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linneri · 1 year

Text

navy blue

aged-up!neteyam x fem reader

no warnings; spoiler free

non-english speaker

His skin had a much cooler shade than yours; that was the first thing you noticed. Bright navy blue, deeper, heavier, almost impossible to get from marine nature. The pair of amber eyes were scanning the surroundings, checking for potential dangers, confirming if his family is safe here among strangers, and this gaze had you glued to the ground, feet grown in sand when these eyes accidentally went looking directly, straight into you. Tsireya was talking and smiling, and you wanted to scream at him, "Hey, look at her, she's the prettiest girl here," but he was still and almost hypnotized, ears trembling nervously. He's mesmerizing, you thought. He's so pretentious, it's almost scary. He must be brave enough for those kinds of stares, brave or frivolous—you couldn't decide.

Stranger from a land where trees touch the sky and levitating mountains have no ground beneath them, it was poetic; he must have seen the highest of altitudes.

His father came from the star, as you'll be told later. It makes sense; he is a cosmic boy, the comeliest of the aliens, and you found it truly beautiful. You two didn't talk after; he melted from this frozen gaze and went with Tsireya, Ao'nung, and the whole group of his younger siblings with big eyes and thin tails, and they all were adorable, really, you could feel the strong, unbreakable connection in this family. It was a bit painful to look at them from the side, but you weren't the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, surely, you were just a part of the clan, just a watcher. That is what was most surprising to you this morning. You weren't in the first line; you never are. Looking at forest guests from someone's shoulders, hiding patiently just to watch from the side, and still being noticed like this—strongly, gripped with the gaze. He caught you like a hunter catching a thief. Overthinking these few minutes made you feel like you were the one who was either brave or frivolous.

It's not like you two got closer over the weeks; you haven't even shared a word. You weren't ready to go talk to him; it was almost like a fantasy, but you were already too curious for him, almost glued to him, so you couldn't leave the beach while he was somewhere in the water. Call it embarrassing or romantic—it doesn't matter. He was still the son of Toruk Makto, and you were still just a weaver sitting on the sand. It was simple to bring all the materials onto the beach and hide the eyes behind the tapestry. He was learning how to ride an ilu once, which was pretty hilarious to be honest, but he knew you were there, and you knew that he knew, and this was calming. It's all about the looks: there were looks in the morning when you were arriving at your beach spot; there were looks in the evening when he was returning from his long distance swims; you two were always searching for each other's eyes, just to know, just to feel this kind of warmth and keep going. It was your little game in comfort, and it always ended with a win for both of you.

Soon or later, it started to hurt somewhere under the ribs, his apartness. You low-key felt like a traitor; your little staring game was unbreakable and already much more than you could ever dream of, but somehow it still wasn't enough, and you had no idea if this feeling was mutual. In this case, wouldn't he come? This silence started to get overwhelming; it was almost feral. You weren't the one; you never are. He might generously gift you these looks and still choose someone else—someone prettier and louder, someone with a brave and adventurous soul, someone who speaks instead of just looking.

But he saw you, you thought. Shouldn't it mean something?

You didn't come the next day. And the next too. It all felt too silly, and you decided that you had romanticized this whole experience much more than you should have. It's probably been a week or something; you just tried to come back to your life: quiet weaving at home, family dinners, learning, spending time alone with your thoughts. The tapestry was almost ready, though. You took it in your hands, finishing all the details, slowly sewing the ends, and adding the shells as buttons. It was wonderful, yet it still felt like a failure. You packed it under your pillow like the most hidden of secrets.

It was your birthday a few days later. Never a party, but rather a little celebration with the closest hearts around. You loved it quietly. You never expect a lot, just some little gifts, mother's meals, forehead kisses, and soft evenings inside the village. Nature greeted you as well. It was one of those sunsets in silence when everyone rested in their places and the island was a little liar for saying that it was all yours for tonight. Water greeted you respectfully, and air touched your face with the slightest kisses; you were a dreamer, and this planet loved you.

The village was turquoise, the warmest shade of the surrounding wet air. That's why this cold navy blue in front of your eyes almost got you tricked. Heart dropped immediately; for a second, you forgot you even had one. In the darkness, his skin was starting to glow a bit with these little sparking freckles, and you weren't just staring; you were stargazing him carefully. He was a cosmic boy, you remember.

And somehow, he came. It was him just in front of you, on your little secret birthday. You found it surprisingly easy - to look at his amber eyes once again like your gaze never leaved his, not for a second.

"You're here." You broke the silence. It was almost possible to hear the crack of the rules that were finally breaking.

"Let me know if coming here will ruin everything." He said. His voice was strong and yet trembling. "Let me know if it was already ruined."

Ruined?

If you only had an answer. It was dreamy, but yet so impossibly real. The tension could be touched and grabbed in your fist if you ever raised your hand. He was here and close enough to radiate warmth from his cold-shaded skin. Ruined? It's a farce. You were the one who put an end to this game, overwhelming and terrified of fear, and he came here equally terrified as you but infinitely braver.

Lips opened for a word, but came with nothing. You prayed for your eyes to say it all.

"I should have come earlier." Shaking his head, he said."It hurts to lose this certainty that if I turn around, I will meet your eyes there."

It hurts. It feels then, you thought. It feels then, and not only you were the one to feel.

And it's all about the way this boy speaks: expectedly tenderly. You always wondered what his voice sounded like.

"And yet it feels newly seeing you this close." You said, breaking for a little smile. It was boldly for you, but you felt happy to see him here, really did. It was a confirmation that he indeed felt the same way about you.

The sunset tried its hardest to shine brightest this moment, but it was overshadowed by the smile growing in front of you.

You said your names to each other right after. The bond made in your heads got a little stronger with this smallest step, and you loved his name endlessly—Neteyam sounded perfect for his indomitable spirit and such soft, tender eyes, and it felt even softer to say it out loud.

"It's your birthday." He said, dropping his gaze away from your eyes, probably for the first time in these minutes. "It's not the best, but I took some clothes from my village before coming here and now unraveled one of my capes because I never saw such color in your tapestries and Tsireya said that--"

"We don't have this pigment on our land." You finished.

He was holding his hands in front of you, and there was a beautiful skein of cold blue thread in them, navy as his skin but brighter than you've ever seen. It was the color of their nights, you thought, the shade their forest generously provided only for its citizen. And now you're the one who can take it as if you were one of them. It was lovely. Neteyam felt you without asking any questions. It left you breathless.

"How could you know? It's so perfect." It was a childlike awe in your tone that made him smile and look into your eyes once again. "Thank you."

You were scared to even breathe because this little gift felt so personal and let you know that he really cared and noticed, and he really tried to know you as well as he could, from the side, just like a watcher, just like you. You raised your eyes, and you knew they were shining.

"I have something for you as well." You told him. Neteyam looked confused, ears straightened quickly. "Please, just stay here."

"Hey, why would I leave?" He smiled wildly after failing at fake pouting. You loved how his eyes were surrounded by a few wrinkles in this moment. It was torture to turn your head away and go fast to your place.

It was near; you weren't far away, and you knew that he was waiting for you. It made you feel something real. It excited you. There were minutes, probably, funny or not: a few words to your parents, a few steps to your bed, a few moves to your pillow, grabbing the tapestry, and almost running back to him.

When you arrived, breathing barely, you looked at him with the silliest smile. You held it proudly in your hands, your heart racing. You remember finishing it hopelessly and feeling like you were just a fool for him, and now the soft material warmed your hands.

You were weaving him a cape at the same time he was unraveling his own for you.

It was in light marine colors, with threads of silver and bronze, a pattern reminding you of water, and glowing shells as buttons—truly good work. You weaved it with all your feelings for him, and it actually turned out to be the best tapestry you've ever made.

And it was so intimate—changing the gifts that connected so strongly without even knowing.

He went silent—not a silly joke, not a single laugh. Neteyam took it so carefully, like it was fragile. He didn't expect it, you could tell, and it was an intriguing show to watch, to notice all the changes in his mimicry and looks. So warmly. He looks at you so warmly all the time. He placed it on his shoulders slowly, putting the shell in the loop with one careful movement. Like a prince, you thought. His skin made the cape almost shine in the sunset lights.

"It's not my birthday today, you know?" He said.

"I know, but it's mine. Keep it if you want to cheer me up a little more than you already did."

He looked up at the colorful sky and laughed loudly. "You're perfect. And it's the work of art that I didn't deserve but that I will definitely be carrying with me till the end. Thank you." He lowered his head back at you. "Thank you."

Making him happy. That's all you wanted after this moment.

You both sat on the sand, and the conversation finally felt natural and unhurried; he was the sweetest and shyest person you could ever imagine.

You were the one to break this shy wall between you two and tell him honestly that you did, in fact, miss him and that you were, in fact, coming to the beach just to see him. He laughed softly and placed his hand on your head compulsively, probably because of the oldest brother's habit of messing up his siblings' hair, but took it off immediately. You wouldn't mind, though. His accidental touches were giving butterflies.

He was honest as well; you believe that he was always honest, but it was still surprising to hear him tell you about all these feelings you two shared but both had no idea you did. You were a little poet with threads as words for him. He felt it somehow—maybe it was some kind of connection or just admiration—but watching you alone with something you love was beautiful. It was natural; you were on your own and never complained about it. That's why he never talked to you; he was afraid to ruin something in this idyll, break your comfort zone, and lose the opportunity to look at you every other day. But you were always looking back, and that gave him this blind courage to come here. He didn't know your name, he never asked. He could just go to Tsireya or anyone, but he liked to keep you as his little secret. Neteyam was not embarrassed to publicize his little addiction; he simply loved the intimacy of it all. And it was passionate; you felt the same kind of desire to keep this away from everyone in order to keep it as magical as it had always been.

You couldn't dream of this answer. He gave you much more than you thought you ever deserved.

And he was perfect in the darkened skies; it felt like they were trying to make him glow as much as possible. It was a moment when you raised your hand carefully after your conversation stopped in the comfortable, soft silence, and it was almost possible to hear the sound of the air cutting under your palm; everything was slow.

You touched one of his sparkling freckles between his eyes, stopping their light. His skin was satin. It was as warm as his gaze, much warmer than how this cold-shaded skin was looking. He stared at you so intensely—nobody has looked at you like this.

Nobody has ever seen you like this.

Your fingers moved by themselves, braver than you ever were, going down, remembering all the caves on his face, the silhouette of his nose, the little pit above his trembling lips. They stopped there, covering his mouth with the slightest touch. Neteyam was watching your eyes following this way. You knew the night was hypnotized as well; the clouds were completely still in the skies, looking down at both of you.

You moved forward impulsively. It was a moment; you lost yourself, and your eyes closed without your permission. Blame the date; you had a few minutes before your birthday ends and it was the courage that fogged your mind. Or it's just him: beautiful, beautiful cosmic boy under your skin with an intense gaze and the warmest amber in his eyes.

And you kissed the tips of your fingers like there were just his lips uncovered for you. So close. So "almost". You didn't see it, but you felt it—he flinched, his hot breath burned your fingers, and he opened his mouth a little, instinctively.

The moment got stuck. Time could get faster or just stop; you wouldn't tell. It was just your noses touching, shared loud breathing, and trembling fingers between you two, like the strongest and largest barrier you've ever felt. You had no right for more, you wouldn't ask for it. It was the closest you could get, and you slowly tried to move back to face reality. But he caught you. He caught you, like he always does. His fingers wrapped around your wrist so fast and tightly, almost scared, that you couldn't help but open your eyes in a daze and meet this melting amber.

You couldn't forget the way he looked at you—in awe. Conserved sparkles in this gaze because of fear of hurting you, grip relaxing around your wrist. He nearly told you with his eyes: "Let me." Fingers moved higher to meet yours, carefully fitting between, where your lips almost touched.

He nearly asked you with his hand: "Please."

Was there any other answer you could give him instead of yes? You closed your eyes slowly, sipping down your entwined fingers, and it was louder than any of your possible words.

He kissed you.

Blindly and passionately, as if nothing else mattered more than your lips on his, your holding hands under your chins, your little gasp after he finally touched you in ways you both couldn't even imagine. It was forbidden, and yet so freeing—a little secret that got you both breathless. He moved slowly, taking his time on you, and it was so intimate that you felt the goosebumps running down your back. His other hand covered the back of your neck, trying to be closer—the closest he could ever get. It's doubly that he could at this moment; you wanted him somewhere under your skin. Glued permanently like a tattoo.

The seeingless line between, the little navy blue thread on your fingers, the gazes that could find each other even in the most crowded of streams—there was something so real tying you both together. Knotting like a weaved braid.

It was something real and beautiful, the way your lips perfectly fitted, breaths combined, and skin smoothly touched each other.

He torturously, unbearably moved away in an instant, breathing heavily on your lips, your foreheads touching. Leaving a little peck on the corner of your lips before talking: "You should teach me." He took your entwined hands on the material of his weaved cape.

You laughed softly, making a little effort to bring his hand back to your face: "You would be much better in it with this extra finger your siblings have." You said, kissing his palm and hearing him chuck.

"Indeed. But I have much more motivation to learn than all of them."

"Yeah? Always wanted to weave?" Your lips were still on his fist, touching his skin anytime you talked or smiled through it.

"Always wanted to have a reason to be around you." He said unexpectedly seriously. You found it quite adorable; this boy was pure in his feelings for you, and this is all you ever desired. You put your lips back on his, kissing him softly instead of answering.

He's got all the reasons to be around now, and you both knew it. Before it got too dark and late, he was kissing your face everywhere, leaving some silly playful pecks on your forehead and cheeks through the smile, holding your face tightly with his palms.

The comeliest of aliens that came from the place with mountains that saw no ground, he was just about to show you all the altitudes, and you were ready to fly the highest with him if he ever asked you. You both were laughing and finally felt so free with all the unhidden feelings you both tried to hide.

"Cosmic boy." You whispered between his little kisses, and you knew he adored it.

And it felt lovely to let yourself be happy.

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linneri · 3 years

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russian classics aesthetic

Brothers Karamazov: orthodox monasteries, deep woods, starry nights, the sound of paper being torn, dimly lit rooms, withered roses, an unfinished letter, piles of books, the sound of shattering glass, ticking of clocks in a silent house, heavy wooden furniture, the air before a storm, the smell of earth, a crowd of people dressed in black, distant murmurs, emptied streets, the fear of walking alone in dusk

Crime and Punishment: coldness of the skin against a blade, slender pale fingers and slightly shaking hands, a red stain blooming on white fabric, lonely steps in a corridor, the slow dripping of water, looking out of the window into the thickening darkness, a single dying candle on the table, listening to one’s breath and counting heartbeats, too many stairs, the desire to be invisible, a subtle memory of kind word

The Idiot: classical statues, wealth covered with dust, a dark house tainted with inherited madness, an unsettling feeling, long walks in a park, useless chatter, a silken ribbon forgotten on a bench, a melancholic face, an unexpected spring rain, the joy of reading one’s favorite book, the clarity of mind after fully perceiving the world around, looking at cloudless sky

Anna Karenina: fields of crops, flowers brought from an early morning walk, the wind caressing a girl’s hair, a bowl of fruit, the smell of ripe pears, the clatter of a spoon against porcelain when stirring tea, children’s laughter coming from the garden, soft sunlight and white curtains, the sensation of velvet against skin, pearls from a ripped necklace spilling on marble floor, a sudden silence in a room full of people

War and Peace: a glass of wine, the brightness of a crystal chandelier, white lace, a raging snow storm, the sound of a door being gently closed, the moment of holding one’s breath before walking in a ball room, indulging in looking at a beautiful earring against light, the sound of a saber being drawn, closing one’s eyes for a moment while dancing, the sweet smell of strawberries, a pair of gloves left on an armchair, light scent of powder

The Master and Margarita: the chaos of a lively city, ambient jazz in expensive restaurants, jumping on a moving tram, the sight of Moscow from the roof of a house, yellow flowers in a vase, leaning out of the window, shelves stacked with books, a small tin box with old photographs, strange shapes in the night sky, laughing in the middle of the night on a balcony, colorful posters for a surreptitious magician’s show floating in the wind

Eugene Onegin: a lonely mansion, reading a book in the parlor, faint piano melody lingering in falling silence, long evenings, passing seasons, discussing french novels of the moment, unspoken thoughts, leaning against the door frame, quickly averted glance, eating a peach absent-minded, bright mornings, footprints in snow, a loud gun-shot terrifying a flock of birds nearby

A Hero of Our Time: byronic boredom, getting up late in the afternoon, the hidden unspeakable sadness of existence, shakespeare’s tragedy opened next to untouched breakfast, cigarette smoke, polished boots, walking with one’s coat wide open letting the night chill break through to the bone, carved wooden chair, fading warmth of the ashes late in the evening, the thought of farewell

Fathers and Sons: birch groves, morning mist, moss covered stones near a moor, scientific books, white roses, cheap champagne, shabby pocket-watch, light-hearted irony, a maladroit cello sonata, freshly mowed grass, leaving thoughts come and go, a slow yawn, picturesque plates and bowls filled with traditional dishes, drinking tea on the porch, longing for the future

Doctor Zhivago: a strange feeling of loss, writing poems in a diary, traveling by train, the hesitation before touching someone’s hand, the gaze of one lost in thought, the warmth of cinnamon, a scarf brightly embellished with flowers, a glass of water, two people listening each on the other side of the door, a threadbare jacket, the tempting void, the evanescent serenity of yesterday

Dead Souls: horses in a merry gallop, delicious smells mingled, grotesque and bizarre tragedy, luxurious attire cheap soul, masks, a perfumed love letter, the triumph of sarcasm, an unattached wheel rolling down a dusty road, the atmosphere of commedia dell’ arte, puzzling speeches, a baffling caricature drawn on a handkerchief

Cherry Orchard: a lone chair in an empty room, falling blossoms, old samovar, the unsettling need for change, a mirror reflecting full moon, the disappointment of a glossy object turning worthless after second glance, a piano out of tune

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