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the-eldritch-it-gay · 3 months

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The joyous din of the party was distant as Wyll sat by the riverside. Wyll hadn’t strayed too far from the camp, but the celebrations and singing felt miles away, a lifetime away.

Against all odds, Majexatli had managed not just to save the tieflings, but also save Halsin, take down the goblin leaders, talk Kagha out of the Rite of Thorns, and have the title of Faithwarden bestowed upon them. They were a hero. Wyll couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of a celebration in their honor.

Wyll had helped, certainly, and he couldn’t have been more honored to be by Majexatli’s side. They were a competent leader, a skilled warrior, a sage druid. He had done his best to help them at every turn, help the tiefling refugees in any way possible. But even as he had been teaching the tiefling children how to defend themselves, when he first saw Majexatli, there had only been one thing on his mind.

Karlach.

The violent devil he had spent so long hunting, the monster he had sworn to cut down. The one he had traveled to Averus to kill, only to discover she was only a young woman tiefling, a victim of Zariel, forced into servitude. She was no more a monster than he was.

He didn't regret sparing her. He would do it again.

Yet—

His dreams were still haunted by how close he had come to killing her. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the hellfire burning his skin and his soul was dragged through all the levels of hell. Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection he was reminded of it all, that he was nothing more than a devil’s puppet. Every time people looked at him, all they saw was his worst.

Wyll never regretted his pact, how could he? How much good has he done because of it, he saved Baldur’s Gate, saved countless people. He couldn’t regret it. He was the Blade of Frontiers, a monster hunter, protecting the innocent with the powers granted by Mizora. He had sworn to only ever hunt monsters and devils.

But how many were just like Karlach—

A twig snapped behind Wyll and he couldn’t help the way his breath hitched, his heart fluttered in anticipation. Perhaps it was selfish, to think that they would leave their own celebration just to see him. He couldn’t ignore that hope though, as much as he tried.

Turning to look where the noise came from, though, that hope vanished.

Stood a few yards away was a wolf, large with dark brown fur and yellow eyes trained on him.

Fear shot through Wyll for a moment, freezing him in place as his mind raced. He was unarmored, unarmed. He had left all his equipment back at camp, he wasn’t even sure how much magic he had left in him after a full day of battle.

Before Wyll’s mind could race much any further, Wyll saw the wolf lower its head and whine.

Majexatli, Wyll realized, a warmth spreading in his chest.

The other day, he had seen them wildshape into a wolf while fighting the gnolls on the risen road. It was a form they rarely took, at least for as long as Wyll had known them.

For a moment on the battlefield, he had wondered what their strategy was, why that form. Often they chose something larger, a bear, a rothé, something that could shrug and walk off arrows and stabs.

His questioning didn’t last long, when a gnoll cornered him and out of nowhere the wolf jumped at the gnoll’s throat, tackling it to the ground and biting down with a jaw powerful enough that Wyll heard the gnoll’s spine crunch.

The wolf before him now looked worlds different from the one he saw with bared teeth and blood-soaked fur. Its eyes were wide and curious, fur clean and soft, though its right ear was still missing, skin raw from where a gnoll had torn it off.

The wolf padded closer to Wyll cautiously, and Wyll let out a chuckle.

“I had hoped you wouldn’t notice I was gone,”

It was partially true. Some deep, selfish part of him hoped they would come looking for him. He shouldn’t have hoped for it, shouldn’t be glad they left the celebration.

The wolf whined again as it approached, and mid-stride it was consumed by a golden light. In the blink of an eye, Majexatli was by his side, sitting next to him on the rock. They weren’t quite touching him, but Wyll could feel the warmth radiating off them, melting away the chill of the night. He had to stop himself from leaning into them.

“You were the first person I looked for, of course I noticed,” Majexatli said, adjusting their bad leg with a slight wince.

“Really? I mean— ahem, I’m honored,”

It was hard not to stumble over his words around them.

“Are you alright?”

Majexatli looked over at Wyll, briefly meeting his eyes before returning their gaze to the river. They rarely made eye contact; seeing Majexatli’s green eyes focused on him, even just for a moment, almost made his breath hitch. This close, Wyll could see the worry on their face, the lines on their face more pronounced as they looked out at the river.

“I’m deeply proud of you, a touch less so of myself,” Wyll sighed, joining Majexatli in looking out towards the water, “In truth, I don’t feel in a festive mood and didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.”

Majexatli was silent for a few moments.

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

You coming to find me already means the world.

“It’s alright, you needn’t worry. Any other time and I would love to join you in celebrating, but…” Wyll let out another sigh, “I’m a devil. I love the people from the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.”

“Wyll, that’s not true,”

Majexatli’s frown had deepened, the sight almost hurt to see.

Wyll almost wanted to be honest, tell them the truth. I’ve likely killed innocent people. People used to look at me as a hero but now all they see is a monster. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, though.

“Come on, you don’t want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue,” Wyll smiled, trying to make light of it all, trying to keep Majexatli from seeing through him to the truth.

“You’re no more a devil than any of us,”

In appearance, perhaps. You don’t know everything I’ve done for Mizora. And I chose to be this way. I wouldn’t change what I did. I would make the pact again if given a chance to do it over. I don’t regret it. I don’t. I can’t regret it.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do,” Wyll said softly before he could stop himself.

“Wyll…”

They sounded so earnest.

“Ah, but I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Wyll bit back the selfish urge to keep them here, to lean on them, to tell them everything, “You have a party to return to! Have a dance, enjoy the music. I’ll be back to my old self in no time,”

Wyll patted their shoulder with a smile. He half expected them to leave immediately, that the moment he finished speaking, they would nod politely and be enveloped in golden light as they returned to whichever form they felt suited them.

In the time Wyll had known them, he had learned enough about them to know they weren’t particularly social. Majexatli preferred silence, solitude, being surrounded by nature rather than engaging in small talk or comforting others.

Even in the river, Wyll had noticed their tension, the faint edge in their voice, the way they kept their distance. He knew they didn’t mean him any ill will, it was just as they had said, they were unused to being around people. They were a druid that spent their time in the wilds far from settlements, it was understandable, even the kindest druids in the Emerald Grove had seemed slightly awkward around outsiders. Perhaps Wyll should have turned down their invitation—

Wyll pulled himself from his thoughts as he realized Majexatli was still sitting there, looking down, fidgeting with their sleeve, or rather, something in their sleeve. Wyll saw the faintest glint of something silver between their fingers.

“I… I came out here for a reason, you know,”

“Oh?”

Majexatli shifted slightly, perhaps by accident, perhaps coincidentally, their knee touching his. The playful retort that had been on the tip of Wyll’s tongue died at the sudden contact, heart skipping a beat.

“I did,”

They fidgeted again, moonlight once again reflecting off something by their side. Wyll paid it no mind though, regaining his composure and smiling.

“And here I thought you had stumbled out here by accident, perhaps all the wine has gotten the better of you,”

As much as he was teasing them, looking at them, he could see their lips faintly stained red from wine. With the amount of bottles he had seen at camp before he left, he shouldn’t be surprised that they were likely a bit drunk. The thought hurt, somehow, the idea that what fueled their care for him in this moment might just be the wine talking—

“I’m afraid I’m quite sober,”

Perhaps it should have struck him as strange. Surely they were lying, exaggerating. He hadn’t seen them drink before, perhaps they handled their alcohol better than most.

“Is that so? Surely then you must have been looking for somewhere quiet to relax and I’ve intruded on your solitude and quite ruined your whole evening,”

Wyll was only half joking, trying to hide the fact that he was nervous, second-guessing himself. He scanned their face intently. Surely he must have misread the signs.

“I wasn’t looking for solitude, actually,”

Majexatli shifted again, just barely, the hand they were leaning on moving over just enough that they brushed Wyll’s own hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see they were clutching something tightly in their other hand.

After a moment, Wyll slowly moved his hand over Majexatli’s. He was almost afraid, worried Majexatli might get spooked and bolt like a cornered animal. But they stayed, half turning towards him, eyes wide.

“I—It’s a long shot, but- maybe you’ve grown fond of me. Gods know I’ve grown fond of you.”

He heard Majexatli’s breath hitch.

“I think I do, have feelings for you that is,” Majexatli said slowly, occasionally flicking their eyes over to meet his.

“Then we share a similar affliction, though I can’t say I’ve earned the honor,” Wyll let out a half-laugh, “The Blade hasn’t really lived up to own reputation, I haven’t even managed to kill a single devil,”

It was true—Majexatli hadn’t seen the best of The Blade. They saw him nearly kill an innocent woman, saw him get dragged through the hells in punishment, saw the tight grip Mizora had on him. What must they think of him? If his patron punished him for being good and he hadn’t been punished like this before.

Majexatli pulled back slightly, and Wyll braced himself for rejection.

“You don't need to be the Blade of Frontiers, Wyll,” Was what Majexatli said instead, looking almost hurt, “You’re more than just the Blade,”

“The Blade is my best self, some days I even live up to it,”

Majexatli was quiet for a moment, eyes distant, face stony. What Wyll wouldn’t give to see them smile, relax, feel at ease. They looked far older than they were, aged by a constant stress and frown that seemed unfitting of a druid. As the quiet carried on, Wyll couldn’t help a gnawing guilt, that he was only adding to their stress, adding unnecessary layers to an already awful situation. Majexatli could be celebrating and drinking at a party in their honor, but instead, they were at Wyll’s side, looking more melancholy than ever.

“Does it hurt?” Majexatli asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“I— pardon?”

The question caught Wyll off guard, he wasn’t even sure what they meant.

“Having a title you feel you aren’t living up to? Does it hurt?” Majexatli continued, “Is the Blade who you are, or is it a role, a front, character, boots you can never fill that contain some ephemeral worth?”

“What brought this on?”

Majexatli looked up at the stars above, they opened their mouth to speak but stopped themselves, tail flicking at their side.

“What happened in the Grove… with Kagha, the way she named me Faithwarden,”

Wyll wasn’t too familiar with druid customs, but he had been able to sense that it was something meaningful. He saw the surprise on the other druids’ faces as Kagha named them Faithwarden, placing the quarterstaff in their hands that radiated a faint golden light.

“I hear it’s quite an honor, you deserve it, for all you did at the Grove. I don’t know much of Silvanus, but you seem to honor his teachings well,”

Majexatli almost flinched at his words.

At their reaction, their visceral disgust, something clicked in Wyll’s mind, a puzzle piece falling into place. As enigmatic and stoic as Majexatli was, all of the little slips in their mask were compounding. Their discomfort in the Grove, their unusual coldness towards Calnys there, their seeming contempt for Wyll’s congratulations and mention of Silvanus…

“I don’t care for the title,” Majexatli said, then added, almost inaudible, “Not this time,”

There was something just beneath the surface, just out of reach.

“This time?”

For the briefest moment, he felt his tadpole twitch, flashes of images in his mind. Pale hands braiding dark curly hair. The feel of fine robes with delicate elven embroidery. Butterflies in stomach, kneeling before an older half-elf before a crowd of druids.

With a pang of guilt, Wyll wondered if he had probed their mind without meaning to.

“I just... I need you to know that I care about you, Wyll. I would care about you if you weren't the Blade, I would care about you if you weren't a hero. You matter to me as a person, not a story or title,”

Majexatli’s hand found Wyll’s, warm and calloused, squeezing gently, earnestly, desperately. They had turned to look at him fully for the first time that night, meeting his eyes directly, searching for something.

This was a different Majexatli than Wyll had seen before, unguarded in a way that felt more intimate than bathing with them in the river the other day. Wyll leaned in closer without realizing.

“I—I’ll try to remember that, but I’m not sure what I have without the title,”

“You’re enough,”

Majexatli still held Wyll’s hand, looked in his eyes, leaned close to him.

“In another life, I can imagine courting you properly, dancing in ballrooms,” Wyll said softly.

Wyll would have given anything to see it, to live it. To get a chance to lead Majexatli and glide across the dancefloor with them. To see what Majexatli would look like well-rested, well cared for. For them to see him as he used to be, some version of himself more worthy of their affection.

There was a flash of something across Majexatli’s face, something unreadable. They regained composure quickly, face softening as they brought up their hand to cup Wyll’s face. A faintly metallic smell hit Wyll, subtle enough to barely register.

“I don’t have another life, just this one, where I met you,”

Some skeptical part of Wyll had wondered if it had all been a ploy, that Majexatli simply craved intimacy with anyone and he was just romantic enough to fall for it. There was no way they meant what they said, there had to be some hidden motive, and yet—

Majexatli’s calloused thumb stroked his cheek with such tenderness.

Hells.

Wyll could court them in this life, even if he was a devil and they both had tadpoles in their heads and the Absolute threatening them at every turn. As much as he wanted it to be perfect, as much as he wanted to take his time—

Wyll leaned in, slowly, cautiously, half expecting Majexatli to stop him. Instead, they closed the distance, pressing their chapped lips to his softly.

The kiss lasted only a moment, Wyll’s hand finding their waist as he kissed back, Majexatli still cupping his cheek with a gentleness he hadn’t seen them show before. He had to stop himself from clinging to them and kissing back with the fevered desperation he felt, trying to chase the warmth and safety he felt in their arms.

“I—well, then,” Wyll started, cheeks burning hot as he pulled away, “Erm, you've got a party to get back to. After all, tonight is about you.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Wyll,”

Majexatli nodded with a faint smile, standing up and immediately being consumed by golden light as they once again assumed their wolf form. They trotted off towards the woods, towards camp Wyll hoped.

As they disappeared in the treeline, Wyll realized a taste lingered on his lips.

Not wine.

Blood.

#eldritch it speaks #salam plays bg3 #oc: majexatli #i should make a wyll/majexatli tag at some point #anyways! my own imagining of the tielfing party scene between Majexatli and Wyll #i hope I did okay with writing from Wyll's POV it seemed right to focus on him in this #this took me too long and I had to remind myself writing it bad is better than not writing lmao

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mopeyy · 5 months

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Heavy Goodbyes

Avatar Frontiers of Pandora (SPOILERS!!!)

A quick lil one shot while waiting for the results of the poll

Nor x Na'vi! reader

Angst

"You can't just run off after stabbing alma Nor!"

"Leave y/n. I don't want to talk about it."

You shook your head. How could he act this way? How could he just run off after what happened? You decided to take a different approach, a softer one to try and calm him down.

"I know what she did was horrible but-"

He cut you off,

"Horrible? She betrayed us y/n. She betrayed all of us. To believe she was ever on our side," he scoffed, "What a traitor. As much as she wants to believe it she will never be one of us."

He was upset and it was easy to tell. His ears were pinned to his head and his brows were furrowed. He was pacing back in forth, clenching and unclenching his fist to sooth himself. Even though you agreed with his statement part of you was still upset.

"So does that give you the right to run away? We're all struggling Nor but that doesn't mean you can close yourself off and push everyone away."

When you said this he stopped his pacing and turned to face you. He walked towards you and you took a step back. He was really angry and in full honesty, seeing him like this scared you. He leaned in close and started to speak.

"I don't need the right. We are free now are we not? I can do what I please. Maybe I just don't want to be somewhere that constantly surrounds me with humans and their technology."

"But they are our allies Nor-"

"They are humans all the same. I don't care whose 'side' they're on. Before they were on our side they were with the RDA. If you want to trust them fine. But i'm leaving."

You're lips parted in shock. He was leaving?

"Nor, you can't be serious.."

All he gave you was a nod. Confirming that he was set on his plan.

You reached your hand out and placed a hand on his arm.

"You can't leave, we all need you here. Teylan has already left, we can't lose you too Nor. I can't lose you."

You pleaded with him. Your eyes started to gloss with tears and your grip on his arm tightened.

He stared at you with an unfamiliar look in his eye. He seemed hesitant for a moment before he placed his hand on top of yours.

"You don't have to lose me." he whispered.

You let a small smile pass over your face, a glint of hope in your eyes.

"Does this mean you'll stay?"

He softly shook his head and took a step closer, getting rid of all space between you two.

"No, y/n, I'm...I'm saying come with me."

Your eyes widened, "what?" You mumbled. How could he ask you to leave?

He placed his other hand on the side of your face, tracing the stripes on your cheek with his finger.

"Come with me. We can explore Pandora and be truly free. Please yawntutsyìp."

You paused. You didn't know what to say.

The weight of Nor's gaze was heavy, a mix of determination and a plea for understanding. You could see the wildness of Pandora reflected in his eyes, the untamed beauty that he yearned to return to. But the thought of leaving everything behind, the community you had helped to build, the allies you had fought alongside, it anchored you in place with a paralyzing indecision.

Nor's voice broke through your hesitation, softer now, "I know it's a lot to ask, y/n. But out there, it's just us and the world we were born to live in. No more wars and fighting, just... freedom." His words painted a picture of a life unburdened, a dream that you had both shared once upon a time.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your next words. "And what about the fight we've been a part of? The sacrifices? Can we just turn our backs on that?" Your voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of all the unspoken fears and responsibilities that tethered you.

He responded with a fierce intensity, "We've fought enough, y/n. We've earned the right to choose our own path. And I choose a life where I'm not defined by this conflict." Nor's hands were steady, his resolve clear, but there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed his own inner turmoil.

The silence that followed was filled with the sounds of Pandora's wildlife, a reminder of the living, breathing world. It was a siren call, tempting and sweet, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the possibility of it all.

Finally, you spoke, "I... I can't go with you, Nor. We have to understand that this isn't about running away. It's about choosing our own battles, and mine needs to be fought here." The disappointment in his eyes was evident,

"Please just stay." You begged, desperate, asking him one last time.

By the look in his eyes, you already knew the answer.

He leaned forward and kissed you. It was bittersweet, a culmination of your shared history, a moment that acknowledged the depth of your bond and the divergence of your paths. As Nor reluctantly pulled away, his eyes searched yours for any sign of reconsideration, but you stood firm, your decision made.

Nor's expression hardened, the vulnerability that he had briefly shown now gone. "Then this is where our paths part," he said, his voice steady but low, carrying the weight of finality.

You nodded, the tears you had fought so hard to hold back now spilling freely.

He took a step back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned and disappeared into the lush foliage of Pandora, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the life you had chosen to keep.

#avatar frontiers of pandora #avatar frontiers of pandora x reader #nor x reader #nor avatar frontier of pandora #nor #nor frontiers of pandora

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violetstormms · 1 year

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FNAF Sun/Moon x Reader MerMay Fics

MerMay DCA x yn fic list

With Mermay coming to a close I decide to make a list of all the fun fish filled fics I have found so far. Remember to look at the tags and read at your own discretion.

Call of the Abyss by Buligete

archiveofourown.org/works/41191230/chapters/103261704

It was probably all very silly, considering the precarious situation I found myself in, but it really was all I could think about.

Could you really blame me? I never expected to find myself in this kind of a mess. I was not some big shot, thrill seeking space explorer. I was no seasoned freight worker. No avid alien world survivalist. Not even a simple cruise liner flight attendant.

I was a gardener. My feet belonged firmly planted in the soil of a garden world. I had spent my entire life up to now solidly anchored on Earth, and never dreaming of leaving the safety of gravity and atmosphere, despite the increasingly uncomfortable quality of life on the crowded homeworld. Sure, I dreamed of greener pastures. Of fresh air and fertile land. But frontier life and adventures in the big expanse of space? Not quite.

---

A FNAF x Subnautica crossover, about the challenges of survival, surprise friendships with quirky software and alien merfolk, man made horrors beyond our comprehension and unexpected mysteries to be uncovered within the depths.

Below The Surface by Justaduck6432

archiveofourown.org/works/46186750/chapters/116275786#workskin

You aren't what people would call friendly. No. You're not even polite. Much like the salty old sailor who raised you, you're short-tempered and not too social. And that's how you like it.

One day, a dirty-rotten fish steals something important to you. You know better than to tangle with a creature so large and dangerous. But you have little to lose and, by the gods, you're not about to let that smug fish keep what's yours.

Dive into this chaotic tale of merciless mers and our hot-headed protag who has to wrangle them!

Growing Pains by Celticwolfie

archiveofourown.org/works/46891666/chapters/118117984

It was going to be a normal fishing trip. Just a normal hike to the secluded river beach and maybe relax while listening to the forest waking up around you. However, that isn't how things go for you and now you managed to gain the attention of a legendary creature. Now everything seems to be turned on its head. Hopefully, you can adapt to it quickly enough and help these living legends out as their world is starting to shrink around them.

Free Space by omenofthevoid

archiveofourown.org/works/46904299/chapters/118150342

As a Leviathan, you aren't meant for the shallow water which inhibits your growth and keeps you small. You finally move to the Dead Zone, where you hope to be able to grow.

Galaxies, Lost in Ice by StarvingMe

archiveofourown.org/works/45778489/chapters/115203013

(Subnautica/Subnautica: Below Zero AU)

Sun went hunting, and he's been gone for a few days, and so it's up to Moon to drag Sun's Human Scientist Best Friend out into the ocean to find him.

(Leads into romance with aliens, no spice, that'll be a separate work that won't be necessary to enjoy this)

Abyssal Lights by PhoenixDaNeko

archiveofourown.org/works/46600771/chapters/117353191

You used to be powerful. Feared. Vicious. A man-killer. You were one of the most fearsome myths in the sea.

Then, despite everything, you were caught. Stolen from the depths of your home. Your older siblings had always cautioned against going too close to the surface. You wished you'd listened. Captured, placed into barely big enough tanks, traded between rich bastards and unethical scientists. Losing weight, power, sanity, you're beginning to give up, when a mysterious 4 armed... Person (?) comes by.

Who is this metal man, and why is he so interested in you?

My Lungs are Full of You by Xmimi89eR

archiveofourown.org/works/47111743/chapters/118694248

You didn't like the ocean.

The water felt like it would burn (and it does). Your lungs would give out sooner than others and you didn't even know how to swim!

You never asked for this trip, never asked to be here. Yet, here you are, stuck all alone and waiting for rescue that probably would never come.

Or, well, not really alone. The burning gaze of something in the water wouldn't leave you alone.

There Are Many Benefits (To Rethinking This Career Path) by moonliched

archiveofourown.org/works/47449438/chapters/119573569#workskin

Life is cushy, working on a subterranean research facility on an underexplored ocean planet. As the resident handyman, most of your work takes place underwater - lucky for you, cave diving is your passion. With the building between bi-annual research teams, and the next lot yet to arrive, you find yourself with an excess of free time. All you have to do is fulfil your weekly duties, prepare the facility for the next team of researchers, and relax. Oh, and track down the net that went missing some time ago.

And then you find it.

In a submerged cave.

Trapping a mermaid.

You really wish this wasn't your responsibility.

(Moon thinks he should have listened to Sun and stuck to hunting in warmer waters. Why does this bizarre two-tailed mermaid keep coming at him with sharp instruments?)

Song of the Sea by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/38958630/chapters/97435890

You always loved the tales of Mermaids, of Selkies and of Sirens, of people who lived in the ocean as a child. You remember vividly seeing merfolk, but chalked it up your imagination. But then a boating accident with your grandpa had left you scarred, and you no longer wanted any association with the sea. But life has other plans

INSPIRED BY BAMSARA’S FIC god I love Celestial Omens.

Unusual by BlueMoon_13_31

archiveofourown.org/works/47008036/chapters/118422505

Your love for the ocean has sent you all around the world. However, the beaches of your coastal home have always been your favorite. Returning to the cloudy skies along the Pacific, the last thing you expected was to run into two creatures far from their natural habitat.

The Sea Has Always Known Your Name by CleverButDevastating

archiveofourown.org/works/47410663/chapters/119469997

Everyone is so caught up in your expulsion from the ship that they don’t see the pair of dark, sinuous shapes that slip up through the water only half a dozen yards away. No one notices the flashes of vivid yellow and luminous blue, or the intelligent eyes that take in the human spectacle with inhuman curiosity.

No one except you.

Clownfishing by Sujithe2DWaifu

archiveofourown.org/works/47314285/chapters/119220796

A night fishing trip lends itself to a chance encounter with a siren. After unknowingly showing it some kindness, your life is derailed in an extremely bizarre way.

Special thank you to Bug, who puts up with me, and Tobi(@Glambots on Tumblr)-This was originally a short story written in their ask box. While the first chapter will be short, they will get longer, just so you know what you're getting into. ;) Please also remember that I’m still learning and this is my first time posting on Ao3 specifically. I apologize in advance for any formatting issues.

Also warnings for this chapter and future chapters of thalassophobia, megalohydrothalassophobia, ososphobia, injury, body horror, animal death, offscreen minor character death, and something at bare minimum reminiscent of drugging. While these may be removed during the editing process as it currently stands these will apply at some point.

Turquoise Love by Wcat03blu

archiveofourown.org/works/47208670/chapters/118947625#workskin

You finally visit the aquarium by your college and fall absolutely head-over-heels for some celestial mermaids. Then you chill with them a lot :)

Leviathan Storms by TheDreamerFae

archiveofourown.org/works/47008924/chapters/118518967#workskin

Moving back to your old home rims has brought with you a sense of nostalgia of being. Sure most of the time it was cold and rainy but it didn’t make the scene any less beautiful. But a song keeps making itself known to you, and you must find it.

But who would’ve guessed Mers existed?

Bubbly by Robin_Green

archiveofourown.org/works/47513692/chapters/119741380

A little waterlily mer guppy is trapped, home destroyed, and taken to a pet store to be sold. After spending some time living in a fish bowl, our little guppy is saved and moved to a tank that has been dubbed the daycare by the human tending to it. The daycare tank is set up to rehabilitate fish before they are released back into their natural habitats. There our guppy meets Sun and Moon, two fish that live full time in this tank taking care their healing guests.

Sun and Moon and our guppy fall in love and then shit goes down.

Pearl Eye by NaffEclipse

archiveofourown.org/works/47400922

Movement. A mer swims overhead, speaking to someone, blocking out the starlight. The interloper lays a hand on the rim of the entrance but doesn’t look down just yet, and doesn’t see you, red-handed.

Your gut clenches with the urge to flee, your strength already spent in the fight moments earlier, and you heed the warning.

A Sleuth Jesters MerMay Fic

The Sea Jesters are Real Science by MatosaurusRex and sixty_nine13

archiveofourown.org/works/38833821/chapters/97107810

You stare into the glass. At first you see nothing, just a greenish-blue landscape, peaceful and ordinary. There is nothing special about it... Or so you think. As the seconds pass, two figures become more and more visible, slowly growing from two distant dots to two large figures, easily two metres tall. The two creatures stare at you, and you raise your hand, slapping it against the cold glass that holds the creatures trapped. These two beings, which until now had been considered to be legends, raise their hands to clasp yours as well. The most wonderful living beings in the world stand before you, separated by thick glass, suffering every day at the hands of greedy people.

How long will they resist this?

((This fic was inspired by Tumblr shenanigans and merMAY! Thank you all for inspiring us to create this <3))

And the Sea Swallowed My Screams by Burnt_Chicken_Lookin_Ass

archiveofourown.org/works/39115788/chapters/97855353#workskin

"Thalassophobia is the persistent and intense fear of deep bodies of water such as the sea, oceans, pools, lakes. [...] Thalassophobia can include fear of being in deep bodies of water, fear of the vast emptiness of the sea, of sea waves, aquatic creatures, and fear of distance from land."

You are a freelance diver. You are hired to perform difficult dives for item retrieval, research, and/or maintenance checks in less than safe underwater environments. Rule of thumb is to never dive alone; you live by that religiously. Hardly will you ever do a job without your diving partner: Iris. You have a deep seated fear of the open ocean, so if you cant see the bottom of a given body of water, then you simply wont go in.

One day, you receive a job from Fazbear inc. to retrieve the body of an employee at the request of their family. They had drowned when a company ship they worked on had spontaneously combusted and subsequently sank. The company is willing to pay big hush money to keep both the family and your retrieval team from mentioning the wreckage for some reason.

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Looking for more stories? I have a list of DCA stories sorted by type here https://www.tumblr.com/violetstormms/710457016218435584/sunmoon-fnaf-fanfic-recommendation-list (or my pinned comment if you don’t like clicking links)

Also if you have any recommendations please leave a comment, its always fun finding new fics. :)

#fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant fnaf #fnaf sun and moon #fnaf sun #fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #daycare attendant x reader #mermay 2023 #mermay #fnaf sunrise #fnaf moonrise #moon x reader #security breach au #Violetstormm's fic list #sun x reader

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sacredwhores · 4 months

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Mai Masri - Frontiers of Dreams and Fears (2001)

#film #mai masri #frontiers of dreams and fears #hlam al manfa #palestine #2001

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ravel-puzzlewell · 7 months

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imagine if writers gave a single fuck about wyll tho. man, there is so much potential. like i think he has THE most interesting and potentially complex setup out of all characters.

like, he's a son of a duke and a legend, a national hero. he was raised on these legends, in a culture of hero worship, and on "principles of valor" that he says his father taught him. of course he grew up wanting to be a hero. no, not just wanting, EXPECTING it. he jumped into water on his birthday bc he thought he saw a mermaid. he saw himself as the Main Character of a story, probably not even as much in a hubris way, but in a "this is very minimum i HAVE to be to live up to my distant father's legacy". but also OF COURSE he's also deep down scared he that isn't good enough to live up to this legacy. he knows he's not perfect. what if he won't be strong enough? he learns to show this bravado of a golden child, of obvious hero in the making, masking his insecurities.

and then he receives a dream and literal hero's call to action. of course he listens. this is just like the stories. btw i have to admit i disagree completely with game's framing of his decision as actually the only way to save the city. he was left in charge of the entire military forces! He could have just. NOT go alone, and a squadron of flaming fists would have steamrolled these like 20 cultists. imagine if you heard that head of military of your country received anonymous call and actually went alone to the meeting. it's a very bad tactical decision.

this is not an attack on wyll, btw, he was a literal child primed to be a hero. this should have been critique of his father, who raised him in this way and then left 17 yo in charge of city's defenses, AND of the entire culture of hero worship. wyll wasn't ready to be a leader who thinks in terms of resources he has, he was not raised for this. he was a kid under the weight of expectations who thought being a hero is THE only correct way and that being a martyr is what a hero should choose. he NEEDED to become a hero, but didn't have enough power, and so when the way to obtain that power was given to them that he could frame as martyring himself, of course he took it. this was not his fault, but its a tragedy bc this was always going to end like this. the deal with the devil is just the most blatant metaphor for making bargains with consciousness bc you think you can do more good with the power and this is the only way, bc you're not strong enough by yourself.

also, in this hypothetical rewrite since duke ravenguard is supposed to be like. an actually good person whos distant, but loving of his child, and not a convenient cardboard cutout, he doesn't throw wyll out. he listens to him. he realizes this tragedy and takes responsibility for his own part in it. he says i'm sorry i failed you, my son. but wyll cannot be an heir anymore, not under the infernal thumb. he's removed from his position. and he can't take it! first of all, he can't agree with his father that he made a wrong choice as a leader. he sacrificed himself! thats what heroes do! and his father didn't fail, this is all mizora's fault! and now he has to endure the humiliation of nobles gossiping and snickering, speculating what the golden child did that was so bad for his father to remove him from flaming fists leadership? it's unbearable. so he runs away by himself.

he constructs this persona of Blade of the Frontiers, this folksy hero, hides his infernal contract. He believes he was right and he believes this is part of a story. He will become famous as his own hero, not under his father's shadow, and he will find a way to break contract, and then he will return to his home, triumphant, and his father will realize he was wrong and be finally proud of wyll. All of misery, fear, loneliness, humiliation, anxiety, terrible shit mizora inflicts on him will be worth it as long as Blade of the Frontiers remains a perfect image, and so he hides all of this. He dissociates. He is literally processing his life in terms of the Blade of the Frontiers' narrative, first thing he thinks is how he will frame\describe things for his books.

and then mizora turns him into a devil. this throws him into crisis, bc his perfect image of Blade of the Frontiers is threatened, he can't spin it into existing narrative, everything he went through will be for nothing!

when mizora offers him a second deal, one of the clauses is turning back to human. he can go back. he can be a perfect hero, Blade of the Frontiers once again, and no one will know his shame, and he will save his father and his father will be proud of him, and he can feel pained pride at being a martyr, at giving a sacrifice once again AND validated that his choice was right. he keeps playing a vigilante, larping as princess bride's westley and writing books about the manicured, idolized version of himself, while behind the scenes sliding more and more into corruption, making deals with consciousness that its fine to do things mizora asks, which keep getting worse and worse, little by little, because heroic deeds he'll do with gained power will outweigh it.

OR he can go through painful realization that living like a hero in a story does NOT mean making best choices. that he was not ready to be in charge of the city years ago. that whats important is achieving the goal, not being a saviour, and that he can ask others for help. he had flaming fists before. he has a party of manchkins who steamrolled several god's chosen now. he might not be powerful enough by himself, but he has resources. he doesn't need to sacrifice himself for that strength. he refuses the deal and saves his father by himself, still looking like a devil. the perfect image of a folksy hero is no longer salvageable, but he doesn't need it anymore. he learns to live with the consequences and stop hiding his scars, and he steps back to his place as the duke's heir, not just a hero, but as a leader first.

#brainworms gate #wyll ravengard

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bladesmitten · 4 months

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OC meme

tagged by @bladeofavernus !!! <3 ty bestie

name: Ajax

nickname: Jay if you're close or Jack if you're enemies

gender: trans man (he/him)

star sign: he doesn't even know his own birthday, man

height: 172 cm or 5'8"

orientation: homo-sexual underground

race: high half-elf

romancing: wyll 💞💗💖💘💓💕

fave fruit: rambutan (spiky on the outside, sweet on the inside? lol)

fave season: autumn

fave flower: bougainvillea, hawthorn

fave scent: metallic scents, sterile alcohol, the scent of good food cooking, flowers

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffee... he can't go without every morning. also helps when he wants to stay up for longer (see below)

average sleep hours: 4-6 hours... at one point he stayed up 48+ hours nearing the end of act 2 because he didn't want to go to sleep, for fear that the alfira incident will happen again.

dogs or cats: dogs... he's literally dog motif boy

dream trip: literally anywhere in the sword coast... he wants to experience the frontiers with wyll since he's never been outside of baldur's gate before 🥺

amount of blankets: a lot... he's like a cold-blooded reptile

random fact(s):

he is ambidextrous for most things - when writing he is left handed

his hair is not actually pink, it's naturally chocolate brown but he dyes it regularly

he has a tattoo of the tenets of his previous oath on his forearm. he probably has lots of other tattoos too i just haven't thought about them :^)

tagging (no pressure!) @eeldritchblast @thedragonagelesbian @hungerofhadarr @the-eldritch-it-gay @ikarons @asharaks @leopardmuffinxo

#.txt #ajax #yippeeeee <3 #tag games

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etoilehistoire · 8 months

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(A time-travel fic: we know Astarion was locked away for a year once as a punishment. We know no hero or god ever came for him. When something throws him back into the past, to relive his worst fears, will anyone come this time? Featuring my "Tav", a female human paladin named Xia.)

He’d fed. Supped at the neck of the pretty little paladin, endured her quiet comments (mocking, he suspects, but he can’t be sure and oh, how that rankles) and too-serious eyes. Returned to his own bedroll. Watched the night sky for a bit; let himself appreciate the stars with a sincerity he keeps carefully locked away, even from himself, most of the time. Closed his eyes, allowed himself to slip into a trance.

And now…

Now there are hands gripping him, strong and cruel, dragging him across a stone floor. A horribly familiar floor.

There are words, snarled and harsh, but he can barely make them out. Stolen (gifted) blood pounds in his ears, the fear making it nearly impossible to think. He can’t focus on the words because he knows that voice, he knows that voice.

Besides. He has a sinking certainty that he’s heard these words before.

When he’s flung down into the too-small, too-tight darkness, when his feebly-struggling hands are slapped easily away, his panicked protests ignored, and the heavy stone slab seals him in, he knows.

He's back.

This is a dream. Oh, surely. Elves don’t dream, as a rule, unless they choose too, and he certainly can’t imagine choosing to. Still, trance is a time to access and revisit old memories, and when one has memories as… insistent… as Astarion's, sometimes they demand to be revisited whether one wills it or no. This wouldn’t be the first time, although never before had it felt quite so real. A side effect of human blood, perhaps.

His heart, even when awash in fresh blood, doesn’t beat, and yet he imagines he can feel it in his chest, a frightened, fluttery thing. He has no need to breathe, and yet his throat feels tight as he gasps at stale air and pushes uselessly against stone walls that crowd him from every side.

Calm. Calm. You are in control. It’s a dream. A dream, and you’ll just have to wait it out. Calmly. Otherwise you might do something like shout out in your trance and wake the others, and wouldn’t that just be excruciating?

He coaxes a grim smile out of himself with the last image, and feels himself relax. He’ll wait it out. Gods, he ought to be good at waiting by now, oughtn't he?

Fifteen minutes later, his right leg starts to fidget. No, he is not good at waiting.

An hour later, no matter how he tries to keep himself from doing so, he finds himself pushing again against the stone walls holding him in. Every time they fail to budge, he feels another twinge of panic.

Twenty-four hours later, the thought he has desperately been trying to avoid pushes its way forward: trance-memories don’t usually last this long.

Twenty-four hours after that, and he is screaming, weeping, banging uselessly on the lid as if that would do anything, as his mind tries and fails and tries again to process the truth he can no longer avoid: this is real.

He's back.

On the third day he can feel the vitality the paladin's blood had given him beginning to fade. His frenzied attacks against the solid stone grow weaker – almost imperceptibly at first, but that will change.

One week in, he can feel the beginning pangs of hunger – pangs he knows, via agonizingly clear memory, will only grow.

Three weeks in, he distracts himself by indulging in increasingly-elaborate fantasies of being rescued. By the silly wizard, perhaps, or the oh-so-noble “Blade of Frontiers.” Or that little cleric girl, the one who always pretended to hate him. Or, hells, why not Xia herself, if he’s being ridiculous? He pictures it for a moment, the paladin swooping down on a gleaming white horse just to dig up a vampire spawn like him; the humor in that makes him smile, affords him a half-breath of relief. (Until he remembers that it’s hopeless, that they’re not even alive yet, that even if they were none of them would care enough to even look for him, let alone charge to his rescue. After that it’s harder to come up with fantasies.)

A month and a half in, he breaks the first of many nails completely off, scrabbling and thrashing against the lid. He knows he should stop. That it won’t do any good and he’ll just keep hurting himself. He begins scrabbling again, even though his raw finger screams with every scrape. (When his hands finally fall, exhausted, he remembers with grim anger that around this stage was when he began praying to the silent gods. He swears to himself, he won’t stoop so low this time.)

Three months in, he starts praying anyway.

Five months in, he stops.

At six months in, his muscles eating themselves, his throat a blaze of pain, the hallucinations start. Again and again, stone scrapes on stone, light shines down, and they’re there, come to rescue him. His party. His… well, friends is a strong word. His compatriots, perhaps. Gale. Karlach, the flames nearly blinding him. Wyll, with his gentle smile. Once it's a elven couple, a man and a woman, with faces he can almost recognize but not quite, and when they vanish he weeps dry tears for hours. More often than not it’s Xia, which would be funny if he were still capable – emotionally or physically – of laughing. The sharp, pretty paladin with her sharp, pretty sword might tolerate him for his usefulness, might feed him her blood out of pragmatism and a perverse sense of duty, but no more than that. Certainly he’d failed to charm or seduce her – he’d tried, gods knew, tried every trick in his repertoire to bind her to him, make her want to keep him safe, but when she simply fixed him with cool dark eyes that seemed to see right through his manipulation, he feared he’d simply made her despise him instead. So why would his mind show him her? Even if she were here, now, which she isn’t, she owes him nothing; even her oath to protect the innocent wouldn’t apply to an undead thing like him. She isn’t coming. (The worst part, though, are the nights when he hallucinates Cazador coming for him – the mocking laugh, the half-rotted rat he’s thrown. The way he drinks it anyway, gagging at the taste but unable to stop. The contempt in Cazador's eyes as he watches. Well. No. That isn’t true. The worst part is the gratitude he feels, every time.)

At seven months he begins to wonder if the people he remembers ever existed at all. Perhaps all those memories were simply a fever dream. Perhaps he has been here the whole time.

By nine months he knows, with whatever small scrap of consciousness is left to him capable of knowing anything, that it’s over. He’s broken. He knows, or had once known, that somewhere in the world there are blue skies and bright stars, the laughter of companions and the smell of cookfires, but he no longer believes in it. Everything is darkness and stale air and pain. His throat hurts, burns like fire in its dryness. His innards hurt, dessicated and twisting in on themselves. His limbs are atrophied, stick-thin and monstrous. His skin is dry and stretched taut over his bones. His hands are bloody lumps, fingers broken and scraped raw from useless attempts to escape. This is all there is, and all there will ever be, until Cazador decides to let him out. Until Cazador comes for him. And when he does, Astarion knows with a sickening sense of shame, he will be grateful. He will be relieved. He will be so, so desperate to never return here, so very willing to do whatever is necessary to stay in his master's good graces. He will be Cazador's creature once again, through and through, and this time he doesn’t know if he’ll ever again have the strength to leave.

And still, after that, time continues to pass.

Until stone scrapes against stone.

At first he thinks it’s another hallucination, except that it’s too loud, too bright. The scraping stone is shocking to his ears after hearing nothing but his own hoarse screams for so long; the light hurts, blinding him with his brightness. This is it, then: Cazador has come for him. Hope flares, wild and pathetic and clinging.

A strong hand grips the front of his shirt and he is ungently lifted out of the stone tomb. Before his eyes can even adjust his face is being pressed against something soft and warm and smelling deliciously vital, and he lunges without thought, latching on with desperate, ferocious hunger. There’s a brief moment when it registers, dimly, that this is a much finer meal than the dead rat he was given last time, but then the blood hits his throat, strong and thick and life-giving, and all conscious thought washes away in the need to drink, drink, drink deeply.

When he comes back to himself some minutes later, the thirst inside him – not sated, never fully sated, but subsided to the level he’s used to – three realizations hit him in rapid order.

This blood is better – richer, stronger – than anything Cazador had ever given him. This is forbidden blood. Human blood.

Familiar human blood.

And he has drunk far too much of it.

He rocks, back, shocked, already bracing himself (with a surprisingly strong stab of regret) for the sight he fully expects – her body, falling lifeless and drained to the filthy floor.

But what he sees is Xia, yes, but fully alive and not – as he had assumed – being held by Cazador, a cruel trick to make him disobey the rules and murder his own friend all in one go. Instead she’s kneeling in front of him, hale and hearty and under her own power, watching him with solemn dark eyes.

“Whuh,” he says, intelligently.

She nods, as if that meant anything. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Well, that explained exactly nothing. He clears his throat. “How is it that I didn’t kill you?” It’s not the most important question right now, not even in the top ten, and it’s probably not the most tactful way to phrase it, but of all the thoughts currently crowding his head it’s the one that makes it to his mouth first.

A rare grin, bright and fleeting, lights up her scarred face, and for just a moment his “pretty paladin" is actually lovely. “Ring of Lesser Restoration,” she explains, holding up her hand to show it off – a flat band of silver, with a flake of some pale blue gem in the center. “I had a feeling you’d be hungry when I found you, and I didn’t want to have to cut you off.”

Oh. Of course. She bought a ring, for him. Because she knew he’d be this, she knew he’d be a mindless, feral monster who wouldn’t be able to stop himself from draining her dry, and rather than that being a reason to leave him to his fate, she just. Bought an expensive magic item. For him. So she wouldn’t have to make him stop. Of course. Entirely sensible.

Eyes burning, he repeats her words. “When you… found me.”

She nods. “You weren’t the only one thrown back in time. When I realized what had happened, when I realized when I was, I knew you’d be here. With him. So I came.” She gives him a lopsided shrug. “But I told you I’m not from around here. I had to come from the other side of the world.”

He tries to rally himself. He should make a joke, something about how of course you traveled across the world for me, darling, have you seen these cheekbones? Or perhaps turn gratitude into flattery, fluttered eyelashes and pretty words and a promise to repay her kindness however she might like.

Instead what comes out, in a voice so pathetic and broken he wants to cringe away from it, is: “You came for me.”

Something softens in those fathomless dark eyes. A hand comes up, impossibly gentle, to touch his sunken cheek. “Yeah. I did.”

“You came for me.” He feels tears welling, blessed real tears made possible by her blood in his body, and the humiliation he feels at weeping in front of her is overshadowed by the stinging relief of finally being able to do so. “For me.”

He didn’t – he didn’t do anything for her. He never gave her anything. He’d utterly failed to secure her loyalty in any of the ways he knew how. He certainly can’t do anything for her now. There’s no reason she should be here, based on everything he’s ever known of people. It doesn’t make sense.

Yet here she is.

When the tears start flowing freely she reaches out and pulls him into her, arms warm and reassuring around him – not trapping him but holding him, supporting him. He tucks his face into her shoulder and lets it all come pouring out, all the fear and rage and pain and despair of the past year, the loneliness and need. It isn’t elegant; it’s full of hiccupping and snotting and undignified sounds somewhere between a sob and a scream. She holds him through it, strong arms protective around him, soft hands stroking his hair.

He clings to her even as the sobs subside, dimly aware that if she wanted to, she could own him in this moment as thoroughly as Cazador once did. She won’t. She wouldn’t even want to. Of this, he is certain.

The thought does make him pause, though. He draws back (and oh gods, his face must be a fright, for once he’s grateful that he can’t see his own reflection) and meets her gaze with wide eyes. “Cazador.”

“Dead,” she replies bluntly. A small smile graces her lips, the one he always assumed was mocking but which he now suspects is affectionately teasing. “I know, I should have left some for you, but time was of the essence.”

If he weren’t already on his knees he would fall to them now. He feels like a puppet with his strings cut. “You faced him alone.”

“I faced him for you.” She studies him with those serious eyes, and he wonders why he ever thought her intense gaze was cold and judgmental. “You have always deserved better than what that man did to you.”

She says it so plainly, so flatly, as if it’s not a direct refutation of everything he’s secretly feared and believed for 200 years: that he had, somehow, deserved it. For being weak, for being flawed, for being… him.

He swallows. He doesn’t believe her words, not really, but… he never expected to hear them.

It’s… nice.

She unfolds to her feet, extends a hand to raise him up. “So.” Her face has returned to its usual dispassionate expression, but her eyes dance. “What say we loot the old bastard's house for everything we can carry, then find out if anyone else ended up back in the past?”

His heart leaps in a way he doesn’t care to examine just yet at the implication that she sought him out first, before any of the others. Linking her arm in hers, he finally manages to summon a ghost of his old smile. “Darling, that sounds positively delightful. Lead the way.”

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #asexual astarion #(not explicitly stated but he is)#angst #angst with a happy ending #etoilewrites

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fl3shm4id3n · 11 months

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ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱɪᴏɴ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚'𝐯𝐢, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞. 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚'𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐲. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞, 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɴᴇᴛᴇʏᴀᴍ ᴛᴇ ꜱᴜʟɪ ᴛꜱʏᴇʏᴋ'ɪᴛᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ᴛᴀʏʀᴀɴɢɪ ɴᴀ'ᴠɪ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇꜱ - ᴠᴀɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ

TW: Avatar Frontier of Pandora Spoilers, a bit of Somniphobia, insomnia

A/N: Sorry if it feels short :(

Masterlist

You were in the Avatar's tent, you were laying on a hammock that was in the far corner of the room. You couldn't sleep, more like, you didn't want to sleep, you feared that if you go to sleep, you'll end up sleeping for another fifteen years. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes open, you thought of the things that you did in the past and remembered some memories you made with your teacher, Miss. Cameron. You still wondered what could of happened to her, but when you asked about her to the human, it was as if, they didn't know her. It was odd.

As much as you tried to be awake, you ended up falling asleep. That you had dreamed many things, they were confusing dreams, as if someone or something was trying to tell you something. But you also dreamt of that couple you would dream of years back, except this time you saw them a bit more clearly, you couldn't completely see their faces, but you got somewhat of an idea of what they looked like. Who could they possibly be? Was this couple related to you in a way?

The next day you had gone back to the old school building, to your old room, to get some of your things. When you looked around the old not dusty and vine covered room, you couldn't help but remember the things that would happen in the room. How you and Carmella would stay up pass your bedtime and talk to each other about whatever. You missed her dearly, same with your classmates.

You looked at your things, you only got a few things, mainly what you needed, according to you. The Scientists had allowed you to stay with them in the avatars tent. You had slept in a small corner which was now your spot in the tent. The main reason was so that they could keep an eye on your health, perhaps later on you could make your tent, after you learned how of course. You were back at the tent, in your small corner. You had brought back a change of clothes, a vest that you had, other stuff that you were given to by the RDA, and a notebook. The notebook still had your old school notes, but since there as no more school to go to, maybe you could start writing your thoughts in it.

'Where do I begin? It has only been a day that has passed since I woke up. A lot has happened since the last time I could remember, I mean, I was in cryosleep for about fifteen years now and not only that but my classmates are still in Cryosleep and I have no idea where my teacher is, It was as if she disappeared... I don't know... Everything is just confusing.'

'Not only that but I had that dream again. The one with the couple, but this time I was able to see them a bit more clearly. The woman had some kind of red on her skin and the man had some kind of armor? I couldn't tell what he was wearing, but this was my first dream in fifteen years you could say.'

You finished writing and you closed the book, it was a short summary of what's happened to far, you could maybe write something later, for now, you just wanted to process everything that is happening around you. Then you heard someone come in, the tent had been empty since the Avatars and the scientists were out doing there stuff. When you looked up to see who it was, it was none other then Tuk. Ever since you had met her, she had grown some kind of interest in you and she had liked you right away.

"Hey y/n!" she called out to you and approached you. "Hey Tuk, how are you?" you asked politely towards the kid. "I'm good! You want to come with me?" she asked, maybe the woods could do you some good. "Sure why not" you said, getting up from the floor and placed your notebook on the hammock. Tuk then took your hand and lead you out of the tent, before you both could go any further you were stopped by Jake. "Where are you two going?" he asked, approaching you and Tuk. "I'm gonna show y/n around the village" she said, turning to look up at her dad. Jake then looked at you both. "Alright, if y/n doesn't feel any good, you bring her back to the avatar tent, got it?" he told his daughter, who simply nodded and proceeded to take you away.

Tuk had been showing you around the whole high camp, first she showed you were she lived, who her friends were and where the ikran would hang around. It was interesting to see how the na'vi lived. Lastly she took you to meet both her mom and grandmother, since you had already met her dad and siblings, they were the other people you didn't meet. She had been pulling your arm so that you could walk fast towards the tent.

"Mom! Grandma! This is y/n!" Tuk yelled to get the attention of both a older and young woman. They both stopped what they were doing and looked over at the younger na'vi and the teen who was being pulled around by the child. You did the greeting gesture towards the women out "oel ngati kameie" you said, hoping that you had sad it right. Both them women did the gesture back, out of respect, then the much older woman approached you.

You didn't move, instead allowed her to get a look at you. She got a hold of your hand to look at it, seen that you only had three fingers and a thumb, it surprised her a bit, she thought that you might of been an avatar. Then she looked into your eyes and inspected them closely. "You look familiar." She said to her self, examining more of you. "Her name is y/n! She' the one that was woken up from the sleeping pod" Tuk talked for you. All Mo'at did was hum. "Well, It seems that you'll need to be taught how to live like us, unless you want to?" she said looking at you. "If that's what appropriate I will ma'am" you said.

Mo'at then turned to look at the other woman. "I believe that Neteyam would be a good teacher, what do you think Neytiri?" she asked. Neytiri nodded. "Yeah, Neteyam can teach her" she responded. Mo'at then turned back to face you. "My grandchild, Neteyam, he will teach you everything that you need to learn." She to you, then she turned to Tuk. "Tuk, could you go get your brother?" she asked, without hesitation, Tuk went out of the tent to get Neteyam.

A couple minutes had passed, Neteyam and Tuk had come in the tent. "Grandmother, Mother" he said bowing his head towards Mo'at and Neytiri. Then Mo'at went up to him. "Neteyam, you're responsible to teach y/n everything that you know of our ways, since she's already learned the Dreamwalkers way, she'll now known ours, understood?" she asked towards the young boy. Neteyam nodded and responded "yes Grandmother, I will" he said politely and respectfully. "First things first, get her something else to wear." Mo'at instructed him. Then Neteyam guided you out of the tent, followed by Tuk.

You were given a change of clothes, but instead of human clothes, it was the clothes the girls would wear. The top was of feathers that barely covered anything and the loincloth was, how could you describe it? It was basically underwear with a cloth that hanged. You looked down at yourself, to see how you looked with the na'vi attire on. "What do you think? I thought It would fit you since we're some what of the same size, later I can help you make your own" Kiri said while her and Tuk were helping you with your hair, they had put it up and added a couple braids with some beads.

You were moving a bit on the floor, trying to get used to the loincloth. "Are you sure this suits me? Aren't I showing to much?" you asked. "You look fine!" Tuk said, finishing a small braid and putting in a bead. "Yeah, you'll get used to it" Kiri said, while adding some kind of ring accessory on your queue. "Done! You look like one of us now!" Tuk said excited, helping you get up from the floor with Kiri. You felt your face heat up a bit by her complement. "I just hope that I become one of you later on." You said with a shy chuckle, while touching your hair, feeling the many little braids on your head.

You then heard both Neteyam and Lo'ak coming in the tent, they were talking about something, but Neteyam went silent as soon as he saw you. He couldn't help but stare at you, feeling his cheeks turn purple b the sight of you. "Is something wrong?" you asked worriedly, looking down at yourself. Neteyam tried to say something, but all that came out from his mouth was babbling, his brother was fed up and decided to talk for him. "I'm sorry about him, what he wants to say is that you look stunning" he said in a flirty way. Making your cheeks warm up. "Thank you.." you said shyly. Then both Kiri and Tuk decided that they wanted to take you out, so they both got a hold of your hand and dragged you out of the tent.

"Bro, what was that?" Lo'ak asked his older brother who manage to get a hold of himself. "Sorry, I don't know.." he said a bit embarrassed, then Lo'ak had an evil little smirk. "Oh~ I see~" he said teasingly. "What?" he asked. "You like y/n don't you?" Lo'ak asked while wiggling his eyes brows. "N-NO! Not at all, I am to be her teacher, and don't like her that way" Neteyam shouted, with a purple blush on his cheeks. "Uh huh, sure. You know, maybe after she completes her rite of Passage you could court her" Lo'ak adviced him. Neteyam stopped to think, maybe his brother was right for once, he could try and court you. "If not then I'll court y/n, I mean, who wouldn't want moi as their mate?" Lo'ak said with confidence, making Neteyam laugh. "You wish" he said to his little brother, earning a fake pout from him.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ, ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ

Taglist: @afro-hispwriter, @avatar4eva

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