Sempu! He broke my bow!” A small girl bursted through the trees holding a piece of thin wood. She darted to Kxolo without hesitation, flinging her small body at his calf to cling to.

Neteyam blinked, heart racketing in his rib cage as he witnessed the events. 

He expected Kxolo to be surprised, perhaps point the small girl in the direction of her real father and comfort her along the way but there was not a flicker of hesitation in his features. Instead, Kxolo let out a long sigh and fought back what appeared to be an amused smile. 

“Alright alright, mawey, sweet girl.” He easily positioned her on his hip and the small child instantly tucked her face into his neck and sobbed. She was not easily consoled, despite his efforts to pry an explanation out of her. “Come now, show it to me.” 

Finally the girl reared back to look up at Kxolo. Neteyam he had never seen a more perfected pouty face in his whole life. Her eyes were filled with tears and small lips so expertly set the omega was sure this particular expression was a familiar one to her. Kxolo, however, visibly softened upon seeing her distress. 

He examined the small strip of wood with the other hand before smiling.

“It is not broken, my love. Simply needs some mending.” His voice soothed over her but the result didn”t last long. 

“I told you!” Another child bolted from the treeline, this one at least a foot taller than her. The boy pointed an accusing finger at her. “She is always tattling on me but I didn’t even do it because it not even broken and-”

“Mawey mawey.” Kxolo reassured but that stern steel laced his voice. 

“But sempu, she is always trying to get me in trouble!”

“I am not!” The girl wailed, tears coming back at full force. 

“You crybaby!” 

Neteyam jumped in surprise because that was not a Na’vi term, in fact it wasn’t Na’vi at all. The young boy had switched to English and to further his shock the tiny girl appeared to understand him perfectly as she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Stop it.” Kxolo accentuated each word with a pointed look.

Although it had a unique accent coating the sounds, there was no mistaking the truth. Kxolo was speaking English. Brows furrowing, Neteyam found it hard to compute the new information. It had become clear that this scene had to be in the future at some point but how? When? 

“Now now no more of that.” Kxolo spoke again in Na’vi as he swiped away the girl’s tears. 

“I want Mommy!” She cried out in English, already trying to find a way out of Kxolo’s arms. The boy on the other hand seemed to have already moved on with a simple eye roll before jetting past the Olo’eyktan. Kxolo caught him before he could slip away, hand gently holding him by the arm. The boy huffed and yanked back with all of his force but it was no match for his alpha father. 

Neteyam felt guilty admitting it, but he was tempted to laugh at the scene before him. Both children trying to pull away and run off to get into trouble while Kxolo simply held them tight and patiently led them towards the lake’s edge. 

“But then I hits em with a jet pack.” 

Neteyam looked close to see which child had spoken but neither had stopped their whining for a second. Instead his ears twitched as he heard a different voice coming from the treeline, a strangely familiar one. 

“That is not how a jet pack works, paskalin.” 

It was a bizarre thing to hear his own voice out in the open air, different from the way it sounds in his head, however nothing could prepare him for seeing a clone of himself emerging from the trees. Exactly like him in every way but this time there were two children attached to his side, one in his arms while the other got a free ride by wrapping around his leg. Looking close he could see the difference in age slightly, along with a few new ornaments in his hair but there was no denying the resemblance.

It was him. 

“Okays but mine specials.” The small boy cling to his leg urgently claimed. 

“Of course, baby.” He heard himself respond, now switching over to Na’vi. In his arms was another small child but this one had to be barely old enough to talk, thumb in his mouth while that small tail tried to wrap around Neteyam’s arm. 

“Daddy!” The tiny boy abandoned him to run over to Kxolo, thrusting a stick with a few feathers up towards him aggressively. “Look whats I mades.” 

“Wow! That is fantastic.” The last word in English was barely discernible, the Olo’eyktan struggling more with this one in particular. Kxolo eyes shot to Neteyams and he saw himself shoot the alpha a small smile in approval. 

“I knows.” The tiny boy agreed, already confident that this fact could be nothing but the simplest truth. 

Kxolo didn’t have a free hand to commend the boy so his tail wrapped around him instead. A fit of giggle burst from the boy as the tuff of Kxolo’s tail tickled at his cheek. It appeared to be just the distraction needed as the Olo’eyktan was finally able to turn and face Neteyam with a grin. 

“Yawntutsyip.” He greeted with a smirk but the small girl was already reaching for Neteyam. 

“Mommy! My bow!” She whined, thrusting the piece out. Neteyam offered a few words of comfort before awkwardly taking the bow and managing to still keep a hold of the baby in his arms. It took less than a minute to slot the string back into place and hand it back. The tears stopped instantly. 

“Time to bathe.” Kxolo purred but outrage broke loose. The older boy in his grip groaned and went to dart away causing him to set down his daughter so he could use both hands to bring him back. The girl took this opportunity to run over to Neteyam and cling to his leg, promises of never bathing again falling from her lips. 

Meanwhile the smallest boy had already left behind his art and was sprinting straight towards the lake. Neteyam’s own heart lurched for a second in panic when those stubby legs hit the water’s edge but to his relief it appeared the boy was quite the swimmer. Future him seemed to know this too as he focused his efforts on swaying his daughter to get in. 

Kxolo and their son were the last ones to get in. The Olo’eyktan had the older boy tucked under his arm, his legs dangling to the side as he pouted. Once his father had placed him in the water he went to make another break for it but Kxolo was already three steps ahead of him, shuffling back and forth to barricade the exit. 

The smallest boy giggled as he watched his older brother and father interact. 

“My turns! Catch me Daddy!” He shrieked before going to run away. The tiny boy ran straight into his older brother and bounced backwards into the water immediately. He surfaced with laughter and to Kxolo’s luck his older son had finally given up playing this back and forth game. 

The Olo’eyktan chased his younger son through the rippling lake for several minutes until the tiny boy had to climb onto a rock for a rest. 

It seemed that harmony had finally been struck as the kids giggled and chased each other through the lake. Kxolo took their smallest child and placed him into a makeshift leaf wrap by the lake, just enough water trickling in to allow the toddler to splash and play. 

Even from a distance Neteyam could easily see the way Kxolo’s eyes scanned over his future self, hands quickly coming to follow the curve of the omega’s back. 

Neteyam glared back at him playfully, tail swatting at his arm. The Olo’eyktan was neither swayed nor put out by the response. In fact, his smirks tipped upwards as he finally yanked his omega into his arms at last. 

“And you question how we got so many children.” Neteyam said.

“I don’t recall you complaining last night, omega.” Kxolo whispered against his neck. Even watching the interaction Neteyam could feel his own body shiver with anticipation. His future self seemed to share the sentiment as he blushed. This time, however, that blush was not followed by shying away or trying to hide it but rather giving his mate a playful smile and reaching to connect their lips. 

Kxolo cupped each side of his face tenderly, soaking in every swipe of their lips together like it was the last breath he would be allowed to take. 

A glimmer of teeth shone through as neither was quite able to hide their smiles in the kiss. Even Neteyam’s tail lazily swayed back and forth in delight. There was not a hint of tension or stress present in his countenance. Neteyam’s hands hooked underneath the Olo’eyktan’s battle band for grip before rising up onto his toes. Kxolo’s responding laugh was more visual than audible. 

“Ewww! Dad!” The oldest son groaned, nose scrunching up in disgust. Their daughter on the other hand began to giggle and sashay her way towards them, eyes wide and intent. When their son went to protest once more, Kxolo playfully splashed back at him and that was enough to start a full blown attack from the children. 

Chubby little hands swatted at the water earnestly, hoping that their combined forces would be enough to take down their parents. When Kxolo’s head snapped in their direction they scattered, already anticipating his retribution. With a mighty roar he dramatically charged after them, gathering them up in his arms easily as they shrieked in delight. 

The forest colors became saturated until light was blurring around him in every direction. That beam took him once more and Neteyam could no longer see the young family in the lake. 

When Neteyam opened his eyes they struggled to make sense of the visual before him. Sparkling vines swung from overhead, bathing him in their glow. Limbs heavy and head pulsing, the omega finally realized he was now laying on his back underneath the Tree of Souls once more. 

To say it was disorienting to come back to reality would be an understatement. His mind felt like it was suspended between two different times, the present and future. The real shock, however, was the deep aching in his bones as he realized this future had not occurred. At least not yet.

But that path would only form if he decided to accept a mating with Kxolo. Everything in that vision was nothing but an idea, one given by Eywa, but still just a speck of what could be. 

However, there was one fact that still remained in the present.

One that was true and had been true for a while now.

He loved Kxolo.

He was in love with Kxolo.

No other person ran through his mind on cycle. No other person made him feel so safe and cherished. No other person had ever captivated his mind body and soul in the same way Kxolo had. Intentional or not, Neteyam had fallen past the point of no return.

He thought of his future self, the way he had radiated a happiness that Neteyam had never fully recognized in himself. A complete metamorphosis. Neteyam couldn’t deny that his future had never looked brighter than in that snippet of time. 

Hope was a flame burning ever brighter. 

For so long he had felt guilty for going against his father’s disapproval of Kxolo. He had wanted so desperately to become like his parents, who fought for their future. But now he could see that they too had to go against the expectations of the clan, mother’s parents, and the RDA all so they could pursue a future that others could not yet comprehend. 

To honor his parents legacy he could only be true to himself.

Now it was his turn to fight for the future he saw. 

“I really should be at communal dinner with Neteyam.” Vamai protested, fingers lazily shifting the cut berries back and forth. 

“You are eating here.” Her father quietly reminded her. Her parents had insisted on an intimate family dinner for the night but were the tension to grow any higher Vamai was sure it would cut off her air flow until she suffocated. 

“But Neteyam has been acting strange for a couple days so I really should be there to make sure he is alright.” She explained. “Olo’eyktan would want the same.” It never hurt to throw Kxolo’s name in for good measure. 

Her father sighed before putting aside his half eaten fish. 

“If Olo’eyktan is upset about your absence I will apologize myself.” He countered and her mother laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Vamai didn’t mean to be harsh towards her gentle mother but she couldn’t help but shrug the touch off. She was in no mood to be touched. 

Reluctantly accepting her fate, Vamai strapped herself in for the rest of a silent awkward meal. She wasn’t sure what her parents thought this would accomplish. It was not going to fix what had been done. 

“Epok says you are still not speaking to him.” Vamai’s father spoke in a smooth tone, even wafting calming pheromones her way. It was almost laughable the way they viewed her as a skittish prey ready to pounce away at any moment. 

“Well I am not related to him so therefore I am under no obligation to talk to him.” 

Her father’s composure cracked, brows knitted. 

“I take it you are still mad then.” Came his reply.

“Oh am I? I didn’t think that option was still available to me.” 

“Vamai,” Her mother tried to scold but it was more of a sigh to herself, a desperate plea to try and play nice. 

It seemed too that her father was struggling to approach the situation without things escalating. His tail stood on point and those ears were already perky and alert for any shift. 

“Settle, Vamai.” He warned but that spark of electricity was already vibrating through her. Sometimes that energy in her system flowed like a river, giving her the strength to push through physical bounds and explore to her content but other times it reacted like a live wire. It buzzed and hummed through her until she knew all those pent up emotions were going to fly out as lightning. 

Trying to keep it trapped in a box would only sour her mood in a different direction. Either it was going to come out in rage or it would flow as endless tears. She didn’t want to accept either. Doing so would push her parents to worry for her more. It was that same worry which had put them here in the first place. 

“Epok is a nice man, Vee.” Her father gently urged. “I was only trying to look out for your best interest.”

Lightning had always been her favorite. 

“So you hatch up schemes to mate us together? Going to him behind my back like that, convincing him to secure my hand? How is that in my best interest?” She shoved the leaf of berries off of her lap. 

“You have been stubborn. So unmovable from the beginning that you often get in your own way, sweetheart.” Her mother jumped in, her smooth voice such a harsh contrast to Vamai’s own distressed one. 

“That’s right. I’ve come to accept that you most likely will not want to mate with an alpha, your need to push at authority is something that I don’t anticipate going away, but that is why Epok was the perfect choice.” Vamai’s father added. 

Vamai’s jaw set so hard she could feel the aches settling into her back teeth. She fought the urge to grind them together. 

“He is strong, responsible, reliable, capable, and already shares a friendship with you. Not to mention holds a respectable status among the clan.”

“I didn’t ask for his courting profile.” Her cheeks began to flush a deep purple, the blood rushing to her head at abounding speeds. Eyes flickering to the door, possible escape had never looked more tempting. “Why would you try to make that decision for me?” 

It was evident that her father too was quickly losing his patience. Heavy breaths flared from his nostrils every time he prepared himself to speak. The civil temper in the hut was hanging by a thread and one that she was sure either herself or her father was going to snap. 

“I mean what did you think? Let us fuck enough times and I would fall in love with him?” 

It was her.

She snapped it.

And her father’s rage had boiled over. Once again her mouth had run away from her and had therefore put herself in the line of fire. 

“Vamai Te Zehu Sehu’ite, you will watch your mouth!” He towered over them standing at full height. 

It was only instinctive but Vamai still hated the way her ears pulled back and tears gathered in her eyes. Her omega was a whimpering mess and on the verge of surrendering to this fight. It didn’t matter though, she had dealt with worse. 

Although her father’s hands were balled into fists and scent wafting with anger, it seemed he too could sense her shift in emotions through that betraying essence. 

His voice softened, “I am less than pleased about the…manner of your relationship but once again Vamai it had only come to that because it was the only way you allowed Epok close to you. Every other suitor who has tried for your hand has been shoved away and rebuked by you. You must know that does not do well for a male’s willingness-”

“Poor babies.” She muttered, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the door to their hut. 

“What your father is trying to say is that we are worried about you. Finding a mate is a joyous endeavor, but also a very important decision. It can be…painful at times to go without one, especially as an omega.” 

Vamai knew her mother was trying to speak from a place of experience but it was difficult to ever relate her own character to that of her mother. Her mother was gentle, soft spoken, kind and caring. Somedays Vamai felt as if she could not be further from the descent of her parents. 

“You act as if I will never get mated. It’s not as if I have sworn off the entire concept. Just because I don’t have feelings for a few village alphas? So what? You just said so yourself that the choice is important.” 

Her parents shared a look, one that made the electricity crackle in her veins. 

“My child,” Her father crouched down and reached to cup her cheek. Those calming pheromones prowling once more but Vamai scowled back at him. “Your path thus far has been a rocky one. One that I would have never wished upon my only daughter.”

She reeled away from his touch. 

“That’s what this is about? You know I will get mated but you don’t trust my taste.” 

Her father’s gaze snagged her own and it took every fiber in her to hold the look.

“I made one mistake! One. Is that what you want me to admit? Tenatu was a mistake! I was young and foolish and let my emotions get the best of me. I know that, believe me, I will never forget it!”

“Vee” Her mother's soft voice cooed but Vamia was already pulling away from her gentle touch.Too scrambled and on the edge of a breakdown to think, she grabbed her small pouch and shoved the weird neck comm into it before her parents could see what it was. 

“Vamai, do not be hasty.” Her father warned, but she was already parting the hut flaps.

Anxious for a quick retreat, she was not prepared to bump into a hard chest. Vamai stumbled backwards as two hands went out to steady her. 

“Oh, Vamai. Are you alright?” Epok asked, trying to help the small omega get her footing. 

She scoffed, ripping her arms from his grasp and turning back to her father. 

“What a wonderful dinner you had planned, sempu.” She gritted out, face already turning a darker shade with rage. 

She didn’t allow either male to speak, didn’t give them the time to persuade, justify, or defend their actions. It was clear that tonight she was in fact the fool. 

So Vamai did what she knew how to do best.

She ran. 

“I’m not in the mood, today.” Lo’ak grunted out, storming away from Amnu.

His father had been raging since that morning per the news. Lo’ak was surprised both of his parents didn’t jump the messenger Kxolo sent, no matter how soft spoken or gentle he was about delivering it. Regardless, that anger had shown through in training. Jake had run the warriors down to the bone, merciless with his corrections of every single infraction. Each screw up had come with a consequence, reminiscent of Jake’s military days and something Lo’ak was all too familiar with experiencing. 

At the end of the day, he was exhausted, infuriated, and craving nothing more than to speak with his feisty omega. As tough as Vamai thought she was, her insults could do nothing more than brighten his day. 

“It is true then.” Amnu said, ignoring his warnings. 

Lo’ak grinded to a halt. With a bone chilling stiffness, he turned to face the other alpha male. 

“What. Is.” He hissed, teeth already preparing to tear the male limb from limb. It had been too long of Amnu’s pursuing and nagging. 

“What they say of your brother. He is mated with that psychotic Olo’eyktan.” 

Their game of chase quickly flipped on its head, Lo’ak’s long legs carrying him towards the male in stomping fashion.

“It is not.” His five fingers splayed over the male’s chest, pushing him backwards until he stumbled slightly. “Watch your mouth.” 

Amnu held his arms up in surrender, lips turned downwards. 

“Fine. I do not protest. In fact that is good news, especially considering our deal.” 

Lo’ak could already feel his sore muscles bunching up. This was not the conversation he needed today. 

“What the hell are you on about, Amnu?” 

“I’m talking about when I covered for your ass a few weeks ago. I was under the impression you would bring home a certain pretty omega. And yet, no Neteyam.” 

“First of all, I never promised you anything. You were the one that wanted to help get Neteyam back. Secondly, your help was nonexistent considering I still got turned over within a few hours.” Lo’ak’s hands balled into fists tight enough to mark half moons into his palms. He was in no mood to be tested, even less so engage with some horny entitled alpha. 

“You know that I would treat him better than that brain dead Olo’eyktan. You and I want the same thing.” 

Lo’ak swore he heard his teeth crack from the pressure of his clamped jaw. Amnu’s confidence, however, appeared to know no bounds as he calmly pushed forward. 

“Even if he has been,” Amnu paused, lips pursed while looking for the right term. “Sullied, you could say.” 

The first swing was instinctual. Lo’ak neither needed to think nor decide to give him a right hook. The second, however, was more precise, more intentional. Both made his knuckles ache, but it was more than a worthy cause. 

“You keep my brother’s name out of your filthy mouth!” 

Amnu stumbled and poked at his now bleeding lip but his features too soon morphed in a display of fury. 

“You seem to forget that before this whole mess I was courting your brother for months.”

“Oh really? Is that what those pathetic gifts were? Truly, I thought they were some garbage toys for Tuk.” Lo’ak sneered, ears pointed and alert for the receiving attack.

And it came. 

The other alpha rammed into him, bringing them both to the ground in a tangle of snapping jaws and swinging hits. Admittedly, Amnu got his fair share of hits in, but Lo’ak’s restraint was quickly circling down the drain. It was true that Amnu had been relentlessly pursuing Neteyam but his desire was no match for the swirling emotions that had been spiraling in Lo’ak for months now. 

So he channeled it.

Every jab, tug, and punch was fueled by that turmoil. 

Every day that had been spent trying to keep that fire inside, trying to fill in as a good older brother was compacted into his anger. Amnu made some scratches, even managed to pounded in some deep bruises but Lo’ak was less than deterred. 

He rolled them over, straddling the male and pushing him into the dirt violently. Amnu growled and squirmed but Lo’ak knew how to position his body so that escape was not his to be had. He pinned Amnu’s neck down with his leg, the pressure not enough to cut off the airway but still able to cause great strain. 

“You think that beating me up is going to bring him back?” Amnu’s hoarse voice egged him on. Another hit to the jaw. “It’s not my fault you failed.” 

And that’s when Lo’ak let the floodgates open.

Lip bleeding with scattered bruises along his stomach and face, Lo’ak stomped back to his hut. The fight had dialed his adrenaline to eleven and yet it still left him unsatisfied. In the end he had been triumphant but what did it really matter? Amnu was the least of his problems. His mother and father were sure to be fighting once more as they struggled to keep their emotions in check and find a solution. His older brother was swaddled in the arms of some asshole and his own love life was keeping him up at night until his training was suffering. 

Settling into his hammock, Lo’ak had never been more grateful to have a place to call his own. It gave him the solace and time to think that he required on days like today. 

“Lo’ak.” 

He shot upright, eyes scanning the ground for the earpiece faintly making the sound. He tried not to dwell on how fast he scrambled to respond. It had been a hard day. He deserved to hear her voice. 

“Little snitch, well well well. You do know how to start a comm link after all.” He struggled to keep the words light. Vamai had a knack for creating this playful conversation between them, however he was sure she would not describe their interactions in the same light. 

“Yeah….guess so.” She responded and Lo’ak blinked. 

“What are you up to?” He hesitantly veered forward, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Nothing really.”

Lo’ak brows furrowed as he winced and pressed on his bleeding lip.

“Nothing, huh? It’s kind of hard to do no-”

“Why are you talking strange?”She interrupted. 

“Strange?” He mumbled while pressing the cloth against his cut. 

“Yes, you sound different.” 

He paused for a moment.

“Oh that. I have a cut on my lip, just a minor-”

“How?”

It wasn’t rare for Vamai to be so blunt, but Lo’ak couldn’t help but notice her sudden attention. 

“I got into a fight. Nothing major, just the usual banged up cuts and bruises.” He shrugged, laying back down on his hammock. Talking to Vamai was meant to be his escape from the events of the day. The last thing he wanted was to get into the details. 

“And you have seen tsahik.” 

Lo’ak grimaced at the idea of facing his grandmother at a time like this. The last thing his family needed was to worry about the injuries his heated temper had bestowed upon him. 

“Well, I don’t think now is a good time for that. My family is a little…disarrayed.”

The silence hung heavy for a moment and Lo’ak found the questions at the tip of his tongue begging to let loose. He didn’t want to think about Neteyam or the Olo’eyktan or any of his problems, but there was always a temptation to beseech Vamai. Surely she would know if the rumors were true. 

“I can patch you up.”

His thoughts reared to a stop. 

“What? What do you mean?” He sprung back up in his hammock, muscles aching from the sudden strain. 

“Patch you up. Heal your injuries.”

His fingers ran over the neck comm, making sure there were no missing parts that could be distorting the signal. 

“Yes I….you could.” He swallowed. “Are you offering?” 

“I suppose so.” Came her reply and Lo’ak just about nearly fell on his face as he scrambled to unwind the hammock around his legs. What had gotten into her? Most nights he was lucky to get a ten minute conversation with her and now she wanted to see him? But not only that. Heal him, take care of him.

Although a primal part of him purred at the idea of his omega warming up to him, his suspicion couldn’t be ignored. 

“Meet me at the bottom of the waterfall.”

Lo’ak hastily agreed but there was no reply. 

The waterfall, the same waterfall he had jumped down after her. The same waterfall that at the bottom of he had tasted her essence for the first time. 

The same place she had forbidden them of speaking about for weeks. 

On the ride over Lo’ak struggled to suppress his urgency. He told himself over and over that it was sure to be a joke. Vamai had been…compliant with their comm conversations but any speak of meeting up again had ended with radio silence. He told himself that she was simply playing a prank on him and that the day would once again end with another disappointment.

It didn’t stop the flutter in his stomach, however.

A flutter that had burst into an avalanche when he landed to find her petite form sitting against a tree, arranging bowls of healing ointments. 

It couldn’t have been more than two weeks since he had a waft of her perfume but a serge of primal emotion swept over him at the familiar scent regardless. It rolled forward memories of how that essence had complimented her taste perfectly, of how she had moaned out his name and squirmed against his gripping hands.

More than anything however, it brought forth the memory of her small form in his arms. The way she had slept so softly against him. 

Now, however, that fleeting tinge of peace that had been present in her pheromones was nowhere to be found. In fact, Vamai sat still. So perfectly still and stiff that it had sent chills down his spine. He tried to get a read on her scent but there was a messy sprawl to it, like a tangled web holding what lied beneath. 

“You showed.” He forced on a smile as he rounded the tree. 

Vamai stiffened and nervously shuffled the bowls into a random order. 

“I said I would.” 

The anxious demeanor immediately put him on guard. When he caught her hand that was reaching for another bowl he spoke softly. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t do that.” She shoved him off. Weirdly the aggressive action felt more like her usual self. He leaned into it, hoping to press some sort of reaction or answer that would make sense. 

“Why not?”

For the first time upon arriving her eyes met his. They burned with a formidable rage but there was a shimmer of waterworks lined over them as well. Her lips quivered and immediately, Lo’ak’s tail jerked up on alert. 

“Vama-”

“Can you please just hold still so I can do this?” Vamai snapped. 

And although a part of him stirred at her disrespectful tone, even his alpha knew how to detect an omega in distress. He sat back on his knees quietly. 

She didn’t meet his eyes while preparing the healing balm, letting her wavy hair create a curtain to hide. Vamai was stoic as she began rubbing ointment into a cut on his collarbone, but there were tell-tale signs that Lo’ak couldn’t help but focus on. Her small fingers trembled with every motion over his cut. Although it stung, Lo’ak didn’t so much as flinch. 

Her golden orbs dared a glance at his beaten features. 

“You got injured like this how again?” She whispered, eyes intensely trained on the already treated cut in front of her. 

“A disagreement.” 

“Skxawng.” She huffed, but there was a waiver in her voice. “With who?”

“Just some moronic alpha that has an obsession with Neteyam. Thought it was his place to make swift judgments.” 

Her hand paused and from his vantage point Lo’ak could just barely make out her sharp teeth nipping into her bottom lip. 

“And he looks worse than this, right?” 

“Of course.”

Vamai nodded, shrinking back into her hair once more.

“Good.” 

Her touch became softer, increasingly more gentle when running over the bruises and cuts. She avoided his face, however, tending to every other area first. It tied a knot in Lo’ak’s stomach to see her this way. Quiet. Withdrawn. Small.

Vamai was often like a ticking bomb. On some days he couldn’t help himself from chasing to set her off, to get her to reveal something of significance. Their connection was real, he knew it and there was no denying that she must have felt it too, but he could never figure out what the big hold up was. 

However, he knew on certain days that it was crucial to handle her with care. If he had learned anything about bombs from his father it was that the smallest and seemingly most inconsequential moves were that same that had them blowing you to bits. 

Breath held in his lungs, Lo’ak ever so lightly rested his palm against her lower back. At first it was soft enough to be mistaken as a brush of wind but when she didn’t pull away, he allowed his hand to flatten across the soft skin. 

He couldn't see her face, couldn’t get an accurate read on her but her scent shifted dramatically. Then suddenly she was resting her forehead against his chest. His other hand dug into the dirt as he fought off every instinct to brush her hair away and see what was really happening. 

His patience was not tested for long however.

The shaking began and then came the sobs. 

Tears rained down on his chest as Vamai crumbled against him. 

His body reacted before his brain could catch up. She didn’t fight him as he pulled her to sit on  his lap and latched his muscular arms around her. Calming pheromones drifted from him without thought but nothing could mask her own essence projecting sadness, longing, and…fear.

His brows furrowed, terrified for a moment that he had become the source of this turmoil, but then she leaned closer until her face was burrowed in the crook of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine as he once again experienced this long awaited contact. 

Cheek laid against the top of her head, Lo’ak focused on keeping his breathing consistent and calm, something his omega could latch onto. It took considerable effort as his alpha was pulled between two different desires. To coddle and to protect. Surely this onslaught of emotions had to have an origin, one that his alpha was eager to exterminate.

How long had she been feeling this way?

Regardless, Lo’ak forced himself to remain calm and keep her bundled close against him. 

He hated to see her so distressed and yet it had never felt better to have her in his arms, to finally express his adoration through a physical outlet. 

Her wavy hair tickled at his nose as her sobs quietly rang through the air. One of her small hands found purchase along his battle band and Lo’ak’s heart fluttered in his chest. Daring to push the boundaries just a little further, Lo’ak carefully pushed a few curls away from her forehead. 

Her face was still buried against his neck but he could see the tears streaks staining her gorgeously soft cheeks and lips. He took it as a good sign when she didn’t correct this action, but Vamai wouldn’t open her eyes either. He wondered what secrets hid within those golden eyes. What sorrows she held at bay. 

When the tears had ceased neither Na’vi moved. 

She fit so perfectly against his larger form, tucked away where he could protect her from these invisible dangers. Pride swelled in his chest when Vamai shifted to tuck closer and relaxed in his hold. Long fingers skated up and down her spine, fiddling with the feathered straps intricately woven there. 

Incidentally his pinky brushed her curling tail. 

To his utter shock and delight that thin appendage curled around his wrist.

He looked down but her eyes were still shut. Staring for a moment, he thought that perhaps she had drifted off but then golden eyes peaked up at him through slanted slits. Immediately they closed against and Vamai shuffled to hide against his shoulder. 

He suppressed a chuckle, knowing she would bite back at him for finding the action cute. 

Instead he allowed himself to breathe in the moment. Silence was not a common occurrence between them, something he was unfamiliar with in their dynamic but he found himself enjoying it. It gave him the opportunity to fill his lungs with her essence, allow it to imprint itself into his mind, because he was not foolish enough to believe this would last forever.

At some point Vamai would remember who was holding her and remember whatever reasons she had for keeping him at arm's length. Then he would be back to chasing her, back to wrestling the omega into facing her own feelings. It was a challenge Lo’ak was willing to face, but it came with lonely moments too. 

It would be worth it though. 

This he knew as he brushed another curl from her temple. 

Kxolo believed he had a knack for patience and keeping a cool composure. That is, before he had met Neteyam and the omega had easily turned him inside out. 

It wasn’t uncommon to hunt solo for a few hours. Two, maybe three hours was normal. But when hour four hit, Kxolo could no longer keep his nerves at bay. He raced through the forest, barreling through bushing and scaling overturned trees within his path. 

Worst case scenarios tumbled and tangled in his mind, tormenting him endlessly as he ran. 

Neteyam had been off that morning. His head had been far away from the present and Kxolo regretted ever letting the omega out to hunt alone in that state. The forests of Pandora were not for the faint of heart and definitely not for those distracted. He could only imagine what creature had found him as prey. 

Kxolo’s hand was drawing up to unsheath his knife when suddenly a familiar figure came into view.

Instantly the Olo’eyktan sagged in relief. 

“Neteyam.” He breathed. “There you are, baby boy.” 

He sheathed the dagger once more and quickly went to embrace the omega. Neteyam fell into the hug easily but his tail flickered back and forth in anticipation. Kxolo’s own tailed pointed in alert. 

Holding the boy back at arm’s length, Kxolo scanned his slim frame for injuries. 

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” He asked with brows knitted.

“I’m not.” 

Kxolo beamed, nerves finally washed away. 

“Come, I will help you bring back your kills.” Kxolo urged, taking him by the hand. 

“Kxolo”

“I must admit you had me worried, little one.” The alpha chuckled, hand squeezing the smaller one in his grasp. 

“Kxolo.”

“Yes love.” He hummed, focusing on following Neteyam’s footprints back to his hunting grounds. 

“Kxolo.” Neteyam firmly yanked on the male’s hand, causing the alpha to immediately spin on his heel to face him. The Olo’eyktan’s ears perked up. 

“Neteyam, what-”

“Mate with me.” 

Thank you all for the support and patience! As always, your feedback and comments not only mean the world to me but also motivate me to write more. Can't wait for Chapter 16!

Taglist: @tallulah477 @kayjaydee17 @itchaboi-itchyboy @theunfortunateplace @perfectprofessorloverapricot @neteyamssyulang @4ashes-stuff @creepytoes88 @young5643-blog @glass-rosette @namjooncrabs @softsnowydreamer

Please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the Ma Neteyam taglist&lt;3

#ma neteyam #omega neteyam #alpha male oc #alpha loak #sub neteyam #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully #avatar smut #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar wow #omegaverse #dad jake sully #protective jake sully #neytiri #jake sully #loak sully #loak fanfiction #loak smut #atwow loak #atwow neteyam #avatar twow #atwow smut #abo universe #abo #stockholm syndrome #aged up neteyam #aged up loak #ma neteyam thoughts #avatar jake sully

[fancyfeathers]

The Abduction (Yandere Childe songfic) (Normalized Yandere AU)

This is inspired by a song in Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812, The Abduction, which is basically saying goodbye before eloping. I highly suggest you listen to it either before, during, or after reading

Listen here- The Abduction

Everyone raise a glass!

Whoa!

Your family and close friends have all gathered, here in your family’s home late at night for there was no other time you could do this if you did not want to be seen. You loved your homeland of Snezhnaya but to say you loved its customs would be a lie. You hated the toxic relationships that were encouraged, some of your childhood friends you haven’t seen since your school days for they have been swept up by their “lovers” and are archons knows where. To think this sort of behavior was normalized disgusted you, and most days you thought you would never let yourself fall in love… well until now that is…

Well, comrades

We've had our fun

Lived, laughed, and loved

Friends of my youth

When shall we meet again?

I'm going abroad

Here you stood with your family, friends, and fiancé, a young man from Fontaine who shared your points of view. He had come here to Snezhnaya to study the arts, he was an actor, a sensitive fellow but he was kind and had the most pure heart you have ever seen. The two of you were friends at first and over time that evolved into more which leads to where you are now. You stood here in your family’s home, about to runaway and elope, but not running from your parents, running from your homeland. Your parents knew of your love and thought it to be wrong to deny their child the same love they had for one another. 

Goodbye, my Gypsy lovers

All my revels here are over

Well goodbye, Matryosha

Kiss me one last time

You hugged your friends, the last ones you had, as you finished your last drink together. You were not drunk, no that would not be wise for what you were about to do. The occasion was joyous for you all were celebrating a wedding, a marriage, a union. But with the spirit joy in the room you could not deny the sorrow that was there, you were saying goodbye to your family, unsure of when or if you would meet again. See before he left for Liyue you and your fiancé had caught the eye of one of the Tsaritsa’s harbingers. Neither of you had an interest in him, but neither of you doubted the promise he made to the both of you. “I am sure that when I return our families will be more than excited for our wedding.”

Remember me to Steshka

There, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Wish me luck, my Gypsy lovers

Now, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

So with the word of La Signora’s death, you two knew that you had to leave Snezhnaya before the harbingers returned for her funeral. Your father had the sleigh and horses prepared, a wedding gift from him. Your mother had a travel dress made for you that resembled a wedding dress since you wouldn’t be having a traditional ceremony at all. Your sisters had gifted you and your fiancé furs in coats in cloaks so that you would not have to run back into your parents arms from the cold but rather your fiancé wrap you up in the cloak and carry you to the sleigh, a Snezhnayan tradition.

Goodbye, my Gypsy lovers

All my revels here are over

Well goodbye, Matryosha

Kiss me one last time

With a hug and kiss from your father and mother you felt the fur of the cloak hit your shoulders, you knew it was time to go. Your father opened the door for you two, revealing the snowy landscape of Snezhnaya and he spoke three simple words, both with happiness, sorrow, and a tinge of fear in his voice. “Never look back.”

Your felt your fiancé sweep you off your feet, carrying you outside, wrapped in the cloak. You may hate your country’s traditions but this is one you truly loved, because it was a sign of true love. Here tonight you are leaving for Fontaine, a place that may not be perfect in its thoughts of love but nothing could happen to you there, not with your future husband by your side. Your fiancé set you in the velvet seat of the sleigh, and he sat next to you, taking the reins in his gloved hands. With the flick of the reins, the two of you set out into the Snezhnayan countryside, not stopping your travels until you reached the streets of Fontaine.

Remember me to Steshka

There, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Wish me luck, my Gypsy lovers

Now, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

The next morning, at your family’s home, Fatui guards came along with an all to familiar red haired harbinger, wearing a fur cloak of his own. He knocked upon the door and a moment later your little sister answered, her face smiling at first, remembering the joy from the night prior but it quickly faded at seeing the harbinger in the door. She stepped inside, inviting him in, worried for what may befall her next. Your family took a risk in adding your escape from Snezhnaya and they knew that risk, but they knew that Ajax was not heartless, at the very least he would keep your little sisters safe and unharmed. Your sister ran upstairs to keep an eye on your other siblings as your mother stepped into the front entry.

“They aren’t here, Childe.” Your mother said, looking the harbinger dead in the eye. She tried to give the impression that he wasn’t afraid when in reality she was terrified. “They said goodbye last night.”

Here's to happiness, freedom, and life!

May your travel be swift as a scythe cuts through the grass!

There was a dead silence for the longest moment, before the harbinger smiled at your mother. “Is that so? Well I’m sure they’ll return from their travels very soon after they hear what happened to her father.”

Your mother’s eyes went wide in shock and horror, your father had not even left for work an hour ago. She couldn’t get a word out as her mind began going a million miles per hour but everything she thought of led her to one answer, Ajax already knew of your twos escape. 

May your sorrows be counted and numbered as many

As drops of wine and vodka that stay in my glass!

“I have some gifts for your daughters, dolls and toys from Liyue. My own siblings like them quite a bit.” Ajax said, gesturing to one of the Fatui guards that came in with him, carrying quite a few gift boxes. “I’ll go give them their gifts and then we can talk about where my two любовники have run off to over some of the tea I have gotten you as well. We can discuss wedding plans, after all the Tsaritsa is thrilled to hear about one of her harbinger’s wedding.”

Всего хорошего

На посошок

Поехали

Всего хорошего

На посошок

Поехали

Ajax didn’t even let your mother get the chance to respond before he took the boxes from the guard and made his way upstairs, leaving your mother alone with the guards. She stumbled into the living room, collapsing into her arm chair where you used to sit at her feet as she braided your hair and told you stories when you were a little girl. She burried her face in her hands and sobbed, she could only hope that you listened to your father’s words, never look back.

Всего хорошего

На посошок

Поехали

Всего хорошего

На посошок

Поехали

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere childe x reader #yandere Childe #childe x reader #yandere tartaglia

[cobra-diamond]

What I Liked From Azula in the Spirit Temple

Now that Azula in the Spirit Temple has been out for a few days, I can confidently say I found the majority of the book compelling and worthwhile. However, it is difficult for me to say I enjoyed it due to the dark and depressing subject and its flaws, which I will cover later, but not all art is meant to be fun and I would consider Spirit Temple to be a work of art rather than entertainment. Here are the things I liked from Spirit Temple:

It Tackles Heavy Topics

Azula’s feelings toward Mai and Ty Lee’s betrayal. Her relationship with her father and mother. Azulon’s order to have Zuko killed. Her mother’s disappearance. Vengeance. Feudal piety. The consequences of going against royalty. Azula’s ability to reach into a dark place. These have been dangling plot threads since the show ended, for fifteen years, and this comic sufficiently touched on them to provide much-needed context and clarity.

The Asylum is Contextualized

A dumping ground for rebellious noble children. A place for the most traditional families to imprison their unruly daughters (read: sluts and lesbians) to punish them for “transgressions” against their proper roles in society. Scraps of humanity drifting down the river of life. This is high-level stuff with direct historical analogues. Not only is this how Azula saw her imprisonment at the asylum (dumped there to be humbled and broken) and saw herself while there (a scrap of a person), it world-builds the Fire Nation’s society in a much-needed way.

Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula

Thematically perfect. Not only does this feel like the “real” Azula bursting forth—angry, jaded, tormented, troubled—but it harkens back to pre-breakdown Finale Azula, when she was struggling with the very topics the comic addressed (see: throne room scenes). I love Hair-Down-and-Angry Azula. Some might call it Angry Wet Cat Azula. It feels like a return to the Finale when all of this “Who is Azula?” questioning began. Brilliant creative decision. Need more of it like I need oxygen.

Azula Hates Herself

This has long been speculated. Azula loathes herself and has low self-esteem despite also having immense pride, talent, and achievements to bolster her self-worth. She uses the word “loser” to describe Ty Lee and Mai, which means she views her current self as a loser. She hates that she is alone and betrayed. She hates that the best of herself doesn’t cancel out the worst. She hates that who she is is not who others want to be with. I think this is great for a prodigy who has experienced conditional love by her most influential parent.

Azula is Darkly, Horribly Conflicted

She loves her father, but also sees how he harmed her. She wants her family to be together and happy, but she also feels that if Zuko had been killed her life would have been better. She is proud of her achievements, but the consequences of what she had to be and do to achieve them makes her hate herself. Zuko was never this conflicted, even at the peak of his journey. This will take an enormous narrative effort to overcome, with likely tons of setbacks, but when it happens, it will make Zuko’s redemption look like a warmup.

There are professional authors who spend their entire careers never sniffing a character like this. I can’t say where the Avatar franchise will take Azula, and they could still fuck this all up, but this is a character capable of reaching the highest summits of literary storytelling. Capable of, not necessary will. There is not a character remaining in Avatar who can hold a candle to the moral and internal conflict found in Azula in this comic. The franchise has something special, if they handle it right.

Azula’s Desire for Family

If her family was together, that would mean none of the bad things would have happened. Her low self-esteem would be fixed by the love and admiration of her family. This is a good development. There are tons of evidence for it in the show based on how often Azula says “we” and “us” and acts like the Queen Bee of a group rather than a loner. She hates being alone and the idea of family and parental figures gives her the most security. Very realistic and compelling. Avatar has not had a character motivated by pain of loneliness and want for human connection.

Azula Continues to Use Collective Pronouns

A pattern existed in the show where Azula would very often use “we”, “us”, “our”, and other forms of collective pronouns or group references instead of “I” or “my”. The pattern continues in this comic. There are several instances where she uses collective terms when she could have said “I” or “my”. At this point, it is intentional by the writers. They are signaling something that shows up again in this comic: Azula wants community and teamwork, not isolation.

Azula is Willing to Accept Blame, But Not All of It

Just like a real person with strong will and pride would. We are all the heroes of our own journeys. Accepting blame is painful, and for a person like Azula, who has all these accomplishments under her belt, to bury herself under 100% guilt and culpability, and to allow people to denigrate those accomplishments in turn because of how "bad" she is, can likely come across as a bridge too far. She conquered Ba Sing Se, killed the Avatar, saved the capital during the Day of Black Sun. Who is anyone to tell her she did nothing right and everything wrong? Azula is also highly intelligent, which makes it easier for her to justify her actions and beliefs and craft narratives explaining it all.

Azula is recognizing she has flaws and has made mistakes. It even appears she wants to be able to talk about them. The door is not shut on listening to criticism. This makes Azula’s potential reconciliation with the heroes full of drama and dynamic conversations.

Azula Won’t Be Brow-Beat or Guilt-Tripped into Submission

If she is backed into a corner with accusations of being cruel, evil, to blame for everything, the cause of all her problems, a monster, like the Zuko apparition was doing, she will lash out. Call it denial. Call it a defense mechanism. She will not allow what she is proud of, what she feels was worth it, what has been her closely-held identity, to be thrown in the gutter. This is high-level literature and human psychology. And it holds an important implication for the future: the heroes will not be able to shame Azula into accepting their morality or worldview. Unless her feelings are taken into account, the back-and-forth dialogue observed in Spirit Temple will not happen.

Azula’s Walls Can Snap Up in an Instant

She can let her guard down and hear criticism, but if the criticism turns into a personal attack, her walls will snap back up and she will drop back into old habits and beliefs to protect herself. This is a tough problem for the narrative to solve based on its complexity, sensitivity, and need for tact, and so will require a special character to help Azula work through. I don’t think the franchise currently has such a character. Maybe a more militant, warrior-poet version of Guru Pathik could do this.

Azula Talks and Thinks Like a Feudal Princess, Not a 21st Century Teenager

This needed to happen. ATLA needs to start developing the politics of the Fire Nation if they are to successfully build out Azula’s and Zuko’s post-war dynastic struggles. This is the first time the franchise has taken this seriously. Azula calls her family traitors, thinks Ty Lee should have been grateful for having the ear of royalty. Royalty. Finally, the word is being used to describe the social dynamic between her and her friends. Great stuff. This is who Azula would be in “reality” and part of why she is so scary to us today.

Azula Sets Her Terms for Reconciliation with the Heroes

Apologies. Acknowledgments of the pain and damage they caused her. Them valuing the “good” things she has done for them, much of it from her feudal princess perspective, and some from her troubled teenage girl perspective. I don’t think this is everything she will put on the table, but it’s major pieces of the redemption and reconciliation puzzle. This is probably one of the most profound parts of the book, because it says the door is not closed between her and the heroes. Zuko being Fire Lord and the war being over are not showstoppers.

Azula Loves, and Hates, Her Dad

Her father has both hurt and helped her. She hates him for turning her into his firebending weapon, but loves him for how that led her to greatness, and the conditional love she received from him. She is a villain loving another villain. I think there is something significant here that might play a role in the future: Azula will continue to love her father until he shows he doesn’t love her. In fact, she might seek confirmation of love from him and his response might be a turning point in their relationship.

Azula is Developing Her Own Identity

She says she is the last of her kind, the only one left. Sounds like she sees herself as representing a version of the Fire Nation that doesn’t want to go down quietly, the version of the Fire Nation that Zuko needs to figure out how to redeem rather than destroy. Even though she recognizes the damage her father did to her, she retains enough pride and belief in the Fire Nation’s war to stand by him. This looks like a sign of Azula coming into her own person, even if it is villainous and could send her down a dark path. Regardless of the morality, she seems to be voicing her own beliefs, and beliefs are supremely important to developing character, as beliefs can change. Azula still has to learn the wrongness of the war. This might be her “Zuko Alone” moment equivalent to Zuko declaring his identity to the corrupt soldiers.

The Spirit Centipede

Awesome design and capabilities. It seems it was trying to pump her full of opium in the form of the beach dream whereby she falls into a forever sleep in that perfect world allowing the centipede spirit to eat her. Instead, Azula rejected it and the spirit discovered it doesn't actually know this human as well as it thought it did and so panics and tries whatever it can to get Azula to succumb to its offerings of pain alleviation. One of the best spirit designs we have seen in the post-show products in my opinion.

Coraline References

Fantastic movie. Still creeps me the hell out. I’m afraid Azula would not last a week against the Other Mother. The Centipede Spirit tried to be an Other Mother. It couldn’t hold a candle.

More Evidence Azula’s Design Was Inspired by Lady Eboshi

Page 72, Panel 3.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #avatar comics #azula in the spirit temple #princess azula

[calisources]

GEORGE R.R MARTIN'S FIRE AND BLOOD QUOTES. all sentences here were taken from the book fire and blood which in part was adapted to hbo's house of the dragon. change pronouns, names and location as you see fit. warning for some foul language and mentions of inc*st.

“Then the storm broke, and the dragons danced.”

“A ruler needs a good head and a true heart, a cock is not essential.”

“Words are wind, but wind can fan a fire.”

 “My father and my uncle fought words with steel and flame. We shall fight words with words, and put out the fires before they start.”

“The seeds of war are oft planted during times of peace.”

“Only you could have won me away from the sea. I came back from the ends of the earth for you.”

“The Iron Throne will go to the man who has the strength to seize it.”

“I fed my last husband to my dragon. If you make me take another, I may eat him myself.”

“Let no man think that the fire of the Targaryens did not burn in his veins.”

“We are as the gods made us. Strong and weak, good and bad, cruel and kind, heroic and selfish. Know that if you would rule over the kingdom of men.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“Thrones are won with swords, not quills. Spill blood, not ink.”

“Such a fierce little thing she is, she has no need of comfort. They are wrong in that, I fear. All men need comfort.”

“When the gods are silent, lords and kings will make themselves heard.”

“I do not have the time for tears.”

“Pride goes before a fall.”

“It is always winter now.”

“I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that.”

“But we will come again, Princess, and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.”

“Surely the Mother Above loved my children more. She took so many of them away from me.”

“The tradition amongst the Targaryens had always been to marry kin to kin. Wedding brother to sister was thought to be ideal. Failing that, a girl might wed an uncle, a cousin, or a nephew, a boy a cousin, aunt, or niece.”

“ This practice went back to Old Valyria, where it was common amongst many of the ancient families, particularly those who bred and rode dragons.”

“The blood of the dragon must remain pure, the wisdom went. ”

“Familiarity is the father of acceptance.”

“Brother, you need never kneel to me again. We shall rule this realm together, you and I.”

“All men are sinners.”

“You rose up in rebellion against your lawful queen and helped drive her from this city to her death.”

“We came here to be free of Old Valyria, and your Targaryens are Valyrian to the bone.”

“They practiced blood magic and other dark arts as well, delving deep into the earth for secrets best left buried and twisting the flesh of beasts and men to fashion monstrous and unnatural chimeras. For there sins the gods in their wroth struck them down.”

“She has such a tender heart. Give me time, and I will find a lord to cherish her.”

“Not every Targaryen needs to wield a sword and ride a dragon.”

“I would sooner she wed a lord, but if she prefers a hedge knight or a merchant or Pate the Pig Boy, I am past the point of caring, so long as she picks someone.”

“If she wants I can find a hundred men and line them up before her naked, and she can pick the one she likes.”

“I'll have no songs about how brave you died, Kingmaker. There's tens o'thousands dead on your account.”

“Who can presume to know the heart of a dragon?”

“The Red Keep has its secrets, known only to the dead.”

“He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one.”

“Sixteen Targaryens followed Aegon the Dragon to the Iron Throne, before the dynasty was at last toppled in Robert’s Rebellion. “

“Dorne has danced with dragons before, I would sooner sleep with scorpions.”

“Winter’s here. Time for us to go. No better way to die than sword in hand.”

“The High Septon was the true king of Westeros, in all but name.”

“I will leave the making of law to you, brother, I would sooner make sons.”

“And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.”

“Paying coin to the usurper is proof of naught but treason.”

“Poison was regarded as a coward’s weapon, and lacking in honor.”

“For both the blacks and the greens, blood called to blood for vengeance.”

“It was a good time, a golden autumn, a time of peace and plenty. But winter was coming.”

“The confidence of youth counts for little against the cunning of age.”

“Thankfully I proved too small for the wolf to notice.”

“Such stories make for charming songs, but poor history.”

“Why be a lord when you can be a king?”

“Only the gods truly know the hearts of men, and women are full as strange.”

“Whatever her powers, it would seem Daemon Targaryen was immune to them, for little is heard of this supposed sorceress whilst the prince held Harrenhal.”

“They called themselves the Winter Wolves.”

“We have come to die for the dragon queen.”

“Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.”

“For the rank and file of the City Watch still loved Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of the City who had commanded them of old.”

“We are done with writing letters.”

“The North was too remote to be of much import in the fight.”

“The Dance of the Dragons is the flowery name bestowed upon the savage internecine struggle for the Iron Throne of Westeros fought between two rival branches of House Targaryen during the years 129 to 131 AC.”

“His mount was blood-red Caraxes, fiercest of all the young dragons in the Dragonpit.”

“The bells began to ring on the tenth day of the third moon of 129 AC, tolling the end of a reign.”

“These happy bastards were said to have been “born of dragonseed,” and in time became known simply as “seeds.”

“House Tyrell would take no part in this struggle.”

“For all the vaunted strength of its walls, King’s Landing fell in less than a day.”

“This is a night for song and sin and drink, for come the morrow, the virtuous and the vile burn together.”

“How many came to see the crowning remains a matter of dispute.”

“This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling.”

“Here I have you to myself, day and night,when we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you."

“I have the dragon’s bastard in me.”

#rp meme #sentences memes #rp resources #meme call #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

[yuurei20]

Jamil Info Compilation part 23: Effort(pt2)

After his overblot Jamil insists that he will not be holding back anymore and Kalim responds, “But I won’t lose, either!”

Kalim then loses to Jamil in Book 5.

At first Jamil tries to defer to Kalim, as usual, but then accepts the position of main vocalist, over Kalim.

Shortly after, Kalim shares his realization that he might not be as talented as Jamil, as he had been led to believe by his upbringing: “I’m always chosen. Always. That’s such an obvious truth that I never even consciously processed it. But now I see that was only possible because of Jamil’s constant sacrifices. He created that ‘truth’ in my mind by always holding back. By always letting me win." Jamil overhears this conversation, but does not comment.

We see Jamil attempt to defer to Kalim again during Firelit Sky when he is offered a high honor as a gesture of appreciation for saving the event.

Jamil insists that he cannot deny Kalim the opportunity as the Asim family heir and one of the hosts, but Kalim and the other students eventually convince him to accept it.

We learn more about Jamil’s lifetime of deferring to Kalim during Firelit Sky, when Kalim mentions how, as children, they would “play kick-the-can ’til the sun went down. I won every game.”

Jamil insists that it was because the park was too large, but Cater quietly comments, “Jamil totally took a dive…poor guy’s been driven half neurotic.”

During Fairy Gala Jamil promotes Kalim’s abilities by saying that he has studied traditional dance since he was a child, downplaying his own abilities with, “I’m a bit into street dancing.”

At the end of the event, however, Vil compliments Jamil on his ability to cover for Kalim’s mistakes.

During Halloween Jamil and the other Scarabia students are less than confident in Kalim’s ability to scare away Magicam Monsters, though Kalim insists upon taking the role.

During Kalim’s attack his eyes take on the glow that happens when he has been taken over by Jamil and he successfully scares both the Magicam Monsters and the doubting members of his own dorm.

Kalim's eyes go back to normal and he seems surprised that the visitors have already left, saying that he had wanted to take pictures with them “to show there were no hard feelings.”

Jamil then takes up his usual role flattering Kalim, saying that he is a credit to his position as Housewarden.

This constant promotion of Kalim over himself may be part of why Kalim seems so self-assured about his own abilities when compared to Jamil: when Jamil asks what Kalim’s time was after a sprint exercise in PE Kalim responds, “I can’t remember, but I’ll bet it’s faster than yours’ll be!”

During Book 5 Jamil talks about Kalim forcing him to spend hours a day playing mancala, insisting on going until he won a game.

Despite all this experience he loses three games of five to Floyd, who is playing for the first time.

We learn that Jamil is under explicit instructions from his parents to always let Kalim win. Seeing Jamil lose Azul says, “that would explain it,” but does not choose to elaborate.

We learn from Azul that Jamil has never gotten outstanding marks in the classroom or in practical studies, but he has also never gotten a negative mark.

Azul says that his suspicions were confirmed when Jamil lost at mancala, as he maintained a balanced win/loss ratio for the sake of Floyd's mood: “There’s an art to feigning defeat. You have to tune it just right. It requires considerable skill and mental fortitude to pull off.”

#twstJamil #twisted wonderland #Jamil Viper #twstfacts #Jamilfacts

[oceanlipgloss]

LIPSTICK

SATAN.

+ warnings: strong language, suggestive themes.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

It’s said to be an art, choosing the right shade of lipstick. Perhaps it is so!

Think about it this way, now; paint—the palette painters create, to be precise—it does not matter much once it is smeared across a canvas, for a canvas is normally white (like ghosts and lightning, leeched sugar and whipping cream), and there is not one colour, be it shade or hue, that such a white fails to suit, though it will not always look good. With lipstick, however, the matter differs.

Of course, a painter does very much choose the most proper canvas for their creation, but that is only in terms of material and dimension. Similarly, it’s probably important for a woman to not merely choose the prettiest colours for her lips, but also the greatest matches for the smooth skin of her interest, who in this case is not quite her lover yet, and may never really be.

Who could possibly know how destiny is painted? Whoever can guess which swatches shall make the future up?

Back to the subject: it is pivotal to decide on a lipstick’s colour for the...aesthetic, if you will. Sometimes, you must understand, the lovelier a sight is, the more sensual it becomes. Beauty, when the time is right and the person is, too, can be an exciting thing. A dangerously exciting thing.

That was not strange advice, she thought. There were times when those erotic magazines and adult films of hers made as equal sense as science. This was one of them.

Her lips had stamped each soft muscle. His body was a hued mess. It was as though one had given a curious child dissimilar paints and a chalk-white paper to print their imagination on with no regard for the basics of art. A child would not know about those rules. At the same time, she was not an artist in the traditional meaning of that shimmering word, so she did not know anything about art’s foundations, either. Yet, she did know how to make the colourful garble on this man’s figure look like art, if only by rubbing her wine-red lips against the peach stain of a kiss to blend the two colours together. What would the result look like?

She could be impatient and quick-paced, in the hot moments often forgetting the artistic aspects and details, vivid with flowing rage, but she was still that sort of artist.

How surprising that she could even manage to know what to do next, at the minute!

The Devil was dreamily handsome. Lipstick gemmed the corner of his lips. His eyes were the colour of strawberries or hearts. His pale skin and purple veins were smudged with a range of popping colours. Some were matte, others glittered. Red Delicious. Tangy Tangerine. Raspberry Dream. Glam Brown. Burgundy Velvet. Electric Violet. Black Decay.

Her favourite? It had to be the last one. Black Decay. Pale skin, dark lipstick. The contrast! The impact! It looked stunning. And goodness, it made it seem like his wet horns had somehow melted at the red tips, mixed into the Red Delicious kisses, and dripped blackly onto his tense muscles. It was so cool.

Standing in front of mirrors again. Playing with fire is fun. Fun is never-ending. Beauty doesn’t last forever. Souls don’t necessarily go to Hell or Heaven. Humans are bound to die. Some people never find a haven. But this man, this man was the Devil. That changed everything; looks are forever, youth is eternal, the heart beats for ever and ever. So, what the fuck is death? What does time mean, then?

Immortality gives time a different flavour, kind of like how certain lipsticks taste nothing alike: one is ‘cherry,’ the second is ‘candy,’ and the third is something else entirely. Maybe ‘chocolate’? Who knows.

Anyways, it’s all very addictive. Being young. The electric sparks of attraction. Admiring a beautiful face. Worshipping a sculpted body. Burning in the fires of desire. Bloody rage.

It can be very pretty, put together in one painterly picture: a horned devil, a beautiful young king, dotted all over with the kisses of a human on her knees before him. The throb of bruises, the pulse of scratches, they aroused him. Because her anger tasted like it spread out from the purest depths of Hell. It was what a dream would taste like, feel like, be. It was what a dream would be.

His eyes were glowing a frantic red, a red redder than those hell flames from fiction’s silly little tales. The petrine crosses, they were like ink on a heart. That rage inside her, it was heroin and honey in his veins. He could not have enough of it. He wanted more. Double the dose. It boiled his blood and made his heartbeats insane!

Fuck, oh, fuck. The kisses weren’t cutting it. The pretty marks on his skin wasn’t cutting it. The colours weren’t cutting it. He wanted her breakable fingers to push his flesh in, turn him purple and blue, make him bruise. He wanted those dainty nails to dig into his skin, carve into it tiny bloody crescent moons. He wanted that delicate palm to scar his face, let it sting like a crimson wound.

It will, it will, it will, it will.

He could be a freak like that, but so what? He was sweet, too. She wasn’t sweet, but she could be his match. She was. So often their hearts and bodies played on the same frequencies. Down for a helping hand. Down for murder. Down for anger. Down for roughness. Down for Hell. Down for sex.

So, you see, ladies and gentlemen, the right colour of lipstick may very well do wonders.  

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#Whb #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb satan #what in hell is bad satan #the story factory

[mortalityplays]

Hi there! I’m a newly graduated editor and writer trying desperately to make freelance work for me, and/or find a permanent position with a publishing house or company. Do you have any advice for how to start getting clients consistently/how to get your foot in the door? I’ve been struggling to find work since I graduated last spring and it’s been hard to figure out where to start or what I’m doing wrong when a lot of the time I am just being ghosted :”)

I had to go for a walk and think about this. I've written and deleted two very long responses because it's hard to balance what I think I've learned about 'the industry' (fake idea but we can unpack that another time) with what it has made me learn about myself. The latter is not really going to be important or helpful to anyone else's specific circumstances.

Here's what I can boil it down to:

The idea of a 'traditional path' into editing/publishing or a standard entry point and career ladder, is almost entirely made up. I don't think that's on purpose. Getting established is very slow and hard and confusing and full of unexpected opportunities and disappointing dead ends. As people who are fond of narratives, it's only natural that we retrospectively turn our journeys into storylines. Real life doesn't really work like that, though. Take all advice with a pinch of salt; ultimately all advice is just somebody trying to speak to their past self.

All of the best clients I've ever worked with have been friends and artistic peers first, clients second. Some of them were also starting out when I was starting out, and we just traded services to help each other get a leg up. Now that they're well established in their fields, they're in position to vouch for me with bigger clients.

Having someone who can vouch for you is worth its weight in gold. Do a tiny job as a favour, then tell a small client you did that job. Do their small job for a small fee, then tell a medium client you did that job. Collect testimonials. Collect examples of past work. Let me tell you a secret: I didn't go to school for this, and nobody ever trained me. I've never landed a job by talking about paper qualifications because I don't have any. Show, don't tell.

Don't beat yourself up if you have to take other work to make ends meet. Not only will you be happier, healthier and more stable with that consistent income, but life experience will make you a better editor. I spent years working in bars and restaurants while I was doing sporadic small editing jobs on the side, and I loved it. It taught me about people, and how to speak to strangers with total confidence, and how to demand the value of my work, and how to spot when a writer doesn't know their shiraz from their malbec. All experience is work experience in the arts.

On that note, SPECIALISE. Pick out a subject you're especially passionate and knowledgeable about, or a genre or medium where you're particularly determined to excel. Study up on it. Look for clients who need specific expertise, and sell yourself to them. Generalists are everywhere, but you might be the only 'amphibious vessel technical manual editor' in your state. Learn to adapt your offering to the client and tell them why you're the key that fits their lock. Lie sometimes maybe I don't know shh I didn't say that part.

I think that's all I've got that isn't unbearably navel gazey. It's really hard work and I haven't finished the marathon either. I may still end up going back to generic office jobs on and off in the future. Mostly I try to follow the only really good advice an artist has ever given me: Do what you can, with what you've got, for as long as you can. At least then you can say you did.

[delyth-thomas-art]

Tired Webcomic Creator Noises

Gags … ah yes lets make art into mindless content spat out by Ai cos we've been literally killing creators with inhumane workloads to spit out as many episodes as possible for mindless consumption.

I make my comics with passion and love of the craft! I have a degree in Comics, I spent years...years learning, practising, experimenting, adapting. I recall the days where you may get a page a week, or a few at the start of the month back in the 2000s era of self hosted webcomics and smackjeeves. (Rant below)

I've had to learn how the whole scrolling format worked to adapt to where all the readers had gone to, having been taught the traditional print page formats. And now cos its suddenly a massive money maker for these few hosts and they've pushed creators to the brink with the sheer volume they want pumped out that of course they want to use AI.

But it will speed up colouring! I have multiple tools available by the software I use and made by the wonderful people who love creating that colouring isn't that much of a chore, Its my fav part honestly. And its also a job sector within comics, colourists are skilled artists and this is another way to trim the fat, to pocket more money and keep churning out the 5th millionth villainess story.

Yes I am in most views a tiny creator, I haven't even broken their 1000 sub goal to even try applying for ad rev in the near 5 ish years on webtoon. But what I make I love, I spend hours researching folklore, scripting, drafting the whole kabudle like many other creators. And other than the kind supporters on my Patreon and Ko-fi I don't make much from the hours, days, weeks I pour into what I make. But at least I know its made with my own hands. That its made with love as corny as that sounds.

Ai is creeping its tentacles into everything, now ethically trained ai tools to help smaller creators would be fine. Most creators already rely on 3d tools to speed up things like backgrounds for webcomics. But when we don't know what its trained on, and is marketed wholesale as something anyone can use to make "content" is where it gets insidious. I am all for anyone with the desire to create and tell a story to go out there and do so, whether a beginner or a master. Part of the joy of a long running webcomic is seeing the artist grow both artistically and literary. But with ai it will be all one homogenous style, a copy of what ever is the hot thing. We already have amazon stuffed to the teeth with ai generated books, videos, merch and more all to be sold in some get rich quick manner. (need I point at the Willy's Wonderland incident). Youtube videos being spat out by faceless accounts stealing and regurgitating content at the speed no human video making team can easily match without cutting out quality or fact checking.

It is tiring. Creatives as a whole are treated poorly for decades, and now with the rapid late stage capitalism, website /social media enshitification and the blind headlong rush into the next big money making thing (watches the nft crash). I can't deny Covid sped this up, as everyone was locked inside and turned to what we creators made for comfort. But that content eating boom, lead to more demand, faster output and tighter budgets. We are seeing journalists being cut, game designers in their thousands and recently Dreamworks cutting a bunch and pushing to make their Robot film come out sooner due to public demands.

Skilled creatives are being treated like disposable fast food restaurant employees. Used til they burn out, get injured and even die! And then are simply replaced.

I've never been a creator with huge ambitions to work at places like DC, Marvel or Top Cow. I simply wished to create and share stories with the world, to bring smiles, to create art that evokes emotions, inspires others to look around themselves and create too.

Art is for everyone. You just need to take that scary jump, there is a whole array of welcoming communities willing to teach and share. I wouldn't have improved so much without the kindness of the webcomic groups I've discovered and learnt from. Everyone is always learning, and there no shame in not knowing how to do a thing. Even I started with the cheesy how to draw books as a kid and made my own pokemon and digimon.

Don't let the world treat your art as content. It is "ART" as much as what's kept in the louvre is seen as art, so is that little stick man doodle on a postit.

So Try something new, try a new material, a new style.

And support the artists you enjoy, tip their Ko-Fi, pledge to their Patreon, buy a sticker or print. Share their posts and tell them what you love about what they make.

Don't let machines steal away the art in HEART.

#delyth thomas art #life #webtoon #webcomics #ai #ai art #fuck ai art #navar #art #ramble #rant #art rant

[harukaprism]

Ripples

Pairing: Haruka Hashida x GN!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, not prof read

Word Count: 1,247

How would you describe your subject for your experiment? Haruka Hashida was a man of many personality traits, mostly the popular guy that every girl gushed over but with the project you were doing you made him show the sides of himself he would hate showing others. 

“Well Hashida, where would you like to go today?” Today the two of you were hanging out so you could see his everyday life for one of the last parts of your psychology project and he had picked you up from your apartment. 

“I think we should go to an art museum, we haven’t done that yet.” You were not the only one that benefited out of this project, he was using the scenery that the two of you saw for his art projects during this time too. 

Glancing at your body length mirror in your hallway you checked out your outfit, though it was your regular everyday clothing the long cardigan sweater you wore in your favorite color gave you some coziness with the colder weather outside. “Sure, it is your natural habitat, isn’t it?” 

Haruka only offered you a smile as he opened the front door to your apartment for you, this is how it normally went; you knew that it would be like this when you chose him for this observation. He was quieter with you; it was like his brain had the chance to catch up on itself with the craziness that is an art student. 

With your tickets secured you both walked inside the building you were met with silence and cold air. Taking out your notepad you fell a few steps behind the tall man and studied him closely, picking up on his emotions as he looked over the paintings and sculptures. He explained a few pieces to you after he caught you staring curiously, he was never rude about it he was gentle and calming. 

Your notes today were about the subtle changes in his mood and emotions, it was such a shame he was a pretty boy. The way his braids slightly swayed as he gazed between the paintings, the way his eyebrows knitted together as he scoffed slightly at a Picasso piece. 

He asked you every so often what you enjoyed about the pieces you were looking at, though art was not your expertise you made comments about the colors and the inspiration behind them. Every once in a while he would talk to a fellow art connoisseur while you stood back taking your notes and filling out the required questions. 

After about 30 minutes you finally took a seat, while Haruka was off talking to a student from his school you glanced into the interactive piece you subconsciously sat by. The water in the pool glowed as the water stilled, the instructions to this were to experience the waves and how life looked with them. Your bench was a bit above the water, so you reached your hand down dipping your fingertips into the water, counting the ripples you caused and the way they bounced back when hitting the edge of the glass.

Raising your hand from the water you flicked off the rest of the moisture watching the drops fall back to where they belonged. A smile crossed your face as you thought of Haruka’s response to this piece. It was not art in the traditional sense but the commentary would be interesting. 

“This is hardly art.” A huff came from behind you as long black braids fell to either side of your face, you could smell the subtle cologne he wore as he studied the ripples that were fading away. 

“You are correct but I like it. You get to control what happens with the water, it really is all in your hands.” Taking a spare pencil you thrusted the eraser into the water sending ripples throughout the container, then you dipped your fingers back in gently watch the slow waves meet with the larger ones. 

“You would like this one, as a psychology major.” His voice was teasing of course but there was some sincerity behind it. “Art is my department.” Having you a handkerchief you dried your hand and pencil and went to hand it back as you stood up. “Keep it for now, I think there may be other interactive arts here.” 

Though there were you didn’t quite enjoy them as much as the water one. After excusing himself real quick you stood by the water again watching as children splashed the water watching the ripples distort their faces and your own, yet the corner you stood at calmed after the waves were sent back to the young children. 

You were so entranced with the piece that you lost track of time. Soon the children left and you were standing by yourself, leaning against the barrier you played around with the water with your fingers. 

After a moment the sounds of footsteps pulled you from your head as Haruka approached, a soft smile etched on his face. “Ready to get some dinner?” 

With a nod the two of you left the museum stopping by a ramen shop to eat, the entire time the two of you talked about what you saw on your trip and your feelings behind the art, though he sneered at the Picasso arts you couldn’t help but smile at his distaste for the man's work. 

Taking you home the two of you parted ways, today was the last day you would see him for this project, part of you hoped you would still meet up every once in a while but that remained to be seen. 

A week later you turned in your project, you got a text from him telling you to meet him at his college you grabbed your trust cardigan and a thank you basket for his help on your work. The two of you met at the front. “Here, this is a thank you for all the help.” 

A genuine smile cracked his face as he took it. “I would offer you one too but I have something much better.” Guiding you inside the school you were taken to a hall where various works were being displayed, you had seen his handy work upfront as he sketched while you were asking him questions but surrounded by paintings you were at a loss for words. 

A blonde looked as the two of you approached, he had a shorter friend with him as they both stared at you with wide eyes. They glanced back at the two paintings in front of all four of you and then back. 

Taking a glance at Harukas work you froze in place, they were big canvases of the museum, the wave pool and most importantly you. The first one was you sitting above the pool with your cardigan flowing around your body with your fingers in the water, your reflection staring back at you; the second one was you staring into the pool longingly as the waves seemed to be alive on the canvas. 

“Haru…” 

“This is my thanks for all the hard work you put in.” His voice was just a whisper in your ear as your heart swelled in your chest, unable to pull your eyes away from the masterpieces in front of you. 

Did he feel the same as you? With the way he drew you it seemed that way. All doubts evaporated as his soft lips met your cheek.

#blue period #blue period fanfiction #blue period fanfic #blue period x reader #blue period x you #blue period x y/n #haruka hashida #blue period hashida #hashida haruka #hashida x reader #haruka hashida x reader