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ceilidho · 1 month ago

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fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 1 masterlist

In the end, gazing out of the ship's portholes into the dark vastness of space proves to be less comforting than the architects must have originally anticipated. You can attest to this more than most.

Every morning, you get up an hour earlier than the rest of your crew and make your way to the galley to make your morning cup of coffee. A pack of instant crystals into your favorite mug and hot recycled water from the kettle. Sometimes you stay to have breakfast, but often you take your coffee with you to the main viewing deck for your morning sojourn.

There, you sit curled up in the navigator’s chair and stare out of the flight deck window until your breathing levels out. Early morning meditations. With the sun only visible through the rear porthole, the Milky Way stretches out before you, immeasurably vast. Ancient cosmic entities, some already long dead.

Stars fill your field of vision like an intricate latticework of varying brightness. The watery glass warps at the edges, bending the far off light. All things with their propensity for brightness and decay.

A deep, steady hum fills the room. It’s cathartic to be alone. Sometimes, when you look out into the depths of space, you imagine yourself as a cartographer of old, labeling everything beyond this point: “here there be dragons.”

Farah is the first person to join you, the ship’s maintenance technician already washed and dressed, floral cumberbund cinched around her midriff and her headwrap pinned in place. She greets you with a firm nod upon her entry, never one to mince words. In the months since your ship set off on its course for Jupiter, you’ve exchanged all of ten words, most of your conversation one-sided.

She glides in like she’s been up for hours, likely running through her routine maintenance checklist. Monitoring propulsion, life support, and all critical systems. You wouldn’t doubt if she had been, descending into the bowels of the ship and cataloging every minute difference from the day before. Nothing if not thorough.

Graves sweeps in not twenty minutes later, his uniform pressed and ironed. When he glances your way, you shrink under his gaze, self-conscious about something unidentifiable. He is every bit the commander you met briefly back on Earth, never a hair out of place. If he were less intimidating, he’d be insufferable.

“Morning,” you murmur, the mug still close to your lips making your voice reverberate. He doesn’t respond. You wonder if he even heard you greet him. It likely wouldn't matter.

Medic has a different connotation this far from Earth. Hierarchy out in space is typically determined by way of one’s importance to the ship, and the scope of your role does not, unfortunately, include maintaining the ship. What that means, unofficially, is that you speak when spoken to, and not for any other reason.

In the months to come, there may be moments or days when your usefulness is acknowledged, usually much to your colleagues’ chagrin. Though it’s not likely that any of the crew will encounter foreign pathogens while on a hermetically sealed ship in the middle of space, they’re all still susceptible to falls and cuts and worse. Nikolai, the chief engineer on board, had sprained his wrist during the first week of the mission, lending you immediate purpose and validation.

You make way for the second officer when he finally deigns to make an appearance, sliding quietly out of his seat and stepping to the back of the cockpit, back pressed to the wall closest to the door.

“Morning, everyone,” he greets, peppier than the three of you despite his rumpled appearance. His thick mustache twitches with the force of his smile. “Ready to seize another day?”

“Jesus Christ, Keller, let’s tone it down ‘til about ten o’clock, alright?” Graves sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache.

“Our clocks are off, commander,” Alex jokes, coming over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. It would be insubordination from anyone else. “I’m about ready to eat lunch.”

“Let’s just get through formation and then you can go fill up the bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

The morning briefing never takes up too much time. It’s as much of an excuse to have coffee together as it is to go through the day’s schedule. Graves spends most of the time reviewing the flight course, charting where the ship will be by day’s end.

“Almost through the belt,” Alex remarks, staring down at the monitor in front of him. It’s an incomprehensible jumble when you try to peer over his shoulder, but he must be able to make sense of it.

The crew had been on high alert since entering the torus-shaped region between Mars and Jupiter a month back. For the most part, they needn’t have been so on edge—the average distance of the asteroids in the circumstellar disc between the two planets tended to be quite substantial—but a collision the previous day had reinstated their earlier anxiety.

“Can we switch from manual yet, Farah?” Graves asks from his seat at the helm of the ship.

She shakes her head, lips tightening with frustration. “I still have to figure out what’s going on with cruise control—it’s not responding correctly.”

“Was that from that little ding the other day?” you ask, blurting out the question without thinking.

Farah’s expression is flat when she glances over at you. “That ‘little ding’ nearly took out our communications system altogether.”

You wince at that, staring down at your feet instead. Better to just shut your mouth than make a fool of yourself. Had you not blurted out the question, you might have even surmised the nature of the situation given the comm specialist’s notable absence from the cockpit.

When Nikolai eventually ambles in with a thermos of coffee and deep troughs under his eyes, Farah looks up and frowns. “Where’s Hadir?”

The man shrugs, nonplussed. “Cargo?” he grunts, rolling the toothpick between his teeth around the words.

She sighs. “I’ll go find him.”

No one says anything when she leaves, the double doors sliding open and shut automatically at her approach, and she doesn’t bother saying goodbye.

“Dismissed, I guess,” Graves sighs, collapsing into his chair and spinning around to face the stars proliferating in front of him.

The informality digs at you sometimes because you know you can’t indulge in it. The times you’ve attempted to, you’ve been rebuffed. Sometimes unintentionally, but often to remind you of your place.

This isn’t a crew you’ve ever worked with before. From conversations you’ve overheard, you’ve gleaned that they’ve all worked together in different capacities before, years of familiarity breeding an easy trust and companionship between them. Two of them might even be lovers—though Farah maintains a neutral facade at all times, the same can’t be said for Alex, the man always hovering nearby, eyes going soft at the sight of her.

You’re the only odd man out. The newcomer. And though you sit with them in the mess for meals and partake in conversation and pass jokes like small stones from hand to hand, you know deep down, in the dark well of your heart, that you are not one of them. You are a passenger that they picked up along the way. A straggler.

This wasn’t supposed to be the case. When you signed on to the mission months ago, the circumstances were wholly different. A newer ship, a different crew, some of which you’d worked with before. Then ownership changed hands and budgets were cut. Slashed to ribbons even. You had a chance to tour the ship before the launch date, and even down on Earth with all the glitz and glam available to trick the eye, you hadn’t been convinced of the vessel’s ability to withstand the extreme conditions of space.

But by then, you were locked into a contract so iron-clad that the consequences of breaking it seemed worse than simply seeing the mission through.

Most days, you feel like you’re waiting for something to give. You pass through halls that echo with low creaks and a deep, rhythmic thrum. Sometimes the walls of the ship groan so loud that you wait with baited breath for the hull to implode around you, to feel the metal crush the delicate eggshell of your body beneath its weight.

It’s not any better to just stay in your room, your quarters too cramped to nurture anything other than claustrophobia. A recent, unfortunate side effect of spending months on such a small ship. You’ve become accustomed to crews numbering in the tens and hundreds, ships so colossal in size that even months spent aboard weren’t enough to explore all of its nooks and crannies. Cargo holds with excavators and backhoes for excavations on Mars and humvees for getting around the rough terrain.

This ship barely holds six people and the payload you’ve been hauling to Europa. Pipes hiss in the corridors. Once a week, the radiator splutters or the intercom overhead crackles, kicking your heart into hyperdrive.

You leave formation more out of sorts than ever. Vaguely aimless. With nothing to do, you grab breakfast in the galley and eat at the counter, too uncomfortable to venture over to the mess. Your days consist mainly of hovering around the ship or sitting quietly in the medbay, waiting for something to happen. A morbid preoccupation.

The stairs clunk under your feet as you make your way down towards the medbay. You’ve long grown used to the sharp sound of your boots against the metal floor.

Rationally, you know they don’t dislike you. You might even venture to say that you get along with the majority of them, particularly the chief engineer and Farah’s brother. The big man likes that it only takes a single drink to get you plastered, often howls with laughter when you stumble out of the mess after drinking with the crew, always the first to turn in for the night. Farah herself is only frosty because she works twice as hard as anyone else, burning the midnight oil on the regular.

You swallow half-truths like stones to help settle your stomach.

It doesn’t replace real companionship though; it approximates, but doesn’t quite replicate it. You feel its absence most acutely in the sidelong glances you sometimes get of real affection: Alex grazing his pinkie across Farah’s when he thinks no one is looking; Farah’s eyes softening at the sight of her brother; Graves and Nikolai reminiscing about something a decade past, hardly even aware of your presence in the room.

It’s something you’ve endured before, but never for such an extended period of time. Prolonged isolation prickles at the mind, feathering the edges. It purples space; passes through the vents. The crew rarely goes on spacewalks (hardly any need for it), but sometimes you swear the ship’s oxygen has a faint sulfuric undertone, like rotten eggs. It permeates the air wherever you go.

Someone knocks at the window just as you walk by.

You pause mid-sip, the mug raised to your lips and just pressing into your bottom lip, not yet tilted.

“Hello,” you hear through the thick-paned glass, the voice muffled through the layers of glass and plastic partitions. “Could you let me in, please?”

Though your reflex is to look up, you don’t for some reason. The muscles in your neck stay locked instead. Shoulders stiff, weighed down by an unnatural force.

The thing outside the ship knocks again. “Love? Can you hear me?”

Your head turns towards the porthole, the hand holding your mug drifting away from your mouth. It tips in your hand and a drop leaks down the side. Your lips tingle, almost numb.

There’s a man outside the porthole, clear as day. He hovers outside the window, a hand raised in a friendly wave and full lips splitting to reveal perfect, white teeth when he smiles. He’s dressed in a spacesuit, no different than any of the crew on a spacewalk. Through the helmet, you can make out dark eyes and dimples. A close cropped beard.

It’s not a face you’ve ever seen before though. You think you might’ve remembered someone so handsome working on the ship with you.

Something needles inside of you though. A sickening feeling, like something you’ve forgotten but you desperately need to remember.

“Hi there,” the man says, voice as charming as you’ve ever heard, so velvety rich that you feel the blood heat your cheeks. “Glad you were passing by. Mind letting me in?”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz/reader #gaz x you #this is my first attempt at scifi so im going to really concentrate on building the atmosphere over the next several parts #and i might edit this overall before it goes on ao3 so just know that

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kazekagevi · 3 months ago

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Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE -- PART TWO -- PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Tags: dark themes, but this chapter is actually very fluffy and silly, Lo'ak and Kiri and Spider becoming reader's besties, many attempts at comedy, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam (and Lo'ak, Spider, and Kiri), reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, enemies-to-lovers, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies.

Summary: You're not allowed to join the community until Jake Sully decides you're ready. Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri teach you Na'vi.

A/N and Disclaimer: I tried my best to use some Navi language translators and the LearnNavi website to write this chapter, but there are bound to be language errors. I also know time works differently there. Sorry for all the inconsistencies!

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work.

The science shack isn’t so bad.

Your initiation begins after your first sleep that night. The next morning, Max and Norm put their research projects on hold to give you an actual, legitimate tour of the facility. The place is full of bells and whistles. Tiny buttons, translucent screens, and telecommunications. Technology is abundant; but your knowledge of how to use it is not.

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers.

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire.

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner.

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring.

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.”

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place.

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful.

By the end of the week, your head hurts.

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall.

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate.

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others.

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes.

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently.

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off.

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off.

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will.

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive.

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases.

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself.

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest.

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi.

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace.

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it.

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door.

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens.

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator.

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated.

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking.

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries.

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies.

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother.

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses.

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop.

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape.

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

“I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.”

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi.

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself.

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble.

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile.

Spider scoffs.

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.”

“I was not,” Spider protests.

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him.

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days.

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly.

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider.

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry.

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.”

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort.

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor.

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively.

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud.

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath.

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.”

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom.

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms.

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.”

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.”

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them.

“Skxawngs,” you say.

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name.

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English.

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?”

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says.

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters.

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way.

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves.

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand.

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit.

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language.

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you.

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison.

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips.

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway.

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected.

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all.

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement.

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot.

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately.

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters.

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them.

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks.

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to.

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table.

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.”

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts.

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests.

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.”

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask.

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters.

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.”

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly.

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.”

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks.

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind.

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you.

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill.

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages.

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering.

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them.

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties.

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.”

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question.

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try.

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up.

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi.

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest.

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them.

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next.

---

This continues for many nights.

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate.

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well.

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs.

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated��his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity.

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off.

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day.

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet.

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks.

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located.

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi.

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi.

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall.

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk.

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded.

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call.

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi.

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!”

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh.

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile.

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth.

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression.

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri.

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.”

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.”

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?”

You nod.

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?”

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too.

You and Spider follow suit. From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria.

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others.

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes.

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Taglist: @m1tsu-ki @promnightbinbaby

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #self insert #self insert fanfiction #x reader #neteyam sully x reader #atwow

352 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 10 months ago

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees. It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment. There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place. The head maintenance guy. This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from. “Both him and his nephew Eddie. Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light. From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.

“Ready?” She smiled back at you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them.

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face. She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle. You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night.

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them. A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part. Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches. An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something. Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind. You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare. When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down. “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her.

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment. “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music. Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door.

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen. You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach. You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall. “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink. He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene. A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice. “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors. Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction. Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him. It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you. You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes. On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation. He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there. “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest. But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands.

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers. Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action. “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser. Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand. It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.

Eddie could read Lance like a book. A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have. Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back.

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side.

You were not supposed to be there. What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd.

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.

The surfer boy went down

Hard.

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one. You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket. He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can. He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty. He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry. “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer. You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum. Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest. He put a hand on the back of your head. “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious. Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed.

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five. “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked. “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one,

but he was gone.

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove. He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins. There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow. The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut. His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks.

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing. He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you.

There was no one there.

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

-------

taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Dirty Metal Summer #Eddie Munson fic #dirty dancing au #eddie munson x reader

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 1 year ago

Text

🎃 Trapped behind glass

Shower Sex CW: Non-con, Dub-con, inhuman penetration, multiple penetration, urination, strangulation

The glass door to the standing shower clicked shut as (Reader) stepped in. It had been a long day at work and they needed to melt their skin off their body with boiling water.

Creaking loudly due to age, the pipes shook as the water struggled to heat up, shooting out at (Reader) while it was still cold, startling them. It didn't matter how long they lived in their shitty, cheap apartment, the terrible plumbing always surprised them with just how terrible it was.

It slowly did warm up, however, drenching (Reader's) exhausted flesh in a comforting way.

As the water sprayed across their back the texture changed suddenly, the water feeling thicker and heavier than normal. But when (Reader) looked at the shower head, afraid that they were getting splashed with muck, they found that everything looked normal. 'Fucking lead pipes..' (Reader) thought bitterly, not really knowing if hard water was the explanation or not.

Water now almost slimey, the thick oozing liquid dripped over their goosebumps, grossing (Reader) past their breaking point. When they realized the water wasn't going to be changing back, they turned the knob to shut it off, but the water continued running.

"Fuck me.." (Reader) whined, not wanting to deal with maintenance nor the inevitable water bill. They reached for the door, but found themselves paralyzed. It was as if their entire body was tightly bound in a latex suit, restricting their movements. Across their flesh, the "water" began moving in different directions, flowing with a mind of it's own.

(Reader) opened their mouth to scream, but their throat was instantly filled with the hot goo, writhing inside of them, but never sliding down to their lungs or stomach. As they focused on the pulsing water gliding over their tongue they didn't notice the gushing liquid searching for their entrance until it flooded every hole between their legs, including their urethra. The warmth hurt only for a second, never stretching to the point of pain. But it was uncomfortable and strange.

Every inch of (Reader) felt violated, the water massaging their entire form, not only fucking every opening (suffocating as it rammed up their nose, birthing a migraine from the lack of oxygen, accentuated by the rushing water in their ears); using every hole used like a fuck hole, but their skin was slick like someone was masturbating by riding their wet exterior.

It continued ramming into them, dripping and leaking seemingly without end. The sensation of a foreign entity entering their piss slit while teetering on the brink of unconsciousness made (Reader) lose control of their bladder, unable to feel embarrassment with the black spots filling their vision as their urine coated their thighs along with the water like being, mixing with the fluid creature and (Reader's) arousal.

Every time they almost passed out the thing would retract from their nose, just long enough for them to regain their strength before plunging back in, plugging them up.

They couldn't think, the intensity of the fucking and the strangulation leaving them a soaking mess, slobbering over the hard water and cumming freely into the drain, orgasming multiple times without fully being aware that they were doing so.

Eventually the water seemed satisfied, sliding off (Reader's) body to drip down the drain and defy gravity to retract into the spout. (Reader) collapsed onto the shower floor, the only liquid left on their shaking form was their own, piss, drool and their climax, leaving them to fall asleep, wet and cold, too scared to turn back on the water to wash themselves off.

#kinktober #cw noncon #cw dubcon #cw choking #cw piss #cw monsterfucking #monster x reader #x reader

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partycatty · 9 months ago

Note

thinking about young mk11 johnny being a bad boyfriend then you meet him again years later when he’s mature and he REGRETS IT SO BAD

i have so many ideas but i can’t get them out recently so ur account gives me life lol <3

OUGH it aches in the bones

older!johnny cage > as the day you left

notes: oooghuig "in another life" trope hurts so BAD.

[ masterlist ]

• a military job wasn't in your grand plan, but a position opened for equipment maintenance it was hard to turn down the potentially heavy paycheck.

• you were buried in your paperwork, taking quick strides to your office to make sense of your diagnostics and order the proper parts for one of the on-field machines when you slam into what feels like a brick wall. just as the force of the blow sends you backward, a hand grabs your arm and suspends you mid-fall.

• you don't even have time to properly react to the scene, only opening your harshly clenched eyes to meet your savior.

• "sorry, i wasn't looking where i—" your apology was cut off when you properly processed just who was in front of you. even with the tattoo peeking through his shirt, you knew that face from anywhere. "johnny?"

• you expected johnny to not even remember you, maybe take a second to realize you weren't just a fan. this expectation is torn from you when he replies with your name, loud and clear. his eyes are wide. gently, he lets go of you to allow you to regain your footing, pulling away as if you were a glass doll bound to shatter.

• he looked the same as when you walked out, perhaps a little more weathered but glowing with charm and personality just as he did twenty odd years ago. thankfully, you thought, he never lost that puppy-like shine in his eyes.

• the moment was lost to him the second he locked eyes. just like that, a torrent of memories flooded back to him. you two were young, too young to be serious in his eyes. johnny was in his acting prime and he couldn't help but flaunt it. all those smiles and sparkly outfits for the cameras but as soon as you were behind closed doors you were nothing more but exhausted.

• "i can't keep living like my life is under a microscope," you huffed, shrugging off the luxury shawl johnny went through hell to make sure you'd have for the red carpet. "would it kill you to just settle down, slow down? i want kids, johnny! i want to go to the store without paparazzi up my ass, i don't need stalkers on our property, i don't need the gold and glamor all the damn time!"

• "well, that's on you for choosing a megastar!" johnny shouted back, undoing his tie in one harsh tug. "all you've ever done is complain when you are literally living large! mansions, super cars, money! and you're complaining."

• you spin around, a horrified expression on your face as you unpacked his wording. "i didn't choose a megastar," your voice drops, so angry you couldn't bring yourself to shout. "i chose john carlton. where the hell is he now, because all i see is a narcissistic child that refuses to grow up."

• you slide your engagement ring off and you slam it into the ground. johnny's eyes widen as he immediately drops to his knees, trying desperately to grasp at the ring as it rolls and spirals out of grasp. he curses to himself, then at you.

• "look at yourself," you grit your teeth. "you care more about a rock than your fiancée. we're done, johnny. you can go tell the media that, too, since that's all you care about."

• johnny blinks once, then twice. he swallows thickly.

• "i'm sorry," is all he can mutter out. god, how he wishes he could say more, but time felt nonexistent when looking at your face. you, however, didn't quite understand his meaning and brushed yourself off.

• "no, it's fine, really," you try to shove past him, anything to break this eye contact that feels as if it's pulling you apart piece by piece. as you think you're out of the weeds, his hand finds its place on your arm once more.

• "please look at me," he pleads, voice barely above a mumble. "i-i haven't seen you in..."

• "—twenty six years," you blink up at him, straining yourself so hard to not break down. "forget it."

• "i'm sorry," he emphasizes the phrase again. "i... i was an asshole, an arrogant, self-centered—"

• "johnny." you cut him off, face stern but voice soft. "it was so many years ago."

• "i know, i know, but — fuck — you've... you've been on my mind this entire time. you never left. god, when you left it felt like my entire... everything fell apart."

• you want to interject, stop him from this spiral, but you can tell he had it bottled up for so long, you'd be cruel to deny him of it now. that, and you had an unfortunate tendency to hear people out and forgive those who don't need your forgiveness.

• "when you walked out i realized just how good i could've had it. you were the only sane person in my world, you tried so hard to keep me in track but i was so afraid of being nothing that i... chose my priorities wrong. you know, i've kept your contact information, even... just in case."

• "i changed my number years ago, johnny. to stop the media from bugging me for a comment."

• "just another thing i fucked up," he runs a hand through his hair. "sorry, i don't mean to be all self destructive." he pauses, and eyes you down. you yourself aged well too, fine lines and trickles of grey hair peeking through your uniform hat. johnny chuckles dryly as his eyes focus on the little details. "you look just as beautiful as the day you left me."

• "don't do this," you quietly plead, eyes now feeling wet and face feeling hot. "not now. not after all this time."

• "i..." he swallows again, now averting his eye contact. the pause is long, and you almost considered walking away before he speaks up again. "i got married, by the way, though i'm sure you saw... in the news."

• "i haven't." johnny shoots a dubious look at you, then realizes you probably avoided his name like the plague in news articles.

• "my wife runs the army. my daughter is commander."

• "daughter?" now it was your turn to frown.

• "cass... cassandra?" johnny explains, though you sense a hint of shame in his tone. "cassie."

• "didn't strike you for a family man." the irony stings when it slips past your lips.

• "i didn't either," he wipes his face. "but i realized... far too late... that what i wanted more than a legacy for myself was a legacy for my family. i wanted my efforts to mean something. i wanted to better the world with more than just shitty movies."

• just as your turn rose to frown, now you couldn't help but let out a chuckle yourself. "your movies weren't shitty," you reply, smiling weakly. "i liked them."

• "no you didn't," his grin is teasing, and you notice just how deep his smile lines were. "no need to lie."

• "honest to god," you hold a hand up, swearing. "they were a nice escape from reality."

• his lips turn into a fine line. maybe your choice of wording was more painful than intended. his fists clench and unclench and you watch his mouth fight to get more words out.

• "i wish..." the always confident actor couldn't bring himself to look at you. "i wish i had grown up sooner, you know." johnny could be digging a dangerous hole, but he didn't care in the moment. he felt young again, nostalgic. "we could have had a life like this together, like you want... wanted."

• "you have that now," you get defensive, trying to put a barrier between his words and your heart. "a wife, a kid, a good job. you got what you wanted."

• "but it's not with you."

• whether it was dread or excitement, your heart flutters. was it really true that after all this time, he still wanted you, missed you like you missed his mature self? your thoughts of what could've been claw their way into your mind, and you feel hazy. your eyes wander around his form again, taking in his impressive physique, kind eyes, mature outfit... stopping at the ring finger. your breath feels sucked from your lungs when you pull yourself back to reality.

• "maybe in another life," you propose, a weak shrug tugging at your shoulders. "but i hope you know i don't... i don't regret what we had. our story, though, ended twenty six years ago, johnny. you're in a new chapter, enjoy it, okay?"

• the rejection at his desperation feels like a gunshot to the chest, like he could just die then and there. yeah, he had roots here, but if you had just asked him to run away with you, lord knows he'd consider it. but you wouldn't ask him to do such a thing, when he's finally got his shit figured out.

• another coworker enters the long hallway, entranced in their task that tears both of your attentions away from the heavy conversation. you know even still that his reputation is important, on screen and now off, too. so, you abandon the conversation as it stands, not giving johnny a chance to agree to your request and spin on your heel, returning to your own assignment and leaving him to his own. your head is down as you hug the papers, wishing to forget that you work with your ex-soulmate. it's an impossible task, really, when you catch his lingering cologne and scent on your body from his hold. that scent didn't change, either.

• johnny feels frozen in place, afraid to move and lose the moment where it stands. he watches you until you turn the corner, and listens for your footsteps until there isn't a trace of them anymore. his heart feels... heavy.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #mk11 #marley writes ☆

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wolven91 · 1 year ago

Text

Human Guardian - One Size Fits All

Jon's radio crackled to life on his hip.

"Jon, can you get across to the 'Emmalis' sector please. We have an urgent escort request." Came dispatch's dispassionate and clinical tone.

The human grunted as he lifted with his knees to put the box that he was running inventory on, back onto the shelf where it belonged. With it safely secured he grabbed for the radio and thumbed the button for him to speak.

"Jon confirms, heading to Emmalis now."

"Acknowledged" Came the immediate reply.

He returned the radio to his hip and began a swift march to the part of the station which hosted the shorter alien delegates. It had been a busy week, it felt like every race had turned up all at once and realistically it wasn't far off the mark to say that. It was the first time since the circus when Jon had first passed the Guardian Initiative selection process that it had been this busy.

Apparently there was a summit of some kind coming up and with the impressive range of creatures appearing on station, both great and small, Jon ,like his colleagues was being run ragged. Most Guardian work wasn't actually being dedicated to a single person. At least, not for a Guardian who stayed on one station. Jon's role was to just being a helpful, welcoming presence. If there was a job to do that helped the station, he was there for it.

He smiled, nodded, waved or gave short cheerful banter to the other aliens he passed on his way. Most wore the similar blue and yellow jumpsuits of Guardians, or the grey and white of maintenance. These corridors being off limits to other creatures that weren't part of the station's staff. Plenty of vulnerable points in these sections, unwise to let crowds of people into the access corridors.

The access corridors ran to every corner of the station, regardless of who's sector it was or which race occupied those quarters. Staff would always be able to reach a delegate or guest in rapid time compared to those who had to use the more formal and fancy public walkways. The warren of tunnels weren't a secret, but like the 'Disneyland' of old, they weren't readily acknowledged by station as a whole. It was easier to just be as unobtrusive as one could be while playing host to the other races.

As Jon reached the 'Emmalis' sector, the half of the station that hosted much smaller races than the majority, he slipped on his 'Escort Harness' and showed his security card to the reader.

As he waited for approval and when his harness secured, he grabbed at his radio and thumbed the button again.

"Jon at Emmalis Sector, Subdoor 'Itty bitty'."

"Acknowledged. Stop calling it 'Itty Bitty', it's the 'Ikit Bitaris' entrance." Came a different voice from the radio, but none-the-less as formal as the last.

The light flicked from red to green and the bulkhead's bolt snapped open allowing Jon to walk through the door and into the 'airlock' checkpoint. A glass booth with a canid guard sat at a desk gave him a courtesy glance before allowing him to step forward.

"Mornin' Jon." The guard drawled. "You got a delegate needing to get to the council room early, 'parently it's urgent."

Jon nodded and shrugged.

"That's fine, are they ready to go?"

"Yeah, 'got their whiskers in a twist so don't wait around."

Jon stepped through the now open sliding door to see a pair of chintians waiting together on a raised platform. Chintians were one foot tall, furred or even spined mammalians. They reminded Jon of meerkats or perhaps chinchillas? Or some demented mixer of the two. The human gave a mental shrug. All the races could be compared to old Earth fauna, but you'd think yourself mad as none of them ever fit the mould 'perfectly'. There was always too many differences to say, 'you are a bipedal X'. Christ the taurians looked like cows and bulls but were carnivorous! Ever seen a cow with a set of teeth that would be better suited to a shark? It causes the mind to lurch.

The two chintians had delegate badges pinned to their belts and turned to the human as he passed through the checkpoint. As Jon stepped up, he turned his back on the delegate and stood still. This was all protocol, they had done this before and so had he.

The two chintians clambered up onto the various hand and foot holds of the harness that Jon wore and settled themselves.

Jon waited a moment before stepping away from the platform, at first taking practised care not to go too fast or jostle the harness that had countless loops sewn into the fabric allowing for easy grabbing and carrying of the smaller races, but there was still a knack to not jostling passengers. They simply hung on and Jon, or any escort, would carry them to their destination. This way, the smaller species didn't need to worry about being hit or accidently kicked by the larger or perhaps unobservant others.

Too many diplomatic incidents had happened and all parties involved considered this an acceptable resolution.

"We need to go fast! We must be there fast!`` Came the voice of one of the chintians, over his left shoulder. He felt the weight shift as the creature clambered up the harness with ease.

"Do you consent to running? Do you understand the risks and dangers of this action?" Jon asked, hoping they'd agree.

"Yes yes! Speed is needed!" the voice confirmed.

Jon began to sprint. Avoiding the busier paths, he kept to the edges of the corridors which were usually left empty for exactly the reason Jon was using them. Go-fors, messengers, assistants. They could always been seen scuttling from one location to the others, whilst those not on a time crunch could meander in the middle of the corridors.

He made good time to the centre of the station. From afar, the giant central council room looked like a crown jewel of the station. It was truly gigantic and often would have fog or clouds develop inside due to the sheer size of it.

He crouched and dropped off the delegate who thumbed a tip for Jon, but said nothing as he scuttled away from view and into a room.

Jon shrugged and mentally asked himself what he needed to do next and how to get there the quickest.

He was interrupted as his radio crackled to life again, he grabbed at it before the voice finished speaking.

"Jon? You done with that Escort?" Came the voice of a priority dispatcher, distinct as they were more like 'Account Managers', dealing with those who pay extra for services and their role was to ensure the higher paying guests were served in the right manner.

"Yeah, he's arrived."

"You got a 'Ursidain' request, a request by name this time. You've made an impression with folk."

Jon's face scrunched in puzzlement. He wasn't aware anyone even knew him. Although the name tag's all over his uniform would not lend him any anonymity.

"Got an idea as to what it is?" Jon asked as he jogged towards an access corridor to take the shortest route to the ursidain quarters. It shouldn't take long, he'd just circumvent the Council Hall.

"It's an ursidain called Fon, she sounded a bit distressed? Does it ring any bells?"

The realisation hit Jon like a bucket of cold water.

"Ah, yeah, I dealt with her last week. She's got hefty anxiety. It's likely I'm going to be 'booked' for the rest of the day."

"Cool, no problems, I'll ready 'double pay' if you're engaged through a break or the end of your shift."

Jon wrapped up the conversation and eventually made it to the ursidain quarters.

His next role was almost certainly going to be a 'Support' role. Even some of the larger species on the station had a habit of being nervous like everyone else. On a confined, diplomatic station, it was better to devote resources to calming them down then let them work themselves up.

Jon had met this 'Fon' a couple of weeks back, a mature giantess of a teddy bear, but one with pretty severe anxiety. As it turned out however, having Jon nearby, simply holding her paw or rather being held in her paws, was enough to keep her calm. He'd made the error at the end of his work to try and reassure her that everything was fine, she hadn't been a nuisance and if she needed him; he wouldn't mind.

Jon never thought for a second that she'd actually ask for him, let alone pay through the nose for him specifically to come help her. She must have serious cash to be able to not only request him by name, but double pay due to a person request is paid for by the person who made the request.

Exiting the next checkpoint, he didn't have a chance to even look round before a massive thick paw appeared and snatched him from his own raised platform, the environment now designed for creatures far larger than a human. He was immediately pressed into a sea of thick and soft brown fur. He had to tilt his head backwards just to give himself the space to breathe as a second giant paw began to rapidly stroke his hair again and again as a deluge of words poured from a frantic, motherly voice far above the trapped human.

"Oh I'm so glad you're here! I was so worried! The speech is coming up and I don't know if it'll go well and I suddenly got a feeling that something had already gone wrong! And then I thought about you and was worried the feeling was to do with you! It was-"

"I'm fine! It's okay! Take a breath!" Jon cut in; his voice strained as his ribs creaked from the pressure of being squeezed into the matronly Fon.

Two giant bellows beneath the fur and flesh that Jon was still being pressed into began to inflate, it was humbling to feel such massive biological machine work as he was pressed into it.

The bellows deflated in a loud sigh above him.

"I'm sorry Jon. Do you need me to put you down? I-I-I can go without you if you're busy?"

Jon mentally kicked himself for not taking the opportunity to escape, but he was a resolute professional. He was one of the very first human guardians and he was glad to be the one that showed the aliens that whatever they can do; humans can too.

"No, I've nothing else to do today." He lied. "When your call came in I was twiddling my thumbs, you know?"

The pressure increased again as he was swung from side to side by the giant bear-like alien.

"Oh I'm so glad! You could sit on my lap while the speech is given! Oh that would help so so much! Thank you thank you!"

He was pulled from the chest and brought up to a familiar face, that had puckered its lips before planting them firmly against his face. The 'light' suction nearly pulled his entire head in between those lips before they disconnected with a dramatic 'mwah' and he was returned to a galactic sized bear hug and it felt like they were moving again. He rubbed the wetness from his face as the voice spoke up again, vibrating him as it rumbled through the giant's body.

"I'll get some snacks, and a blanket and we'll make it all cosy in my delegate booth!"

Jon tilted his head at that. The delegates, especially the ursidain ones,did always get the nicest food after all.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #bear #ursidain

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darling-zain · 1 year ago

Text

✮↳ If I Want It, I Shall Have It ↰

♡ yandere! princess x gn reader (2.5k words)♡

tw/cw: obsessive love, drugging, use of chloroform, kidnapping, reader hates the monarchy, slightly rushed ending

authors notes: im going on vacation for like a week so I probably won't be online much, here's my little gift to you all <3 (ignore how I literally had to force myself to finish this since I've been working on it for weeks-)

➼ yandere! princess Who was never really interested in romance. She had her castle, she had her garden, and everything she could ever want, so she didn't think romance was necessary for her.

➼ yandere! princess Whose parents were constantly on her case about getting married and "continuing the family legacy". She was the only daughter of the king and queen, so she was the only hope to keep the monarchy alive.

➼ yandere! princess Who would always brush them off by saying that "it's not the right time," or "I haven't found anyone I fancy yet," but she knows that nobody will cut it for her. She's too high-maintenance, too extravagant; none of the princes in her kingdom or the next would satisfy her.

➼ yandere! princess Whose parents had finally had enough of her denial, so they decided to bring the candidates to her. It was just an unchanging cycle of them introducing an over-eager prince, her rolling her eyes, dismissing him, and waiting with a bored expression for the next disappointment.

➼ yandere! princess Who would look out her window longingly, gazing up into the endless night sky with tired, hopeless eyes. "Perhaps there really is no one for me..." she whispers into the cold spring air, lying down on her delicate satin sheets. As her tired mind begins to fade, a single tear slides down her cheek and onto her powder-white pillow, a single mark of imperfection.

➼ yandere! princess Who woke up feeling even more tired than before she had slept. She groaned, rubbing her eyes with her soft, perfectly manicured hands. She slowly gets up and opens her soft pink curtains to reveal a gorgeous view of the entire kingdom; a sight she was absolutely enamoured with as a child but had now grown sick of. She slides open her glass door to step out onto her balcony, letting the wind gently caress her face. As she leans against the railings, the soft scent of freshly baked bread surrounds her. She looks down to see someone stepping out of the bakery and taking some pastries out of the oven. Their face is hidden in shadow, but she can see their mouth turn into a frown as they look up at the castle. Her eyes linger on their frame even after they've left, sighing heavily.

➼ yandere! princess Who had gotten sick and tired of her parent's desperate attempts to get her engaged, and just needed a break from them.

➼ yandere! princess Who called her chauffeur to take her out into the town, and to not tell her parents lest they bring her back.

➼ yandere! princess Who hopped into her grand carriage, looking out the window as they left the castle gates, excitedly anticipating getting to see what a normal life would be like.

"We've arrived, Princess." Her chauffeur calls from the front seat, getting out to open her door for her.

"Thank you very much," She politely nods to him, adjusting the scarf on her head. "Don't wait for me, you can head back to the castle." She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, walking into the market. She looks at everything with awe, all the ordinary stalls looking more magical to her than anything in her castle. As soon as she walks into the town square, she can hear whispers all around her.

Murmurs of "Is that Princess Asmaan?" and "No, it surely couldn't be!" float around her like dandelion seeds, drifting along the winds into every corner of the small village.

She pays them no mind, having become used to the constant whispering that follows her wherever she goes. Soon enough, that familiar scent of freshly baked pastries fills her senses. Not thinking about anything else, she follows the scent to a small building with a large oven right next to it. Her eyes are wide as she watches someone dive into the circular oven and pulls out a few scalding hot flatbreads. A look of awe and shock cross her face at the feat which, in her eyes, seemed incredible, but to you... it was just another day in the bakery.

A man walks past the counter, giving her a glance in her direction before stopping in his tracks. He looks absolutely shocked, but then smiles widely.

"Princess! It's such an honour to have you here- what brings you to our little part of town?" Your father asks in an excited tone, to which she returns the enthusiasm.

"I wanted to see how my people are doing, and I couldn't help but notice the smell of your wonderful goods! May I have two naans, please?" Her excitement is genuine, but it makes you sick.

"Of course! Y/n, bring two naans, the best of the batch!" Your father's booming voice is carried through the small building, making you roll your eyes.

"Coming..." you mumble, putting two flatbreads in a paper bag. As you walk up to the counter, you notice just who you're serving. A disgusted scowl appears on your face as you stride up to the clay table, slamming the bag onto it and glaring at her straight in the eyes. "That'll be 421." You grumble, your voice full of disdain. Your father looks at you with a shocked expression, as if to say "You dare tell the Princess to pay?!" but you remain stoic as you wait for her to reply.

"Oh... yes, of course!" She reaches into her purse and pulls out a few crisp bills, to which your father interjects.

"No, no, there's no need for that! You're the princess, after all, we should be glad just to be in your presence!" He waves his hands in front of his face, smiling nervously. You, on the other hand, snatch the bills from her hand and put them in the drawer under the counter.

"Have a nice day," You say in a monotone voice as a clear indicator for her to leave. She looks a bit taken aback but takes the hint regardless.

"Ah... you too!" She smiles brightly before turning on her heel and walking away. As she walks through the busy streets, her mind is focused on one thing; you. She's never seen someone look at her with such hatred... she's the princess, everybody loves her! Everybody except you. She found your annoyed behaviour to be quite intriguing, almost... alluring. "They're a very interesting person... i need to know more about them." She thinks as she takes a seat on a large rock in the town square, silently eating her food. She looks down at the golden brown bread, her eyes softening slightly. She takes one bite, then another, then another before realizing something. You were the person that made this. It was you who flattened it between your palms, you who sprinkled the sesame seeds on top, and you who dove into the oven to bake it. This seemingly ordinary pastry was now not ordinary at all; it was a piece of you. She smiles to herself as she eats in silence, the naan now tasting that much sweeter to her.

After another hour or so of walking through the crowded streets, she started to get bored. She walks back down the street in which your bakery resided, smirking as she went behind a few buildings and to the side of your bakery, watching with soft eyes as you move about the kitchen. You notice someone behind you, a pair of eyes staring and watching your every move. You take a deep breath, put the dough down, and turn around. You clearly don't expect to see her, causing a look of surprise to grow on your face, before quickly turning to frustration. She giggles at your expression, not saying a word.

"Why are you here?" You hiss out from behind clenched teeth.

She looks around innocently, playing with the end of her scarf. "I wanted to see how a bakery works." Her answer is truthful, but it only angers you more.

"Never seen a bakery before?" You scowl at her, going back to flipping the bread and stretching it out. "Spoiled, entitled little brat..." You mumble under your breath. "Probably never even seen someone making food since everything is done for you..."

She rests her head in her hands, leaning her elbows on the ledge of the open window as she gazes at you longingly. She stays quiet, thinking about what you just said, before speaking up. "Do you hate me?" Her question is simple in nature, but has a complicated meaning behind it. It could be a threat, a genuine question, or a test.

You've always been one to answer with your heart, so the answer comes to you naturally. "yes, I do. You're a selfish, spoiled little rat who's always had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You pretend to care about your people, but while we're all here living in literally dirt-poor conditions, you're sitting in your lavish castle without a care in the world. How could I not hate you?" You're practically seething at this point, but she doesn't care.

"You're right. I'm lucky. I could've been born into the same fate as you, working hard every day just to make ends meet. But I wasn't, and I'm so thankful for it." She sighs, standing up straight. "I'm sorry that wasn't the case for you." Her voice is slightly sad as she walks away, the cold night air enveloping her entire being. She gazes up at the large castle looming in the distance, a small frown appearing on her face. You were right, she had everything handed to her. whatever she wanted, she got. And she was going to make sure that included you as well.

iIt's late at night when she finally returns to the castle, rushing to her room with quiet feet so she doesn't wake up anyone. She opens the double doors to her bedroom and slowly walks inside. Lying down on her bed, her mind wanders to the conversation she just had.

"How could I not hate you...?" She repeats your line in a whisper, the soft moonlight cascading onto her. As she's lost in her thoughts, she stands up and walks to her closet. "How could I not hate you..." That single line plays in her mind on a loop as she grabs some dark pants and a black shirt with a matching scarf. "You've always had everything handed to you..." She mumbles as she pulls on the loose shirt. "Everything... but not you." Her voice is firm as she walks out, a stern glare in her brown eyes.

She silently opens her door and walks over to one of the many cleaning closets, sneaking inside and locking the door. As she waits for her eyes to adjust, she starts to think of a plan. Her eyes focus on a sheet of paper stuck to the back walls with a list of chemicals on them. She scans the paper before finding the one she needs. "Blue jug, Chloroform". She grabs a rag and the blue jug of chemicals as she plods through the room and to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb anyone. She sneaks down many flights of stairs while having to take breaks in between, her frail arms not being used to having to carry that much weight. When she finally reaches the entrance, she takes a deep breath and opens the door a crack, slipping through noiselessly. Walking past the castle gates and into the road behind the now silent town, she starts to wonder why she didn't just have one of her maids do it for her. She's about to return before your words come back to her in a wave. "You've always had everything handed to you... how could I not hate you..." Your words spur her on to continue with her plan, determined to prove you wrong. Perhaps if she did this on her own, you'd finally see her for who she is!

She sighs dreamily as she walks behind your bakery, peering inside the window to see if she could spot anyone. In the dusty glass window of the kitchen, she can see you sleeping at the kitchen counter. When she sees your calm resting face, she almost swoons. You've only ever looked at her with hatred, be it either to her face or up at her from the ground. Her resolve is now set, she had to change your mind.

She soaks the rag in the chemicals, wrapping her scarf around her face so she doesn't breathe it in. Her feet are quiet as she sneaks behind the counter and into the kitchen, the lack of doors making it so much easier for her to creep in. She stands directly next to your sleeping figure, a sad look crossing her face. "I'm sorry I had to do this..." She whispers before her gentle hands slowly place the rag over your nose and mouth.

A minute after she puts the rag on your face, you start to wake up. Your eyes grow wide as you realize what's happening, but with the scarf covering her face you can't see who's attacking you. You start to thrash and scream, but nobody can hear you because of the rag. She holds you down with a gentle touch so that you can't escape, and after a few more minutes, you're completely gone. She grins wildly when you stop struggling, your limp body a sign of her success. She pulls you out of the chair as carefully as she could, but she ended up dropping you because of how delicate her arms are. "You won't mind, will you, qaundom~?" She chuckles softly as she drags your limp body across the floor.

She drags you past the kitchen, the counter, and the side of the building until you're finally back behind the bakery. She takes the bottle of chemicals and ties the handle to her shirt so she doesn't have to carry them, dragging you along the grass and toward the castle. Eventually, she makes it to a door at the back of the castle, opens it, and throws you inside with all of her remaining strength, now completely winded from the trip. After taking a minute to recuperate, she takes your hand and hauls you into an empty cell that's been separated from all the others. She lays you down onto the thin mattress, dusts off her hands and looks at you lovingly.

"You were right, darling. When I want something, I get it." She walks out and closes the cell door softly so it doesn't make that much noise, the rattle of the chain lock echoing through the desolate dungeon.

"And absolutely nothing can stand in my way." Her eyes go cold for a split second as she stares at your lifeless form before turning on her heel and walking to the door.

"Don't hate me for this." With a slam of the iron door, she's gone, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume in her wake.

tags: @skylark144 @izizzl @odobun @alhaizen @decepticon-99 @twilightkitkat @red-viewe @lasagna-goob @cyphertryagain @hailchocolate @underneathablanketwithwolfkeum @angelofdarkness2 @ren-054 @emptybrain01 @phoenix-eclipses @amourzinna

#zain>>works #yandere blog #tw yandere #tw obsessive love #yandere x you #yandere writing #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader #tw kidnapping #tw drugging #soft yandere #note: qaundom means darling in dari #also thank you to my friend for helping me out on the cultural aspects of this one

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universal-upvc-windows · 1 year ago

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dwailol · 1 year ago

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Over the Desk

ComPOUND: Round 4 of a week alone with Bucky

[f reader x Bucky] WC: 1.7k

Summary: after round 3 your hands are still a little brush burned and you’re a little anxious about the ongoing mission. Bucky wants to treat you nice. How nice can he really be though? Especially when you’re sitting on a fucking desk!! ;)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

Warnings ⚠️: mentions anxiety, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, cream 🥧

——————————

With fresh brush burn on my hands texting is painful. I promised Wanda I would check in with her today. I had some unprovoked anxiety about a secret attack on the compound or some conspiracy plan while I’m alone here. I’m not afraid of any outside threat as much as I am about blindly destroying the building. When the flames begin, it’s almost like an out of body experience. I get focused on my opponent with no care of collateral.

The compound has entity detection systems. However, I got no notification when Bucky snuck up on me last night. While that worries me, I can’t tell anyone about Bucky and I’s situation. They might be tempted to look at the cameras…

Part of my super power maintenance is to keep a cool head and he makes it hard to do that. Our session in the training center was plenty proof. He’s still in there lifting who knows how much weight.

As I’m slowly typing my response to Wanda’s check up, she calls me. Fuck. It would be easier to text a lie than talk around it to one of the most powerful women I know. I step into an office space before answering.

“Hi dear.”

“Hey Wanda!”

“You were taking too long to respond. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is-“, Bucky walks up to stare at me through the glass door. He was shirtless and sweaty after his 3 hour long workout.

“Everything is fine. I’m just a bit tired after my training session. Need a nap.”

“Keep a cool head love. I’ll let you know once we are coming back. It looks like it might take few more days than we anticipated. Be looking for a different number because I have to ditch this burner phone.”

She hung up before the conversation could go on for too much longer. I place my phone down on the desk and give Bucky a nod of approval to come in.

“You should really use a different cellphone for calls like that. One for business and one for pleasure,” he says. He lifts me up to sit me on the desk. I look down from his intense stare. He makes me nervous sometimes.

“Y/n, I know that the nature of our relationship isn’t very roses and chocolates, but you can open up to me about your nerves whenever you feel like it. I’ve had my own struggles with snapping and coming to in a world where you’ve unknowingly hurt people even ones you care for.”

“I’ve been working on my mindfulness like Bruce thought me. I’m just afraid of being used as a weapon against my own will again.”

“No one here will make you do that. They let you stay behind for this didn’t they?”, he lifts my chin up, “You’ve got the freedom of choice now. Why you keep choosing me I’ll never know.”

“It’s because I know you get it. When you get rough with me it’s almost like practice for keeping my anxiety down. If that makes sense-“

He gives me the softest kiss he’s ever given me.

“That makes sense. I’m glad you feel comfortable with me then. No matter how intense things might get I still care for your well being.”

I grab his bare sides to pull him close. I move my hands up to his chest. He squeezes one of them softly and brings it to his face for a kiss. I move his face to mine. We press our heads together before going in for more. Our lips began to melt like butter.

He leans closer and I place my hands behind me to stabilize. The kissing starts to resemble more of mouthing. He pulls me by the hips to the edge of the desk and spreads my legs apart. He grinds himself in between my thighs. I slide back and wince from the pain of my burned hands.

His flesh hand holds me up as his cool vibranium hand massages over the rope burn. He examines the damage and red marks. His touch soothes the pain a bit. He places more gentle kisses on my palms.

“Like I said I’ll be more gentle this time.”

“You don’t have to hold back. I know how you like it.”

“I’m gonna be soft and sweet because I want to be. You deserve some soft and sweet.”

“Show me what your soft and sweet looks like then super soldier,” I gaze up at him with a subtle smile. I know there’s only so soft and sweet he can be.

Every touch from then on is a smooth glide around my body and face. The tenderness of both his hands sends chills through me. He sure was treating me like an angel. He drifts his hand to tease the inside of my thighs where I’m warm and wet.

“You like the sweet stuff too. This is all for you doll.”

He slides my shorts and panties off. He meets his face to my opening then kisses all around it. I feel myself pulse. He brings his fingers to stroke my folds before slowly inserting them. I gasp at the new feeling of gentleness. We’re usually feral by this point.

He moves his fingers as if he were calling for me to come towards him. He strokes the spot inside me that rests next to the nerves of my clit. I moan with pleasure. The sensuality of it was relaxing.

His pacing and soft licks to my pussy brings me to an orgasm. I thought that was only possible with our rough sessions.

“I want you,” I say with the purest desire in my eyes.

“Say no more angel.”

He stands up to remove his gym shorts. Just like his fingers, he slowly puts himself inside me. The feeling is heavenly for sure. I lay back on the desk as he fills me with his cock and rubs at my clit. He starts to lose himself then picks up the pace a little. I moan as he moves through me like silk.

He gives a satisfied “mmm.” He turns me horizontal on the desk so he can hop up and hover on top of me. He lifts my hips up and I wrap my legs around him.

“Tell me what you want most and I’ll do it,” he says while lightly nibbling at my ear.

“Faster,” I say with a wide mouthed gasp following. His movements lift me up. My back arches upwards towards his body with each stroke. I roll my hips with his.

“I love it when you do that. You better be careful. I don’t wanna cum too quick.”

I mindfully slow my movements. He exits out of me to kiss me all the way down to my clit. He stands back up. I think changing positions over this desk of all pieces of furniture is much needed. I roll over to put myself in a bent position.

“Bucky, I know we said soft and sweet, but I don’t want you to hold back in this position,” I give a devious smile and lip bite. He puts his cock inside me. It feels so much bigger bent over like this. He plants both hands on the desk and brings his head close to mine. I feel his length reach so deep.

“Of course angel,” just like that he pops back up. He grabs me by the hips and fucks me the way you should be fucked over a desk. I give him some loud “Oh!”s to give him the green light to really get after it. I claw my nails into the desktop.

“Touch yourself.”

He moves my hand to my clit. I can feel my next orgasm building up and I can tell it’s gonna be a big one. I start to lose my breath.

“You gonna cum for me? I wanna feel it baby. Cum for me.”

“Uh huh I’m gonna cum for you,” I’m nearly breathless. He shortens and quickens his strokes so he’s deep inside me. My hand finally gets a break. My orgasm releases all throughout my body. It felt like a never ending wave of ecstasy. The waves flow perfectly with his beat.

“Damn, angel, I can feel you still cumming on this cock. I’m well on my way.”

“Please give it to me!” I whine. I’m still going. He yells as he releases himself inside of me. He stops moving just to press into me deeper for a second. He lets out his last grunt. He twirls me around to kiss me. It was as smooth as rose petals and as sweet as chocolate.

“I should probably take a shower,” he laughs.

He’s sweatier than when he first came in that’s for sure.

“I’ll join you.”

“I’d love nothing more.”

#avengers smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #dom bucky barnes #marvel smut #winter solider smut #winter solider x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #marvel endgame #marvel fanfic series #bucky barns x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barns x you #bucky smut

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lorei-writes · 1 year ago

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HC: Crochet! Princes - Foreign Affairs Faction

Clavis, Chevalier, Luke, Nokto Content Warnings: none Word Count: ~1.3k Inspired by @keithsandwich 's work :)

Quiet. Be quiet, little ones. For what would have happened if humans saw you come alive, with your little crocheted heads and wire spines? Children of yarn do not see eye to eye with those born from blood.

So be quiet.

At least for now.

Clavis

He falls asleep come midnight, so he spends his days wandering in the shadows of his human maker. (Who, as it happens, is now certain that Clavis doll is possessed — how else could they explain the fact that it is him and him alone who is always misplaced?)

A multitude of legends has grown around Clavis the possessed doll. Likewise, rules followed. For the protection of his co-habitants, naturally.

Rule #1: If you see Clavis doll appear in the kitchen while you’re cooking, do not turn your eyes away from the food. Otherwise, it will be magically transformed into gruesome in appearance, although technically edible, abomination.

Rule #2: If you hear the plink of glass out of nowhere, pinch your nose and proceed as usual. If you see any colourful vapours, run.

Rule #3: Say “I adore you to the moon and back, Clavis!” whenever you hear hyaena laughter.

Rule #4: If you see Chevalier doll fighting with Clavis doll — no, you did not. Follow any steps specified by Clavis doll until you’re outside the reach of Chevalier doll. Were you to fail at the task… Clavis doll does enjoy digging in the ground.

Cyran doll is still in the making. As such, Clavis doll is… Well.

His ambition is to find a needle and to add certain “adjustments” to Chevalier doll. However, he’s been unsuccessful thus far – largely because any yarn needles are held within the big tin box of doom on the upper shelf, guarded by a hedonist-doll-hater orange cat by the name of Potato.

An ancient prophecy says that on the day of final judgement Clavis doll with descent from heavens riding on an orange lion. It is highly likely that Potato’s disdain for all things Clavis is what prevents the apocalypse.

Whether that will remain the case is still unclear, as Clavis doll has taken interest in growing plants… including catnip.

Chevalier

Chevalier doll can generally be found somewhere around any large bodies of books — bookcases, attics, perhaps his maker’s backpack (whenever their route leads by a library). That being said, it “conveniently” always so occurs that it’s perfectly reasonable for Chevalier doll to be there. As such, nobody ever questions it.

The people who have seen Chevalier move do not make it far. (Typically not outside the door; provided that they do not execute the instructions of Clavis doll).

The house hosting Chevalier doll is rather old. As such, the primary focus of Chevalier doll is the maintenance of his kingdom, for the benefit of the doll kind. Using his superior wadded (with polyester) brain, he slays mice and moths with toothpicks, unclogs toilet bowls, calls appropriate companies to fix the roof… The list goes on.

That being said, Chevalier doll does indulge from time to time. Not only that! He finances his endeavours on his own!

Can you really be sure the person you talk with online is a person and not a crochet doll? Can you? CAN YOU NOW?!

With the internet at his non-existent fingertips, Chevalier doll can accomplish things no ordinary (meaning lifeless) doll could dream of. An inconspicuous doll by day, Chevalier spends his nights as an editor for an established publishing house — the fearsome Bloody Tiger who will not let the smallest error slide!

His work laptop (and personal e-book reader) is hidden below his makers bed, next to their secret toy box. They do not dare question it. The placement of the device was meant as a threat and it clearly has worked.

Yes. He has his own bank account.

And somehow, a driving license.

Nothing is impossible for the rare genius crochet doll born made every 1 000 years.

But maybe let’s not think about that too deeply. Lest we are to arrive at human-doll hybrids.

Luke

Luke is one of the few dolls who have actually befriended a human.

Her name was Leila. She was the niece of his maker and she instantly took a liking to him. She’d take him out on walks, make clothes for him, sing him songs, feed him pretend honey cakes… and she’d also tell him things. Things she’d never tell to anybody else.

In turn, Luke protected her — whenever she was afraid of demons living under the bed, he’d go and “scare” them away. He’d check inside wardrobes, hush any mosquitoes, bring her cookies after she had already brushed her teeth. He’d keep a flashlight on the ready and he’d do his upmost to present her with shadow theatre whenever she couldn’t sleep while visiting.

However, Leila grew and she continued to grow… and eventually, she convinced herself that she had merely dreamt of Luke coming to life. It all must have been a silly game played by a child bored with yet another visit to her relatives.

That being said, Leila still comes by. She also still plays with Luke, or at the very least takes time to greet him properly and shake his hand. She often brings (now an actual honey) cake and sets a good portion of crumbs aside aside, just for him… Although she tells herself it must be mice that eat it. Surely. Just old mice.

Luke finds it hard to accept this reality. The little girl that has once played with him is no more. He is happy to see her well, however, he also struggles with the fact that their lifespans clearly differ. Luke the doll will go on living. Leila the human is already an adult. She will age, and then… How does one mend humans? What does one do when their stitches become loose? When moths eat away at their cotton flesh and their strange button eyes fall off?

Nokto

Nokto doll is an absolute hit with women of all ages. For… vaguely unexpected reasons, perhaps.

The way Clavis doll is seen as cursed, Nokto doll (together with Licht doll) is thought to be blessed. Having Nokto around supposedly brings good luck during job interviews, dates, social gatherings of any type, and language classes.

Given the above, he is brought… everywhere. Nokto doll enjoys a rich social life. His wardrobe is expansive — how else could he become the high fashion accessory craved by many but possessed by few? Some of his outfits are downright scandalous… not that he complains. (That being said, he may consider it most curious, given the intricacies – or lack thereof – of his crochet anatomy).

The sad truth of Nokto’s life is that he never stays for long with anybody. It may be that he’s grown to accept it, or to even prefer this state of affairs (although he cannot say why that could be the case). He sleeps in many beds, just to be brought home in the morning, to sleep away all day and be back at his post at night.

The secret behind Nokto’s “magical qualities” is that, whenever people aren’t looking, he disappears from the crowd and sneaks in below the floor, to converse with local rats.

Nokto doll is the best cheese dealer in town. And other-things-dealer too, but we do not talk about that. The rat king sees him as a valuable ally and so, his subjects are to do as Nokto commands.

Since one of Nokto’s commands is to avoid his own house of origin, Chevalier doll does not see this situation as a potential threat. Even though Nokto may be actively working to overthrow the major of their town. For what purpose? Well… That still remains unclear, although the recent evidence suggests a certain eyepatch has been crocheted. Who knows, perhaps somebody else is pulling all the relevant strings…

You've seen a typo? Please, tell me!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception @bis-enti @claviscollections

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

#chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince clavis #nokto klein #ikepri nokto #ikemen prince nokto #luke randolp #ikepri luke #ikemen prince luke

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