#— ✥ ⦙ gone fishing ⧼ queue. ⧽

[dehvours]

Foul Legacy - a quick rundown

The being that fused with Ajax when he first fell into the Abyss is an abyssal creature that gives him the ability to transform: I distinguish between the FL Transformation (being their transformed state) and FL itself.

Sk.irk taught him how to control the transformation, and the FL Transformation is a 'partial' transformation — partway between the human and the abyssal, an amalgamation of the two of them. This is also why it looks somewhat similar to the shadow inside the Narwhal.

FL tends to react to danger to protect them, and sometimes it will not 'let go' of his form if it still feels danger is present. It will not do so until it feels safe, despite the strain it puts on Ch.ilde's body.

They have both been influenced by each other, and although FL doesn't quite understand humans, it feels a sense of protectiveness over those Ch.ilde cares for, and it will also react to what he wants to protect.

While Ch.ilde uses both he and it pronouns, FL uses strictly it/its pronouns.

[devourensarc]

❛ you should’ve thought about that before you got into a fight. ❜ (thoma chiding him as he patches him up??? :eyes:)

@daybreakrising

❝  Eheh. . . ❞ Despite his complaints, no shame tinges the Harbinger's laugh. Thoma's hands were gentle as he cleaned his wounds, but the water still stung, and Childe squirmed on his seat with every touch.

Someone cleaning him up after a fight was an unfamiliar feeling but, despite the sting, it wasn't an unwelcome one. He only ever gave himself the bare minimum of first aid, and the many scars decorating his skin testified to that.

And despite the sting, he saw no reason why it should dissuade him from starting such fights in the future. He'd won, and none of his injuries were severe. If it would get Thoma to do this again, though. . .

❝  Worried about me? ❞ He lets his head fall backwards, watching upside - down as Thoma rinses the bloody rag again.

[netherfeildren]

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill!

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Graphic depictions of violence; Murder; Blood; Gore; Threat of SA; Impotence; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Loss of virginity; Virginity kink; Breeding kink; Spit kink; Rough sex; Pussy slapping; Dark!Joel; Mean!Joel (also kinda crazy and pathetic); Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Discussions of suicidal ideations; Unreliable narrators; Alcoholism; Consensual non consent kind of (But not previously discussed - they're both into it tho); Use of misogynistic language; Grief

A/N: Hi :) Another one just bc I have no self control. 

Parts of the narrative read a little disjointed and/or confusing. This is intentional. I was kind of trying something weird out here, I guess.

Word Count: 9.7K

Read on AO3

The first time Joel sees you, it’s a Thursday. His least hated day of the week, but not his favorite, for he doesn’t really have any favorite things anymore. Your eyes’d stunned him at that first look. They sparkled as if dusted with frost – speared him with an intensity that burned. 

But no… that was a lie, and Joel is trying not to be such a liar anymore. He does have one favorite thing now. This middle-of-nowhere diner, this place where’d he’d found you. 

The first time he’d actually talked to you, you’d interrupted his own stubborn, sour silence with a silence of your own. Different, agonizing, compared to your usual persistent fishing for his attention. 

“What’re you doin’ out here in this wasteland, sweetheart?” Because you look sweet as that cherry pie you’re always trying to push on him. 

“Been here my whole life.” It’s verging on evening, the sky gone to melancholy, and there’s a young girl with dark hair weeping on the shoulder of an older woman in the booth over. He wants to snap at her, demand to know what the fuck she could possibly have to cry over? He’s sure she mustn’t have a dead daughter like him, and so there really seems to be no reason for tears. 

“No plans to leave?”

You shake your head, hum a little, set the coffee pot down on the edge of the table to pop a hip out and think on your answer. “Guess you could say I’m a little bit weak or scared, don’t know.”

“Doubt that,” a surprised laugh forced out of him. Entirely improbable, he knows this just by looking at you. “You’ve got eyes that seem as if they’ve never held fear within them in your entire life.” And he makes you laugh at that, head thrown back, throat rippling. The sound like the tolling of the bell indicating the start of the rest of his life. 

When you’re done gifting him your laughter, you ask, “What about you? Why are you here?”

“My daughter died.” Plain. 

Your eyes seem to shutter or flicker, something like a chimera about them, “When?”

“Two years ago.” He watches the crying girl and the old woman get up to go. And then the two of you are alone. You move to sit in the booth across from him. He’d been coming in here to see you for more than half that time since, and now, the first time the two of you are having an actual conversation, and this is what he’s decided to open with. But really, it’s the only story he has to tell anymore. He watches you watch him for a long moment, as though you’re searching for something within him, or mulling over what it is you want to say to him, the shift of your jaw from side to side as you chew on your words. He feels easily frightened now – fragile – and yet vibrantly malignant, at the same time. A juxtaposition on two opposite ends of the spectrum of good and not so good, or perhaps, verging on very, terribly bad, in the grocery store line of human morality. Two Joel’s at the start and end of the queue who could not seem to come to terms with one another. Enemies – they were enemies of each other. A Joel who’d once had a daughter, and a Joel who now did not. A Joel who’d pulled a trigger at his own temple, and one who’d never even considered such a thing. He draws his finger along the line of scar tissue at his temple.

For a long time he’d wanted to tear a hole in his world and escape, but he was no master of inventiveness. On the contrary, he found his attempt rather miserly – had short changed himself at the last moment and flinched. But perhaps, it had been for this reason – for you, to find you. He wishes he could peer inside your mind, crack open your skull and read everything you’re hiding away from him inside there. A violent thought, but you make him feel slightly violent, or – no, that’s not it – for Joel is already a violent man. It’s more that you pull a specific hue of violence out of him, incite it, like he needs to move, to howl, to claw at something, at you, scream and scream and scream to keep your undivided attention on him forever. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say finally, voice quiet. “How old was she?”

His loss. That was a funny way of putting it. It had never felt like a loss. The word was too small. Four letters was not enough to describe what it really was. There was no word for what it felt like. An emaciation of his very self until he simply ceased to exist. Something that had sucked his soul, his heart, his brain out of his body, but they didnt feel lost. They felt destroyed, decimated, or like they had never existed. Sometimes the feeling left him confused, disoriented – this strange purgatory he’d been relegated to, it was like it had never happened in his mind sometimes, or like it had happened to a different man. Like that life with that beautiful little girl with the green eyes who’d had a father who loved her, who’d then died, had happened to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Joel. Like a war that had raged and raged for centuries, and now nothing was left in its wake. Only that terribly fraught reminder of a violence too grotesque for a human mind to conceive. 

How could he miss something, wish for something so, so, so fucking desperately he’d peel his very skin from his body himself to get it back, but also feel like it didn’t belong to him anymore? Like it had never happened to him, like he remembered it out of his own body? A dream that belonged to someone else, and Joel’d only been told of it second hand. His mind was fractured now, he knew this. He wasn't right – broken or glued together the wrong way. His bones didn’t fit in his joints the way they were supposed to anymore. He was all wrong and ugly and fucked. 

“She was twelve.”

“My whole family’s dead,” you say it almost casually, with a half shrug of your shoulders. “Is that why you started driving? To get away?”

He’s been a long haul truck driver for going on two years now. Started just after Sarah – needed to get away, to get lost. He didn’t enjoy it – he does not enjoy it. Not because the work is bad or boring or what have you, but because he doesn’t enjoy anything anymore. But it’s productive and pays well and… well, he does appreciate the solitude. There is that, at least. He’d been on the route from New Mexico to Washington for several months now, and it was fine. Occasionally, he’d head up to the Dakotas – not so fine, longer, harder trek, but he managed it. He preferred this one, preferred the darkness of the north west corner of the country. He never went further south than New Mexico, though. Absolutely never into Texas. He’d never go back there again. 

“Sure… to get away.” He couldn’t be there anymore afterwards, had nothing left. “My neighbor, Anna, she’s got a teenager, Ellie. Sweet kid. Weird kid,” he laughs fondly, remembering the two of them. “The kid was friends with my daughter, Sarah. And after everything– well, after everything, Anna made sure they both stuck around. Didn’t let me shut myself away the way I wanted to,” ill-shaven recluse, confused, fractured, “They’re good people. You’d like them, I think. They’re… they’re my friends.” They were another reason he kept doing the driving, he liked to send money back to Anna and Ellie. He knew they didn’t need it, didn’t want it, but he had to. He needed to feel like he was still taking care of someone, contributing to someone’s well being. It was just part of who he was. 

“I’m sure I would.”

He watches your silent enrapture as you listen to him tell you of his pseudo life. After a while he’d realized that was all he’d started doing, making his way back to you, to this diner where you work. A sad place for ugly men to stop in on a pause from their interminable journeys and lay eyes on an angel. He hadn’t even really realized that’s what he was purposely doing or that it’d become a pattern. He just needed something to see at the end of the tunnel, a light to look towards when he was lost in the darkness. That’s what you are, a single flickering light in the abyss of darkness he exists in now. 

You’re small – tiny compared to Joel’s own hulking size. He thinks he could break you, easily, if he isn’t careful, if he so felt like it. And you were – you are so fucking pretty. He thinks of you so often. Almost as often as he thinks of his dead daughter which might seem wrong or strange, but it’s really nothing more than the two opposite ends of a spectrum of perfect beauty that he’s known within his lifetime that now he cannot reach either end of. Sarah – dead, forever out of reach. And you. Too perfect for consideration, too beautiful and good for these monstrous hands of his. The thing he’s become in his grief is not worthy of a gorgeous creature like you. His existence post Sarah’s death had become some sort of apocalyptic dysphoria where the only monster here was Joel. But he does like to watch, and he does like to think of you. To come to your diner and sit and watch you serve coffee to your customers – the scum that muddles through here isn’t worthy of laying eyes on you – men like him. Sometimes, when he sits here silently, pretending to ignore you and not be entirely beguiled by you, he feels as if he has a purpose again, like the money for Anna and Ellie, getting to inconspicuously watch over you, make sure no one gives you a hard time gives him purpose. And when he goes, even though he never really wants to, he takes you with him in his mind through the long stretches of his hauls. When there are nothing but ghosts to keep him company. When thoughts of Sarah and that dead life become too overwhelming, he calls you to mind, plans his routes to make his way back to you. 

You’re also fucking persistent – not giving him the chance to wallow away in his silence and brooding. He was rude at first, gruff and unresponsive and wouldn’t ever acknowledge your queries of, How’s it going today, and, Oh, back again I see. Sometimes he wanted to snap and just spit the truth at you, ‘course, I’m fuckin’ back, I’m here to see you, I’m obsessed with you. And rounds and rounds of, Can I get you another cup of coffee? The same as usual? You’d memorized his order. Pestered and pestered and pestered for his name until he’d finally ceded it to you, and, How ‘bout some cherry pie this time? After a while you’d gotten sick of his recalcitrant bullshit and just dropped off the piece of pie, slipping it onto the edge of the table and sliding away without a word or a half look back at him. He’d eaten the whole damn thing, savored it, and caught your sassy, little smirk after he’d finished. He’d wanted to bend you over the counter and spank your ass until you cried after that. He bets you’d taste as sweet as that pie, that if he slapped your cunt enough times he could get it red as a cherry. He bets you’d like that – that you’d like it a little rough, a little dirty, a little mean. You might look like an angel, but Joel’s seen the way you look at him, the way you follow him with your eyes, leaning against the counter, chin cupped in your small palm watching him eat his eggs and drink his coffee. 

You want him. 

But Joel is frightened – frightened and cowardly and not right, and as much as you look like an angel, he also worries you might have the ability to entice him into very, very bad things – to provoke him into depravity, even. There is a part of him, large or small given the day and the mood and the weather that he walks in here on, that has the rotten half of his mind whispering at the not-so-rotten half that he wants to defile and debase you, and that he’s pretty sure you’d like it if he did. He wants to fuck you full of his come and then watch it leak out of your used, gaping hole. Then he wants to lick you clean, kiss it all better so that he can do it all over again.

The first few times he’d stopped at your diner, he’d pretended he hadn’t even noticed you, would lie to himself in his mind and tell himself that he had no interest in a little thing like you. He had no interest in women, in making connections, in having conversations. Occasionally… well– no, not occasionally. Twice, it had happened twice now, when the urge had struck, the itch had become too persistent, and his hand not enough, he’d gotten a hooker. The first time he’d shut down completely, lost his hard on and not been able to finish. The second time… he’d finished. He might’ve even made the woman come, he hadn’t bothered to ask, but he thought he might have. Then he’d gone back to his truck and cried great heaving sobs. Like he’d said… not right, he wasn’t right anymore. Couldn’t even fuck a whore without blubbering like a baby. He’d wondered if perhaps his grief had made him impotent. That’d be funny. That type of funny thing that is also a humiliation… you know the sort?

But after a while, the lie had become too much of a farce, even for his own mind. He knew, from that first moment he’d walked in, and you’d spun around, a bright smile and chirpy, little voice telling him to sit anywhere you’d like, be right with you, mister, that he’d taken notice. More than notice. He’d put you in his pocket that day and had carried you with him in some way since. Like a stone chosen off the beach, washed up by the tide and deposited in the sand just for him to come across, or maybe like a fucking infection, like the plague, for he did not want this. He did not want to think of you. He did not want to think of anyone or anything. He wanted to be alone and without anything or anyone for the rest of his life. If he did not have anyone, if he remained alone, then he could never again experience that loss which was not truly a loss, but something much worse and devastating, and even, perhaps, a little hilarious, in that way that a hilarious thing can also sometimes be humiliating and shameful… there it is. A loss that is not a loss for it is a thing so devastating it becomes something else entirely. A humiliation to one’s very existence, a decimation, emaciation, all the things, all the things, and nothing at the same time.

His mind was wont to ramblings, on occasion now. Perhaps, incoherence, was the better word. Anxiety, as well, panic, tears. Couldn’t even fuck a hooker without weeping, howling, a few sobs. 

He had wandered so far, and sometimes he thought, I want to go home, but of course, that home no longer existed. It had been put in the ground two years ago and lost forever. The dissatisfaction of constant ennui. He could, perhaps, return to the geographical place, but nothing familiar would remain. He couldn’t live with the memory, he couldn’t live away from it. It was like it had simply ceased to exist that day that she’d died, and every moment since that moment was just a series of moments filled with a yearning for some place that no longer existed. He didn’t think he’d ever again feel at home anywhere.

And yet…

He turns back to look at you. 

“How did they die? Your family.”

“Home invasion – murdered. He never found me, hid in the boiler closet.”

“Little rabbit.”

“Hmm,” a huff of a laugh, “Maybe. Someone once said I was lucky. Pretty fucked up, no?”

“Do you feel lucky?”

“Never. Angry – that I’d been left behind.”

“Yeah…”

“Alone.”

“Are you alone?”

You turn back to him. Inspect him. He watches the slant of your eyes take in his hair, his face, wrinkled, haggard, his chest, his arms – he feels a flush flare beneath his ribs, then back up to his eyes. He wonders if you’ve ever been fucked before. You’re young – but he can’t imagine how you wouldn’t have been. He thinks he’d do anything in this moment to get between your thighs, but also, he hopes you haven’t, hopes you could be all his, only his, his his. Mine. 

He hopes he won’t cry if he gets the chance. 

“Entirely,” you say finally. 

“I had– have– ” shakes his head, “I have, I guess, a brother. Tommy. But the last time I saw him… I was horrible.” They seldom saw each other now – lie – they never saw each other now. Truth, Joel. We’re telling the truth now. 

You laugh lightly, shrug, “Happens.”

“Sure…”

“What’d you do to him?”

“Ah, just couldn’t get a handle on myself after everything. Things got bad enough eventually, and we fought… a lot. Violently. I was violent. One morning I got out of hand, terrible – one of my biggest regrets. We hurt each other with our words and our fists, and in that way only two people who know each other too well can. He cracked my ribs, gave me half his orange in the evening, afterwards – said our apologies. He was gone the next day. Haven’t heard from him since. I just got to be too much for him,” he says again, needs to reiterate it, make sure you understand that he is too much and too dark, too unmanageable – ugly. That you should not be sat here with him. That he has a violence within him, and that you should probably run as fast and as far as you can, but that he cannot promise he will not follow. “I had…” he is ashamed of this part, surprising for he sometimes wonders if he still possesses the heart to feel shame, “I had a problem with drink for a while – not anymore, though,” he says quickly. “I promise, not anymore.” He should not be promising you anything. “I got control of it – knew it was making it all worse rather than better. Felt like I was trapped underwater with my damn ghosts – that … What's that thing called when – when sick people get like – like trapped inside themselves or somethin’? You ever heard’a that?”

-

“Locked-in syndrome.”

“Yeah– yeah. I read about that once or heard it somewhere – that’s what it felt like when I was drinkin’ – fuckin’ terrible. Let it go after a while… but by that time… Tommy was gone, done with me. I was – dunno… like some sort of demon or somethin’ – somethin’ bad.” He huffs a small, derisive laugh, looks at you with that ridiculously charming, crooked half smile. 

That laugh sparks a kindling of anger inside of you for him. This is a broken, angry, creature of a man, you think. Something fractured – not whole, and he must be handled with care and gentleness. “How could he just leave you?

“Didn't give him a choice. Sometimes people deserve to be left.”

“I wouldn’t have.” That sobers him, wipes the smile right off his handsome face. You think of the invisible giants hurting this man in some unimaginable fashion; of the endless tenderness coiled up inside of him and how the crushing of that tenderness – the death of it – has given way to what may be considered madness. Because after all these months of watching him, of him watching you, you can see it, recognize that tenderness for what it is, but also the madness, for it is impossible to ignore if you’re really looking. Soft marrow at the center of a hard man. 

“I did other things… worse things.”

“Try me.”

“I tried to kill myself.”

You whistle, long and low. You actually had not been expecting that one, at least, not the admittance of it, “You’re just full of truths,” for looking at him – the sort of man he’s built as, the thought that he could be felled by anything, even his own hand, is a little hard to believe. 

“Feels like a sort of confessional in this–”

“Shithole–”

“Diner–”

Your voices overlap. You both laugh. You think you quite like the sound of your voices intermingling one on top of the other. 

“What happened?”

“Flinched–”

“I flinch all the time.”

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

You hum, tilt your head side to side on your neck as if you’re letting the thought slide from ear to ear within your skull. “Perhaps only the peripheral idea of it, but never with much imagination or dedication. I don’t think I have that much to kill myself over, you know?”

“Your family?”

“Not really – it’s sort of become just this… this thing that happened once. I don’t feel much ownership over it anymore. Don’t know why, exactly.”

“Sure, that’s how I feel about it sometimes too. That belongs to a different man now – like– like some actor or a facsimile, and I just look in on it as if from a distance. Enjoy the sight of someone else's suffering…” He shakes his head, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, no, I understand. Something to do in the way that a tragedy can be compelling to watch. You can let go, let go of your awareness of yourself and experience it in a way you’d never do so in the present moment.”

“A dissociation.”

“Yes. Why would you want to go and relive the basest parts of yourself all alone, over and over again? Not likely.”

“But it was me.”

“A dissociation,” you repeat, smile. 

“Yeah,” he pauses, turns the coffee cup round and round with the slow spin of his wrist as if to dissolve the remains of the grounds you know the shitty machine has left deposited at the bottom. There is a small dusting of golden brown hair covering his wrist and disappearing up his forearm beneath his flannel. You want to taste it, follow the trail to places unknown. “Not so well adjusted, us two,” And he laughs then. A real laugh. He lets you have a real laugh of his, and it is powerful – special. 

“Well… no.” Of course not. “I don’t think either of us could ever claim that.”

“Bet you’ve never been bad a single day in your life, have you?”

You cock your head, let your eyes slide from him to peer out the dark window. His lonely semi is parked under the single flare of light out there. The evening has sunk into a deep blue, the hue of mourning, of melancholy, and the pavement is wet with evening rainfall.

You'd heard that some trucks had spaces behind the seats where truckers could put a bed, have a place to rest. You wonder if he’ll take you back there and fuck you in his little bunk. And honesty is a fickle thing when discussing a topic like this, isn't it? There’s a depravity about him, and you can’t tell if the truth or the lie would placate him – incite him – more. To be similar in such a way as that which he’s imagining. A little bit of both, then. After all, intent holds weight – imagination, desire, it has a mass to it that can, if enough pressure is exerted upon it, be transformed into something else. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, sliding your gaze back to meet his, “Haven’t had a chance – but there’s still time.”

-

“What would you like to do?” He wants to take a bite out of that soft flesh you’re encased in, draw blood.

“Something depraved?” You’re taunting him – trying to provoke. It makes him slightly angry, but also hard. You should know what it is you’re toying with here. 

He frowns at you, at the lilting song of your words trying to beguile him into doing whatever it is you think you want him to do to you. “What is it that you think you want here? You don’t know what I was, how I lived. Shouldn’t be sat here with me, little girl,” he scoffs. “I was– was not– I don’t fucking know, not a man. I’m not, I’m not. Not a person anymore, just this thing that continues to exist. I should not have been expected to survive. This should mean something to you too. You also have no one. You’re alone too. You’re alone in the world. You know what it feels like to only live in the winter.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you say: “I think I’ve come to quite like the winter.” And at that he knows he’s taking you for himself, whether you agree in the end or not. You’re going to be his. 

But he knows he must also let this roiling anger, this depraved hunger settle before he lays hands on you. Like this, in this state, he’d be too rough, break you, nothing compunctious about him or his jaggedness. He excuses himself for a smoke, your only response simply more of that inciting silence – more thoughts of cracked skulls and a cherry red cunt and tears after failed trysts with someone who doesn’t even know his name. He’s fucking embarrassing. What would Tommy say if he knew Joel couldn’t even get it up for a paid fuck anymore? He’d laugh in his face, never let him live it down. He misses his brother very much. He misses lots of things. 

He’s sucking on his Red under the awning of the diner’s entrance, imagining what it’ll be like to suck on your little clit, when he hears them. 

“She’s usually out about midnight. We’ll snag her then.” Grating, guttural voice.

“But I get to fuck ‘er first. This was my idea so I go first.”

“Yeah, whatever. S’only happenin’ ‘cause of me. Too fuckin’ stupid to see the plan through after all these months of watchin’ ‘er.”

“Fuck off.” Silence, and then almost with giddy elation: “We gonna kill her too?” Something cold and terrifying settles within Joel. 

A beat, “Should we?”

“Dunno, man. Might be fun, huh? Never done it before.”

“She’s fuckin’ pretty,” the voice draws the vowel out in a high pitched, sacharine whine. “Got the face of an angel.” Joel’s angel, his, his, only his.

He’s got his Bowie in a sheath on the back of his belt. Perhaps, this would be a useful exercise in release. After he’s dispelled his excess energy he can come back and touch you, take you. 

“Can’t wait to taste that cunt.” His cunt.

“Seen her tits, man? Fucking round and bouncy. Wanna make ‘em bleed.” And there’s only one avenue of consequence after that. After all, this is not the first time Joel’s done this. 

His most well kept secret.

Sometimes, when the itch cannot be eased, abated, by his hand or a fuck or a drink or any of the other readily available vices, he turns to this. Only when the straits were dire. Only when he saw no other recourse. Only after his daughter was dead and in the ground and his brother gone away from him

. 

But sometimes… sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s useful for a man to do that thing that he really feels he wants to do, if only to enjoy himself, if only to let go of some of that suffocating tension. If only to keep vermin like this away from an angel like you. 

“We’ll chill in the woods for a while, wait the little thing out, yeah?” Joel edges his way towards the edge of the building closer to them, peeks a lone eye around the corner. Two men, middle aged. Not a problem. Not for a man like him. 

He waits for them to make their way to the edge of the tree-line, watches them disappear into the gloom. He looks back into the diner through the murky windows. The warm glow of the overhead lamps washing you in a hue of golden light that brings out all the warm goodness in you he’ll take for himself once he’s snuffed out this issue. 

No one’s going to touch you but him. No one’s going to hurt you but him. 

As he rounds the corner of the diner there’s a piece of metal pipe propped up against the building by the dumpsters. Very nice. 

He goes after them. 

At the edge of the tree-line, under a swaying, low hanging branch, there is a tiny unfledged bird, helplessly twitching its way towards death in a puddle. He pauses to watch its struggle, gathers his skin about him, tightens his seams – prepares to gorge. He watches the inch by inch pilgrimage towards its last breath, then stillness. He feels so much older than his years, like he’s lived a thousand terrible years, watched a thousand terrible deaths. But there is a buoyancy about him, as well. Filled with a saccharine sweet fizz of sticky anticipation. He’s going to taste your cunt after this is done.

 He moves into the gloom. He’s going to kill them for you, and his cock is hard at the thought.

Stepping beneath the canopy of the trees, into that cold, damp darkness, he sees the absolute truth of the world. On the heels of two men who’d do you harm, he knows that he’d failed to save someone he cared about once, he’d not be bested by failure a second time. Darkness implacable, the crushing black vacuum of their overheard words buzzing in his head like flies, of the harm they’d do you. Two hunted animals moving away from a creature much darker than they could even imagine, scurrying on borrowed time. What most moves him is that the things they’d do to you are not so dissimilar to the things he plans to do to you, as well. The only difference being that after he’s done defiling you, he’ll keep you for himself, with all the care and gentleness a little thing like you so deserves. 

-

You press your ear to the cracked open door leading to the back of the building. It’s not the first time those two’ve talked their filth regarding you. The murdering is new, though. You’d not thought they were smart or inventive enough to come up with an actual kill plot. Rape enough of a hardball for minds as shallow and small as those two’ve got. 

You’d never really considered them much of a threat. Or maybe you’d just never really cared enough to pay them much attention. But as you watch the broad, rippling expanse of Joel’s muscled back stalk after them, his pause at the tree-line to look down at something on the ground, you think he must be more in the vein of taking a stupid man’s shit talk to heart than you’ve ever been. 

He has a thick, forearms-length of steel pipe gripped in his huge fist, and there’s a wicked looking knife strapped to his belt on the back of his hip. 

Interesting. 

You look back at the empty diner, the lonely parking lot beyond the glass of the windows, only Joel’s semi still taking up residence on the wet pavement. You turn back to follow after the three men. 

One you want, two you’re interested to see what fate awaits them.

For some reason, when you step outside, you’re expecting there to be snow on the ground, but there is none.  

You move across the pavement towards the forest-line, and the pilgrimage towards the verdant darkness feels very much like your one-way ticket out of this forlornness you’ve been trapped in your whole life. You’ve been stuck in this small town for so long, for too long. One man had already tried to forcibly evict you, had taken your entire family with him, maybe this one, maybe Joel, would do so in a way you’d more likely enjoy. 

There’s been a steady, faint drizzle all day long, and the puddles of rain look like holes in the dark pavement, apertures into some other realm that glide past underground. You wonder if you stepped through if you’d disappear below into some other place. You wonder if he’d be able to find you even in that unknown other. 

You cross the line into darkness. 

The familiar terror of silence – you don’t seem to find it here. There is only the sound of your rushing blood, the cadence of his voice rumbling through your psyche, firing your neurons up into a frenzy. There is a twisting heat low in your pelvis, dampness between your thighs. What’s he going to do? Why’s he going to do it?Is it for me? Is it for me? It’s for you.

You let out a low whistle between your teeth and move beyond the trees. There is a giddiness about the darkness of the wood – the motley of shadows, the aroma of mushroom rot. 

The familiar terror of silence. Perhaps, that is what they are experiencing now. The great horror of being set upon by a beast more terrifying than anything they could have ever conjured up on their own. 

That infinite tenderness from before, that acute madness – it coalesces in the gap in the trees as you come upon the three men. 

Joel has already started on the first. He murders almost tenderly. With great care, but infused with an aroma of agitated frenzy that seems flavored in the same notes of erotic buzzing that hums beneath your own skin. There is blood and viscera splattered on his face and clothes, in his hair. That great hunting knife embedded in the throat of the first man. The body lays facing you now, eyes open, shocked at his own death. Funny. Perhaps, that’s how they would have liked you to have ended up once they were through with you. 

Oh, how the tune changes when the monster is on your side. 

What are you? Be a creature. Be a creature. Be a creature!

You take Joel in. Thick, massive frame. You love his hair, it was one of the first things you’d noticed, thick dark curls streaked with the silver veins of his age and experience. Something that promised of care and knowledge and patience. His patchy beard with the heart shaped gap in it, you’re going to write your name into that space. His powerful arms, muscles coiled tight, his shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders as he brings the steel pipe up above his head, pauses to look down at his next victim. 

“We won’t bother her anymore, never again – p– please, please, I swear,” the man on the ground begs and cries. There are tears and snot bubbling down his ruddy, pocketed face. 

Joel is silent and terrifying and glorious above him, and then a small nod: “That’s alright… I believe you.” The metal comes down in a whistling arc, makes contact. 

Flesh and blood splatter, the sound of it is pulpy and wet and vindicating. He starts with the man’s knees, then his head, caved in like the shell of an egg, the yolk spilling out like vermilion drool. 

He heaves silently above the man that would have done you harm. Makes the threat go away. 

You step forward, cunt pulsing and wet and eager for him. When he’s gotten his fill of bludgeoning he turns slowly back towards you, as if he’d known the entire time that you’d been stood there watching. 

And the look on his face, it makes something electrifying and sticky buzz up your spine and ooze down your veins. You shift back on your heels

He shakes his head, his eyes are huge, pupils blown wide. “Don’t run,” he says slowly. If you hadn’t just watched him murder two men in cold blood – no, in your defense, he saved you, he protected you, fizzy heart full of satisfaction – you’d say he almost looks a little doe eyed. 

A hollow pounding begins in his heart, as if it had remained silent for the past two years and was only now taking notice of its own silence. His cock, hard enough to burst, angry and throbbing beneath the confines of his blood soaked jeans. Fuck this scum laying on the ground beside him, look at what he has infront of him. Nothing else matters but you. A goddamned angel. Damned for he’s found you now and nothing good can come of this. He takes a step towards you, and you match him with one backwards, away from him, his blood starts to howl in his veins. Different to the humming frenzy that had filled him as he did his murdering. This is hot and viscous and ravenous, and he knows he’ll get to keep his catch once he’s gorged himself on it. He knows he’ll get to keep you once he’s caught you. 

You take two more nervous little, quick steps away from him. Your eyes are slightly manic, face flushed, frame jittery, excited. A rabbit that knows it’s about to be caught. He watches the pause of your limbs as they fill with coiled energy, getting ready to make the bound and leap towards escape. He lunges, goes in for the kill, teeth bared, talons  brandished. 

Faster than you can even comprehend, he lunges, takes you to the ground with one massive, powerful shoulder to the vulnerable, soft of your belly, one huge paw cradled at the back of your skull to protect you from the hard ground. Your spine hits the cold, wet earth, the breath knocked out of you. You think you let out an animal noise, high pitched and supplicant. A thing that knows it’s been caught and is soon to be devoured. Your limbs scramble against the dirt, heels digging into the ground for purchase, you feel the loss of one of your shoes, as you try to get away or to crawl closer, who can be sure. A spider caught in the web or a larger, hungrier arachnid. He sets the huge heaviness of his muscular weight over your much smaller frame, one strong hand caged around the column of your throat, the other pushing your chest into the earth as he shoves his hips into the cradle of your own, forcing your thighs apart and your skirt to pool at your waist. You feel the stretch of the center plaque of your tights as his wide breadth settles between your legs, making room to take you for himself. You bring your own hands up to the wrist holding your throat and dig your nails into the skin there. You can feel the light smattering of hair covering his forearm beneath your soft palms, the cold, wet dirt beneath you, the searing stretch of the inner muscles of your thighs spread wide for him, the damp of the air surrounding the two of you. He leans forwards, pressing you down into the ground, and you have the fleeting thought that you want to transfuse yourself into the earth, into him. 

He pauses then to look down at you, appreciating the gloriousness of his catch. “Caught ya.” And he’s filled with an exuberance, a sort of victory. Look at what he’s snared – all for himself. 

You try and struggle again, if only to see the flare of annoyance in his eyes. It makes your cunt tight and achy. Even more than it already is. There’s a part of you that thinks you want him slightly angry – rough or mean. That you might like it even more if it hurts. Be kind enough to be cruel about it, you want to beg him. He leans forward to press his nose to your cheek, drags the cold vermillioned flush of it along your jaw, down the line of your throat, bites harsh and painful at your collarbone then over the peak of your breast. 

“Are you a virgin?” He whispers into your skin. It sounds very much like a threat. 

“Yes.”

“Saved this cunt all for me.” And it is not a question. Yes, you moan anyways. Let him know. Let him know that this defiling is a gift you’re granting him. He sits up on his haunches between your thighs, his hands sliding down to press on your lower belly and digs his fingers into the center of your tights and pulls, ripping a hold in them for his pillaging. You try and press your knees shut at the feel of the frigid air on your sensitive inner thighs, dig your nails into the ground above your head to try and drag yourself away from him. 

He digs his own fingers harshly into your flesh, his nails biting painfully into the soft skin of your thighs and ass and brings you back towards him. There’ll be streaks of pain left in his wake after this. Bad little rabbit. He smacks the inside of your thigh, watches the smooth flesh ripple for him. You let out a warbled, angry screech, little nails still trying to claw yourself away from him. He laughs then, a little mean, condescending. “Fight harder, little baby. This is pretty pathetic.” He rips your thighs apart, keep your fuckin’ legs open for me, his hands slick with the blood of his victims slide up the back of your thighs, anchoring his palms beneath the damp creases of your knees to press you open and wide for him, slaps your cunt, hard, over the soaking gusset of your panties. 

“Who the fuck’re you wearin’ this tiny little thong for?” he growls. It’s white lace, with a sweet, little pink bow adorning the front. “Me? Wrapped yourself up all nice and pretty for me?” Your little foot sneaks up under his armpit and tries to push with, what he’s sure is all your valiant might, at his chest, trying to unseat him from his conquering position above you, but he takes your ankle in a vice like grip, bites harshly into the meat of your calf so that an animal squeal of pain is clawed out of your throat at the same time that he slots his fingers under the damp center of your panties. “Sing as loud as you want, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hear you out here.” He can feel the soaking wet seam of your cunt against the backs of his knuckles, and he rips them clean off you. The sound of the last remaining barrier of protection of your cunt against his ravaging being decimated has you going shock still – prey that knows it’s caught and has decided to give up. Good, this is how he wants you. Your big, wet eyes look up at him as he flings the lace towards the still steaming dead bodies. That’s all they’ll get of you. The rest is only his. Mine, mine, fucking mine. 

You let your arms go limp above your head, soft and pliant and ready for ravaging, melting into the earth.

He presses your knees back and up, letting the red blossom of your wet cunt bloom for him. It’s slick and swollen, and he knows when he shoves his cock inside it’ll be burning hot. “Look at this gorgeous virgin pussy, baby. All for me. Only for me…” he murmurs, hypnotized, mesmerized. He drags the back of his knuckles over your slit, uses his thumbs to spread your lips apart, admires the swollen nub of your clit. You’re just as hungry for him as he is for you. Messy, eager little whore. He moves to undo his belt and free his aching length. Huge and brutish, thick veins pulsing just beneath the thin skin. He’s going to split you in half, break you, mold you in his image. 

He spits right onto your soaked folds, watches the thick glob of saliva slide down to mingle with your own leaking slick. He’s not even going to make you come first. Little virgin cunt and he’s not going to even bother getting you ready – just gonna shove the whole, unforgiving length of himself inside of you. Force you to take it. He fists his thick fist around himself, jacks his cock once, twice, squeezing at the bulbous head so that a trickle of precum seeps out of the slit. He presses his head to your clit, slides down to give you a small threat of pressure at your opening. When he looks back up at your face your eyes flutter shut, a look of pure contented submission washing over the gorgeous planes of you. 

“Not gonna be gentle, baby. Don’t got it in me.” He notches the fat head at the slick mouth of your entrance and crams his cock inside of you in one go, meets that thin barrier that says you still belong to yourself and rips through it. Mine now. No reprieve, no respite. And God, the feel of it, cleaved in half, scorching hot, filled to the brim and never deep enough. He is a rabid, snarling beast of a man as he hits the very end of you, grinds his cockhead at the mouth of your womb. You let out a warbled, pained moan, little fingers coming up to claw at his throat and chest with kitten-strength, down to dig into his thick thighs as he pins you down, and you tilt your hips to let him in deeper or escape him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care. He pulls his hips back and forces himself back in, too thick cock wedged into the too tight space. “Christ, goddamn tight fuckin’ pussy – made for me,” he grits through bared teeth.

He fucks you raw and cruel, and he needs you to just lay limp and still and take it.

And you do. And he does not cry this time. 

He sets a brutal pace, throbs deep in your belly at every pause as he grinds at your cervix. It must be painful for you, perhaps, but the flush in your cheeks, the fever in your eyes, the ripple of your cunt around his driving length tells him you also like it. “What a good girl, taking my big cock,” he coos. You preen, tilt your hips this time in supplication he’s sure, hitch your feet higher along his sides. There are tears running back down your temples and into your hairline. His cock makes you cry. If he could, he’d split your throat and drink, he would. But he cannot, so he’ll split your cunt instead. He thrusts into the hilt, complete negligence for care, for gentleness lost in the dark wood, for the desperate necessity of feeling your virgins blood coating his cock. Your protestations lost to the louder song for more, for harder, for deeper

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s going to listen to you sing his name for the rest of his life. 

He feels unhinged, a thread picked at too many times, spun loose, unraveled and frayed. That edge that separates good and evil – his bloody fingers clamp down hard on the edge of your jaw, forces you to open for him, and he spits into your mouth – direct, dirty … warm. “Lemme see…” he rumbles, and you stick your tongue out for his inspection. Once he nods, pleased and smug and conquering, you close and rub the slick of his saliva onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue, savor the taste of him. This was the taste that you’d longed for… that which teaches you what that professed edge really is. Is he good, is he evil – he’d just killed two men, you’d watched him, cunt wet at the sight of it. Albeit to protect you… sure – but does it even matter? You swallow his spit down. Probably not. 

He is huge and life altering inside of you. Your virginity scoured away on his invading length. 

He leans forward, hand clamped around your jaw to pierce you with his manic gaze, like his cock pierces your cunt. He smells like the forest and sweat and power. “Little fuckin’ tease,” he grits, “Bringing me cherry pie like that all the time – fuckin’ provoking me. You just wanted me to pop your cherry for you. Didn’t you, little girl?” All you can do is nod dumbly and take what he gives you. He hooks one of your knees over his elbow, the other propped over his shoulder, foot bobbing limply at each slam of his hips. He has you bent entirely in half, cunt splayed wide open for him to fuck down into the deep, devastating end of you. Your vision goes blurry, black stars streaking across the back of your eyelids. All you see is him. Perhaps he’s all that exists now. Maybe you’re just as dead as the two bodies laying beside the two of you. You wonder peripherally what the sight of the four of you must look like. Joel’s hulking form fucking you like an animal into the dirt. You open your eyes to look up at him, there’s blood splatter across his face, in his hair. His skin is burning hot against yours. You think that perhaps you’ll have scorch marks in the shape of his fingers in your skin after he’s done with you. Two dead, brutalized bodies cooling beside the place where the two of you are fucking. 

“Can feel ya tightening up, baby. Gonna come all over my cock.”

He does something to change the angle, and it fucking hurts. “Too much,” you beg, try to push him back weakly, but your cunt pulls sharp and tight, and then your muscles are rippling around him, womb contracting painfully as your orgasms blinds you with its sudden intensity. 

“Don’t care,” he growls back. “Do not fucking push me away.” No, he must not care. Prey doesn’t decide how it’s felled, after all. 

He pulls out and back then, suddenly, slaps your cunt harshly, once, twice. You mewl, high and shocked, writhing around in the dirt. He grabs you by the hips and flips you so fast you’re left disoriented, pulling your ass up, up, up. 

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he croons, bends to bite down on the meat of your asscheek, and then notches back at your gaping, fluttering hole, orgasm still running through you, and pushes back in. You’re soaking wet, slick and fucked open by him and the taking is much easier this time. You feel his thumb press down on your asshole, “Gonna take this too. Gonna have every part of you, every piece. Gonna swallow you whole.” All you do is arch your back further, cheek smushed into the dirt, fingers digging into the cool earth for purchase, for salvation.

The sight of you stretched around his thick base, so slick he feels you dripping down his balls and further below, into the bloody earth. There’s a red tinge of your own blood coating his skin, and he’s going to come. He’s going to fill you up with his spend and fuck it deep into you until it takes. Until no matter how far you want to run, he’ll be with you, always. He lets his head fall back on his neck and stares up at the dark canopy of the trees, groans low and deep.“You’re gonna be my little hole now,” he promises, presses one large palm into the small of your back to deepen the angle and fuck down into you. “Gonna take you with me and fill you up whenever I feel like it. My gorgeous little cumslut.” The ramming of his hips starts to grow sloppy and stuttered, close to the edge now. Victory is so, so near. 

You start to claw at the dirt and wiggle again. Little knees chafed raw and scrambling against the hard ground trying to get away. He slaps your ass hard, hopes there’ll be the print of his hand to appreciate later. 

“Not inside, not inside – not – no birth control,” you stutter, beg.

“I’m not fuckin’ pulling out.” He twists a cruel and unyielding hand into the back of your hair and presses your face harshly into the ground. Your eyes pinch and tears seep and mingle into the blood and dirt beneath you. “Gonna pump you raw and full. You don’t gotta worry about anythin’ anymore, baby. Gonna take care of you,” he grits and you press yourself harder back into him. There is an existential seesaw inside of you – a volleying of your wants – you want him to hurt you, to force you, to take care of you and keep you, all at the same time.

“Promise – promise me you won’t leave me,” you cry and beg because really, that’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted. For someone to stay, for someone to never leave, no matter what.

“I promise – fuckin’ swear.” And you go loose and passive again at that – his to do with as he will. Nothing else really matters after all that.

He senses the change. The loosening of your muscles into capitulation. He stops his thrusting and grinds, strums at your clit. “Oh fuck, you want me to fill you up? And what happens if I do? What happens if it takes? Want me to get you fuckin’ pregnant?” Starts to fuck into you again, “I think you do.”

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

“You’re mine. Fucking mine.” He says it again and again and again, yes, yes, yes, lets himself fall forward, anchored above you with one strong arm as he presses as deep as he can physically go and starts to fill your pulsing cunt with his come, the heat of his spend inciting you to roll into one more throbbing orgasm. He brings his face down close to yours, open your eyes, little thing, lemme see you. The fluttering of your lashes, sweaty, dirt-streaked face, and you are seraphic, the wet crimson heat of your blood pounding beneath the delicate membrane of your skin. Gorgeous, perfect, conquered and his. 

“Fucked full’a me now,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to the tender skin of your eyelid. You nuzzle into him, and then look up at him with the warmest, most vibrant gaze he’s ever seen. Fucking pleased and sated. 

“They wanted me, but only you get to have me now,” you whisper. “How does that make you feel?” Provoking, provoking again. 

“Like I fucking own you.” He grinds his still spitting cock further, feels the pull of your muscles milk him deeper. 

He lets his weight fall partially over you, too heavy for the full mass of himself. You are, after all, a delicate thing, and he must remember to handle you with care, occasionally. He feels the pulsing and quivering of your cunt around his softening cock, and the two of you settle to lay there in the dirt, bodies still dead, virginity scoured and stolen, and stare at each other. 

“Have you ever been in love?” you whisper, dragging the tip of one little finger, whisper soft, over the arch of his brow, the slope of his nose.

“I feel a little in love with ya right now,” he confesses, and you press that finger against the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance, and then inside, against the flat of his tongue to inspect the wet gleam of it. It’ll be inside of you soon enough, you should take a look at that which you’ll be writhing against in due time. 

“Good. That was my plan all along.” Smug, conniving little creature. 

-

Once it’s full dark, he packs you into his truck, buckles your seatbelt for you, tucks a blanket around your dirty knees and drives off as if he hadn’t just murdered two men and taken your virginity with their blood still hot on his skin. He goes for miles and miles, eventually finds a dark, secluded spot to park the truck for the night. He takes you into the back bunk and fucks you like you’d wanted him to, on your side, one leg slung over his shoulder, hand gripping the lush of your ass to pull you onto his impaling cock, watches your ass bounce against his thrusts. A demanded play with it, lemme see ya push it back in, as he watches himself drip out of your messy hole. Eats your cunt until you cry. Afterwards, the two of you lay, naked and damp, facing each other, tracing the lines of one another in the quiet dark. 

Sometimes he’s worried he’s blood hungry – or pain hungry. Starving for something he doesn’t have a name for. But he thinks that, perhaps, he can use your name to fill in the blank space now. He’d always felt as if his devotion was a punishment to the receiver. After all, everyone Joel has ever loved has left him. But as he looks at you, there’s something in your eyes that tells him that perhaps, you’ll remain. Perhaps, he can compel you to, force you to. Perhaps, he can anchor you to himself, and in turn, give you everything. 

“Are you a ghost?” he asks.

“No. Are you?”

��Sometimes I think I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re like a fuckin’ angel or somethin’. What were you doin’ out here in this wasteland?” He asks you again.

“Maybe I was waiting for you.” This answer he likes.

He’s quiet for a long time after that – taking you in, cataloging you, memorizing you. His fingers ghosting over your face, your hair, strumming the fan of your lashes. Later he asks: How do you remember the memory of someone else? How do you keep them when they’ve gone somewhere entirely unreachable?

“Because you love them,” you tell him.

“That’s enough?”

“Of course. Will you ever forget that you loved her?”

“Never.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[luvv4j4ybe11]

With time

✧𝐓𝐰𝐢n 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤

✧Tw!!: mentions of death,sibling loss, lo’ak dies instead of neteyam, lots of crying, first time celebrating birthday without your twin brother, mentions of su!c!de, underaged dr!nking, mentions of alcohol,mostly angst with some fluff towards the end (if you squint),feelings of grief and depression and I think that’s all, enjoy this lil Drabble<33

✧Dividers by @benkeibear

✧ translation(s): Skxawng-moron,idiot , kuru-queue, hammerbrow fish- the goldfish that kiri was playing with in that one scene (idk how else to describe it😭)

(Listen to this to make it extra sad🥰)

You woke up feeling the weight on your chest being even heavier than usual. Your face still wet with tears from last nights realization. That realization being that today was your birthday but not just yours, it was his too. Ever since the night he died, you haven’t left your side of the marui since.

Even though it’s been four months since your twin brother died, that day just keeps replaying in your head, the sound of your mother screaming, the look of absolute devastation on your older brothers face, the blood on your hands, the sound of tsireya crying, lo’aks cold expression, the way your father looked at you with complete disappointment and spat out a cold, “you’ve done enough”

Every time you thought about it you felt sick.

And naturally, being Navi twins you guys were connected more than normal siblings were, you felt each other’s heartbeats, felt when the other was happy or sad, uncomfortable or frustrated. So when you felt cold and utterly alone, you knew he was gone.

But yet there’s still times you hear his heartbeat, you feel how lonely he is and how much sorrow he’s filed with. And it makes you weak with sadness every time.

Being pulled out of your thoughts by a small pair of hands on your bicep shaking you back and forth, you turn around to see your baby sister staring back at you with a smile on her face, her eyes still washed with sadness. Yes, she was young, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. She knew how to read the room better than kids your age did.

“Sis, come on, get up! It’s your birthday!” She says while climbing onto you to give you a hug, which was something she did every year, but this one was more gentle and genuine than the others. You break the hug to place a hand on her head, lightly ruffling her braids,“Maybe later tuktuk, I’m still a little tired.” You say,weakly trying to hide the pain in your features with a fake smile.

She frowns at this, making you let out a soft chuckle as you go to push her off of you. Making her cling onto you more. “That’s what you always say!, please sis, can you get up? For me? For lo’ak?” She says while looking at you with puppy dog eyes. The slight mention of his name brings tears to your eyes, not ready to start this day without him.

“Sister, leave her be, alright? How about you go see what kiri is up to?” Neteyam says as he lifts the curtain to get into your side of the hut, holding it open for tuk to run out eagerly to find her sister.

Closing it, he glances at you before siting on your sleeping mat, “Sister, I’m-” “Teyam don’t. I can’t go through today with this fake sympathetic bullshit!, you guys were constantly on both of our asses for everything! You guys never cared about how we felt! How he felt! You know how many times he came to me telling me how dad made him feel like shit? Or how kiri was pushing him about certain things? Or how he caught dad talking to you about how he’s, “too reckless” and he “wouldn’t be surprised if he got himself killed”?”

His ears pin back to his skull immediately, knowing the exact conversation you were referring to. “Sister, you think that didn’t bother me too? I told him that lo’ak only acted like that because he wanted to be like him. But of course he didn’t listen. And do you think I wasn’t aware of how you guys felt? Why do you think I’d always have both of your guys backs whenever you got into trouble? Why do you think I came up with lies left and right to mom and dad so you two wouldn’t get your asses beat? I wanted to avoid making you guys feel like that, but I only have so much control y/n..” he says as he squeezes his his fists in anger, his feelings from that night bubbling to the surface again.

You move from your comfortable position to sit next to him, bringing him into a much needed hug. “Brother, I know you did. I know you try every single day. And I look up to you because of that. You’re stronger than I am. You keep pushing forward even though there’s so much shit happening to you, I don’t understand how you do it.” You say as you feel tears flowing from your face, the hug reminding you of how lo’ak used to hug you whenever you were in a mood.

“I do it because of you guys. Because of him. You guys are the reason I keep pushing. And especially the both of your skxawng asses” he says with a soft chuckle before breaking the hug, placing his hand on your head softly, something he did with you and lo’ak that became a comfort thing for the both of you. “You can do this today sister, I believe in you, we all do.” His tone making tears automatically spill over your eyes, and causing you to notice his tear filled eyes.

Looking for some sort of grounding you place your hand over his and squeeze, taking multiple deep breaths before speaking. “Teyam.. I can’t, I miss him so much. Everytime I wake up I feel so alone and cold, but I can still hear his breath, and his heartbeat. My pain is not only mine, but his too.” You say in between sobs, watching neteyams breathing get more shallow as he tries to hold in his tears. His features covered in concern.

“Oh baby sis..” bringing you into another much needed hug. He places a light kiss on your forehead before rubbing your back and gently swaying you from side to side,trying to calm down your cries.

Kiri walks in quietly, the feeling of your pain drawing her to your room. Her whole body goes slack and cold when she sees your state, making her glance at Neteyam. That feeling intensifying even more once she saw the pain in his eyes. She takes her place behind you, quickly inserting herself into the hug. Wrapping her right arm around your waist and the other overlapping with neteyams so she can hold him too,her chin resting on your shoulder.

“You feel him don’t you? His heartbeat? His sorrow? His breath? Like he’s just a word about to be spoken?” Without lifting your head you nod quickly, too mentally exhausted speak anymore. “I know how you feel sister. Take that feeling as a way of him telling you to keep going. Keep breathing for him, keep your heart beating for him. That sorrow will be gone once he sees that you’re living for him.”

Her words make you sob even more. Knowing she’s right, he’s always hated seeing you cry, and he did anything to fix it. Purposely making himself look like a dumbass, making you go on an ikran ride with him, asking you to go exploring with him, taking you to you guys secret spot, pinky promises. He did anything for you. And so did you.

A wave of calm suddenly hits you, making your sobs come to a complete stop, and your breathing becomes more level. Feeling the change, your siblings give each other a confused glance before looking down at you. “Sister?..” they both say in sync as you break the hug and get up, your features going completely cold. “I’m going to visit him..if that’s ok with you guys” you say while lifting up a blanket, revealing a stash of alcohol you’ve been keeping ever since his funeral.

Quickly you take a bottle and cover it back up, grabbing your hunting knife and putting on both you and lo’aks matching bracelets you made on your 10th birthday. Walking towards the curtain to leave, you’re pulled back by a gentle pull on your shoulder.

“Y/n..don’t don’t drink today. It’s not gonna stop you from hurting, and you know that.” Kiri says while gliding her hand down to your hand that was holding the alcohol firmly. “Yeah, I know that kiri, but it dulls it somewhat. And it stops me from wanting to throw myself off of a cliff so I think it’s worth it. Plus it’s my birthday! I’m allowed to drink as much as I want today!!” You say in a fake enthusiastic tone, your sarcasm reminding them so much of lo’ak.

“Y/n.” Neteyam says in a soft but stern tone, the one that told you that whatever he was about to say was gonna be serious. “Don’t drink. I know you’ve been hurting more than we have but we need you here. Lo’ak needs you here. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt.” He says as his voice starts to crack slightly, remembering all the things the three of them would come up with whenever you were anything but happy and content.

Feeling the tears well in your eyes again, you squeeze the bottle tighter, fighting the instinct to drown your feelings in the burning liquid.

Glancing over at them, your heart breaks seeing the genuine hurt on their faces because of the realization you’ve been drinking this whole time and they didn’t know. Sighing angrily,you shove the bottle into neteyams chest. “Fine, but when I get back just save me a bottle, because I know it’ll be gone by the time I come back.” You say while turning out of your room swiftly, leaving kiri and neteyam there speechless.

Once you get to the spirt tree, you thank payakan and tell him that you’ll see him soon. Ever since lo’aks passing you’ve only really left your marui to go see payakan, knowing he carries the same weight as you do.

While swimming towards the tree, you mentally prepare yourself for this painful experience. You’ve been avoiding coming to the tree in the first place, because you knew how much it take out of you. And he knew the same.

Connecting your kuru to the tree, you’re brought to you and lo’aks secret spot back at your actual home. The only place that brought you two comfort. Tentatively, you walk through the clearing, lo’ak still not in sight.

“Lo?, where are you?” You call out, the sound of your own voice making you realize you weren’t 15, but you were younger. Walking towards a curtain of flora that led to a small river, you catch a glimpse of your brother, making you walk quicker.

Once you get there you see lo’ak sitting at the edge of river with his feet languidly swaying in the water, just staring into the water. Almost like he was waiting for something, or someone. You don’t say anything at first, just taking in the sight of him after not seeing him for months.

“Brother..” you say softly, not wanting to disturb his peace. His head whips in the direction of your voice, his expression lighting up as he gets up and walks towards you. “Sister!!, I thought you’d never show!” He says as he takes you into a hug, the sound of his voice making you giggle since he was also his younger self.

“Of course I did, it just took me a little time. You know I’d always come to see your skxawng ass” you say as you break the hug to shove his face with your pointer and middle finger. He giggles at that, his smile making the weight on your chest get lighter.

Grabbing your hand, he guides you to where he was sitting. Taking your seat beside him, you gaze out into the water with him.Nervously playing with your extra finger, you take a breath before talking about what you were avoiding for so long.

“Brother I’m-” you exhale slowly before continuing, noticing out of the corner of your eye how all lo’aks attention was turned to you. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here. It should’ve been me that got shot that night. I was the one that put the idea into your head to go save spider. I should’ve just told you and teyam to go so I could’ve got spider by myself-” “Sister,” he cuts you off, your rambling making the pain in his heart worse. “It’s not your fault. You need to stop hurting yourself like this. It’s not fair to you. You need to focus on now. Not ‘what if’. And plus, It’s not like I would’ve listened to you if you told me to go anyway, there’s no way in hell I’d let that happen.”

Both of you giggle at the last part, knowing that he’s not lying. Once your laughs die down, you look down at your hands, that feeling of guilt still lingering in your chest. Glancing over at you, he notices how you’re playing with your pinkies, a telltale sign that told him something was bothering you.“Sister, what else is it?” He says as he leans back onto his hands, noticing how your shoulders slightly go stiff from his question.

Turning your body to face him, you don’t fail to notice the genuine look of concern in his eyes. “You know what day it is today?” You ask, making his expression completely drop. “Yeah, I know.” The words feeling like a weight on his tongue. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do today without you lo’. I can’t. It hurts too much.” You say as the tears finally spill over your face, the grief crawling back up your throat once again. “No, y/n, you can and you will. For me. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can’t live out there. Live for me, y/n. Stop letting yourself be consumed by grief and guilt. I hate seeing you like this and you know that.” He says sternly, making sure you know he’s being serious.

All you do is nod your head, not trusting your voice with the lump in your throat and the never ending tears that keep falling from your eyes. The sight of your hurting form makes lo’aks heart twist in pain. And the fact he couldn’t really do much hurt even more. “Come here, sis,” Placing his hand on your shoulder he pulls you towards him. Giving you a much needed hug, immediately making you sob into the crook of his neck.

“I miss you, twin” he says while resting his chin on your shoulder, letting the tears fall freely from his eyes. You let out a broken, “i miss you more” as the void in your chest grows the longer you two hug.

Once you finally calm down,you break the hug, now seeing each other how you guys remember. “Well shit..” you both say in sync, making you both laugh. “You look so grown. I don’t like it.” Lo’ak says as he admires you a little longer, a feeling of peace swirling in his chest. “Yeah,me neither” you say in a soft tone, once again feeling guilty for moving on without him with you.

Placing left hand on your head, and his right on your shoulder he looks at you with a soft smile on his face, “Y/n,you’ll be ok. I’ll always be watching you, and I’ll always protect you.” The tone of his voice making you inhale sharply so the next wave of tears doesn’t come. He raises his pinky finger towards you, waiting for you to do the same. You let out a soft chuckle at his childish behavior before obliging.

Once both of you pinkies are holding onto one another, he grips your shoulder tighter. “Promise me, that you won’t give up on yourself, that you won’t push everyone away, that you won’t drink your feelings away. Promise me that you can get over this feeling. That you will live through this feeling.”

You squeeze his pinky even tightly as you feel the tears well up in your eyes, realizing that time will make no difference to how much you miss him. But it will for how much you will grow through this feeling.

Tugging his pinky towards yours, you nod your head ‘yes’ before saying, “I promise. I promise I’ll do my best for you. I promise that I’ll try for you.” The words making a smile appear on his face. He brings you into a loving hug, the warmth of comfort washing over both of you guys.

“Happy birthday,twin” you guys say in sync again, a soft giggle coming from both of you. Breaking the hug, he grabs your hands and squeezes them tightly “ow! That hurts!” “I don’t care! I want you to have fun for me today alright? Celebrate us! Spend time with everyone that loves you and gives a shit about you. You deserve it!” he says through his laughs, making you smile softly at his childish demeanor.

“Alright I will!! I’ll come visit you again tonight and I’ll tell you all about today!” You say in a giddy tone, noticing that this has been the first time you’ve been somewhat happy since these last 4 months.

“You better” he says while rolling his eyes dramatically, knowing he did it to make you laugh. Once your laughter dies down, you both look back at the water. Not wanting this moment to end already. “I love you,bro” you say while bumping your shoulder against his, making him laugh and do the same to you. “I love you more,sis” he says with a soft smile on his face, one that replaced the one on yours.

You two stay like this for a while, just basking in each others presence and invading each others space. Thoughts of leaving suddenly crowd your head and the second those thoughts occur, your brother says something about it.“Y/n go spend the day with them. You know how they get on our birthday, plus they’ll make you feel better.” He says in a delicate tone, a soft smile on his face from remembering how much they loved celebrating your birthdays. You sigh softly, before reluctantly standing up.

He gets up with you, bringing you into an affectionate hug. Without breaking it, he whispers “I’ll miss you,sister.” With complete sadness laced in his tone. A tear falls from your face from the sound of his voice,“I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know, brother.” You two stay like this for a while, until it starts getting harder to breathe, a harsh reminder of the truth.

Breaking the hug, you give him a look that lets him know that, making him hesitantly let go of you. “I’ll see you later tonight brother, I promise. I love you!” You say while turning around to leave, hearing him let out a little ‘I love you, too’ before you leave.

Once you reach the surface you catch your breath, calling out to your ilu and mentally going over your interaction with your brother to avoid acknowledging that void in your chest.

It’s a peaceful ride back home, until you start getting in your head about ‘having fun’ today without lo’ak. Because it wasn’t just your birthday, but his too. And celebrating without him just doesn’t feel right, even tuk knows that.

But right when you start having those doubts, a group of hammerbrow fish swarm around you and your ilu, stopping you in your tracks. One of them swims up to your face and flicks your forehead, making you furrow your brows and shove it away. They swim around you and you ilu for awhile longer before leaving, one of them staying back a little longer to look at you.

The whole interaction left you with a smile on your face, knowing that it was definitely lo’ak telling you to calm down, and to stop worrying about unnecessary things. Making hope swirl in your chest.

With time, you know you’ll be okay.

A/N~ this took SO LONG to write oh my fucking god. But we made it!! And I hope you guys enjoyed this (and this is my first angst fic so pls cut me some slack if some phrasing gets repetitive😔) because I did, didn’t enjoy the tears I cried while writing this but it was worth it🩷 if you made it to the end and you’re reading this I wanna thank you so much for reading this whole long ass fic, must really love me huh😏?? LMFAOO but anyway! Otw to write for kinkmas now🏃🏽‍♀️💨

Duces🫶🏽,

Luvv4j4ybe11

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 2)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | Part 1

By the time they arrive at the Capitol, Katniss and Peeta are whisked off to be prepped for the tribute parade.

Y/N is already dressed to the nines, they are here to work after all. Haymitch has begrudgingly squeezed into a pantsuit to match and they’re off to talk up the night’s festivities.

Y/N drags him by the hand as they’re rushed through the streets, bustling with excitement.

“Come, come.” Their escort insists. “Five minutes to curtain.”

“Can’t wait.” Haymitch grumbles, a little hung over. His wife flicks at lint on his shoulder pads, allowing him to take a few sips from his flask as they wait in the wings. Fussing over his hair. “It’s fine,” he’s not like her. Nobody is expecting him to be perfectly put together.

“Remember, we’re happy, we’re grateful, we’re in love.” Sounds an awful lot like the pep talks he used to give her. As if somehow, over the years, they’ve switched places.

“Are we not in love?” Haymitch slurs, cocking his head to the side.

Y/N sighs, “of course we are.” Maybe not the way they were in the beginning. Gone are stolen kisses and frenzied hands; given way to comfort and familiarity.

Flickerman’s music plays, the show has started. As the crowd settles back into their seats, Caesar makes his announcement. “Tonight, we will be joined by two very special guests before the tribute parade.”

The audience squeals with excitement. They get to see her.

Y/N rose to fame because Haymitch pushed her there; she was the first sign of hope he’d seen in a long time. But she remains at the top because Snow allows her to; Y/N is everything he dreamed a victor would be. Someone to rally and unite the people with a story of gratitude and love for the nation.

“Y/N and Haymitch Abernathy,” Caesar smiles, standing at the front of his chair.

That’s their queue. Walk out, smile, wave.

The crowd howls, erupting into applause. Stealing the air from Y/N’s lungs, though no one besides her husband could know that. They greet Caesar in turn. Y/N with a hug; the show host vibrating with delight. Haymitch is a hand shake and a pat on the back.

“Welcome, welcome. Thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you for having us,” Y/N takes her assigned seat on the couch after Haymitch plops down.

“Tell us, how are things?” Caesar crosses one leg over the other. “How are the children? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

Not long enough.

“Kids are great,” Haymitch tells him, “brought some pictures for you.” He fishes around in his pocket for a moment before leaning over Y/N to deliver them.

“Oh my,” Caesar cries, “our babies.” He turns the photos out to the crowd, giving the film crew a chance to tighten the shot. “Where are our babies?”

The people let out a collective coo.

“They’re growing up,” Y/N nods.

“You can say that again. Where has all the time gone?”

“I don’t know Caesar, you haven’t aged a day.”

“Ahh,” he clutches a hand to his heart. “You flatter, my girl. Now, I have to ask what we’re all dying to know…”

Haymitch moves to the edge of his seat, feigning anticipation.

“Do you plan on having more children?” Caesar leans in.

Y/N turns to her husband, making a show of whispering in his ear.

Haymitch smirks, nodding suggestively toward the curtains offstage.

“Haymitch, you dog!” Caesar fans himself at the implication.

“It sounded like an invitation,” he shrugs. Quite pleased with himself as people begin cheering. There will be no more children. Not if they have any say in it.

————————————————————————

“I have never seen a more beautiful gown.” The Capitol woman, seated aside of Y/N for the parade, gawks openly at the floor length midnight blue show stopper.

“This?” Y/N looks down at herself. “Doesn’t hold a candle to your outfit. I have half a mind to be jealous.”

Before the chariots are sent out is the perfect time to fish for sponsors. Lay the bait, then once they see the tributes, reel them in.

“Vanity has become quite the talk around here. Everyone loved your reaping dress, we always love your dresses.”

Apparently there is a slew of outfits for a victory tour, assuming one of her tributes ever make it that far.

“Darling, let Y/N breathe.” The woman’s husband cuts in. “Forgive her, she does get overly excited.”

“It’s more than fine,” Y/N reaches a hand out to shake his, “good to meet you both.”

Haymitch watches, giving the man a good old nod and smile when they make eye contact.

The presence of victors is addictive to these people. No matter how much they give, the Capitol demands more. Snow sells it for a price, sells them for a price.

Y/N wants out, she wants freedom. Haymitch keeps her sane, keeps her happy within the confines of their birdcage. They aren’t the only ones. People are angry, desperate for reform. Panem is on the precipice of a revolution, Snow can feel it too. So he digs his claws in a bit deeper.

Soon as the anthem begins to play, all eyes are on the tributes.

District twelve is last, they probably have them dressed as miners again. Ever since Vanity left her post as stylist for the games, the outfits have gone downhill.

This new stylist, Cinna, comes with raving reviews. Still Y/N is surprised to see Peeta and Katniss emerge…on fire?

“Oh my goodness!”

“Look at them!”

“That’s amazing!”

The crowd goes wild, rising from their seats for a closer look. Haymitch huffs a laugh, proud to be their mentor, even though he’ll never admit it.

Katniss won him over during breakfast on the train when she stabbed his placemat. She is a fighter, fighters have a chance if sponsors like them.

When their tributes join hands and hold them high in the air, people eat it up. So far, things are looking better for Katniss and Peeta than any tributes before. The ones Haymitch can’t put names to, the faces that come unbidden in his dreams.

————————————————————————

“Each district gets their own floor.” Effie claps her hands together as she informs the tributes. “Since you’re from twelve, you get the penthouse.”

Katniss side eyes Y/N. Is she serious?

Y/N shoots her a reassuring grin when Katniss freezes at the entrance to the elevator.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Haymitch demands, at this rate he’ll be holding the door open all night.

Katniss swallows, stepping in aside Peeta. Even with Effie, Portia, Cinna and their mentors, the space is not cramped. She wonders idly how many other people could fit.

When they reach the top floor Effie scurries out. “Here it is!”

This time Peeta stalls.

“Come on.” Y/N puts a hand to his back, nodding to the foyer.

Peeta snaps his mouth shut, following after his stylist. It is a bit overwhelming, Y/N remembers. Though the novelty wears off in time.

Effie shows the kids to their rooms. The mentors know theirs well.

“Unzip,” Y/N pleads, the moment they are alone, in the privacy of their suite.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Haymitch chortles. Turning her away to open the gown, allowing it to pool at her feet.

She kicks it away, removing her jewelry and opting for a shower before dinner. When the water runs clear she towels off, feeling like herself again or something close to it.

Tomorrow they train.

Part 3

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420

[oddverse]

Hard week so here’s a few propesci hcs off the top of my head

Pescis favorite food is fish, and he’s not a picky eater either, queue prosciuttos horror at seeing him eat anything with scales and a tail right out of the can

Prosciutto loves lemons, lemon cake, limoncello, lemon scent, he’s just a fan of stout things, coffee, scotch, etc!

Prosciuttos fav three colors are yellow, navy blue, and violet

Pescis are green, fuchsia and black, he’s wears the yellow coat because he knows pro likes it

Pesci considers himself pretty alternative/punk to prosciuttos dismay

Prosciutto loves old movies, and older media in general, he’ll hardly touch anything less than 20 years old

Pesci is actually very similar! with exceptions, he’d love shrek

Pesci was kind of unsure of prosciuttos gender for a long while when they first met, this is a common occurrence for an acquaintance of pros

Prosciutto was unsure of Pescis age for a long time, just never thought to ask

Prosciutto - orphan, raised in church

Pesci - raised by a single mother, died when he was 17

Pescis is the youngest in the squad but coincidentally he was the oldest one to join (pro - 16, melone - 17, ghiaccio - 18, risotto - 18, formaggio - 13, illuso - 17)

Prosciutto joined the Passione when he 16, after running away from the church and dead end modeling gigs, becoming a stand user a year or so later, Pesci joined at 19, after a drug deal gone wrong ending with prosciuttos gun to his head

[fan-goddess]

His Pretty Muse

Pairing: Modern!Aegon Targaryen x reader

Summary: Every day Aegon goes to the same spot at the beach to photograph the wildlife. Todays wildlife? You

Warnings: Kinda stalker like Aegon with a camera?

Author Note: I will probably make a part two if enough people want it

Other Chapters: One, two, three, four, five,

Other Links:

- My main masterlist with other Aegon content

- My Pretty Muse masterlist

It’s the fifth anniversary of Aegon running away from his past.

He’s grown a nice comfortable life as a photographer. Well, he likes to say he’s a photographer. He makes no money out of what he does, he just likes the pretty pictures he can sometimes take of the beach and it’s occupants. He never even told the village he had hidden in his name. They simply call him Photo Man for sevens sake. The kids even gave him the nickname of PM for short.

He goes to the same spot everyday between nine and ten. A small yet sturdy ledge on one of the many cliffs of sand that are on the beach. Aegon sits there on a small chair he brings with a bottle or two of water and his camera and just takes pictures. Every single day he does this.

Somedays he takes pictures of actual marine wildlife, such as seals. Sometimes he takes funny pictures of people, such as one time when he took a picture of a dog stealing some man’s barbecue meat.

Though it’s one hot day, one where Aegons brought two bottles of water to his little cliff, where he spots you. You’re reading a book under a blue and white umbrella. It’s a red book, he can’t tell the name of it no matter how much he zooms in on his camera.

You’re here on holiday with your family. He only knows this cause he’s heard the small kids that bother you call you ‘sissy’. He’d worried they were your kids at first. Those kids though are how he learns your name. He’s glad for once for noisy kids with no voice control. As one morning when he’s taking pictures of you in your bikini, red with little white dots on them, the little boy shouts out “Come on we wanna play shark attack!” He also shouts a name, and by the way your head turns and pricks up he assumes it belongs to you.

He mutters it again and again under his breath while his finger flexes as the capture button. It’s unique and just oh so pretty to say. At nights Aegon would find himself muttering your name to himself just so he can sleep, dreaming of a life together with you.

He eventually grew the courgage to talk to you. On Thursday it was the fish and chips day, and was delighted to see you were in front of him in the queue. It give him the excuse to get near you and see just how pretty you were up close and not just threw a camera lense.

You looked ethereal. A word he never thought he’d use in real life, yet it was all he could use to describe you with.

“H-hi!” He stumbled after the both of you had ordered and gone to a table to wait for your orders.

“Hi?” You said back with a smile. “Seven you have such a pretty smile up close…”

“What?” You looked confused. Dear seven he said that out loud…

“I’m sorry I’m an idiot telling you your smile is pretty and you are?” He tried to play it cool, or what he tried to think was cool. Oh seven your laughing, please say your laughing cause you find his awkwardness cute and not because you think he’s pathetic…

You smile while you introduce yourself, and he has pretend that he doesn’t already know your name. So he simply decides to just charmingly smile and compliment it on how pretty and unique it is. He finds himself though loving how you blush when you’re being complimented.

Aegon begins to start a conversation with you about the village, and he’s amazed in himself when he finds himself actually holding the conversation about it. Apparently you come here every year for the summer. Like a holiday home kinda thing which honestly Aegon can’t help himself from finding cute. He explicitly tells you this and finds a pleasure in the blush that seems to only darken.

He even mentally curses when his nickname is called out to pick up his food. “PM?” You question with a crooked grin that makes his own heart race.

“Just a nickname pretty girl.” He grins. He still gets uncomfortable when his name is mentioned, cause he just knows that no matter how much he can run, his name still holds meaning in the world.

“Will I ever know what your name is?” You smile. It makes his own face reciprocate it similarly to an instinct. Maybe the former manwhore in him wants to get a chance at that former life again?

“Maybe pretty girl. Maybe we’ll need to talk more so we can get far enough in our relationship?” Aegon grins.

“Relationship? Bit presumptuous aren’t you?”

“What can I say. I can’t hold back when I have such a pretty girl in front of me. Can’t let this opportunity go to waste either as I think I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t talk to you.” The two of you are broken from whatever bubble he and you were ensnared in when your own name is called to pick up your food. You give him an awkward smile as you walk away to pick up the food and he returns it as the two of you walk out of the restaurant.

Aegon cannot help from smiling though as he goes one way while you go another. Maybe he will actually get to see you again without a camera lens being between you? He very much hopes so.

[meowcatsposts]

Hey there I have an idea for an avatar the way of water fic its slightly angsty but hear me out pls!

So y/n sully, has been missing for most of the day and no one seemed to notice, until they show up at ronals hut cover in bruises, cuts from weapons, even the hair on there que has been choped off and there que has cuts on it. All of this was caused by the teens of the village, who brought them outside of the reef and attacked them, leaving them for dead. Y/n is a tired, bloody mess chooses to run to there bansie/ikran with the plan to leave. And well they do and no one noticed they left, not even there family. Only ao'nung noticed and it shook him with grief, he loved y/n.

Whether or not y/n comes back, is up to you! You don't haft to write the part where y/n gets the crap beat out of them if u don't want! Thank u!

Alone [Ao'nung]

✎⁾⁾⁾ notes:

angsty at first!

reader is metkayina & characters are probably OOC

I really needed some inspiration, so tysm for your idea anon! I'm also really sorry it took me so long to write this, I hope you'll forgive me 🙏

I changed some things from the req to fit my previous story, I hope you're alright with it!

Overview: You get beaten up by some assholes who happen to not like the Sullys, so you run away. Heartbroken, Ao'nung sets out to find you.

Ronal stifled a horrified gasp. Gashes, everywhere. Deep purple bruises, all over your skin.

“Who did this to you?” she whispered madly. “Come.”

Every touch, no matter how light, stung sharply. Why me? you thought bitterly. Hot tears welled in your eyes but you furiously blinked them back, refusing to give in to the hurt. Time blurred by and you vaguely recalled Ronal asking you a few questions, but couldn’t remember what. Was it about your queue? The blood? Everything seemed to fade away, and you couldn’t care less.

You were gliding across the water with your ilu now. At least those pricks didn’t dare to touch your ride; they were smart enough for that, it seemed. Its hide was smooth, no blemishes in sight, and a tiny smile threatened to ghost your lips. The salty sea, on the other hand, burned your skin raw, but you paid no heed to it. Your heart ached far worse. 

Tenderly, you ran your aching fingers over the piece of fine jewelry on your neck, thinking of how badly you wished for Ao’nung to be here with you. You reminisced about the day he gifted it to you. How red his cheeks burned, and how red yours were, too. Another sad smile ghosted your lips. What would he think of you now? Gone and grieving, probably. You loved him, so so much and you choked up with tears. Maybe you could leave Awa’atlu and find another island. Find different, kinder people. But to leave Ao’nung behind…

You gazed down at your ilu, and it whistled somberly.

Ao’nung wondered where you were. He hadn’t seen you all day, and it was driving him mad. Did he say something to upset you, to hurt you? Heart pounding, he combed through your conversations in his head. To his relief, nothing. Then…surely you were curled up in your marui, feeding the tiny fish, right? He had to be right. 

But he was utterly, terribly wrong. 

There was no sign of you no matter how hard he looked, and his stomach began to churn. His heart raced. His breath ran short. Where were you? Maybe you were lounging at the seawall terraces, where the both of you would share stories together. Not there. By the shore, playing with Tuk and the ilu? Not there, either. In the Sully family’s marui? No. Heck, he even asked Neteyam and Lo’ak about your whereabouts, but the boys just pursed their lips and shook their heads. Ao’nung searched everywhere like a rabid dog, his eyes blown wide, ears keen to any sound of you. He needed to know where you were. He was utterly empty without you.

Finally having enough he stormed into his family marui, tail thrashing and ears flattened. A pungent aroma attacked his senses, but he couldn’t care less–at least for now. In his sight appeared his mother, sitting on the woven floor and grinding furiously.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he pressed. Sure, he knew to keep his temper in check–especially around his parents–but this was about you. He had to know.

“I don’t know.” Ronal’s eyes were as somber as his, as she huffed, “I asked questions, but no answer.” Her eyes flickered back to the mortar in front of her. In it was the source of the odor–a paste, still gritty. 

“What’s the salve for?” Ao’nung pressed. His heart sunk, just a little lower; deep inside, he knew what it was for. He just knew.

Ronal pursed her lips, knowing her son would hate her answer. 

“(Y/N) came in with wounds. So many of them…” She sighed, pressing and swirling the pestle. Her face was torn with anguish, and so was her son’s. “I don’t know who did it, and I tried to ask, but nothing.”

Ao’nung paced around madly. The only assholes who’d even think of hurting you was that dishonorable, abhorrent lot. Sure, maybe he’d been one of them, but not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. Ronal gazed at her son worriedly, for it was a first of him to be this uptight. She could feel the bitterness boiling over him.

“Ao’nung–” she started. The last thing she wanted was her son missing, too.

“I’m going to find (Y/N).” 

And with that, Ao’nung flew out of the marui.

“Ao’nung!” Ronal rushed out after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

It was nightfall now. The waters turned black, and dim candescence webbed its cool surface. You sighed, tears pricking at your eyes. You were tired, hungry, and hurting, and your ilu was, too. It didn’t help that murky thoughts clouded your mind, either. Your ilu chirped forlornly so you stroked its neck, littered with luminous marks, in hopes of soothing it. Guilt overcame you. Perhaps it was better to return, you thought. The poor creature was suffering as much as you, after all. Biting your lip, you rubbed your glittering necklace between your fingers. What would Ao’nung be doing now? you wondered. Is he wondering where you went? Did his heart ache as much as yours did? Was he even looking for you? More tears burned your eyes as they threatened to spill over and you suppressed a shudder as another wave of anguish crashed into you and then–

“(Y/N)!” 

Ao’nung.

“(Y/N)!” 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. How could you not? The sweet voice that calms your nerves. The rough voice that you roll your eyes at. It was so long–too long–since you’ve heard him, and your heart leapt with joy? Fear? You couldn’t tell, but one thing was certain: it was him. Him whose gaze turned soft when looking at you. Him who could listen to you talk forever. Him, who was home. But what were you going to tell him? Would he listen this time? You steadied your breath and gripped the handle between your ilu’s queues tighter, eyes flitting to find him.

“Ao’nung…? Wh–”

The ocean engulfed you, cold water rushing all over your skin. When you broke the surface Ao’nung was there, right in front of you. 

“I missed you,” he cried, taking you into his arms. “I missed you so much.” 

He held you tight and stroked your hair with shaky hands. He almost lost you, after all. 

“It took me so long to find you…I didn’t know where you were,” he blubbered. “I looked everywhere, you know, and I still couldn’t find you! I was about to give up, but–” Ao’nung cleared his throat, remembering he needed to be strong for you. After taking a few shaky breaths he murmured beside your ear, “But now you’re here. With me.” 

Tears poured down your cheeks. Your heart pounded against your ribcage. Just for a little moment, just for a little, you forgot about the pain. You hugged Ao’nung just as tight–even tighter, perhaps–feeling his warmth against your cold fingers. The tears wouldn’t stop as they ran in streams down your face, onto Ao’nung’s shoulder. He couldn’t care one bit; you were in his arms, alive, and that’s what mattered. His hands tenderly ghosted over your back, your nape and arms, and they rested on your waist as he pulled slowly back to look at you. To his dismay you shrunk away, trying hard to hide your battered body. 

“Look at me.” Ao’nung sighed as he wiped the tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

Open wounds littered your skin. They screamed at Ao’nung, and his blood boiled. Who dare touch you like that? He bit his lip to suppress the slew of curses bubbling in his throat. Not in front of you. Not now. That’d be saved for later, he decided. 

You shifted under Ao’nung’s intense scrutiny. Thinking it’d help him calm down, you cupped his face and whispered, “Look, the necklace you gave me.”

Ao’nung’s gaze drifted to your neck, and a smile ghosted his lips. You still had his gift on–a sign you were his, and his only. It was tarnished, sure, but it was there, resting beautifully on your skin. He slid his fingers through yours and squeezed tightly. 

“Let’s go back,” he said, tilting his head toward the ilu. “Together.”

blue line dividers by @/firefly-graphics

[yandere-voltron]

Strange Things

Summary: You are forced to go underwater to fix a hole in the bottom of the ship, but your eye catches sight of some strange things Translations at the end

You felt ridiculous. The people on the Cruise Ship were partying and relaxing, not knowing the potential danger they could be in. The captain had told you to go fix a massive hole under the ship and to do that you needed to assess the damage underwater.

You jumped in, with the ridiculous outfit, and began to swim under the moving boat. You were quick to spot torn metal and quickly swam over to it. When you got closer, you realized that it looked very much like claw marks.

You frowned, examining the damage before pulling out your camera to take pictures.

"Everything okay, Y/n?"

"There is some minor damage to the ship's lower deck, but it's an easy fix."

There was a loud banging sound causing you to freeze and look below you. It was dark, but you could see a fish-like thing moving. You clicked the light headset and started to swim lower. It was a bad idea, but not like you wanted to fix the ship to be honest.

You catch the sight of something blue, but before you can investigate your headset goes off again.

"What's taking you so long, Y/n? I thought you assessed the damage?"

You froze, before shaking your head, "Yeah, I'm coming up now..."

---

"That was close," Lance sighed, hiding behind a rock. He watched as you swam away, doing whatever you humans do. He knew Allura would be mad at him for watching the humans and getting way to close, but he couldn't help himself, and it seemed he wasn't the only one.

"Lance."

"It's not what it looks like," Lance held up his hands, trying to defend himself. But ultimately sighed when he saw that the Princess wasn't amused.

Pidge and Hunk hid behind Allura as she scolded the brown haired male. "What if she had seen you, Lance? You would be putting us ALL in danger." She gestures to the other merpeople who had been drawn by the commotion.

He groaned, looking away from her. "What are you so scared of? They're just humans." He crossed his arms and everyone gasped at his tone towards the princess.

She straightened her back and held her self high, "Exactly, they're humans. Selfish, Greedy, No good humans. They'll kill us all."

"You're just being dramatic," He remarks as he swims away, Allura watching him in anger.

----

You shook your head before heaving the tools behind you. You groaned, rubbing your head. You hated being on cruises when you were working, so many people on one tiny boat. It gave you shivers thinking about it.

You looked out one of the windows when you see a red tail and quickly rub your eyes before going out the window again.

"Mon Dieu! J'ai cru voir une grosse queue de poisson¹!" You shook your head, before heading off again. You go toward the engine room, and begin to work on the damages. "Ugh ça va être une longue nuit²..."

Keith hold his breath as he waited for the girl to leave. He had almost been caught and he knows he'd be a hypocrite if anyone found out what he was doing.

He looked back through the window to see that she was gone. He sighed and quickly swam away before he really did get caught.

----

Lance sighs, turning a fork over in his hands. He didn't know what the problem was, he loved the humans. They were so interesting and had such funny stories. He leaned his body onto a rock, not noticing the eyes on him.

"Lance..."

Lance quickly whipped around to glare at the perpetrators. It was his so called friends Pidge and Hunk.

"What are you traitors doing here?"

They both rubbed the back of their heads and sighed. They looked at each other, before swimming towards an angry Lance.

"We didn't mean to make you take the blame for you."

"yeah, we were totally going to tell her we were also there, but..."

"But what? You guys left me out to dry!"

"We're sorry, Lance. How can we make it up to you."

Lance thought for a moment, before his eyes widened, "I want to go on land!"

There was silence for a moment, before the two busted out laughing, which caused Lance to glare at them.

"Sorry Lance, we didn't mean to laugh, but be reasonable. We don't have legs, we have tails."

"There might be a way..."

They all looked back, surprised to see Keith. Then they looked at each other, "How?"

"The Witch."

---

"Keith, this is a really bad idea-"

Keith ignores Pidge, who was tweeting in his ear. Lance was far ahead of them both, excited at the possibility of getting legs and being part of the land world.

"Oh, what do you think it's like," Lance begins to fantasize about the world above. Little did they know, it was burning to ashes.

----

You watched as all the passengers left the cruise ship. You were ecstatic to finally get off the boat for a few hours. You liked the water and all, but it wasn't nearly as predictable as land. You walked down the towards the dock, but your captain called out to you.

"Y/n!"

You turned around, him giving you a dark look. You looked at him confused.

"Be back by 15 hundred."

You nodded and took off. You went to a nearby cafe that was on one of the docks and decided to take your break there. Or at least that's what you wanted to do, but you were intrigued by a group on the beach.

---

"We want legs!"

"Legs you say?" The banished Prince, Lotor, looked at the group, before swimming through his lair and finding a potion bottle. "I may be able to help you..."

The group watch Lotor swim around and drop things into his cauldron. There was lights and the mushrooms glowed brightly on the walls. The group huddled up over the cauldron and looked into the bright glowing liquid.

They then looked at eachother. Pidge, being the voice of reason, finally spoke.

"Guys, I don't know if this is a good idea..."

"Of course it is!" Lance exclaimed excitedly. He holds out his hand as Lotor hands him the bottle.

Lance then hands it to Pidge. "Well, what do I have to lose?" And then Pidge clugs, before tossing it to Hunk.

Hunk looked over at Keith, who was examining the bottle on the shelves.

"Hey, Keith, how about you take it before me?"

Keith turns around towards Hunk, before eyeing the bottle. "I don't know. I like my tail."

"I guess you'll never know what the human world is like," Lotor taunts. "Or that one person... Oh what's their name?"

Keith's fist clench at the mention of the girl he had not been spying on... well, maybe he did, but he knew that's what Lotor meant.

"Fine," Keith grabs the bottle and gulps it down, leaving a tiny bit for Hunk.

---

"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into this," Pidge groaned, trying to step over a rock, but ultimately falling.

"At least we're not naked."

"Bonjour? Est-ce que vous allez bien là-bas³?"

They looked towards the voice; Keith and Lance's eyes widen recognizing the h/c haired girl. You walked down the slippery sand and towards the clumsy group. They were holding on for dear life as they didn't know how to use their new feet.

"Peux-tu marcher⁴?"

They looked at you confused, before the tall, brown-haired male speaks-

"What?"

You shook your head, before going up to help them, "Are you guys okay?"

"Uh, yes. We've never walked before," The bigger male speaks.

"What does that mean?" you ask him confused, by the brunette quickly covers his champion's mouth.

"He's stupid. I'm Lance." The brunette takes your hand, shaking it hard, "That's Pidge and Hunk," He points to the big male and then the smallest guy, "And that grump is Keith. What's your name beautiful?"

"Y/n," You look Lance up and down, before rolling your eyes, "You're not from around here are you?"

"No," Pidge says, shaking their head. "Actually," Pidg steps towards you, "Where are we?"

"Are you ship wreck survivors? I know there was a crash up west-"

"Yes!" Pidge stands straight, but still leans on the rock. Infact, they were all leaning on the walk, like they didn't know how to stand.

"Well, we need to get you to a doctor, make sure you're okay-"

"No, it's fine. We'd really just want to... Uh," Pidge looks towards Lance, who had been insistent on turning into a human in the first place.

"We wanna get back home!" Hunk burst out and you're taken aback.

"Are you sure you can handle going on a ship after what happened?"

"Yes, nothing can stop our hopes and dreams-" Lance speaks but you interrupt him.

"Okay Patriot, I'll go speak to my captain, see what I can't do. Come on," You gesture for them to follow you.

They look at each other, before Pidge takes the first steps, trying to walk towards you, before falling. Pidge groaned, face full of sand. They reminded you of babies learning to walk.

"All that time in the water, you may need to sit down for a while." You went to leave but Lance calls out to you.

"No! She's just being dramatic-" He pushes himself off the rock and slowly walks towards you, the other's soon following. When Lance reached you he jumped, fist bumping the air, "Oh my god, I did it!"

"You walked?" You shook your head, but didn't speak anymore on it.

---

"Je ne pense pas qu'ils soient d'ici. Ils agissent étrangement⁵…" You whisper to your captain when he asked about the people you were with. He looks at the group and back at you as you continue. "Ils ont dit qu'ils étaient des survivants de l'épave à l'ouest⁶."

"If you swear to keep an eye on them, they can work with you. They really want to get on a boat so soon?"

"They were adamant. I've never met people like them before." You look back at the group. Lance and Keith were fighting and Pidge and Hunk were trying to break them apart.

"Okay, make sure to keep them occupied."

----

"Coran, have you seen the others?"

The orange-haired male turned towards the blue-haired princess. "Not since you yelled at them a few hours ago."

"I just want to protect them, I wish they'd see that."

"I know you are princess, but... Well, they love an adventure."

"Yes, I can see that."

----

My God! I thought I saw a big fish tail

Ugh, it's gonna be a long night

Hello? Are you okay there?

Can you walk?

I don't think they are from here. They act strange...

They said they were survivors from the wreckage to the west.

[theredengineapologist]

🚂😈"WELCOME FELLOW TRAIN ENJOYERS" 😈🚂

Finally found time to make myself a proper persona so it's time for a new intro!

Hello y'all! Call me Randy (or Jester)! And welcome to my dedicated TTTE blog! A place for me to shitpost, share my humanized TTTE fanart, and, of course, Trainrot(tm).

As shown here, I am an adult! Which means that some of my posts contain content unsuitable for children! This includes, but is not limited to:

Coarse Language

Horror (Tagged as #tw horror and other relevant tags)

Suggestive content (Nothing explicit (yet), tagged as #suggestive)

I politely ask that y'all use your own discretion before following me.

Also of course, my favorite is JAMES! The ✨SPLENDID✨💋RED💋🚂ENGINE🚂

✨ FOR ALL THINGS REGARDING MY HUMANIZED TTTE AU (TTTE: SUDRIAN BOYS) CLICK HERE! ✨

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN NON-TTTE WORKS, CHECK OUT MY OTHER ART BLOG @jesterartz

TTTE WATCH PROGRESS + TAG GUIDE UNDER THE CUT!

~ RANDY'S TTTE WATCH PROGRESS ~

Key: Blue = Complete, Green = In Progress, Orange = Not Seen

[CLASSIC ERA COMPLETE (SEASON 1-7)]

[HIT ERA (SEASON 8-11): INCOMPLETE (Seen "Henry and the Wishing Tree", "Spic and Span", "Edward the Great", "Saving Edward", "Keeping Up With James", "James the Second Best", "Dirty Work", "Thomas and the Big Bang", and "Edward and the Mail"]

[CGI MILLER ERA (SEASON 12-16): NOT SEEN]

[BRENNER ERA (SEASON 17-21): INCOMPLETE, Partially Seen S17 (Eps 1-4 plus "Henry's Hero", "The Thomas Way", "The Frozen Turntable", "Away from the Sea", "Gone Fishing", and "No More Mr. Nice Engine"), Finished S18 - S20, Seen S21 Eps 1-2]

[BWBA ERA (SEASON 22-24)]: INCOMPLETE (Seen "Hunt the Truck" and "School of Duck")]

[TTTE MOVIES: SEEN "The Adventure Begins", "The Great Race", "Journey Beyond Sodor", "Sodor's Legend of the Lost Treasure", and "Tale of the Brave"]

~ TAG GUIDE ~

GENERAL TAGS:

#redengineposts = All Posts made by Yours Truly 😈

#redengineart = ❤ My Art ❤

#redenginepolls = Silly Polls that I have Made 🥰

#poll results = The Results of Polls I made

#trains irl = Real life trains/engines/locomotives! In the real world!

#reblog = Things reblogged from other Tumblrs 🙃

#queue queue b*tches = Things from Le Queue

ART TAGS:

#redengineart = ❤ My Art ❤

#TTTE: Sudrian Boys = All things related to my own TTTE Humanized AU

#Into the Trainverse = Posts crossing over between my humanized TTTE and that of other creators

WRITING TAGS:

#TTTE: Sudrian Boys = All things related to my own TTTE Humanized AU

#randys headcanons = My headcanons relating to TTTE

#randys trainfics = Fanfics I have written for TTTE

#on today's episode of "thinking too hard about trains"... = General thoughts about the Thomas and Friends TV show 🚂

#ttte first impressions = My first impressions of TTTE episodes as I watch them

#ttte episode review = My reviews, discussions, and/or general thoughts about TTTE episodes

[dehvours]

NAMES.

He chose the alias "Ch.ilde" after he began training under Pulcin.ella. It was a very deliberate choice to give off a certain appearance. It's a name that is more common among the wealthier, urban population of Snezhnaya, the exact opposite of his hometown. It refers to "a young man of noble birth", and it is meant to call to mind a diplomat, a charming young man, someone who isn't as dangerous as his reputation says.

He uses his alias more than his Harbinger name for precisely this reason. Tar.taglia is a terror on the battlefield, a bloodthirsty Harbinger that brings a storm of chaos wherever he goes. Chil.de is a diplomat, quick to smile and crack a joke. Chi.lde is meant to get his targets to lower their guard, so that Tar.taglia can do his work.

He only ever goes by Ajax at home. He doesn't truly feel much connection to that name anymore, but it's easy to slip into his different roles when they are separated by their names. He uses it as a sort of compartmentalization, so each "name" is more of a name for a performance, than it is for him.

He almost never gives someone his birth name. The only people who know it are his family, Pul.cinella, and possibly the Tsaritsa. ( Anybody else who knows it will have to be plotted out )

[devourensarc]

@spnasrosula — sc.

It had been a particularly sleepless night, broken by nightmares that followed him into the daylight. They swim behind his eyes whenever he blinks, and all the sideways glances dig into him like fish hooks as he walks with Navia out of the city. His mother's face flashes through his memories, and he shakes his head to clear it.

❝ Why aren't you scared of me? ❞ It slips out of him before he can stop it — confused, sharp ( scared ).

He was used to others looking at him like a creature that had crawled out of the shadows, like he would grow teeth and claws any second. Like a beast to point at enemies, good only for the carnage he wrought.

He is not used to the laughs and the smiles, the touches that brush against him just for the sake of it. He is not someone who should receive those things — all he knows how to hold is a weapon.

But Navia does not see him as a weapon, and that thought digs into his chest, slipping through his rips to strike his heart. It's a bolt of pure terror, because she will see soon enough that he is not a person, not like she is ( not anymore ) — and he is sure the absence of her warmth will leave him even colder than he was before.

❝ I — I don't understand. ❞

[squadrah]

So you had two asks about La Squadra being toddlers, but what about them being old/older men? Maybe in their 40-50's or as senile old people. And my mind ain't exactly wondering there, but what do you think they'd be like as dilfs?

I managed to find an old post where I was asked what they would be like as old man: here it is! You also reminded me that I had once written about them as parents in general, and I could have sworn I published it, but I ended up finding it at last in my drafts, so I'll make sure to queue it after publishing this ask!

That just leaves the question at the end, ehe... I will try to do these from the perspective of a young adult, probably a friend of their child(ren), while they themselves are in their forties and fifties.

Risotto: His sheer size and deep voice are already enough to set the butterflies aflutter, so the way he wears sleeveless shirts and dirty overalls at home is almost too much. He is best observed in the garage where he enjoys quietly working with power tools, and nobody can look at his work table without imagining him sweeping off the clutter to make room for them instead...

Formaggio: He ages so gracefully he looks like he could still be in his thirties, but the way he cracks open a cold one while giving clever responses and showing at least basic knowledge of just about any topic introduced hints at decades of experience in a variety of areas. Whenever he playfully manhandles his spouse in the kitchen, guests cannot help but chug their own cold beverages in vain.

Prosciutto: Never seen without his signature dress shirts and crisp trousers, and when he's around, the temperature always drops enough that all unnecessarily noise and frolic dies down. Most agree they would not want to live with him as their father, the bar is just too high in that respect, but nobody would mind him in a hotel chair with a bourbon in his hand and ordering them to get to work...

Pesci: At first he seems nothing special, especially because he's not much respected by his children, but as soon as he easily lifts something that he ought to struggle with at his size, and tells you how much he think it weighs by touch, the magic begins, and those who have gone on fishing trips with him on the weekend and watched him reel in that big bass are now smitten for life.

Ghiaccio: Whenever you meet him, he's either preparing to go for a run or has just returned from it all sweaty and glistening, and no real decrease of stamina to show for it. Going to the gym with him is a rite of passage; he will explain every machine and challenge you to various feats of endurance. Spotting is obligatory, and many hit the showers afterwards in greater frustration than they began.

Melone: That one anon ask of "your dad looks gnc af" sums him up perfectly, he is so impeccably and unabashedly A Look and An Icon that all his various issues are easily buried in a tidal wave of gender envy and lust. His children are so confident and well-educated when it comes to sex that their friends can only imagine what a wealth of experience could be gained from the fountain head.

Illuso: He always lets his luscious long hair down at home, physically and metaphorically, and exudes such minor soap opera antagonist vibes that his heckling his children and spouse come off as almost entertaining, a good example of how much people forgive to a pretty face and a nice tall figure. He's not above teasing his guests either, and you will either hate him for it or want to kiss him.

Sorbet: He's not conventionally attractive and seems to love his plants more than his children, but he has a certain Addams Family aesthetic about him that carries his dry wit and odd ways perfectly, especially when he's trimming his bonsai or is outside gardening in the shade in special gloves and up to his neck in dirt. You are welcome to indulge his obscure opera obsession, but watch out.

Gelato: That one extremely friendly dad that claps you on the shoulder and shoves a drink into your hand as soon as (and even before) you hit drinking age, and is always two seconds away from hugging you and kissing you on both cheeks in a fit of camaraderie and general mirth. Watching him grill sausages and cook in a big outdoor cauldron permanently changes your brain chemistry.

[julietcaesar]

Swords and Cups

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

https://www.tumblr.com/julietcaesar/746911379267731456/swords-and-cups?source=share

Levi was persuaded to do this again… To go to the town square and wander between the vendors' shops. Mike and Hange never knew what they wanted to buy when they went to town market in evening. They simply loved to be there, loved that sea of people generously pouring into the streets of Trost in the pre-twilight hours, the brisk trade and the sense of normal life. But for some reason, they had never gone to such crowded places alone and always tried to find company - the more, the better. Levi guessed what was going on here, although he never said it out loud.

What every member of the Survey Corps who remained alive for at least a year after joining the Corps feared was being alone in a crowd. It seemed that you were still the same person - here were your arms, legs, head... You spoke, ate and drank like anyone from the crowd of people. But something was still wrong. It was as if some invisible thread connecting you with this collective humanity had been broken.

“Wow, what’s that?” Hange said and lifted her glasses taking some kind of brown-red fruit reminiscing of a river pebble in shape.

“These are dates, young lady!” A quick vendor answered her simultaneously checking out one buyer and already pouring a bag of hazelnuts to another. “It’s like a dried berry. Brought from the eastern lands...”

It was already clear from Hange’s face and her sparkling eyes that she would not leave without buying something.

“Interesting... Can one brew it? Or should it be eaten raw? Or maybe?..”

“Hange!” Levi, who was standing near, addressed her. “Are you sure it is edible? Do you remember what happened the last time with that strange nut that turned out to be poisonous?”

“Yea, yea...” Hange was already choosing largest and plumpest fruits. “It was horse chestnut... This time I’ll find the information in a more comprehensive reference book.”

Levi knitted his already tense eyebrows. He remembered what their gastronomic experiments had led to the last time. That day, he, Hange and Mike had already been discussing how Erwin would react to the fact that his best soldiers would find their death not in the mouth of a titan but in a restroom. Levi suffered the poisoning much easier than the others: the hardening of his stomach with those terrible slops that he had had to consider food in the past made itself felt. It was sickening to even recall. But Mike...

By the way, where is Mike? Levi thought, as if waking up from a slumber.

Hange was determined to wait in a queue of several people, and Levi slowly began to move away from her, walking further and further into the shopping aisles. Potatoes, turnips, onions – Levi passed a vegetable counter. Cheese, milk, eggs, chicken carcasses – Levi passed a farmer's shop.

“... And a couple of fish heads, please.” The woman's voice coming from somewhere ahead was familiar to Levi. “Yes, carp.”

The customers roving around the shops, as if at a request, parted in front of Levi, revealing a view of the owner of the voice. Emerald velvet and red big curls which became as if fiery in the light of the market lanterns clearly indicated who was hiding under the hood of the robe. It was a strange attempt to remain incognito. With the same success one could hide a fox under a blanket leaving its tail for everyone to see.

Without leaving his path, Levi continued to move towards the fish counter. Approaching the place where the sickening smell of fish reached its peak, he walked around the customers from behind including the green robe. Pausing for a second behind her, the captain noted that she was slightly taller than him. As if sensing his presence with her back, the red fox turned around not having time to notice how quickly Levi turned his head in the other direction and quickened his pace.

“Ah, Captain Ackerman!” the woman greeted Levi in an overly friendly voice full of challenge.

This challenge was simple and clear: now they were not in the territory of the Survey Corps, and Levi had no power here.

Levi pretended that he did not hear her voice among the noisy crowd and continued to walk leisurely along the aisles, moving further and further. The last thing he needed in the evening was to spoil his consistently neutral acceptable mood by talking with unpleasant people who reeked of scandals and criminal frivolity. So Levi’s mind advised him to pray to be left alone.

However when a chest voice was heard from behind Levi’s right shoulder

“Good evening Captain Ackerman!”

it was as if someone had brushed a feather somewhere deep down across his diaphragm to pleasantly tickle him from the inside.

“What do you want from me?” said Levi.

The woman smiled sarcastically.

“Do people really greet you just to ask for something, captain? What a pi...”

“Hello,” Levi snapped quickly realizing that asking unnecessary questions risks hearing even longer counter questions.

“What are you looking for here?” asked Levi’s companion in a voice that buttered the captain up with its unctuousness and deliberately tried to seem friendly, as if there had never been a quarrel between them before.

“Nothing. I came for company.”

The Levi’s companion fell silent for a moment having no idea what tactics she should leverage to approach Ackerman.

“Look, they're frying pies there!” the woman extended her arm straight across Levi pressing her elbow to his chest and pointing her finger at the merchant’s shop on the left side of them. “What filling do you like?”

“I don’t like pastry,” said Levi as he carefully took her wrist and returned her hand back in place.

“What do you like then?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Levi.

The woman looked away hiding her face behind the edge of her hood. After a few seconds, her eyebrows rose as if she had discovered a new battle tactic.

“Then, what do you not like?” she asked.

This question made Levi think. After all, just a few minutes ago he accidentally recalled the old menu that was offered to the residents of The Underground. And while at that moment the vile garbage looked something vague, now Levi clearly realized:

“Fish.”

His companion first made an interested face, and then understood everything. However, she did not stop the attack.

“Like this, right? Like this?” she asked, pertly shaking a mesh string bag with fish heads wrapped in paper and intending to bring it right to the captain’s nose.

“Yes. Exactly like this” Levi said, and at the same second, with the ease of a magician, he caught the approaching hand. With his strong fingers, he slightly bent the woman’s hand, as if pressing her palm to her forearm.

The woman hadn’t even groaned as she was released and allowed to put her hand back in place for the second time for today. She just opened her eyes and threw a stunned look at the captain, rubbing her wrist.

“Did you want to rip my hand off?” she said in a voice that had lost all shade of carelessness and flirting.

“Don’t worry,” Levi reassured her. “People are able to live without a hand. I have seen.”

Levi glanced briefly at the tops of his boots which his companion’s robe and wide skirt were rubbing against. For a second, he wanted to throw out a raunchy obscenity about how inconvenient it would be to handle skirts in the restroom with one hand. But at the very last moment he changed his mind. Levi couldn't remember the last time he found a reason to refuse a dirty joke if it had already occurred to him.

“But, after all, without hands we won’t be able to know our fate!” said the woman, who had not been offended by the captain for too long and returned to her usual playful tone as if nothing had happened.

Are you the easy-going type? Levi remarked to himself and cast a suspicious glance at her.

The companion was just batting her red eyelashes at Levi and looking expectantly straight into his face, as if asking:

Come on, ask me!

Levi looked at her face and only now managed to catch its details – wide cheekbones, a thin slightly droopy nose, and a small mouth with plump lips, the lower of which was noticeably smaller than the upper. In the evening light that generously drew contrasting lines on the faces of people in the streets another feature emerged - a slightly cleft chin. Massive silver hoop earrings were visible near her cheekbones.

The lower little lip seemed to be pursed with childish impatience. Levi gave up.

“And how can you find out your fate if you have your hand,” said Levi in a non-questioning tone. It was more like a statement that was expected from him.

“Give me your right hand, captain!”

Chapter 1

Pictures:

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[jellybear455]

Let me heal you - Neteyam x reader (Part 7)

a/n: Okay but this is a mildly depressing chapter. Also two in one day because I couldn't wait to get this up :)

Characters are aged up.

Warnings: a LOT of spoilers (don't come at me for it), Lo'ak being a shxawng, violence, injury

Readers name is Stela, and uses she/her pronouns.

Word count: 1108

Previous part

Next part

--

All hell had broken loose. Ronal and Tonowari were shouting at me, Jake Sully and Neytiri were shouting at Neteyam, and all the adults were shouting at each other.

“We have taken you in out of our kindness and you let your son mess around with my niece?”

“You should have though this through, Neteyam These people have given us sanctuary, and you risk that!”

“Ay, Stela, after I took you in, knowing you had demon blood, thinking I could change you! I almost wish my sister had been killed in the war instead.”

It becomes silent. Ronal covers her mouth with her hand. She had gone too far, and she knew it. Tears prick at my eyes again, but I will not cry. I will not.

“Go back to our mauri.” She whispers. “Go!”

I stand, and Neteyam pulls himself up with me. He gives his parents a sideways glance, before cupping his hand to my cheek. Ronal stays silent.

“Don’t worry, my syulang, I will work this out. Okay?” He mutters.

“Okay,” I whisper back, but somehow this feels like goodbye. I kiss his forehead, Ignoring how Neytiri squeaks in annoyance. “I will see you later, my Teyam.”

As I leave the mauri, my eyes begin to sting. The whole walk back, I cry bitter tears. I ache for Naola’s sweet words of comfort.

--

The next morning, I sit in the mauri, quietly weaving a fishing net. I had not been allowed to leave all morning. Ronal had told me indirectly, through Tsireya. She was yet to speak a word to me.

The creaking of the walkway alerts me of the approaching group. Tonowari leads Tsireya, Anoung, Neteyam, and Lo’ak towards me. Ronal brings up the rear, her hand on Lo’ak’s back. They all wear solemn expressions, and Tsireya is on the brink of tears.

Neteyam catches my eyes, offering a small smile. I can see Ronal watching from behind, but she does not comment. Instead, she paces in front of the group.

“You allowed this,” she finally says, her eyes darting between Tsireya and Anoung. “You allowed him to bond with the outcast.”

She glares at Lo’ak, who hangs his head, but does not look ashamed.

“Tsireya,” Tonowari says. “You disappoint me, daughter.”

I stand from my seat behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I will not let her feel like I had. My cousin clutches my hand tightly, still fighting a loosing battle against a wave of tears. She hangs her head, but unlike Lo’ak, she does look ashamed.

Tonowari turns to Lo’ak. “And you, son of a great warrior, who has been taught better.”

“Bayakan saved my life, sir. You do not know him.” Lo’ak insisted, unaware of his parents approaching from behind. Neytiri spots me, but this time her eyes are filled with pity instead of anger.

“No, Lo’ak,” Tsireya whispers in warning.

“Sit.” Tonowari mutters. Lo’ak lowers to his hunches. No one else moves. “Sit down!”

I take this as my queue to resume my weaving. I do not want to become the subject of Tonowari’s rage today. Not again.

“Hear my words, boy. In the days of the first songs, tulkun fought amongst themselves. For territory and for revenge. But they came to believe that killing, no matter how justified, only brings more killing. So, all killing was forbidden. This is the tulkun way.” As Tonowari spoke, Ronal paced behind him, and Neteyam keeps his eyes on me. “Bayakan is a killer. So, he is outcast.”

“I am sorry, sir. But you’re wrong.”

Neytiri hissed. “Lo’ak.”

“I know.” Lo’ak insisted.

“That is enough.” Jake Sully finally spoke up. He grabbed Lo’ak by the forearm and dragged him away, not unlike how Ronal had done to me the night before.

Tonowari let out an angry sigh, running a hand down his face. Neteyam stood quickly, following his mother and father. Dropping my weaving, went to do the same, but Ronal took my arm.

“What are you doing?”

“I did not think you would want to be in the presence of a vrrtep (demon).” I said, shaking my arm out of her grip. She did not protest as I left.

“My Teyam!” I called.

He flashed his beautiful smile when he spotted me. “Stela.”

“I’m sorry about last night. I did not mean for them to find out.”

“They would have had to eventually.”

“I suppose,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “But I did not want it to be this way.”

Neteyam hummed, before taking my hand and leading me down onto the beach. We sat in the sand together in silence. Any worry that Neteyam would no longer be interested in me were gone.

Ronal and Tonowari rushed by on their Ilus, followed by a group of Metkayina, Jake Sully and Neytiri. Neteyam and I exchanged looks. We left the beach, and I called my Ilu. We followed them outside of the bay until we reached the tulkun pod. There, floating lifelessly in among them, was Naola.

A scream echoed in the air, but I didn’t stop to realise it was my own. Neteyam clutched my waist tighter as I urged my Ilu faster. I pried his fingers off me before diving into the water and crawling onto Naola’s fin. Her lifeless eyes stared into nothing, and another scream ripped at my throat.

“My sister…” I pressed my already glowing hands to her side searching for something, anything, any sign that she was still there, and I could bring her back. There was nothing.

“Who did this?” I asked, but it remained silent. “Who did this?”

“The sky people.” Jake Sully called from his Ilu.

“The sky people…” I repeated, struggling to see through the barrage of tears. “The sky people killed my sister… my Naola… I will kill them. I will kill them!” I sobbed and sobbed, wrapping my arms around my sister.

“Stela, we must go, it is not safe here.” Ronal urged, reaching out towards me.

“No, no! Don’t touch her… don’t touch me! No, no…” My head hurt. I could not see. I felt sick with grief and helplessness.

“Syulang,” Neteyam. “You must come.”

I let him pull me away from my sister and hold me in his arms. The ride back was long and painful. Neteyam’s arms around me, and the sweet memories of my Naola kept me grounded. By the time we had arrived back at the village, the tears were gone, replaced only by the suffocating anger squeezing at my heart.

I will get my revenge, and I will kill the people who did this. Who took away my sister.

--

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[lunasohma]

gone fishin’

[ ao3 / ff.net ]

Two exorcists wade into a river.

Alternatively: Natori and Matoba’s riparian adventure with an 80% chance of death or at the very least, grievous injury.

There is a hold-up at the pet shop. The sounds of a disagreement filter back through the shelves and Natori listens with the vaguest sense of disquiet. A separate queue has been formed so he moves along with it.

Matoba Seiji is arguing about aquarium dimensions at the counter.

"So, will you take this one, sir?" He watches the cashier age ten years in real-time.

Natori himself is next in line and there is nowhere to retreat.

"Yes, thank you." Matoba side eyes him when he finally steps up to the counter and he is all but pinned to the floor.

Natori Shuuichi can't help the sneaking suspicion that his day off won't be a day off anymore.

—

Once they're outside, Matoba generously offers the use of the trolley he's borrowed for Natori's bag of birdseed.

Natori relents.

The look Matoba fixes him with is innocently curious—the one he makes when it comes to potentially finding out something about his contemporaries.

So rather, it's carefully cunning.

"It's for birds," he blurts out inelegantly.

Matoba's expression morphs into bemusement and mild alarm. "Well, I should hope so, Shuuichi-san."

And so, as it always goes with Matoba, he feels the need to explain himself further.

It had started one morning with his half-finished breakfast. His last piece of toast had been spirited away before he could blink. The sparrow had glared at him in such a way that Natori had felt abashed.

Tossing a preemptive handful of crumbs before breakfast had turned into an investment of a bird feeder and birdseed. His elderly neighbor who shared his balcony space had turned up at his front door one morning.

"I find that they like these!" Natori had hurried to relieve her of the bag of birdseed that was more than half her height.

"So they'll grow big and strong," Tachibana-san had beamed.

While he ensured the safety of his future toast, the little bit of wildlife really was a respite in the city. He had found Hiiragi admiring them through the window on more than one occasion.

In fact, it had been Hiiragi who had sent him out this morning.

"They don't like this kind." They had run out of the usual brand. She was quietly devastated and Natori could not abide that, so he'd set off on his mission.

Of course, his luck had landed him in the same pet shop as Matoba Seiji.

"How sweet, Shuuichi-san.” Matoba is fighting a smile.

"I am." Natori lifts his chin and is pleased.

Matoba Seiji cuts a severe figure against the haze of the summer day. All harsh lines with his tailored suit and perfect posture. Natori would reckon that he was previously with a client. Or on the way to one? Either way, Matoba doesn't seem to be about to volunteer any information. Least of all about the fish tank.

So when he stops abruptly, Natori crashes into him and then knocks his shin sharply against the trolley.

"Shuuichi-san." He turns to him with a one-eyed stare.

"What." He rubs sullenly at his leg.

"I need to catch a fish."

"…What."

”Would you help me?"

It is with this plea and the look on Matoba's face—one that would sooner be seen on a basset hound—that Natori finally, officially, forfeits the rest of his day off.

—

There is a fish in the river.

This particular fish has been terrorizing the waterfowl and fauna. Growing at an alarming rate, it is poised to singlehandedly (fin-edly?) wreak havoc on the local ecosystem.

“Big. This big.” Matoba had held his hands apart, adjusting after a moment. “Well, thereabouts.”

Natori raised an eyebrow. “Very descriptive.”

”My informants were, yes.” Matoba said solemnly.

You’re being oddly cryptic, Seiji, Natori thinks.

“That’s about all they knew.”

Oh. Guess he said that aloud then.

And time is of the essence, apparently.

It wouldn’t be long before larger things were on the menu. The local poodle. The local poodle’s owner. That kind of thing. Natori makes a face.

”It’s not unimaginable,” Matoba says.

”I never said it was. Just improbable.”

”It’s not like you to lack imagination, Shuuichi-san.” A sliver of a smile.

“That is not something I’d like to imagine.”

“Me neither.”

—

Spells are out of the question for now.

“You don’t need to tell me that.”

”As you’d like.”

Water is difficult. The smallest ripple can and will push spiritual energy off course, disabling and dissolving a spell entirely. Forget about a river.

Conversely, if he were to believe the rumors he’s heard, if you have patience in spades, it is possible to work the ebbs and flows to your favor. Just a bit. Because ultimately, Nature has no qualms for your efforts.

Natori himself has a day job and finds solid ground preferable.

—

Currently, they are seated upon the bank, Matoba reinforcing his fish tank with pieces of spell paper.

”If only that kitty cat was here.” Natori smiles at the frown he can hear in Matoba’s voice.

“Natsume’s? He’s very conditional. I doubt you could afford his starting fee. Plus…” Natori lies back in the grass, catching sight of Matoba’s consternation in full. “For you, he’d probably refuse on principle.”

With a huff, Matoba returns to his seals.

After a while, Natori fidgets with the need to do something.

When he impulsively begins rolling up his pant legs, Matoba blinks up at him in surprise.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

”Well…”

“Exactly.”

Natori doesn’t miss how Matoba glances down at his left leg.

“Seiji.” The other man startles. “If this is it, promise me that you’ll finish me off.”

With that, he steps carefully down the bank.

And it’s true. Monster fish claims exorcist’s cursed left leg. Natori shudders. Even he is under no illusion that he would be able to live that down.

.

Is it really summer? Natori hadn’t been able to hold back a yelp when he’d stepped into the river.

“Something the matter?” Matoba calls from behind him.

“Oh, s’just fine.” Natori just barely keeps the chattering tremble from his voice. “Just lovely.”

You brought this upon yourself. A voice in the back of his mind chides. It almost sounds like Hiiragi.

I wouldn’t wish this upon my worst enemy!

”Is it cold?” Natori turns with a beatific smile. Sparkles too, surely Matoba can’t be immune.

“Not at all. Come on in.” Matoba watches him warily, starting to back away.

Oh no.

It is on.

“You get in here!”

—

It is only once they have both been thoroughly soaked and have started to dry out on the bank that Natori starts thinking about poetry.

Because there is something of the sort at work here. An expanse of unfamiliar ground that they find themselves navigating together again.

Contrary to what one might think, Natori Shuuichi is not against poetic justice. The fluffy kind that his acting allows him to indulge in is the best fun. And the fact that it helps pay the bills doesn’t hurt either.

Then there are the ancient grudges and blood oaths he encounters in exorcist work that are all too real. But that’s kind of exciting in its own right.

And whatever he and Seiji have going on. Natori’s not blind. More… willfully ignorant. Ever trying for blissfully obtuse.

For today, Natori is not going to be the one to point it out. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.

The clouds are that wispy kind, all gossamer and lace, combed out against the blue of the sky above.

It is all too easy to let his eyes drift closed. His dreams are full of poetry.

—

“Surely this is not how you operate nowadays, Shuuichi-san.” Shuuichi wakes up to find Seiji peering down at him.

“Only on my days off.”

“Oh. I apologize for that.”

“S’not a big deal.” Shuuichi stretches, feeling surprisingly refreshed. “Have you seen our fishy friend?”

Seiji shakes his head. “That’s why I woke you up.”

“What?”

“We’re going to buy bait.”

.

Bait is an assortment of sandwiches from a nearby convenience store. Two of them are for Shuuichi and Seiji. One is for the fish.

The sandwich does the trick.

—

And it has teeth.

Several rows, like a goddamn shark. Shuuichi knows this because he has the fishy fiend by the tail, an arm’s length away. What good that does him is anybody’s guess, the creature is a good deal longer. That leaves him with one arm to keep its jaws as far away from his person as he can.

A burst of panic had made quick work of the restraints they’d managed to cast.

“You want this thing alive?” Shuuichi staggers back, thrown by the yokai’s frantic thrashing. The spell circle they’d set up as a last resort is a tempting thing.

“If you can manage to keep it like that,” Seiji calls over his shoulder, with a lilt of challenge. He’s making last minute adjustments to the tank.

Shuuichi proceeds to exhaust every curse he knows and then some as he attempts to keep the fishy devil from taking a chunk out of his hand.

—

When all is said and done, it is an impressive specimen of a fish.

Fans of fins sparkle with iridescence and its eyes glow cat-like.

Shuuichi almost feels bad, seeing it in its glass prison. Granted, he feels like that whenever he goes to a zoo or an aquarium. Of course, those animals have never tried to eat two of his fingers.

Yet the principle stands. So he is almost tempted to tip the tank and tell it to swim away as fast as it can.

Go on. Only if you apologize first. They make eye contact. A piece of Shuuichi’s shirt sleeve is still stuck in the fish’s jaws. It slurps the rest of it down before turning its tail to him. Ungrateful little brat.

—

“Hey, Mister! You caught it!” Shuuichi looks up to find two boys scrambling down the bank towards them. Dragging his heel through the last remnants of the spell circle, he watches them approach Seiji.

Seiji greets them with a pleasant smile. “Hello, again.”

The boys enthuse over the brooding behemoth at a safe distance.

“Oh yes, it put up quite a fight, but we managed.” Shuuichi rolls his eyes at the ‘we’.

They have placed bets on all manners of its features and now one boy owes the other a week’s worth of manjuu.

For some reason, Shuuichi feels his throat closing up.

“Dinner?” Seiji is saying. “No, actually this one’s going to be my pet.” He pats the tank. Absurdly, the fish seems to be enjoying the attention. It executes one lazy barrel roll.

The boys cheer.

Seiji turns to Shuuichi then, raising his eyebrows. “My informants,” he intones formally. The kids are amused.

Big. This big. Potential poodle devourer. It all makes sense. Shuuichi simpers internally.

He’ll spare Seiji today. Time for some Old Man and the Sea-esque regaling of their catch.

—

“Really? A pet?” Shuuichi asks. They’re waiting for Seiji’s car to come pick him and his new charge up.

“Maybe pet is a little generous. Rather… garbage disposal? And if it doesn’t work out…” Seiji gives a noncommittal shrug. Shuuichi shudders. Right. The Matoba are nothing if not resourceful.

“Don’t worry, Shuuichi-san, your efforts won’t go to waste.”

“The least I could ask for, I suppose,” Shuuichi sighs. He glances at the fish.

“It was nice.” Seiji watches him. “That you did that.”

“You know me, always a wellspring of goodwill.” His tone is light, a touch sardonic. The sentiment could float away to nothing. Shuuichi won’t let it.

“Yeah, you can be. Sometimes.”

Seiji doesn’t say anything. Shuuichi wonders what he’s thinking. But he won’t press that for now. Instead, he pursues the other thought nagging him.

“Do you think that they…” Shuuichi doesn’t know how to finish. At least Seiji gets the gist of it.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s grown powerful enough to be seen.”

Shuuichi considers that. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah… okay.”

There’s nothing more to say, so they don’t.

—

Seiji is surprised when Shuuichi takes him up his offer to drive him home.

The birdseed is settled next to the tank in the back and the fish snaps at the colorful bird pictured on the front of the bag, knocking its nose soundly against the glass.

The sound Shuuichi makes can only be described as a guffaw. Seiji quickly shoos him into the car, not wanting to further cement this vendetta between them.

Shuuichi promptly falls asleep.

And then maybe it’s not the best time, but when has Seiji ever really been good at that?

”Thanks for helping, Shuuichi-san.” His head falls onto Seiji’s shoulder and Seiji doesn’t have to hide his smile.

“I’m glad you were here.”

Seiji wonders what Shuuichi will say when he wakes up to find their hands laced together.

He doesn’t mind waiting to find out.