#Spartan Echo

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

R&R

Chili Cook-Off! This event will be held in Forward Mess Hall. To enter, contract Master Chef Jonathan Lowell. To attend as a taster, pick up your tickets any time before February 25! Miller just wanted to enjoy his morning off, but he's voluntold to attend the Chili Cook-off. There he runs into some familiar faces. Fernando bullies and gets bullied by his coworkers. Linda socializes and reports back to Blue Team.

Technically a sequel to Backup - the other Miller/Esparza fic that takes place during SpOps.

Also posted to ao3

-

February 25th, 2558. A perfectly normal Saturday.

4 days since the invasion. Not even two weeks since Castle was shot down on their way to Copernicus base. So much had gone wrong.

The hole in Miller's Fireteam roster yawned ever wider as the campaign pushed everyone to their limits. He had thought he'd lost Crimson too, but their luck had held out so far. But losses were common, regardless of what the propaganda said. It really was only a matter of time.

Get it together, Miller. He thinks to himself and huffs a sigh. At least he can be dramatic and morose in the privacy of his own bunk.

"Good morning, Spartan Miller!"

Never mind, he's not safe anywhere. Maybe he should be grateful that Roland has the decency to wait until he's awake.

"Roland." He sighs and rolls over, glaring at the ceiling. "It's my morning off."

"Was your morning off. Put some pants on so you don't scare my delivery boy. I hope you're hungry!"

Miller grumbles something about pushy AI and pulls on some sweatpants before there's a knock at his door. It's probably Dalton or someone from Crimson in on Roland's scheme. Miller scowls and opens the door.

It's not Dalton or Crimson. It's Linda. 058. Blue Team Linda. Sharp-green-eyes-that-see-into-your-soul Linda. Linda from the speed dating event, who-acted-like-she-wanted-to-win-it Linda. That Linda. At Miller's door. Where he's standing. Shirtless and half awake. Well, he's fully awake now. He stares at her, frozen as the white hot fear and panic turns him to stone. She stares at him, expression blank as usual, maintaining prolonged eye contact as Miller’s brain both empties and goes into overdrive. He goes for casual seconds too late and aborts a half-motion to cover his chest. Playing it off like he went to scratch his neck, he finally regains his grasp of the English language and manages human-like speech.

"Hi." The greeting creaks out his throat.

Linda nods in lieu of a greeting and opens her palm to reveal comically archaic paper tickets. They look small and childish in her hand - so out of place on a warship. Paper tickets, a novelty on their own, but on the Infinity they mean one thing; Morale boosting events. R&R, hand-delivered and Roland-enforced. Miller is doomed. He’s getting roped in. Roland somehow roped Linda (058, his brain supplies, as if leaving the numbers off is rude) to rope Miller into attending.

Miller blinks. Linda doesn't appear to need to. He holds his arm out robotically and receives them. He's unsure what's happening. Surely he’s still dreaming and this social fumble is just a nightmare.

"What are these for?" He asks.

"Chili cook-off. You're a taster." She says, voice cool and calm. Miller can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. Linda’s the most mysterious member of Blue Team because of her quiet and secretive nature. Beyond being the sniper, Miller isn’t really aware of any aspect of her personality. Even Chief emotes more than Linda. Miller thinks Linda lets people see exactly what she wants them to see, which is none of her, most of the time.

"What? This is what Roland was talking about?" He sighs, "I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He is genuinely apologetic. There was something of a Roland blast zone surrounding Miller and those who got too close were collateral for the AI’s whims. 

Her head tilts a fraction of a millimeter. "I'm going too." She reveals her own ticket. "See you there." And then she's gone.

Miller blinks and Linda is disappearing down the hall while he stands there like an idiot. He knows he only sees her leave because she wants him to. Why did the "see you there" sound so threatening? IIs were such different beasts from IVs, socially at least. He was fine being a handler and helping on Ops with IIs, but without Fred balancing them out, Blue Team was nigh indecipherable outside a combat setting.

Miller groans. He'd been looking forward to laying around in bed for his morning off. Now he's saddled with expectations. If he doesn't go, Roland won't allow him a moment of peace until he decides Miller's suffering has balanced the scales. He's at the mercy of a fickle AI. He knows Roland knows he knows this. He better get on with it, for his own sake.

Gunmetal gray walls and bright lights greet him as he leaves his room and exits S-Deck to the less Spartan-friendly areas of the ship. There’s a dull roar as he approaches the cafeterias and Miller sees more groups congregating than he had expected. The Forward Mess Hall is a hive of activity as Miller steps through the door. Voices drone together in a low buzz as bodies swarm different tables. Crew from every department and rank are rubbing elbows, some for the first time ever. Master Chef Lowell is conducting the competing cooks with a smile on his face. The overall mood is surprisingly light given that just a few days ago the Infinity had been boarded by Covenant and Promethean invaders.

The crew needed this. A small, lighthearted respite in the midst of a messy campaign. Miller needed this too, though he didn't sign up to be a taster for the Chili Cook-Off of his own free will. Roland signing him up looked like it would turn out to be a good thing, not that Miller could voice that where the AI could hear. Roland's ego needed no help.

Miller finds himself in a swarm of crew vying for the seats at the tables across from the cooks. He's a head taller than most of the people there, sticking out like a sore thumb. There's one Spartan competing which assuages some of his nerves - it's funny seeing Spartan Hedge in an apron that barely makes it to his upper thigh.

He's scouting for a spot to sit, one that will support his augmented weight, when someone calls his name.

"Spartan Miller?"

It's the civilian from the group that huddled in the Op Center during the invasion. The engineering contractor or something, Esparza. He waves at Miller and gestures to the empty seat next to him. Miller raises a hand to wave back and finds himself gravitating towards the table. It wasn't like anyone else was going to wave him down.

"Esparza, right? How have you been?" Miller asks as he takes a seat.

Esparza grins at the fact that Miller remembered his name. Fernando incorporates Miller into his small group near-seamlessly. “Good, good. Nice to see you again, you know, without the danger.”

“I guess that depends on the chili.” Miller laughs awkwardly. He regrets the joke immediately but it makes Esparza smile and his group mates groan goodnaturedly. 

Esparza is kind. He chuckles as Miller gingerly sits, testing to see if the seat will support him. The metal folding chair groans but holds. Esparza laughs outright at how Miller's eyes go wide at the sound and he throws his arms out to brace. It's a nice laugh. They make small talk and Miller learns he doesn’t flub every social interaction he’s a part of.

Esparza introduces him to the other people sitting around their table. Mostly civilian types, contractors and engineers. Egghead types, the commander would say, but they’re good people and Miller finds himself relaxing. He finds himself forgetting how much he sticks out and just enjoys the company. There's some words about him being the Spartan that protected the engineers during the invasion and Miller hates that he feels his face heat up. He knows the tips of his ears are red, but it feels nice to be remembered for something good for once. 

"Did you come here with anyone?" Esparza asks.

He shakes his head. "My 'friend' signed me up for this, even had someone else drop off the ticket. I thought I might see someone here but I'm not sure. She's...good at blending in."

Esparza looks curious. “Your friend made you come? They must have thought you needed a break. I’m glad you made it.” He says while gently nudging Miller’s side.

“Thanks.” Miller says,“Don’t let him hear you say that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Who?”

Miller looks around and lowers his voice before answering. There’s too many people and the noise should prevent him from hearing, but who knows? He’s probably watching and lip reading from some unseen camera angle. “Roland.”

Esparza looks confused for a moment. “The Ship AI?”

“Yes.” Miller says mournfully. Esparza laughs, probably at this tone and the look on his face. He knows he’s pouting.

“I have to know, why? Is it because he’s like your boss?” Esparza leans in.

“I think he just likes picking on me, specifically.”

“So he likes you.” Esparza says grinning and sitting back. He crosses his arms and the easy curve of his posture is relaxed and knowing. He looks smug.

Miller feels himself losing control of his expression. He’s affronted. “I wouldn’t say that. I think he just likes causing problems.”

“Does he pull stunts like this often?” One of the other engineers asks. Miller can’t recall her name.

“He’s always popping up on Ops. I think he thinks he’s helping. Or he gets bored.”

“He rarely talks to us. I think we saw him during onboarding, but he rarely talks to our department directly.”

“He must like you.” 

“He’s pulling your pigtails because he doesn’t know what else to do.” Esparza says with a thoughtful face before he cracks up and laughs at Miller’s bright red face.

“Thanks. A bald joke, never gotten one of those before.” He says snidely.

Esparza waves him off. “No, he likes you and he’s showing his feelings the only way he knows how. By being defensive.”

“Probably picked it up from Command.” Someone at the table whispers. Miller ignores the image of Commander Palmer that pops into his head.

“I don’t know about that.” Miller mutters. “And you guys sure know how to gang up on a guy. What happened to me being the cool Spartan?”

“We started talking to you.”

“Jeez, okay I walked into that one.” Miller sighs, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head dramatically. Joking aside, he is having a good time. He’s used to jokes at his expense,  but this feels different. Esparza’s including him and the man’s presence is comforting. Still, he’ll play his part and act put out. Maybe he can guilt them into sharing their portions of the taste testing. 

Esparza takes pity on him and pats his arm. “There, there. Look, it’s time for the food.”

In the end, they do share food with Miller when his faster metabolism comes up in conversation. He doesn’t share too much about the augs, but it’s interesting to talk to civilian types with just enough clearance he can clear up some misconceptions. 

“I didn’t know Spartans could be nerds.”

“We’re not all meathead jocks!” Miller laughs and steals a bite of one of Esparza’s samples. “Oh, which one is that? That’s going to be my number 1.”

He tries to swat Miller’s hand and fails. Scowling, Esparza bides his time until Miller starts talking to someone else and goes for the kill. His spoon gets mere inches away from Miller’s plate before the Spartan traps his hand with his own.

“Gotta be faster than that.” He laughs.

It’s Esparza’s turn to be flustered. He wiggles his hand in Miller’s strong grip and can’t get free. Miller yields and releases him, his palm feeling cold now that it’s no longer wrapped around Esparza’s hand and wrist. He was gentle, but Esparza still cradles his hand with wide eyes before coughing and clearing his throat.

Whatever he plans to say is interrupted by an announcement of the winners. Master Chef Lowell beams and introduces the winners. Miller can see Spartan Hedge near the winner’s circle looking pleased. Miller’s favorites didn’t win but they got honorable mentions. 

Then Miller sees her. Linda materializes out of the crowd and goes over to the 4th place winners with a strange intensity. She offers them the most formal handshake Miller's ever observed and must congratulate them on their work. Bobrov beams with pride and Gomez looks a little starry-eyed as Linda 058 of Blue Team fame tells them she liked their chili the best. It honestly looks closer to a medal giving ceremony than something as low stakes as a chili cook-off.

With the event officially over and his shift starting soon, Miller excuses himself with a small smile. “Maybe we’ll run into each other soon!” He says and winces internally. 

Esparza and the others smile and say their goodbyes as well before heading towards their own parts of the ship.

Miller looks around for Linda, but doesn’t see her. He hopes she had fun. He also hopes he will get more warning before she pops up again. All the excitement is keeping him on his toes. The small break over, he still feels lighter than he has in weeks as he preps to send Crimson out into the field.

“So?” Roland asks once Miller’s seated at his station. Ask is too nice a word for it, it’s more of a demand from the AI.

“It was alright. I had fun.” Miller admits. He’s going to keep a closer eye on Roland now. Miller was considering previous conversations with Roland in a new light now. Maybe the AI was more than just bored and Miller was more than just the easiest target.

“So I was correct in making you go.”

“Maybe. If I let you set the waypoints for my Fireteams, will you stop bullying me on comms?”

“Maybe.”

It’s a start.

—

The civilians trail back towards their departments in groups, gossiping about the cook-off and who they thought should have won before the conversation turns around to focus on Fernando. He should have expected it, but honestly, he was too old for this.

"The Spartan's cute, and you guys have a great first meeting story. Why not ask him out?" One of his coworkers titters. His team had been insufferable about The Spartan That Saved Them and the moment Fernando and he had had during the crisis.

"Shhh!" Fernando waves her off and playfully scowls the others grinning at them. "He might hear you!" They were only just past the doorway to the Mess Hall.

He considers it slowly, rotating the image of the Spartan in his head and talking to Miller over the course of the last hour or so. Miller is more human and shy than he expected. Awkward. It was  funny seeing a Spartan off-kilter. He's less intimidating without the armor and he acts like he’s surprised when people like him.

"He is cute." Fernando acquiesces.

"And tall."

"And strong."

"Stop!"

“But he might be taken?”

“Yeah, you might have competition. The AI might pull your pigtails.”

“You guys are the worst. I feel like I’m back in school.”

He waves them off, but he finds his mind lingering on the Spartan as he finishes up his reports. Maybe they would see each other around. His contract on the Infinity was a longer one and there wasn’t any harm in seeing where this went.

—

Linda returns from her outing with a sense of satisfaction evident to the rest of her team. Her shoulders are relaxed and she’s talkative. Rather than return to rest from the strain of the social spotlight often aimed at the IIs, Linda seems satisfied.

Her team perks up when she returns, their body language shifting to welcome her back into their space. She has their attention and they read her posture and gestures like an open book. It went well.

“Have fun?” Kelly asks as her sister enters the room. 

Linda nods and signs the Spartan smile across her face.

John tilts his head and nods in acknowledgement. He doesn’t move off his bunk but he sits up to show he’s listening and starts mirroring her posture. 

“You know it’s not a date if both parties aren’t aware.” Fred points out from his bunk.

“Not a date. Observation.” Linda says.

“What was the speed-dating thing then?”

“Recon.”

Fred sighs. “I guess this counts as socializing. I’m glad you had fun.”

“I got some numbers.” 

“Of course you did.” Fred says and is promptly hit with a pillow. Headshot.

“Are you going to call any of them?” John asks. It’s a genuine question. Linda’s been observing and opening up to new experiences since they’ve been stationed here. If carving out time for socializing and resting in the middle of a campaign was something they did, then she would try it.

“Maybe.”

“No pillow for him? Come on.” Fred complains, but there’s mirth in his voice.

“She likes me better.” John says smugly and dodges the pillow Fred throws at him.

Maybe there was the time and space for them to branch out here. They might not have roots anywhere, not anymore, but they still had this.

Kelly makes eye contact with her and she signals “go.” The pillows fly.

[poptartportfolio]

How far are you willing to go just to feel like your misery has a purpose?

[thelvadams]

HALO INFINITE SEASON 3: ECHOES WITHIN

Eklund’s right. Maybe it’s time I let things go.

[thatthatthatcat]

Tried a new art style, I will NOT be doing that again.

[chaoticcutiewhirl]

Imma clairify my style updates, I will place One Shot stories here and ongoing stories on AO3, and so far only one On-Going is on AO3 that is active: Halo Burning Skies

Brief Summary: The story of Halo Reach told through the perspective of Spartan III Echo Team to which consists of a rag tag bunch of missfits: - Aaron B011 other known as Ares not much is known about him by the other team members as he was one of the later rotations in, but he is definitely a fan of heavy weapons and has a sense of Suvivor’s guilt for being the only successful modification from his team during training. [Non-Cat-II Spartan III] - Forge A221, a sniper specialist, he was a failure in modification from Alpha Company, being revived akin to Red Team who were seen in the events of Halo Wars. Due to his inactive statues during the events of Operation PROMETHEUS, he survived and has been traded between Headhunter missions and Spartan Teams due to his odd quirks, ultimately being kept on Echo Team due to team Cohesion. [Non-Cat II Spartan III] - Alice 661 A member of the “Failed” Spartan II Class II project headed by a group of scientists after Dr. Halsey, Alice is someone fairly chaotic, she is another fan of heavy weapons but specializes in vehicle interfacing  whether it be driving or gunnery positions. She is a fairly nonconventional Spartan and can be considered the sort of heart of the team because of it. [Alice 661 was also one of the Halsy Picked Spartan II Class IIs  but carried over due to her family being alligned with the Gao Insurrection forces.] - Clint 112 a Spartan II who was comatose during the events following the modification of the Spartan IIs, his body was left in shock but was too stubborn to die. Due to this factor and the subsiquent anhilation of Spartan IIs in battle, he was placed onto one of the Cat-II Spartan teams to better train those who were assigned to them while they were in battle. [Spartan II] - Robin B216, our primary perspective character, Robin is a Spartan III who was picked out by ONI due to knowledge of how her parents actually died plus her being a [Cat-II] Spartan did help in that instead of being shoved to a Spartan III fireteam initially. Robin is someone more genuine and sees herself as being forced to work with the UNSC ideals even though she is an asset who is a lot more to her repertoire than meets the eye. Outside of the rag tag bunch of Spartans there are other ideas amongst the ecosphere of this war that is less explored than the standard canon, such as how Sangheili and less zealous members of the covenant often question aspects of this war, even someone who is introduced in this story instigates events a lot more intigral to my Halo Story.

Found Here

With Halo Stories I try to keep it in line with what is known in Canon quite a lot more than what I am willing to do in oher stories so if you don’t know much about Halo lore, there are aspects I may glaze over but I do my best to explain what I can, just in case people beyond Halo come into this. Beyond that I will post when I updated a story going to the newest Chapter on here, I may collect other Short Stories on AO3 once they build up as I use Google Docs to help organize it all.

Beyond that there is Broken Sails 2.0 too but that has been canceled as I keep changing things since I love my transformers and OCs take the places of Canons but also the Canon characters still exist, its odd and would need longer chapters and possibly side stories connected to it like my Transformers OCs Patches and Warfront doing their Prewar Sea of Rust adventures. When it does come to Transformers stuff though I will actually post stuff here on Tumblr relating to my World of Transformers that I call Zetaverse, because it sounded cool.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Astarion x Reader

words: 1.5K

rating: T

pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav

summary: banking off the Jealous!Tav x Astarion ask, I made one for Ascended verse as well.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Astarion let out a deep sigh as he walked through the long corridors of his palace towards his chambers. Who knew being a Vampire Lord would be so taxing?

He thought it would be all blood, japes, and all-consuming-power when he ascended, but noooo. Apparently, all that power did not come with an instantaneous dark underground to control and city at his feet. He had to put in effort. Time. A lot of both, which somedays Astarion thought was just not worth it. But his ambitions would not let him rest on his laurels. Even if he did need a rest for the evening.

The doors let out a heavy echo as they close behind him, and Astarion sighed once more as he undid his overcoat. His attention then turned towards the bed as he saw the bedding move. “Darling?” He questioned curiously but knew it couldn’t be.

Tav was out with Shadowheart. Catching up with their dear friend while she was in the city, for reasons that were probably told to Astarion but he couldn’t be bother to remember since he wasn’t going. For once he let them go unaccompanied but was now hopeful that they came back early over missing him terribly.

“Master?” Astarion’s face paled (metaphorically, as it could not get any paler than it already was) as the sheets pulled back an a young, blonde, naked woman appeared from the covers. “I thought you’d never come back tonight.”

“What are you doing here Azura?” He hissed at his latest spawn. A silly girl who begged him for the gift, and Astarion gave it to her for no other reason than he felt his beloved needed a new chambermaid. “You dare enter my chambers, uninvited, and help yourself to my bed. Have you lost your absolute mind?!”

Astarion wasn’t exactly kind to his spawn, but he wasn’t nearly as cruel as Cazador. Which he knew was a very low bar. He gave them a fine amount of freedom to move about the castle. Updated the dorms so they weren’t as spartan as what he had been forced to endure. Almost never tortured them unless they absolutely needed to be punished. And this is how he was repaid?!

“Yes. I have lost my mind. Lost it for you, my master.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Oh Gods, the idiot was in love. He recognized that soft stare and devoted posture. If her, quite literally, naked display wasn’t enough of a clue he could nearly smell the pheromones off her. “I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to please you.”

“You can please me by getting out.” He pointed to the door although he didn’t compel her. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he wanted to again be kind and give her the choice. Or just a sick morbid curiosity on how this would play out.

“Leave? You really don’t want me here?” She seemed surprised. Given her beauty this may have been the first time she was rejected, Astarion assumed. It always surprised him when his quarry didn’t take the bait. Perhaps this was a similar feeling for her. “You really don’t want me to stay?”

Azura pulled back the sheets to reveal that she wasn’t truly naked. Just in a thin nightgown that was so transparent it was nearly invisible. Her skin smooth. Her legs long. Her cunt neatly shaved and breast taunt & perky. She’ll lead men to this castle in droves, he thought. Unfortunately, her charms were immune to him.

“Yes. Get out. I won’t repeat myself again.”

The girl jumped off the bed and came closer. Astarion hoped it was for the door, but no such luck. His spawn leaned into him, delicate and wanting. Staring up into his eyes like a lover while he stared back at her with a stern look. “Shouldn’t a master be able to taste what’s his when he likes. Don’t you miss my blood from the first time? Tasting it on your lips?”

He wants to tell her no. That he hasn’t thought about it since that first time. Honestly, he hadn’t thought of her since that first time. But mentions of blood, and the reminder of the power he felt when he took her life and made it his own, does get his own blood to hum.

“You can have it again, if you’d like. Take all of me. A lord, a king, can take anything he wishes. I can be your obedient consort as well. Be one of your most beloved spawn.” As she spoke her body and lips moved closer to him.

“What’s going on here?”

The girl jumped back, quickly. Like she had been licked by fire. Astarion stood still. He hadn’t done anything wrong, technically, so he had no reason to be afraid. Although that cool look in Tav’s eyes was making him seriously question that decision. “I said: what’s going on here?”

“I was….I-I was just….I…”

“You were trying to take my place, eh?” Astarion chuckled at his beloved’s blunt response. Direct and to the point as always.

“Darling, as if she could.” He moved over to Tav. Separating himself completely from his spawn to sooth his consort. “This is just some misplaced adoration of a spawn and their master. Granted we’ve gone a little far…”

“It’s not misplaced! I love you!” There was a growl in Tav’s throat and Astarion huffed at the girl’s childish pleas. He really had been trying to help her here. “I would never leave you alone like they would! I would be loyal to you always! I can be twice the consort they are if you just give me a ch—"

She doesn’t get to finish asking for her chance that would never come. As her head was hanging limp to the side, nearly off her shoulders. Blood gushing from the gaping hole in her throat. Spraying across the room and down her thin negligee. Once translucent material now opaque as it was drenched in crimson. “Well…that was something.”

“It’s not funny Astarion!” Tav yelled at him. Their eyes were wild and angry as they whipped around to glare at him. A powerful shiver running up his spine in the face of that heat.

“Of course it’s funny. All this for something so trivial. As if this scrap of nothing could have replace you. My beloved, perfect consort.” Astarion came close and lifted their bloody hand to kiss it gently. “No one could, would, or ever will replace you, my love. My wicked heart is yours, for all eternity.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that then?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think it needed to be said.” His poor dead spawn had to know she was taking a long shot when she came here. And if she didn’t then she was too dumb for Astarion to have around anyway. Still, he supposed Tav was right. He could have made more of an effort to stop her. “Still, it is rather cute that you can still get jealous over my affection. It makes me so hot. Watching you fight over me.”

He heard Tav sigh when he kissed by their ear and then jaw. Hearing them mutter, “not much of a fight” which made his cock harden in his breeches.

“Perhaps I should flirt with women and men more often.”

Astarion felt a hard jerk of his own pristine, sharp jaw away from Tav. Their nails digging into the soft skin of his cheek as they stared at them with a blazing hatred he hadn’t seen since the Elder Brain or that disgusting necromancer in the crypt. “Don’t.” A single word. Sharp. Direct.

He doesn’t like to be told ‘no’ often these days. He’s killed men for less presses against his authority. But that sharp look, one that promised his beloved would leave a trail of bodies like rose petals at his feet if he even pretended to be interested in them, made his blood boil with desire. It’s a beat in his heart that echoes his own. The agonies he would face on men who even stared at his beloved too long. Their glances were only for him. Their body was only his. Their conversations, their passions, their life, their loyalty, all of it was his. He supposed the least he could do was not pretend to be fickle with it.

“Very well, my love. I won’t. My sweet words will, as always, be for you alone. Plus, we can’t have your jealousy wreaking havoc all over the castle & city. Just think of the stains.”

He kissed Tav, to reassure them that his love was for them and them alone, picking them up and carrying them to the bed to remind them properly. As he carried them to their bed, he stepped over poor dead, double dead, Azura’s body. Already forgotten. Already not even a memory. Just a stain in the carpet that would need to be sorted out in the morning.

[strawberri-blonde]

I Was Made For Loving You- Neteyam

Summary: You’re foraging through the forest and find a rare specimen.

Warning: Smuttt

Masterlist

Walking through Pandora's forest is a peaceful experience. The sounds of nature fill the air around you, and the air is filled with the scent of lush greenery. The sun's rays filter through the treetops, casting a warm light upon the ground beneath your feet. To you, the forest is a great distraction from the hustle and bustle of your daily training for tsahík. When Mo'at sent you to grab herbs, you basically skipped out of the hut into the beautiful jungle. With each step you take, it brings a new, wonderful discovery; caressing the leaves as you stroke down the narrow path. It is truly a breathtaking landscape that makes you grateful to be an Omatikaya clan member.

You tugged on the little brown pouch that was tied to your loincloth to keep your hands free. You carefully crouched down near a fern-like bush with bright green, feathery leaves, giving the bush a wispy, elegant appearance. You remembered from your training that this plant is good for making paste with the roots, which have healing properties that stop blood from flowing and can even help deal with inflammation. Examining the different bushes on the same plant, you chose to get down on your stomach to pull at the base of the plant, digging into the cool and moist dirt. Letting out a quiet breath of air, you gripped the stem and in one strong yank, the roots sprang from the forgiving ground.

You shook off most of the dirt that you could and brought your hand to your chest. "Thank you, Eywa, for always providing," you said. Taking in the slightly bitter scent of the herb, you began to cut up the leaves along with the roots to fit in your pouch. You felt a connection with the natural resources around you. Sitting back on the back of your legs, you began to reach for another small bundle of roots when something caught your attention. It was a mushroom that sprung through the mossy grounds centimeters away from where the spartan plant has grown. It’s bright color had you wondering how you didn’t see it before. The purple color is striking and it stands out against the greens and browns.

Tilting your head, your queue swished against your back as it fell against the back of your shoulder. The elongated, bell-shaped cap of the mushroom was a beautiful purple color, with shaggy scales hanging down over the gills. You stared at it for a moment, curiosity filling your mind. You didn’t pluck it from the ground because of Mo’at's words echoing through your head: "Never pick things without knowing what they are, and especially never put something in your mouth if you have no idea what it is." Carefully, you moved closer to the fungi, pushing back some forest litter to try and find another like it.

You lift up a large, decaying leaf, and that's when you see it: a mature version of the purple fungi. The cap, once lilac, has turned the darkest shade of purple, almost to the point where it looks black. The black appears to be dissolving into an inky liquid, which contains the spores. The gills remain a light purple and run down the length of the stem, which is also covered in shaggy scales. Then it hits you what this specimen is: a mushroom that only grows from an atokirina. When the woodsprites lay to the ground on the soil, sometimes the roots don’t form, but instead, the seedling decays and what forms from that is Atkirinspxam.

Supposedly, if you stumble upon a mature species, it’s a sign from Eywa that your mind needs to open. You see, the Atkirinspxam can cause hallucinations and changes in perception. They can affect your mood and thoughts. The idea of that scared you, but you never second-guessed Eywa's intention, not after pairing you and Neteyam together. Ever since Eywa told Mo’at about your Union, you had to admit that you were nervous at first, but Neteyam is everything you've ever wanted in a partner.

Neteyam is a remarkable person. He is strong, compassionate, loyal, and protective. He has an unbreakable connection to the planet Pandora and our culture. Neteyam's leadership skills are impressive, and he always puts others' needs before his own. He is loyal to those he loves and values trust and honesty in his relationships. Neteyam is a great communicator, which makes him an excellent partner who can effectively express his thoughts and feelings to find common ground with his partner. His personality is a perfect blend of strength, empathy, and intelligence.

Eywa gave you no reason to not trust her when she provided you with nothing but happiness. You carefully drew your knife from the scabbard on your thigh and delicately cut the mushroom from the stem. The cap was thin and fragile, with a unique texture that was almost paper-like. The aroma was sweet and tempting, but something inside you made you resist the urge to taste it. You placed it in your woven pouch and began to make your way to the training grounds, where you hoped to find Neteyam.

You feel excited as you make your way towards the training grounds. The walk is short, lasting only about 5 minutes, but your body is filled with a surge of energy, and your heart races with anticipation of your findings. You pause for a moment, taking in the beautiful scenery and eager to see Neteyam in action. The ground is adorned with beautiful floral arrangements and colorful petals, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the hum of bees. In the distance, a large group of Na'vi is gathered practicing their fighting skills, and you can see Neteyam among them. The sight of him in action is awe-inspiring, and your heart skips a beat as you watch him. Suddenly, as Neteyam flips his opponent onto their back, his amber eyes lock with yours, sending chills down your spine. You can't help but feel drawn to him.

The air intensified as you both moved together like magnets. Neteyam pushed off his friend Hukato, ignoring the taunts and coos from his friends. Neteyam picked up his pace to avoid walking a long length, and seeing him pick up his speed, you did the same, causing you both to crash into one another, filling the air with your joyful laughs. Neteyam's sweaty body had you swooning as you held onto one another. From his sleek skin to his musk that filled your nostrils, it all had your insides warming up. "Yawne, what are you doing here? Not that I mind," Neteyam's calloused fingertips pushed back a loose strand behind your ear. "I'm always excited to see my beautiful mate." Your heart soared at his words. You could feel eyes on the both of you, but you really didn't care.

You kept your arms interlinked as you spoke. "Neteyam, I found something while foraging for Mo'at." This made the boy tilt his head in confusion, but seeing the excitement in your eyes, he couldn't help but let his grin grow. "But I was hoping that I could show you." You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "In private." Of course, if any young adult male had their mate whisper about privacy, smelling sweet like the herbs they collected, they would only nod their head, wearing a dopey smile on their face too.

Seeing that lopsided grin, accompanied by half-closed eyes, conveyed a sense of shyness at how much you affected him. A lavender hue made its way to your face, making Neteyam let out a chuckle before kissing your lips. He loved when you blushed. His hands left yours to cup your cheeks, tilting you back slightly, making him towered over you. "What do you want to show me?" he mumbled against your lips, sending you into a whiplash.

"Umm,” you let out as Neteyam reached down to the small pouch, you were reminded of what you were going to show him. "Thank Eywa your greedy hands reminded me," you said playfully. Making Neteyam laugh out loudly then reached his arms out to try and tickle you, but you swatted his hands away and took off into the brush. He chased after you, and the moment turned into a playful game of predator and prey. You ran around the trees and bushes, feeling the rush and thrill of the moment.

The soil was rich and loamy under your feet, and you could smell the damp leaves and the bitter smell of the spartan roots. Right as you ran around the tree near the spartan bushes, Neteyam caught up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tackling you to the ground. You fell onto his lap, letting out a shriek of delight as his hands started tickling your sides. He held you tightly, pulling himself into a sitting position, brushing his warm breath over your neck, sending another wave of tickles. You tried to wrestle away from his grip, but it was no use as Neteyam was a strong man.

His hands held onto you firmly, allowing you to rest from your previous torture. Your breaths were rapid, along with Neteyam's. You rested your cheek against his forehead, and that's when you saw the hole that you dug up for the spartan roots not even an hour ago. "Neteyam, remember how I told you about going foraging for Mo'at?" Neteyam lifted his head to look into your eyes, giving you his full attention. "Well, I found this mushroom." The Na'vi remained quiet as he watched you maneuver around his hands that still staked their claim on your hips. As you ever so gently pulled the purplish-black mushroom into Neteyam's view, you could see its reflection in his amber eyes.

Curiosity flooded the Omatikaya male's strong features as he looked at the strange specimen. "Is this... Atkiria-spxam?" Neteyam tilted his head as he spoke. You giggled at his poor attempt at pronouncing the fungi, but your pride grew as he did know what he was talking about.

"Not only handsome but smart," Neteyam kissed your jaw in response. "It's called an Atkirinspxam." You twirled the stem between your fingers, causing the cap to spin. Neteyam let the word slip past his lips, making you nod your head in acknowledgment that he said it right. "But I'm so impressed that you even knew its name from the rarity of it." Neteyam shrugged his shoulders continuously, leaving light kisses upon your throat.

“I just try to pay attention when Mo’at speaks because she’s an intelligent leader, and Kiri doesn’t stop talking about what you two do, during training. Plus I do listen to you yawne.”

As Neteyam took the specimen in his hands, you hummed a response. "Well, since you knew its name, did you know that this specific shroom causes hallucinations that Eywa wants you to see?" Neteyam knew this because Kiri had explained those kinds of mushrooms before. They were the ones that "made you see your path." These mushrooms made you have no control over your emotions, and they made you be your true self. Not to lie, it sounded appealing to the young warrior. Kiri had also experienced humans that had similar mushrooms on their planet that caused hallucinations as well. However, Neteyam didn't say anything because he wanted to hear you talk. He loved the way your eyes widened in awe, and how excited you got going over your findings. He found it endearing.

Neteyam smelled the sweet fungi, and you continued to ramble on. It smelt sweet but nowhere near the smell of you in heat, causing his body to react. "And I-I found it," this had you shift in Neteyam's lab from the nerves, not making his situation better. "The person who finds it, is supposed to eat it, but I don't want to do it alone." This had Neteyam widen his eyes. "Teyam, I was hoping that you'd split it with me."

A lot of emotions ran through your body as you grabbed onto his hand that held the mushroom. "I know in tradition it's meant to be done alone, but when I first discovered it, it was like I had to see you. It felt like my body was being led towards your direction." Neteyam's eyes softened at your words, and he brought his hands to your face, pressing his lips against yours. You let out a tiny gasp moan at the sensation.

Neteyam chuckled against your lips before pulling away to press his forehead against yours. "Y/n, I'd never let you experience anything alone. We're bonded for life, remember?" You sheepishly smiled, watching as Neteyam pulled away from you slightly to grab his knife from his scabbard against his hip and perfectly cut the mushroom vertically. "Eywa hasn't stirred us wrong yet." This made you giggle like a young Na'vi who had just gotten caught stealing a sweet treat.

“This is so chaotic.” You admitted out loud feeling the sun rays caress the tops of your skin.

Neteyam looked over the cut mushroom, he handed you the better piece letting the English word pounce through his pointy ears. “You’re been hanging out with Lo’ak too much. Chaotic. You never use those English words.” You took the sliver piece of fungi getting the black ink onto your fingertips.

“Maybe I’m just trying to use the words, my new family uses.” This had Neteyam beam in happiness. Neteyam kissed you again, then made his way towards your temple leaving a long lasting feeling of his lips on your skin. He loved how much his family loved you. And what was really special to him was that you loved them back. It meant a lot to him.

The air around you stilled, feeling the intensity of the moment. Neteyam pulled back from you, allowing you both to look into each other's eyes. "Are you ready, yawne?"

You took a deep breath, then nodded your head ever so gently. "As I'll ever be," you said. You both quickly placed the halves of the Atkirinspxam into your mouths and bit down onto the spongy texture. As you tasted the earthy and savory mushroom, you felt a rush of excitement.

"Okay, that's weird," Neteyam laughed out as you both managed to swallow the meaty texture. "Why was that good?" Both of your eyes widened in shock at how something so poisonous-looking could taste like a normal snack.

"I was about to say that," you pushed on his chest with the outside of your wrist, then brought your fingers to your mouth, cleaning them off. Neteyam mimicked your actions, but the sticky substance on his tongue made him imagine eating something else.

“So now, I guess we wait until it starts to digest," he said as his thoughts circled around his head, making it impossible to not form a boner. You were so focused on 'feeling the effects' that you began to raise your arms up in the air, then pressed your hands together, palms facing one another. Finally, you slowly brought your hands down in front of your face in a prayer pose.

Seeing you in this light was a sight to see. The way the sunlight hit your face provided Neteyam the perfect view of your beauty. You no doubt had rather soft facial features than most Na'vi, like Neteyam himself, who has sharper facial muscles. Your jawline was a little more rounded, and your cheeks were plump, which held the most beautiful blush that Neteyam had ever seen. To the young warrior, you were the most beautiful woman in the clan. When he was informed Eywa's chosen for him, and then met you, it was like all the training, the rules, all the punishments seemed to be worth it.

Neteyam thought you were too good for him. You always woke up before him, even in the earliest mornings before a hint of light. You loved making him breakfast and always made so much that he'd have leftovers for lunch. On hot days, you'd make some excuse to Mo'at that you were out of a herb, but in fact, you were just taking Neteyam fresh water and cool fruits. As he sipped the water gratefully, you pulled out a fan and began to fan him down. Neteyam had never been taken care of so lovingly in his life. Tears formed in his eyes as he held your face in his hands. "Yawne, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Hearing his sweet words, you visibly melted into his touch. It was like your body was turning into mush. "Teyam," you began as you ran your hands through his hair, after learning recently that he loved it.

"Shh…" he whispered before planting the most passionate kiss you had ever experienced. You could feel the intensity of his emotions in this act of love. Your hands tightened around his locks as you shifted onto your knees to straddle over his hips, hoping to distract him. You noticed Neteyam focusing on you, taking the pressure off his cock, so you sucked gently on his Cupid's bow. This caused his lips to part, allowing you access to his warm mouth. You would die on your deathbed with the testimony that Neteyam was the best taste of anything you've ever had. His mouth was always fresh from the minty herb that grows along the sides of mountains. He claims that he just liked the taste, but your theory is that he knows it drives you insane. Some might ask why not just eat the herb, but it just wasn't the same. Neteyam was better, so much better. As your needy tongue massaged gently into his own, you could feel his hands roam your body, squeezing you sensually along your skin, sending this hot pool to warm in your loincloth.

In the heat of the moment, a low growl escaped from the Na'vi's throat, causing you to clench around nothing. Neteyam pulled away from you, and his eyes were black with the thinnest ring of amber as the border. But what really caught you off guard was that his sclera was red, and you didn't know that you looked the same way.

“Ma’Y/n.” Neteyam’s left hand grabbed onto the base of your tail while his other wrapped around your neck. “You smell so good.” In one swift motion, he pushed you onto the soft dirt on your back, with his body in between your bent legs. He pressed kisses down your neck while his hands worked on your decorative top, fumbling with the tiny string that held the flowers together.

“Neteyam just rip it off.” You don’t where this sudden urgency came from but Neteyam liked it. He liked it a lot.

The warrior moved from the tops of your breasts to place a hot, open kiss on your lips, using all his strength (which didn't take much) to pop the string, sending beads, flowers, and leaves scattered around you. You pulled away from his kiss to sink your head in the ground, feeling something so euphoric wash over you. Seeing the dazed look in your eyes, the man pulled back to reach for his queue, making you moan out desperately. "Tsaheylu?"

The moment was so intense that you both didn't notice that the world around you had become sort of distorted. The colors were more vibrant, and the trees seemed to dance with the light breeze. The ground felt like one giant bed, but it didn't cross your minds. All your thoughts were on each other.

"Never have to ask." Somehow, through this thick layer of sexual tension, you pushed yourself up to grab your queue, bringing it to meet with his own. As the pinkish tendrils reached out to one another, looking as touch-starved as the both of you, your mouth widened in pure pleasure as the bond was formed. Neteyam was so overcome with the sensation that he hunched forward, leaning his weight on you, wanting to feel you.

Feeling the weight of Neteyam on top of you made you feel like he was the one who kept you grounded, metaphorically and physically. He was this beautiful rock that centered your life. You picked up your legs to wrap them around his waist, making sure that he wouldn't disappear. But Neteyam wasn't going to disappear. In fact, he thinks that if anyone sadly happened to walk upon this path, he'd have to kill them from ruining such a moment.

Drowning himself with the smell of you, Neteyam placed open-mouthed kisses down your body, clenching his fist on the ground down below, feeling your pleasure through Tsaheylu. He paid special attention to your sensitive nipples, knowing how absolutely feral you'd get. One day, Neteyam swore to himself that he's going to make you cum just from him sucking on those perky blue nips. But right now, he's too impatient. "Feel good, yawne."

Your soft moans should have been a giveaway, but you were quickly learning that Neteyam liked to hear you. "So good, Neteyam." He sucked on your nipple, twirling his tongue, lapping at your mound, causing you to express a loud but broken moan. "How did I get so lucky?"

Neteyam moaned around you, then pulled away to kiss your lips. "You treat me so well, Y/n. You're the most wonderful mate." You grabbed the back of his head, keeping his lips locked on yours for a moment before pulling back to look at his handsome face.

"Teyam, I love you," you said. Neteyam's head swayed with a dopey smile, and he brought you into a kiss while still making that sickeningly sweet grin that made you grow one of your own.

“Ma’Y/n,” his breath was hot against your face feeling his hands wonder down towards your loincloth. “I love you so much.” You couldn’t breathe as Neteyam slid his tongue into your mouth, not giving you any warning but you didn’t care. You clenched your legs onto his hips pulling him towards where you needed him the most. Feeling you rut against him, Neteyam slipped his tongue back into his mouth, then pulled away leaving you both with wet and swollen lips. “Let me show you how much.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you gazed into Neteyam's dark and hungry eyes.“Because now I have to ravish you.”

Hearing those words you began to impatiently wiggle your hips needing to feel him. Neteyam didn’t have you waiting any longer as his large hands pawed at your loincloth. Looking down at the wet spot of the material, Neteyam couldn’t help but smirk down at you, gliding his middle finger over your clothe slit causing you to whimper from desire. “Did I do this, yawne?” His teasingly finger circled around your heat making you squirm into the dirt, letting out a high-pitch moan that sent birds flying in the air, and because of the small world that y'all were in, neither of you noticed.

“Neteyam, please.” You choked out a moan not realizing the wild look you had in your eyes. He doesn’t torture you any longer from his own needs. His hand left your heat to grab onto the soft material, unwrapping you, exposing your pretty pussy to his hungry gaze. You were glistening wet, making the man’s mouth water. “She’s so pretty.” You didn’t say anything as he crouched down bringing your legs over his shoulder taking his time kissing, biting and sucking down your thighs to reach where you needed him the most. “My pretty pussy.”

Your dirt covered hands flew through to the top of his micro braids giving them a tug. “Teyam, please I need your mouth.” He chuckled against your skin, looking up to lock eyes with you.

“Don’t worry, yawne. I got you.” He started with a sharp lick from your velvet folds, causing you to let out an airy moan keeping his head in place. Through his hooded eyes, Neteyam makes sure to watch your face as he laps up your sweetness. “Taste so good.” He closed his lips around you, spreading your folds farther apart to suck on clit.

“Oh, Eywa.” Your eyes were blinded from pleasure, your legs tightened around his head and your hands pulled at his hair harder fulling grinding back against his tongue. Between Neteyam’s salvia, and your wetness, you could feel it all drip down between your cheeks running along your tail; but you didn’t care, not with the pleasure you were receiving from your mate. “Neteyam it’s too good.” Your back arched as he moans around your sensitive bud causing your body to convulse.

His wet tongue slipped down to circle your entrance, then his arms maneuvered under your butt spreading your legs wider. His rough hands gripped onto your thighs while burying his head farther into your cunt nudging his broad nose onto your clit, swiping his tongue side to side teasing your pussy. “Oh yeah, baby. Take care of me so good.” You both didn’t know where your new found confidence came from. Maybe it was the effect of the Atkirinspxam. But hearing your praises the warrior couldn’t help but grind into the ground trying to relieve his harden cock. You noticed this instantly wanting a taste.

But you were paralyzed at the sensation of his tongue lapping at your entrance almost like he was making out with your heat. Then suddenly his finger teased your entrance only for a moment before sliding it in. More ‘oh yeah’s left your lips making Neteyam ready to bust without even being touch. You’re sounds, smell, taste; it all did something for the warrior. Knowing that you were getting off from his touch. It sure was an ego booster for sure.

His finger pumped in and out of you in a steady motion, while his tongue circled around your clit in a strange but pleasuring pattern. Truth be told, the boy was writing his name in your skin leaving his ever-lasting mark; Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan and to be even more truthful, his mind was too focused on listening to the sounds of your moans, to make sure you were enjoying yourself. So he’d forget where he was at in his own name and would just have to start over, and over, and over again.

Trust and believe you were enjoying yourself, you felt so numb from pleasure. Your back would arch then go limp as he worked you out. Your thighs were shaking, and they felt like they were on fire but you had nothing to complain about. Especially, with the way your mate was eating you out.

Then suddenly, Neteyam easily slid a second finger in your juicy heat causing you to moan like a wild animal. “Oh Teyam, that right. Fuck me so good.” You started to grind back onto his half soaked face, but his hand held you in place while he somehow buried himself more into your cunt, having you scream in ecstasy. “Neteyammmm!” The man kept to his word. He was ravishing you like this was his last meal and he was going to enjoy every thing detail about it.

Without harming, he added his last finger into your hole, stretching you out prepping you for his cock. The familiar coil and hot tension in your abdomen began to form as his fingers repeatedly hit that soft spongy surface deep within your walls. “I’m gonna-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence as he sucked harder onto your clit, making you spasm into his mouth. Your vision blurred as your whole body shook in pleasure reaching the highest peak of your orgasim . “Nete-“ broken moans left your mouth, but the man didn’t let up. He kept his tongues pace, licking you clean.

As you body stilled and you unclenched around Neteyam fingers, you felt him slowly kiss your velvet lips. “So good, Y/n. My beautiful girl. Tastes better than any food Eywa has created.” You didn’t have the strength to do anything but look down at him through your blurry eyes. Neteyam pulled out his fingers making you instantly feel empty. Hearing your whimpers, the warrior smiled cheekily, then took his fingers into his mouth licking them clean, of the juices.

“Neteyam.” Your voice became breathless as you watched him moan around your taste. “Kiss me.” He smiled down at you as he crawled over your body, pressing kisses here and there, before finally reaching your lips. Neteyam felt your shaky legs underneath him as he gave you a wet open mouth kiss.

You clenched your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you. Neteyam moaned into your mouth, letting his member rut against your lower stomach. Feeling his hard member, you slid a hand towards his loincloth, pulling at the material until it was unraveled from his body, letting his cock fall onto your warm skin. “Neteyam, I want a taste.” You mumbled against his lips making him pull back with hunger still in his dark eyes. “Please s’not fair, I don’t get a taste either.”

“I guess, I can’t fight that logic.” Neteyam laughed out cheekily, placing a peck to your lips before crawling off you, to stand on his knees, and being the gentleman he is. He helped you onto yours as well, then pushed you to sit back on your heals. Slowly, he began to stand, but very quickly realized that his legs were wobbly. He wasn’t going to show you that so instead, he grabbed your cheek in his hand to keep him steady.

The way you just loved having this man tower over you. You loved knowing he was in control, maybe it was  pathetic but you truly didn’t care. You leaned into his touch finally getting a good look of his cock. It stood tall, jerking in the air desperate for any kind of attention. Looking at the pinkish purple tip, you trailed your daze down the blue shaft. Your eyes lingered onto the fluorescent bright dots that covered his beautiful skin.

“Such a pretty cock,” you said making Neteyam moan out moving his thumb over to your lips. He pulled your bottom lip down, making you part your lips. Allowing him to pull your mouth towards his glisten tip.

Neteyam’s hand moved from your cheek, to the back of your head. You stuck out your tongue letting his cock settle itself against your tongue. As the sensitive skin felt the soft surface of your tongue, it jumped up nudging your nose. The pair of you laughed at the moment, but it was cut short from you wrapping your hand around his girth; making your hand look so small. “Yawne, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” Your cheeks flushed at his words, making Neteyam jerk his hips at the sight. “I’m the lucky one Y/n so goddamn lucky.” You loved it when Neteyam used English curse words. It was making you feel the desire build in your core.

You jerked his dick once, before bringing your hand towards your mouth to lick your palm, then you returned your hand back on his shaft. You spat onto his cock, then took his tip into your mouth sucking down, loving the sweet and musky taste, that his precum was providing you. “Fuck, babygirl. Take care of me so good.” As you jerked the bottom half of his shaft, and continued to suck, and lick his tip. You brought your other hand to wipe the juices that had ran down your inner legs, collecting it in your hand. You even brought your hand up to your cunt, collecting a pool of the salvia/cum mixture.

You pulled off the warrior with a pop, looking up at him with big eyes and a big dopey smile with flushed cheeks that Neteyam loves so much. He watched with lustful eyes as he saw the wetness in your hand. “Come on, babygirl. Don’t make me wait.” You wrapped your hand around the tip, twisting firmly down his shaft, reaching the base then gliding it back up completely soaking his cock with your juices. “Fuck.” He moaned out so you jerked his dick a few more times before tilting it up, so you could lick a line from the base of his balls, to the base of his shaft, trailing up towards his tip. You tapped the mushroom tip along your tongue a couple times before taking him in your mouth fully. “Yawne, it’s too good.”

Neteyam didn’t want to cum in your mouth. He wanted all of his semen to paint your walls. He held you in place for a brief second before pulling you off him, loving the gasping sounds that escaped your lips in a frenzy. “I need to cum inside you Y/n. I need to cum in your pussy.” His mouth went back towards your lips. “Can I do that yawne?” You moaned out nodding your head desperately, taking his thumb in your mouth swirling it around eagerly. Neteyam pulled his thumb away from your mouth to cup your face with both of his hands, then bent down to press a kiss to your swollen wet lips. “So good to me, yawne. I’m gonna prove to you why Eywa put us together.” Neteyam bite down on your bottom lip before pulling away to grab your hands in his. He kissed your cheek before pulling your queues away making you feel so empty.

“Neteyam.” You whimper out not liking that he was walking away from your line of sight to walk behind you.

“Gotta fuck out any doubt that you might have.” His hand caressed the back of your skin, slightly pushing you to lay on your stomach.

“No doubts, Teyam.” You whimper out pressing the palms of your hands against the soft mossy soil. Your cheek rested against the dirt while your hips remained in the air. He liked that response, tapping his cock against the curve of your ass you jerked back with a moan. “Neteyam, please fuck me. Fill me up.” You wiggled your hips trying to show him how desperate he made you. “You know you want to.” Neteyam dropped his head back then knelt down on his knees pressing his tip against your wet folds. “Please, Teyam. Pleassseee.”

The warrior spread your folds, to tap the tip of his cock against your clit, making you clenched around nothing. “She’s so desperate for me.” Neteyam slowly slipped his pink tip into your heat causing the both of you to moan at the sensation. “And she always takes me so good.” You didn’t know if he was talking about you or your pussy and you didn’t care.

Neteyam grabbed your queue giving it a soft tug making you arch your back to take him fully, but the man only allowed just the tip to enter your heat. He had to compose himself before pounding into you. He wanted to feel you, so he grabbed his queue from behind his shoulders, to bring it to yours preforming Tsaheylu. Both of you let out loud moans, and Neteyam finally slipped his cock deep into your warm walls, stopping when he felt that familiar soft spot within your abdomen. Your mouth opened as you felt him readjust himself to set a nice pace.

“So big.” You whisper out so quietly, thinking that Neteyam didn’t heard you; but he did. It made his member throb from need, even with it being buried deep inside of you.

“And all yours, yawne.” His hands gripped onto your hips as he began to pound into you, in a steady pace that had you moaning like a animal in heat. “Take me so well.” Your vagina clenched around his cock, creating such a delicious friction. “That’s right, Y/n squeeze my cock again.” Of course, you listened to your mate and clenched around even tighter.

The sounds of your skin slabbing against one another echoed through the forest along with both of your sounds of pleasure. “Neteyam,” you moaned out as you felt him kiss you shoulder blade pressing himself more into you but his thrusting never stopped. He was relentless with you, and you loved every second of it. “So good. Oh, oh, oh my-” your words got caught in your throat as he slipped a hand under your body, to reach in between your legs, to rub circles onto your swollen clit.

Pleasure rippled through both of your body’s as you grinded your hips back into his thrusts. “Fuck babygirl. You feel so good.” Pounding into you, hitting that soft spot had you squeezing around him, convulsing around his thick member. “Oh yeah.” Neteyam placed his hands, on the either side of your head into the dirt while his thrusts met with your movements, causing his mind to get in his foggy state.

Your tight pussy and the way you were fucking him back had Neteyam slowly loose control. He placed kisses along the back of your neck sucking and licking your sweet skin. His hips snapped into yours with such force you could feel that familiar coil in your deep abdomen. “Neteyam,” you moaned out tightening around him again. “Take such good care of me.” Your words were muffled by sharp teeth sinking into your skin. A squeal escaped your lips making Neteyam pull away to lick his mark clean. He wanted everyone to know who you belong to.

“My babygirl’s taking me so well.” The muscles in your stomach tighten as he continued to pound into you hitting that one spot.

“Teyam, I’m so close.” Hearing the broken tones in your voice, Neteyam slid an arm around your neck, resting your chin in the junction of his arm and picked up his pace against your clit then began to slam his hips into you just a little harder, feeling his cock enter into another space in your stomach make you chock out a moan. “So full.”

Feeling the way you squeezed around him and how wet your pussy was, Neteyam was on the break of spilling his load into you, but he wanted you to cum first. “Talk to me babygirl, you almost there?” He was thrusting into you without any mercy making it so hard for you to catch a breathe. Your mouth parted while tears leaked down your closed eyes onto your flushed cheeks.

You couldn’t speak as this overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Broken moans left your mouth and you clamped down onto Neteyam’s massive length making it so hard for him to keep moving. But he just fucked into you harder chasing his own high after yours. His mouth went towards your shoulder applying another bite onto your salty skin. You moaned out as his teeth punctured into you soft blue complexion. You loved knowing he wanted everyone to know you were his. That he was proud to stake his claim on you.

Neteyam continued to rut into you, but at a much slower pace, to feel your pleasure through the bond. You both let out moans as love spread through your emotions. The warrior dropped his tight hold on your neck and his other hand slipped away from your soaked pussy. He licked away the juices before slowly caressing the back of your head to tilt your face towards his waiting lips. The kiss was sweet and it expressed so much love. Neteyam pulled away from you to see your fucked out face. Sweat and dirt littered your flushed face making something stir in Neteyam’s chest. “Yawne, you were so good for me. Took me so good.” You hummed at his words only to let out a tiny squeak as he thrusted into you slowfully before pulling out. You felt so empty, but he didn’t disconnect the bond, which you loved more than anything. Carefully, the boy laid on his side caressing his fingers over your dirty skin.

The once bright sky had darkened but with the amount of stars in the sky made it easy for the man to see the darker blue stripes on your skin, for him to trace. Neither of the Na’vi cared to wonder why these ‘stars’ were moving. You both still seemed to be in this dazed state.

Although stars were present in the sky, the lights floating above you were atokirina, or woodsprites. They were dancing around the two of you, as if in celebration of something.

“Y/n, I’m gonna let you rest for a moment then I’m gonna kiss all over your body, and make you cum for the third or fourth time tonight.” You let out an aired giggle as you turned your face to meet his still darken eyes. “Then my love,” he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead making more woodsprite’s float in a circle around the two of you. “I’ll carry you to that small waterfall by that area where you completed your first hunt, and I’ll wash the dirt off you.” You moaned as he continued to press kisses on your face. “Then once your all nice and clean babygirl. I’ll make a nice area for us to rest by the water cause I know how peaceful water sounds are for you.” Finally, Neteyam pressed his lips to yours desperately trying to show you how much love he has for you. “I was made for loving you, Y/n.”

“Neteyam, I was the one who was made for loving you.” Before you could react, you and Neteyam both jerked your heads to look down at your bodies, feeling the light touches of Atokirina jumping on your skin. The overwhelming feeling washed over both of you as you watched the woodsprites jump from each other's bodies.

As you both turned away from the seedlings to look into each other's eyes, it was a beautiful feeling knowing that you found your person. Your eyes remained open as you leaned into each other for a simple kiss, then pulled away to savor the moment. You understood what Eywa was saying and what she wanted you to see. It was right in front of you, in the form of a mighty warrior.

Not gonna lie idk how I feel about this guys. Let me know how you feel about this imagine.

~ Caroline

[hellsite-hall-of-fame]

Morbius (2022)

\[♪♪♪\]

\[WIND WHISTLING\]

\[BIRDS CHIRPING\]

\[THUNDER RUMBLING IN DISTANCE\]

\[WATER DRIPS ECHOING\]

\[BATS SKITTERING\]

\[HELICOPTER WHIRRING\]

\[MEN YELLING INDISTINCTLY IN SPANISH\]

We shouldn’t be here when it gets dark.

Set the trap at the mouth of the cave, please.

\[MEN SPEAKING IN SPANISH\]

\[WINCES\]

PILOT: You need a doctor?

\[CHUCKLES SOFTLY\]

I am a doctor.

It’s impressive, don’t you think?

Vampire bats weigh almost nothing, but they can down a creature nearly ten times their size.

\[FLIES BUZZING\]

Wow.

What are you using as bait?

You volunteering?

Leaving.

\[TRAP CLANKS\]

Pay me now.

Before the sun goes down.

You throw in that bushcrafter on your belt and we have a deal.

\[♪♪♪\]

\[GROANS SOFTLY\]

\[ALL CHITTERING\]

\[SCREECHES\]

\[BATS SCREECHING\]

\[SHOUTS IN SPANISH\]

\[YELLING IN SPANISH\]

Come on.

\[BELL TOLLING\]

\[STUDENTS LAUGHING, CHATTERING\]

Move!

\[TICKING\]

\[CAR HORN HONKS\]

NICHOLAS: Should be able to take better care of you here.

\[CAR DOOR CLOSES, CAR DRIVES AWAY\]

Everyone’s here to help you.

Michael, this is Lucian. Lucian, Michael.

Michael knows more about this place than I do.

\[WHISPERS\] Play nice.

LUCIAN: Hello.

Hello, Milo.

My name’s Lucian.

The person who was here before was Milo.

No.

He was also the new Milo.

And before him was the other new Milo.

I don’t even remember the first Milo.

How long have you been here?

Long as I can remember.

\[MACHINE BEEPS AND WHIRS\]

And you’re still not cured?

There is no cure.

There’s something missing from our DNA.

Like a piece of a puzzle.

And until they find it, the only way to stay alive is an oil change three times a day.

What would you do if you could be normal?

Just for an hour?

I don’t think about it.

Hey, look at the freaks! Look at them!

\[STUDENTS CHATTERING, LAUGHING\]

Best not to be outside when school gets out.

Like the original Spartans, we are the few against the many.

\[BEEPING\]

Milo?

Milo?

\[ALERT BUZZING\]

Nurse?

\[♪♪♪\]

\[WHISPERS\] Okay…

\[BEEPS AND WHIRS\]

Lucian.

Lucian!

With one of these?

It took a team of scientists to build that machine and you fixed it with a ballpoint pen?

There’s a school for gifted children in New York.

I think that I could get them to agree to cover your tuition and provide private care to help manage your condition.

Somewhere you could study, learn, hone your skills.

You have a gift, Michael.

I don’t think I could forgive myself if I saw it go to waste.

MICHAEL: “Dear Milo, this isn’t goodbye. I’m gonna find a cure for us, so we can be cranky old men someday. Your friend, Michael.

P.S. You shouldn’t have unfolded this. Now you’ll never get it back together. See you this summer.”

No.

\[STUDENTS CHATTERING\]

“Dear Milo…”

\[ALL LAUGH\]

Please, can I have my letter back?

What?

Please, can I have my letter?

Okay. Here.

\[LAUGHS\]

Please. Ah!

\[SHOUTS\] Please!

\[BOYS LAUGHING\]

Please!

\[YELLS\]

Stop.

\[GROANING\]

\[BOYS GRUNTING\]

\[NICHOLAS YELLS IN SPANISH\]

Go away!

\[SIREN WAILS IN DISTANCE\]

Let me have a look. Let me have a look.

\[SCREAMS\]

He tried to steal my letter!

Milo, Milo, stop.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

\[CRYING\]

What about Milo?

I’ll look after Milo.

He needs me.

NICHOLAS: Michael Morbius completed his doctorate by 19 and quickly established himself as the world’s leading authority on blood-borne diseases.

His development of artificial blood has saved more lives than penicillin.

Michael Morbius, please step forward to acknowledge the receipt of your prize from His Majesty, the King of Sweden.

\[AUDIENCE APPLAUDING\]

\[TRUMPETERS PLAY FANFARE\]

ANNA: I can’t believe you dissed the king of Sweden.

The king and the queen, their loyal subjects, all of Scandinavia and the entire scientific community.

Yeah, but who does that?

Well, Anna, we both know I have issues.

But, hey, I kept the program.

\[TONE SOUNDS, THEN WOMAN SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY OVER PA\]

\[KNOCKS\] There you are.

Hey, Dr. Bancroft.

Hey, Anna.

We going to play?

Oh, I don’t think so.

See, now that Dr. Morbius is back, maybe you should try losing for a while, see how that feels.

MICHAEL: Not gonna happen.

Michael.

Uh, yes?

You got a minute?

Of course.

New one. For your collection.

\[WHISPERS\] Dr. Morbius is in trouble.

I’m in trouble.

MARTINE: “I can’t accept a prize for the by-product of a failed experiment.”

Lab 1.

Front page, “American Scientist Rejects Nobel Prize.”

You know that people actually like writing checks to Nobel laureates?

Makes them feel better about their investment.

It would help if you stuck around long enough to cash them.

\[GROANS\]

You’re pushing yourself too hard.

\[SIGHS\]

Does our generous benefactor, Milo, know what you’re actually doing here?

What am I actually doing here?

Remixing human DNA with bat DNA.

I have no idea what you’re…

Talking about?

Is anything ringing a bell?

No bells ringing. Uh…

Okay. Maybe this will jog your memory.

MICHAEL: I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.

\[BATS SCREECHING\]

That is a…

It’s a fish tank.

Hmm.

Like, for… flying mammals.

Oh, I see.

Some friends I brought back from Costa Rica.

So when were you gonna tell me?

More importantly, how did you get my pass code?

It’s the first six digits of pi backwards.

It’s your password for everything.

You should change that.

You could lose your license for this.

I’m not gonna need it much longer, doctor.

You, on the other hand, will.

You know, there’s something called “plausible deniability.”

You should be thanking me.

These are the only mammals on Earth that have evolved to feed exclusively on blood.

So in order to drink it, these bats produce saliva that contains unique anticoagulants.

So your theory is, if you can successfully splice vampire genes into your DNA, it would allow your body to produce those same anticoagulants.

MICHAEL: Yes.

It would be a cure.

At what cost?

The fusion of different species is a legacy we already carry in our bodies.

Viruses insinuating their nucleic acid onto our own over hundreds of thousands of years.

That’s evolution. This is different.

I don’t think it is.

We have to push the boundaries, take the risks.

Without that, there is no science.

No medicine.

No breakthroughs at all.

\[MACHINE BEEPING\]

\[CHIMES, THEN BEEPING SOFTLY\]

Okay.

\[RECORDER BEEPS\]

Test subject for cell combination 117.

\[MOUSE SQUEAKING\]

\[BEEPS\]

Come on, come on, come on.

\[SQUEALING\]

\[RECORDER BEEPS\]

\[SIGHS\] Test subject 117 has resulted in…

failure.

\[RECORDER BEEPS\]

I don’t wanna see you get hurt.

I should’ve died years ago, Martine.

Why am I still alive if not to fix this?

To save my best friend, Milo.

And everyone else like us.

Not like this.

Dr. Morbius, it’s Anna.

\[♪♪♪\]

\[MONITORS BEEPING RAPIDLY\]

\[PANTING\]

Her temperature’s spiking, and her kidneys are shutting down.

We have to induce a coma before she has a stroke.

A hundred milligrams of propofol.

NURSE: Sure.

MARTINE: Now.

Come on.

MICHAEL: It’s okay.

It’s okay. We got you.

There you go.

There you go.

Thank you, nurse.

We’re gonna let you sleep a bit.

Take a nice long nap.

\[MONITOR BEEPING STEADILY\]

\[SQUEAKING\]

Michael.

What?

It worked.

\[♪♪♪\]

\[CLOCK CHIMES\]

Dr. Michael Morbius.

\[IN NORWEGIAN\] Some crippled guy’s here to see the Boss.

MILO: Michael! Get over here!

\[IN NORWEGIAN\] As long as I am a cripple you’ll be fine.

♪ Stop dreaming Of the quiet life… ♪

You’re late. I was trying out this new thing called “working.”

Oh, yeah. I don’t believe I’m familiar with the word.

I don’t believe you are.

So, what’s up with the goon squad?

Oh, I won a hand of cards against some Russian gentlemen.

Apparently they found his luck improbable.

There you are.

More like impossible.

So, doctor, how is our favorite patient?

Still determined to make his short life even shorter?

Yes, I am. Anyway, you’re one to talk.

You look terrible. Look at the state of you.

Says the man wearing… What is that, a quilt?

Oh, sorry. I didn’t get the memo to dress for a funeral.

\[LAUGHS\]

\[CHUCKLES\]

Right. I will see you later.

And you… my door is always open.

We miss you at Horizon.

We could use your mind.

I’ll leave you two to your fun.

Bye, Nicholas.

I have some good news.

Let’s go for a walk.

How’s Martine doing these days?

Dr. Bancroft? She is, uh, overqualified, outperforming, brilliant as usual.

And a royal pain in my ass.

But she’s keeping me honest for the most part. Why do you ask?

Eh, no reason. Just haven’t seen you in forever.

I wondered if she had something to do with it.

Aw, I miss you too.

But, yes, she has been working with me to save our lives.

I could ask her to stop if you like, put us out of our misery.

Just don’t do something stupid and go and fall in love because, believe you me, there is absolutely no cure for that.

Says the guy who knows absolutely nothing about the subject.

Not true.

I read about it in books all the time.

Books, really? Wow.

Yeah.

Or romantic comedies. The point is…

The point is, love is not on the cards for us, my friend.

Listen, if you start quoting The Notebook to me, I am going to stop and hobble very slowly in the opposite direction.

\[LAUGHS\]

Throw it!

MICHAEL: I’m close, Milo.

I can feel it.

A cure.

It’s finally possible.

Seriously?

Highly experimental.

Ethically questionable.

Very, very, very expensive.

I knew that was coming.

And not exactly legal.

Oh, and it has to be done in international waters.

\[LAUGHS\]

You were always expensive.

Is it dangerous? Should I be worried?

You want me to lie to you?

That would be nice, yes.

It’s a walk in the park on a sunny day.

Oh, yeah, that bad, eh?

Listen.

We don’t have much time left.

This could be our last chance.

So, what do you say?

We go out with a fight?

\[SIGHS\]

Yeah.

You with me?

Till the day you die, brother.

Till the day you die. You’ll have everything you need.

We’re the original Spartans, mate.

The few against the many.

Yeah.

\[♪♪♪\]

\[INDISTINCT CHATTER OVER RADIO\]

You know, I’m sure you’re cheating.

No. No, you’re not.

What you got?

MICHAEL: Putting another one in the oven.

Wish me luck.

\[CHIMING\]

The moment of truth.

\[CHIMES AND BEEPS\]

Success, Martine. We did it.

It’s holding together.

\[RECORDER BEEPS\]

Test 243.

\[INHALES DEEPLY\]

Human trials.

\[RECORDER BEEPS\]

\[EXHALES SHARPLY\]

I’m glad it’s you.

Had a lot of other suitors, didn’t you?

Yeah.

You know, the whole near-death thing is very, very chic.

I read it in Cosmo.

\[LAUGHS\]

Do they still make Cosmo? I don’t know.

I know it’s just what you always wanted.

Could be a collector’s item one day, you never know.

This better not be my last one.

I know this is painful, but you got it.

\[GROANS SOFTLY\]

That’s it. Bingo.

Right there.

\[SHUSHES\]

\[GROANS\]

Almost there, almost there.

\[EXHALES SHARPLY\]

\[SHUSHES\]

It’s all right. Come on. Come on.

There you go.

\[GROANS SOFTLY\]

You can buckle me up.

Yeah.

Yeah.

You all right? Great.

\[♪♪♪\]

\[ELECTRICITY CRACKLES\]

I call.

Bringing out the big guns.

Let’s go again.

I’ll be back. I’m gonna check on the doctor.

All right.

\[MONITOR BEEPING\]

\[DOOR CLANGS OPEN\]

You shouldn’t be down here.

I can be wherever I want, nurse.

It’s “doctor,” actually.

\[SNICKERS\]

I’m afraid you’re gonna have to leave.

Doctor. Sure, I can see it.

But, uh, you’re still the help, just like me.

Wow.

You can tell all that by just looking at me, huh?

Here I thought you were just another jacked-up dumb shit.

\[LAUGHS\]

Get out.

\[ALERT BLARING\]

Michael?

\[GUN COCKS\]

\[METAL CLANKS\]

Michael?

Where is he?

\[METAL CLANKS\]

Don’t move.

\[ROARS\]

What the hell?

Everybody down to the lab now.

\[WALKIE BEEPS\]

Roger that.

\[GRUNTS\]

Don’t shoot!

\[ALARM BLARING\]

Michael!

\[FOX GROANING\]

Stop!

\[GROWLS\]

Michael.

\[GROWLS\]

It’s just me.

\[ALARM BLARING\]

It’s just me.

\[POUNDS ON GLASS\]

Michael, please.

Michael, stop!

Stop! Please!

You’re hurting yourself! Stop!

Hey! Step back! Move!

Stop. Put that gun down…

Move!

\[GROWLING\]

\[GROANS\]

\[SCREAMS\]

\[YELLS\]

Shit. Close it! Close it!

What the hell is that thing?

\[♪♪♪\]

\[ROARS\]

Fall back! Fall back!

Shit.

MAN 1: Let’s move.

MAN 2: Go, go, go!

\[GROANS\]

Johnny!

\[GRUNTING\]

\[SCREAMS\]

\[MORBIUS GROWLS\]

Get out of here!

MAN \[OVER RADIO\]: Sweeping Level 3.

Jason, come in.

Jason. Jason?

\[SCREAMS\]

Oh, shit.

Son of a bitch!

\[GROANS\]

Shit! Oh!

Oh, shit!

\[HIGH-PITCHED SCRAPING\]

\[GROANS\]

\[GAGGING\]

\[MORBIUS GROWLS\]

\[PANTING\]

\[SCREAMS\]

\[ROARS\]

\[GASPS\]

\[♪♪♪\]

\[BREATHING HEAVILY\]

Martine.

Martine.

\[HEART BEATING STEADILY\]

\[WHISPERS\] Oh, my God.

\[VOMITS\]

\[GROANS\]

\[BREATHING HEAVILY\]

\[FEEDBACK OVER RADIO\]

Mayday, mayday, mayday.

This is the LCV Murnau.

Call letters 3-X5Y.

We are 13 nautical miles off the coast of Long Island.

Request immediate airlift.

Repeat, this is the LCV Murnau.

Mayday, mayday, mayday.

\[♪♪♪\]

It’s up here to the right.

\[PEOPLE CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY\]

FBI Agent Stroud. Can we have the room, please?

RODRIGUEZ: You heard the man. Can we please have the room?

If you could start exiting, that’d be fantastic.

Well, we haven’t had anything this good since that thing in San Francisco.

Uh, eight bodies, running IDs right now, but apparently they all shop at the same mercenary supply store.

Uh, one survivor, a Dr. Martine Bancroft.

Can we talk to her?

If she wakes up.

Uh, she fell down and hit her head, apparently.

Anything else?

Someone made a mayday call.

Not Dr. Bancroft.

Nope.

It was a male, didn’t identify himself, then wiped all the surveillance footage.

SIMON: He grew a conscience and jumped overboard?

It happens. Oh, and get this.

All the bodies that you’re looking at are nearly drained of their blood.

So, what hunts at night and drinks human blood?

You’re gonna love this.

REPORTER: Early this morning an unmanned cargo ship was discovered near the eastern tip of Long Island with multiple bodies on board.

Authorities are not making any comment at this time.

But there are reports of one survivor, and we have learned from a high-ranking Coast Guard official that the vessel was flying a Panamanian flag when it drifted in from international…

What’s happened?

Some kind of accident.

How’s your pain today? On a one to ten?

Eleven.

\[TONE SOUNDS, THEN MAN SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY OVER PA\]

\[MONITOR BEEPING STEADILY AND VENTILATOR HISSING\]

\[TONE SOUNDS, THEN MAN SPEAKING INDISTINCTLY OVER PA\]

\[WHISPERS\] I’m sorry.

You’re going to be okay.

\[♪♪♪\]

here you all go!! also I did have to read though this whole thing to make sure it wasn’t anything bad because I actually didn’t know what Morbius was lmao and idk if this is even the whole script (also i’m so incredibly sorry to everyone…. including myself, bc my phone is glitching so badly trying to post this)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’m probably asking too much with this one, but if you’re willing to may I request a second part to see no evil? Where price and reader deal with the aftermath of what happened, just price being overprotective and worried about reader and not wanting to leave her side snd somehow blaming himself for what happened to her, you’re the best💖

Origami Boats

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Wounds of the mind are harder to heal than wounds of the body. But can John ever stop blaming himself?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Referenced past stalking, past injuries & bodily trauma, blood, stitches, angst, protective!Price, eventual fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N: Loosely connected to See No Evil, can still be read as a stand-alone. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The bandages came off one after the other, but the thick wrappings around your ribs and abdomen stayed. Tight. Constricting. Incredibly difficult to walk around with and even worse to try and sleep on. But the stitches still hadn’t dissolved yet—and thus, there they would stay for two more weeks. 

“Erm,” you grunt, struggling into one of John’s old t-shirts and feeling the pull of irritated flesh. Gritting your teeth, your head slips through the top, arms following after like a turtle popping out of its shell as the scent of your boyfriend’s beard oil sticks to your nostrils. 

You’d been discharged from the hospital seven days ago; John as well, though he had been able to leave a while before due to the less severe shot to his right shoulder. No one was really surprised when he’d stubbornly proclaimed that he’d be staying behind to watch over you—the doctors and nurses had tried to intervene, though you can only sway a Captain so far from the people he cares about. 

Truth be told if he hadn’t been there you don’t know if you’d be as alright as you were now. 

“What did I say about straining yourself?” The voice in the bedroom doorway makes you freeze, fingers twitching as a swift inhale causes your lungs to burn. 

But the shadow, accented by the hallway light like a silhouette of some old spartan warrior was familiar down to the make-up of his bones. The great size of a wide chest and shoulders—a brunette beard and thick hair. 

“It’s a shirt, John,” you whisper, voice still fragile. Doctors had advised it was unwise to raise your tone too high. Muscle tears and injuries to the joints in between your vertebrae were only the beginning of the effects of being strangled. It leads to dizziness some days; facial pain as well as horrible headaches. Smiling, you flatten the fabric and turn. “I won’t break.”

“Hm,” John comes out of the light, stoic facial features subdued in your presence. “Never said you would.” 

His warm grip finds your waist, pulling you carefully to him. The man’s shoulder was still sensitive, nothing he’d not gone through before, but Laswell had insisted on him taking Leave. John wasn’t going to say no. Not when it gave him more time to care for you. 

He breathes into you now, a great heaving sigh that echoes off the walls of the far-removed safehouse that he’d secured for the two of you. 

“You should be in bed. It’s early.” John’s large head nuzzles into yours, and your fingers delve under the loose material of his top, content to flatten your hand over his abdomen and feel the heat of blood. A pulse. 

Your digits massage the flesh slowly, and if the Brit could purr he would.

Rolling your eyes at his muffled comment you huff, “I spend too much time in bed. If you had your way you’d have me anchored to it.” 

The short bout of deep chuckles makes your eyes flicker shut in contentment; fingers go over the back of your spine, filtering over the bulge of wrappings. 

“Negative. I quite enjoy seein’ my girl up and about.” Great muscles move as John pulls back, hand cupping your cheeks. You stare up into his baby blue eyes; shade like a storm at sea with flecks of lighting trapped like mist. His gaze flickers over your old cuts—the tiny ones from pieces of glass that had healed incredibly fast. An expression filters over his face so quickly you nearly miss it as it’s gone the next second. John sighs, speaking lowly. “But you need to heal, eh? Keep your strength.”

“Then I suppose it would be the perfect time to tell you I want to walk around the back trail?” Your digits grip his iron wrists softly, thumbs along the backs as they brush back and forth as if his scarred flesh was made of the most expensive silk. 

John’s lips tighten, eyes going half-narrowed in a display of refusal. You’re the only person who he’d let interrupt him, and just so, you do before he can get a word out.

“Ten minutes.” You tilt your head and kiss his palm—hopeful that your wide, melted, eyes will gain favor. The Brit's frown deepens with a pull of his eyebrows, watching downward as his hips trade weight. You lean closer. “I promise.” 

The house holds its breath.

“...You’ll be the end of me, you will.” It’s a grumbled reply of gravel and gargoyle speech, but the blue that darts away to your shoes in contemplation was a sign you’d already won. 

John could never really say no to you.

Carefully giggles wafted through the open bedroom door, carting over the living room where books and loose paper sit in piles on a coffee table; a week’s worth of activities used to pass the time shown in the dented pillows on the couch. A collection of fresh bandages and gauze in the bathroom. Cleaned plates in the kitchen and forks sitting to dry in the sink, dripping water in the bright light of a morning filled with orange and yellow light. 

The Captain pulls a hand away, jokingly pointing it into your face—though his face was serious. You stare with a wide smile. 

“Ten minutes on the back trail. First limp I see I’m carrying you back. Willing or not.”

“Deal.” You slither out of his hold and hurry out the hallway, ignoring the stern call to be careful from behind you. 

You’d been unable to leave the safehouse for more than a breath of fresh air since being discharged—John himself an ever-present shadow to hold onto your elbow as if a bolder would come and take your legs out. This switch-up wasn’t a surprise to you. 

A Captain is still a Captain, on and off the field. He takes care of his own; it was his nature to be protective of the people he loved. Even if John was injured himself and stayed up at night with a sharp eye on the windows and doors. 

“Easy with it!” Blue eyes stare heavily at the wall outside the bedroom door, ears twitching to the sound of shoes being grabbed and small puffs of exerted air. 

John let his lashes flutter over his cheeks, a hand coming up to rub at the bags that live on his face like black and blue bruises. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been pushing his defense of you to another level—some nights he never fell asleep because the house was settling too much; creaks on the floor or flickering from the hallway’s bathroom light that he keeps on. 

But you’d been hurt because he had been too late. Nearly bled out. 

“Christ…” John sighs, hand going to brush his bloated shoulder. The reminder of the bullet going through his flesh was but a distant memory like all the others, though the feeling of your dead weight in his arms as he crashed to the ground would never leave him. Like a mountain on his chest. A curse. 

He could feel your heartbeat….slowing. Failing like a faulty wire. 

His fault.

“John?” Your voice snaps him back—away from pouring rain and a blood-stained puddle on soggy ground. The Captain tilts his head downward and lightly shakes it, glaring at the floor. “Come on! Maybe we can see some of those birds we’ve been hearing.” 

“Yes, Love.” 

Laswell had given him the location of the most rural safehouse she could under the guise of saying it would help get your mind off of everything. The paranoia of being hunted down in the very city you’d lived in for years like an animal. 

As John exited the bedroom and he made his way to the foyer, he silently blessed the Agent with every fiber of his being. Not only did the smile on your face make his own aches and pains fade but this also gave him the opportunity to look for a new house for the two of you to share. No way was he making you go back to the location where crimson was still soaked into the hardwood and brain matter was stuck to the walls. 

That just wasn't an option.

“Eager, then?” A flicker of a grin peels back his beard as he grabs a light jacket and his beanie from the coat rack. You only grab into the meat of John’s arm and drag him outside, shouldering open the door with delicate giggles as your eyes watch the brunette’s grunt of surprise and widening lids.

The sun streams with new dawn; long grass copper in a fire of translucent wisps and a fog that stays ankle-high. Flowers in shades of deep mauve and the color of the old blue teapot that sits on the kitchen counter—delicate petals that corral a dirt path and trap the car in the natural driveway. 

“C’mon!” You say again, not brushing off the arms that grab your waist and help you down the double steps, but still throwing an exasperated glare into a pair of eyes that narrow right back amusingly. 

An infection of joy hits your heart and you’re laying a peck on John’s nose right as his cheeks go red, eyebrows peeling upwards. Loftiness reminiscent of flying lays a sheen over his gaze and a hum of content meets morning-chilled air. 

“Hmm. You missed.” 

“Oh,” your head tilts, the Captain guiding you slowly down the road where the walking trail extends back into a fairly extensive copse of trees. “Did I?” 

Leaning into his chest as he grunts in mock annoyance, your head nudges into John with a heat on the tips of your ears; laughing softly as the scents of dew and dirt get trapped in your nostrils. This far out from the city, you wonder how you ever lived with the sound of cars and construction. People shouting over one another.

A pair of lips meet your scalp, feeling adoring eyes stuck to your form as the trees shroud you in a nymph’s shadow. Delicate footprints walking over the same ground. 

“Everything feelin’ alright?” John asks a few minutes in, maneuvering you around a fallen log as you stare off and watch a pair of Roe deer disappear into the foliage, black eyes for a moment locking with your own. 

A distant nod is all you give, blinking and re-focusing only to find the leaves rustling from a fleeing body of coarse reddish-brown fur. You turn to John, admitting, “Just a little sore. You?”

“We’ll head back in a bit, eh?” The hand on your waist squeezes carefully for a second, only dull thumps of blood making themselves known to your vulnerable state. “Change the bandages and fix breakfast.” 

Staring up at John you’re about to ask how his own shoulder is—as he’d totally glossed over your concern—when you see it just past his visage. Your feet slow to a stop and automatically your Lover’s does as well, sending a concerned gleam your way. 

“Love?” Your lips pull into a tight frown. 

Across the way, placed into a small patch of creeping sunlight and surrounded by the long arms of ferns sits a single growth of flowering orchids. They were white, glowing nearly with how they caught the rays. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to respond the way you did, your arms coming up to wrap your chest and body going to drop a few degrees, but wounds of the mind weren’t as easy to heal as the physical ones. Perhaps that was another reason Laswell had shown her insistence. The country meant quiet; peace. 

But no one could account for a fear of flowers. Specifically white orchids.

John’s head immediately snaps to where you look, body tense, but when his eyes fall to the small plant his thoughts go back to the flora you’d described getting at work. 

The ones that always kept coming week after week. The cards stuck to a small metal holder with red ink poems. 

Lightly pushing you back, your body is enshrouded in a jacket quicker than you can breathe down stiff breaths; the weight forming on your shoulders. It had to be more than a coincidence then, that the smell of rain clouds came in from the North as John tries to calm you.

Rainstorms and flowers. 

Your chest was burning as a hand captured your cheek, dragging back your black-shrowded vision like a wave. Mouth dry and limbs shaking.

“Hey,” John whispers, gruff but patient. 

“It’s alright.” Your fingers tighten over the coat sides, drawing comfort from the familiar scents of oil and smoke. “I’m okay, John. R-really.”

Blue eyes flicker over yours and lips fall into a still line as a pause leaves the bushes dancing in a fast breeze. A stiff inhalation lets you know what the man thought of your blatant lie.

“Just look at me, copy? I’m right here, Sweetheart.” A quiet sigh caresses your flesh. The sound makes your nose sting, heat trapped around your neck and pulsing in your abdomen that borders on painful. “We’re both right here. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

You nod weakly, feet almost wobbly with a horrible rush of adrenaline. Your stomach flips like a roller coaster.

John’s eyebrows crease tightly, and he’s guiding you back down the trail with a hand on your back not milliseconds later. A final comment trapped on his breath as you shove yourself into him for comfort. 

“Bloody count on it, alright? Not while I’m still standing.” 

But his hand can still feel you shaking, and the small droplets of rain pelting the ground only make it worse. No thinking, he drops his beanie on your head as well to keep your head dry, hurrying you back as he glares at his feet with a stone jaw. 

So much for fresh fuckin’ air. 

Poison eyes turn behind him to find stark white entrapped by green. If looks could light fire…

Back at the house, you fiddle with your fingers on the couch, wrapped in a thin linen blanket John had found in one of the closets—subtly flinching at the pound of rain as clinking cups echo from the kitchen. You catalog the scars over your flesh. The long and crude ones from glass; circular blemishes near your wrists from burst blisters and desperate struggling. 

John watches from the doorway, tea tray in his hands and wound muscles that leave his digits clenching over it like a vise. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought, that you should have to feel like this. Having to relearn your own skin like it was a foreign entity clothing you; a new shirt or a pair of pants. Fibers of strung injuries that intertwine to weave a story that he can’t but blame himself for. 

If he’d just gotten home quicker than he…

“John…?” He realizes he’d been staring when you tilt your head at him quizzically, those tender vocal cords still scratchy in a way that makes the Brit cringe in pain as if it was his own. Lord, the Bastard had wrapped his hands around your throat. His girl’s throat. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Sorry, Love.” He utters, avoiding your gaze as he walks over on firm feet. Clearing his throat. “Must’ve been off for a minute.” 

“...You’re not going to stay up all night again, are you?” Your question has him freezing, tray just about to hit the coffee table before John delicately lowers it the rest of the way after a swift pause. His eyes blink quickly in surprise, side-eyeing you. “You look tired.”

Your face is grim. You…you shouldn’t be concerned about him.

“Didn’t know you knew about that.” He settles, grunting before he sits back and pours you a cup of Chamomile. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“I hear you check the locks every night at twelve. Dragging yourself away from bed and coming back only to stay up and listen to every noise. Your gun is only a quick movement away on the nightstand.” Your body shifts, moving yourself to straddle the Brit’s lap and forcing his arms back to his chest. His form huffs quietly as you settle, eyes locking on his wrapped shoulder and the shirt that lets white peak from behind textile. “Don’t try and act like I’m not seeing it for what it is.” Tone drops, and the walls of the house close in with dim lights; fingers flinching forward with every pitter-patter of droplets from beyond the barriers. “You… you don’t answer me when I ask how you’re feeling. It’s like…you’re punishing yourself.” 

“I’m—” John cuts himself off, silently baffled at how much you noticed. He had thought he was being discreet. A minute later and the weight on his chest is crushing him, eyes closing with a harsh sigh and causing his head to shake back and forth; his neck craning to the side. 

You stare in agony, fingers going to brush John’s beard and calling him back to you like a ghost of smoke and calluses. “Please, John, don’t blame yourself for this. I can’t stand it anymore.” 

“My job was to protect you.” He speaks like he’s confessing sins. Head high but optics stuck to your neck, hands going to sit on the swell of your hips as the world outside floods. Failing lights play off the strands of brown hair atop his head and you go to brush them into submission. “I couldn’t.”

Pressing your lips to his forehead, John can’t find it in himself to pull back. He falls into you with fatigued eyes and can finally admit to the burning pain in his shoulder. The sutures had been aggravated for days, but he’d never taken the time to check them. 

As if sensing this—by instinct or by startling intuition, John knew not—you pull back and tug at his shirt. Obediently, the Captain takes the article from his form and lets you unwrap the bloody gauze from the wound. He listens when you speak, shivering at the brush of your nails as they catch on his skin like a glorious knife. 

Forehead to your neck and nose under your chin, you take your free hand and push him deeper into you. 

“Your job was never to take care of me, Love. Our job is to take care of each other. And we…we’re just doing the best that we can right now.” The bandages fall to the side, and he feels your breath get caught. John’s eyes flutter shut, jaw clenching. “That’s all that we can do. That’s all anyone can do. We’re not machines—no matter what you tell yourself when you should be sleeping. What you are,” you move to look down at him, and his lid peels back just a fraction to show you cerulean and ocean storms. Smiling at him softly, your eyes are sticky with love and dripping liquid affection, “is who I want to spend the rest of my life with, John. But we have to get better first.”

He wonders how someone like you can still stand to be around him. How could you still love him? But your words do something—brings something back into focus. 

John stares with unabashed devotion. Unbridled tenderness that defines worship of the purest form. Your finger hooks his chin and he lets you move him as he stares with parted lips.

Head tilting, your opposite thumb massages red flesh until the pain lessons like it was never there to begin with. The Captain practically melts.

“Okay?” His lips softly meeting yours is all the answer you get, but it’s also all you need. 

When new bandages are re-wrapped and captivating words are exchanged in the warm lights of the living room, you find yourself stuffed into the clutch of the man’s good arm, watching his large fingers fold white paper as he hums a song under his breath. 

“What is it?” Your voice breaks the silence, calm finally settling in your bones. John wouldn’t leave you tonight, nor any night after. 

The brunette takes a glance down at you and smirks, his shirt left on the coffee table. Your blanket covers the both of you in a cocoon of warmth that the man simply exudes naturally.

“Origami boat.” John pauses his rapid movements, tilting the piece so you can see the folds and sharp edges. You blink in curiosity. “My father showed me how to make them a long time ago. Ages now. Haven't made ‘em in years.” 

“Does it work?” A small sound echoes from the back of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Not a clue. Let's see then, shall we, Love?” 

Standing on the porch, you watch John’s form get soaked as he carries the small object to the stream at the end of the road, laughing gleefully when his re-situated shirt gets stuck to his skin and shows off his muscles. 

Placing it down, the brunette lightly jogs back, hopping the steps and coming up to wrap an arm over you.

“Hey!” You huff, shucking off the heavy limb from your banket. “You’ll get me soaked.”

“So you don’t want my arm ‘round you, eh?” His cheeky expression makes you hold back a grin, looking away for a moment before rolling your eyes and moving under him. 

You feel his deep chest-chuckles and roll your eyes.

“You’re doing the laundry.”

“It’s rainwater, Dear.” 

“I wasn’t asking, Dear.” 

You both watch the small object as it flows down the muddy stream; white paper going gray with water as it soaks up into the microscopic fibers. For a moment it amused you to think about John and yourself on that boat. Two tiny forms like ants surrounded by a sea of roaring water, raindrops enough to capsize with only one another to help tread water. In many ways, it was hard not to imagine it. 

Your upturned lips part. 

“John?” you ask.

“Hm?” A nose digs into your scalp, fingers tightening over your hidden flesh as the flowers flinch from the downpour and nitrogen sticks to your nose hairs. He breathes you in and watches the Origami boat fall onto its side—swept away with little more than a whisper.

“We’re going to be okay.” It’s not a question. 

TAGS:

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[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

stumpy i like receiving damage from your writing so i will submit "things you said when the world was ending"

“Captain Lasky to all hands! Battle stations! This is not a drill!”

Alarms blare and emergency lights flash. The room is doused in red and the sirens wail like banshees. He drops his datapad and looks at the ceiling in horror before his coworkers' cries snap his attention back into focus. Something terrible was happening and there was no time to stand around and wait for the news to reach them.

Voices yelling in the hallways turn to screams and he ducks down behind the desk with his teammates. Clanking metal, flaring like flames walks into the room before exploding into a burst of cinders as gunfire erupts behind it. Yells echo again, this time orders to move.

This was supposed to be a safe contract. The Infinity had an army onboard! and Spartans!

But now things out of his nightmares were teleporting onto the ship! At least the aliens boarded via the hangars, but this new hell had Esparza scared out of his mind. He followed a handful of others being hustled from the crew quarters towards any place with armed comrades. They were sitting ducks otherwise.

Marines corral the unarmed crew members to whatever passed for safety as their flying fortress is boarded by machines that can ghost past their defenses. Esparza follows them to parts of the ship he's never seen before. He usually stayed in engineering and his brain is in overdrive as adrenaline floods his system.

His eyes see nothing and everything, fixating on the way the doors are too big and the way his brain cannot remember which hallway they took to get here. Blurred vision and detailed memories mix in his mind as his heart beats rabbit-quick.

They're hustled quickly into some kind of communications room. A holotable sits with it's display updating in real time as ships approach the Infinity. The marines nod to a Spartan and then turn back to the hallway, already moving towards their next objective.

A Spartan. A real Spartan, kitted out in the legendary armor, is in the room with them. He can't help the nervous exhale as his nerves calm and his shoulders drop a fraction of a millimeter from around his shoulders.

The Spartan is focused, eyes glued to the multiple screens at his station. He offered them a nod as the contractors had been shepherded in and dropped off like lost sheep.

Esparza watches him in lieu of watching the door or straining his ears to hear the not-so-distant sounds of battle.

“Roland, sitrep on our invaders.” The Spartan asks.

“Prometheans appearing all over the ship. No means to stop them at the moment.”

The Spartan takes the info in stride and shifts to the teams under his command. He radios pilots and Spartan Fireteams and reacts faster to this mess than Esparza can even respond. Things might be okay, his brain traitorously thinks too early.

God or Roland must hear him because then a warning comes across the live feed. “Spartan Miller, you’ve got Prometheans near Ops command!”

Esparza's heart stutters and someone next to him grabs at him. There's a flutter of nervous gasps as their Spartan, Spartan Miller simply nods and keeps working.

“Acknowledged, Roland. I’ve got my sidearm in hand.” He does. It looks like a toy in his hand.

Esparza wants to laugh. It's such a funny gun for a Spartan to have. He's seen the super soldiers from a distance. Larger than life, looking like automatons. He's seen more marines and helljumpers up close, and they had rifles that could take down the killer robots faster than the sidearm could.

Spartan Miller turns to the civilians huddled in the corner and walks towards them. His brow unfurrows and his face softens enough to look almost sheepish as he gestures for them to move to the other side of the holotable and further away from the door.

Esparza studies him. Miller is younger than he thought. Seeing him this close, without a helmet, reminds him of people he's lost, of what he's seen. The manic fear sours into a deeper grief and near-acceptance about what's coming.

Their eyes meet and Miller's face hardens again, back to business, but he watches Esparza.

Something explodes onscreen behind him and the civilians flinch. Miller looks over his shoulder and smiles. "That's Crimson for you, they're on their way home to help us clean up this mess."

Esparza feels his face shift into something incredulous as helmet cams show a battle that looks more like a light-show than what he's seen. Miller catches him and the smile broadens. "They're some of our best." He gets serious again and holds up the sidearm Esparza was judging earlier. "This is the M6H, it takes a few rounds to get through Promethean shielding, but after that they pop easy. Anything tries to come through that door isn't getting further than me."

Esparza finds himself nodding. He joins his fellows and braces for whatever comes next.

“Murphy?” Miller touches the comm device in his ear and nods back at Esparza. Whatever intel he gets must be good, or maybe he's being brave because he smiles at him again. It seems real enough that Esparza's stomach stops doing flips.

The Spartans are here. Maybe things would be okay.

[poptartportfolio]

He thought it'd be relatable, Sarge!

[thelvadams]

Spartan Dinh in HALO INFINITE SEASON 3: ECHOES WITHIN

[morganas-pendragons]

the night will be over soon | the master chief

I have used this title before. Don't judge me. And I also remember approximately none of Halo Four, so forgive me if some of the nods to that in this are not accurate LOL

Anyway, this is for @empresskadia -- the whole plot is entirely her idea. I just saw it and went ''oh I could kill writing this'' so here I am! hurt/comfort incoming! I just changed a tiny bit of this to match the overall idea I was going for here.

@embarrassedauthornerd @lialacleaf

***

Things are out of focus. Blurry. Hard to remember. The only things that John can recall are the hue of Cortana outside the pod, the cold, and the darkness.

And your screaming. It was the last thing he recalled when The Arbiter pulled you towards him - a silent request from The Master Chief to keep you safe that he somehow understood - as The Forward Unto Dawn split in two.

It's been four years. John is very accustomed to it now. The dark, the cold, the dreams. At least the dreams are pleasant.

Your reality, however? Not so much.

They start you off with the augmentations. You can barely believe you've made it here, conscripted to be a Spartan Four.

You hadn't even met the majority of Blue Team until they'd intercepted you on The Infinity not long after you had been brought aboard. Kelly knew who you were almost immediately upon reading your file. Blue hadn't even met you yet. She'd heard rumors about your involvement with the Chief, and due to intimately knowing John's heart, she'd taken it upon herself to be your silent guardian.

John had lost enough. He didn't need to lose the one person he genuinely loved.

"You think this is the one?"

"Oh yeah," Kelly and Fred looked upon the digital file of your face in the debrief room of the Infinity. All of the data in your file pointed to you being heavily involved with The Master Chief and the Arbiter during the Human Covenant War. "That's them."

Lasky had been the one to convince you to stay. You were content to just.. disappear. It would've been easier to deal with John being gone if you just went away inside.

Dreams were more pleasant than reality. And they most often reared their ugly head when you were in the midst of the augmentations.

You remember many a night that Cortana had drawn you to his quarters when he was in the throes of a nightmare. It was fortunate you were a light sleeper anyway, because the only way you knew it was her was the incessant beeping and your door to your own quarters suddenly opening without anyone on the other side.

"Cortana?"

Nothing. You slowly got out of bed and followed the blue lights that illuminated the darkened hallway until they stopped to blink repeatedly at John's door. You paused. He was still always so hesitant to be vulnerable around you. John was not a man of words, but often actions, and being able to spill his raw and aching heart onto the floors of his bedroom is.. incomprehensible. He doesn't think himself capable of it.

You'd never forget how he looked there. Bathed in moonlight, head in his hands, desperately trying to control his uneven breathing and racing heart.

You silently approached from the doorway, settling down on your knees in front of him to take his hands into your own. You knew better than to believe he wasn't aware of your presence from the moment you'd come to the door.

Hands at your lips, you kiss each of The Master Chief's scarred knuckles, your eyes never leaving his. There's an echo of a song lingering in the humming that follows. It's familiar. Comforting. He hadn't known you could sing.

The softness there in your eyes - the humanity, something that you had been reminding him that he was capable of - was what made it just a little bit easier for John to breathe.

And brought the whole world back into focus.

***

They augment you. You become accustomed to the sound of your own screaming. You become accustomed to pain, and fear, and a deeply rooted desire to do for others what John had been doing for you for so long.

You ache for being protected. You ache for the solace of John, of his arms, of being home again. But home had disappeared four years ago. There was no going back to it.

Being a Spartan obligated you to be complacent in a world of bloodshed and war.

so much for keeping that humanity.

You familiarize yourself with the trigger. Grow used to pulling it, grow used to taking orders, grow used to excelling and succeeding. You struggle at first. They tell you that you aren't built for this. You know you aren't.

You push yourself harder. For John. To honor him.

However, little known to you, you're being watched by three guardian angels. The entirety of Blue Team has taken it upon themselves to ensure your safety. It's their way of honoring their fallen brother.

The last thing you're expecting is for them to approach you. It's well into the night, and you're running sims for the fourth hour in a row when it suddenly shuts down and you find yourself face to face with three Spartan Two's.

You jump to stand at attention. "Sir! Ma'am!"

All three remove their helmets and flash identical looks. They almost look like they're scolding you. "You don't need to salute. Not us. We're not the Chief," The male remarks playfully. "But you know that, don't you?"

"Everyone knows who you are." You reply as you point at each of them. "Fred-104, Kelly-087, and Linda-058. You're legends. What on Earth do you want with me?"

"It's not what we want," Linda interjected. "It's what you've given. We know."

Every cell of your body froze. You struggled to swallow as your blood ran cold, the memory of John's hands in your own and his lips at the crown of your head flashing at the forefront of your memory. Such a precious thing.. memories. They often make their way into your dreams.

"What do you want?" You repeated.

"We don't think John is dead. And since we don't think that, we've taken it upon ourselves to succeed in our self-appointed mission." Fred pointed a single finger at you. "Keeping you safe. Training you to be the best of the new Spartans, because we want you to be able to survive our world so you can see John again."

***

Time passed, and you left with Blue until you were called back to the Infinity. That was Fred's doing. Lasky had approved the transfer almost immediately. You found camaraderie with them. A unit.

And they did exactly what they said they would: Protected you, trained you to learn how to adapt to their world. You got good at it.

The better you got at being a Spartan, the more of your humanity you had to lose.

No one told you when John came back. No one told you when he came back, and Cortana came back, and it felt like all the air was sucked right from your lungs when Del Rio ordered you into the bridge and you found yourself staring at them both.

The memory of a night bathed in moonlight flashed before your eyes once again as you lifted your visor to meet the gold one across from you. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and all words escape you, but you can't bring yourself to look away from him.

"Master Chief," You say as firmly as possible. John is your superior officer, after all. "It is good to see you, sir."

He's beautiful. Beautiful, and here, and alive.

***

Cortana had to remind him three times that it wasn't a dream. That you were standing in front of him in Spartan armor, and that the person he'd left behind all those years ago was most definitely not the same one he was looking at now.

When you removed your helmet, his heart sank. There was a new scar on your face. Your eyes were hardened as you stood at attention for Lasky and Del Rio. What had you seen? What had you been through?

"Master Chief? We have a mission for you."

Why hadn't he been there to protect you from it?

***

Gone.

She's gone.

He trudges back to the Infinity with a heavy step and an even heavier heart after The Didact is defeated. There is nowhere to go, and no one to turn to, so The Master Chief finds himself in front of the windows overlooking the planet.

It's not the planet he's paying attention to. It's the moon.

"Chief."

Nothing. He should be paying attention because he's still required to be a soldier, but The Master Chief is very far away.

And it's usually you who ends up bringing him back.

"John." The desperate, quiet nature of the voice pleading with him to come back is what drew The Master Chief from his reverie. He's still in his armor, and the armor is the most protection he's had in four years, but the thought of being able to find sanctuary with you again is what caused him to turn around. You reached out with a waiting hand. "The night cycle will be over eventually. C'mon."

He allowed himself to be led into the darkness of your quarters aboard The Infinity. The moment that you both recognize that you're alone, you turn toward John and hesitantly reach your hands upward. He knows what this means. The two of you used to do this quite often.

John tipped his head forward, at your mercy, and allowed you to remove his helmet. Part of him was nervous that you would no longer want him the same way. That he was damaged goods.

But that hardened look he'd seen on the bridge is gone now, replaced by a gentle reverence illuminated by the moon outside as you whisper, "There you are. My Master Chief."

***

You can see the despair in his eyes the longer he traced the scars you'd obtained. John lay at your side, a singular finger tracing across your shoulder blades where the largest of the augmentation scars was.

"I should've been here. You should've never had to endure this." John confessed quietly. You didn't respond. Just the fact he was speaking his own thoughts out into the open was enough to keep you silent. His wounds are fresh. On display. With Cortana gone, and your own suffering he had not kept you from, you could tell that he blamed himself for all that had happened.

You shivered as his fingers traced the line of your hip before coming up to cup your jaw, turning your head toward him. He seemed to be most devastated about the scar on your face.

"Do you..." You swallowed the knot in your throat and leaned into the warmth of his palm. "Do you want me to tell you?"

There's a lot to tell him. A lot that you're hesitant to tell him because he carried his own demons and his own regrets and shortcomings like it was his own personal cross to bear.

So you tell him something better instead.

"I met Blue," You slide down the bed and tuck your head under his chin, wrapping both arms around his frame. "They ended up being my silent guardians for those first few years. Said they wanted to honor you by protecting me. Ended up being the primary ones who trained me" You laugh softly. "Maybe that's why I've made such a good Spartan."

Little known to you, one of the first things John had done upon returning to The Infinity was request your transfer to Blue Team. He hadn't anticipated that Kelly, Fred and Linda would find you first, much less train you.

He never wanted you to be like him. To be a soldier, to be a machine. You were too good for that. Too soft. Too human.

This wasn't what you were meant for.

Enveloped in your arms, The Master Chief slowly rubs circles into the base of your neck as your body falls limp in his embrace. He's humming something low under his breath. A song he'd forgotten he'd ever heard. It sounded like it was a memory.

Or maybe a dream.

Never mind the darkness

Never mind the storm

Never mind the blood red moon

The night will be over soon....

Hopefully your dreams are less tainted with red then his are.

[doom-dreaming]

High Flakes Combat

“Blue Lead,” Linda’s whisper cuts across TEAMCOM, crisp and several degrees colder than the icy landscape. “Hostiles approaching your position.”

Fred, tucked behind the trunk of a towering pine tree, exhales a slow, measured breath. Waiting. Listening. Without his motion tracker, only the crunch of footsteps in the snow—and Linda—could tell him when their opponents were closing in.

There. Fifteen meters out. He motions to John, positioned behind an adjacent tree. On my signal.

…ten meters…

Cover me. Go high.

…five meters…

John nods. Fred tightens his grip on his weapon.

Now.

As one, they pivot, breaching cover. Fred drops to a knee, attacking swiftly, before their adversary has a chance to retaliate.

The snowball hits Ash directly in the center of his chestplate. Active camouflage flickers briefly, then recalibrates, as the young Spartan crashes dramatically to his knees before sprawling backward, motionless.

Fred doesn’t let the theatrics distract him. The other two had to be nearby and the round wasn’t over until— A snowball whizzes past his head, followed by a sharp curse—out loud, close. He catches a shimmer of white on white as Olivia leaps to find cover and “reload,” but John is faster.

The snowball hits her thigh before she can complete her maneuver and she slides to a dejected halt in a snowbank. “Dammit! Mark!” she calls out. “You’re on your own!”

Fred doesn’t hear a verbal response. He knows he won’t, Mark’s too good to give away his position— Thwap. Fred’s vision goes fuzzy and white as Mark’s snowball connects with his visor, splattering on impact. Fred groans and flashes a red status light across his team’s HUDs. He’d be out until the next round.

“He’s on the move!” Linda barks over the comms.

Fred folds himself cross-legged into the snow and wipes his visor clean just in time to see Kelly bounding over a nearby ridge, clutching a snowball in each fist.

“I’ve got him!” She goes streaking across the snow toward a barely-visible figure—also sprinting.

Mark wouldn’t be able to outrun Kelly—a fact Fred knew the S-III was well aware of—but he was certainly trying his best.

Kelly nails Mark with both snowballs, one in the shoulder, the other in the back. He stumbles just enough that Kelly’s momentum sends her into him at full force. The clack of their colliding armor echoes like a shot as both Spartans go tumbling to the ground, sending up a minor flurry in their wake.

“Aaaaaaaand match!” Roland’s voice rings out over the simulation deck, followed by a buzzer. “Blue Team takes the win!”

“Again,” Olivia grumbles, pushing to her feet and dusting snow off her armor.

“It’s three against four,” Ash reminds her, still lying on his back a few feet from Fred.

Olivia crunches her way over and offers him a hand. “Can we make Kelly sit out the next round?”

“If you’re not having fun, leave,” John quips.

“Or maybe you should switch Kelly to our team and see how it feels,” Livi bites back, helping Ash haul himself to his feet.

“Fighting over me?” Kelly rejoins the group with Mark close behind. “I’m flattered.”

Fred chuckles. It was good to see Olivia trading barbs with John. The Gammas had warmed up to him quickly—and he to them—and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Fred was sure the S-IIIs had given him some new streaks of gray hair, but at the same time, they made him feel younger. He hoped they were having the same effect on John.

“So…” drawls a familiar voice, raised just loud enough to carry, “this is the reason my fireteams can't train today? A snowball fight.”

Every Spartan in the simulated snowscape whips toward the entrance. Commander Palmer stands at the far edge of the scene, arms crossed. She looks odd and out of place, a lone figure in a techsuit against the stark white surroundings, but no less intense than usual.

“Thought we’d try something different from the typical drills, ma’am,” Fred coughs. He’s not sure why he feels guilty; they’d requested the time and blocked out the schedule and followed protocol…even if they hadn’t said precisely what they’d be doing…

Before anyone else has a chance to speak, a snowball goes sailing over Fred’s shoulder, on a collision course for Palmer. She’s too far away to hit, but the aim is dead-accurate and it lands with a wet plap several yards directly in front of her.

Even at this distance, Fred sees her eyes narrow. The vague guilt solidifying in his gut crystallizes into ice. He knows who threw that and he’s already, reflexively, preparing for the necessary damage control—and for Linda, no less. Kelly he was used to, but Linda?

Palmer shifts her weight and fixes the seven of them with a hard stare that lasts long past the point of being uncomfortable. “Don’t go anywhere,” she eventually orders, leveling a finger in their direction. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Without leaving any opportunity for rebuttal, she turns on her heel and swiftly disappears from the deck.

Immediately, Linda’s status light starts blinking rapid-fire green across Blue Team’s HUDs. Kelly follows suit.

“Really?” Fred grumps over TEAMCOM.

“Can you blame her if it worked?” Kelly retorts.

“Yes! You’re making an assumption and setting a bad example.” He switches to his helmet’s speakers. “Gammas, don’t throw things at your commanding officers.”

“Unless you’re sleeping with them,” Kelly adds, with enough tact to keep the comment on Blue Team’s private channel.

Another green light from Linda.

Fred willfully ignores both of them.

“...we’re not in trouble, are we?” Ash removes his helmet and shakes out his hair. “To be honest…I don’t know what just happened.”

Kelly seats herself on a tree stump, legs akimbo, smugness oozing from every seam of her armor. “Palmer’s getting suited up to come play with us.”

Ash seems unconvinced but Mark shrugs. “She’ll balance the numbers. We might even start winning.”

Only Blue Team can see—and appreciate—the red light John flashes in silent response.

**********

As threatened, Palmer returns exactly ten minutes later, fully armored aside from the helmet tucked into the crook of her arm. “Okay, here’s the official story.” She strides up to the group. “We’re running an unorthodox but fully sanctioned training exercise all day.”

“I’ve cleared the schedule and put out an open invitation,” Roland chimes in. “As requested.”

Palmer nods her approval. “Figured I’d let you have your fun on the condition that the rest of us could get in on it too.” She raises an eyebrow. “Sound fair?”

“Fair enough,” Fred answers, echoing the array of green lights on his HUD. “Alright. Ground rules—we’re running blind for this, Commander. No motion trackers.”

She looks pleased. “I like a challenge.”

“If you get hit, you’re out for the round,” he continues. “Once you’re out, you can’t help anyone still standing. Round ends when a whole team goes down.” Fred nods toward the ceiling. “Roland’s keeping score.”

“Huh,” Palmer hums. “So you knew about this, too, Roland?”

“I…was informed the exercise would require a scorekeeper instead of a handler,” the AI answers, somehow managing to achieve the verbal equivalent of tip-toeing. “And I volunteered a mere fraction of my copious attention to the task.”

Palmer just rolls her eyes.

Ash clears his throat and steps forward. “If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am, we’d greatly appreciate it if you joined our team.”

“They’ve been wiping the floor with us,” Olivia adds, somewhat ruefully.

Palmer looks back and forth between Blue Team and the Gammas with a hint of a smirk. “Well.” She slips her helmet on. “Allow me to level the playing field.”

**********

And indeed, the tide began to turn. Quickly. It wasn’t that the Gammas couldn’t hold their own, but Palmer was a different flavor of ruthless and even numbers did make a difference.

Kelly, as Blue Team’s sole survivor, was in the midst of a valiant stand, but she was up against Palmer and Olivia and they were going in for the kill. Up to this point, Kelly had been relying on her speed to evade them, but Fred doubted that would be able to carry her any further.

Palmer and Livi split around the back of the snowbank Kelly had hidden behind, falling into synchronized step with each other, timing their paces perfectly. Palmer’s boots fall heavier and louder, covering Olivia’s near-silent glide around the other side.

The strategy is obvious, at least from Fred’s position of passive observation—Palmer would draw Kelly’s attention, Olivia would come up on her flank and take her out. And it would work, too…on anyone less observant than Kelly. Fred has a feeling she’ll see right through it. But one of them was going to hit her either way, so it didn’t really matter as far as the outcome was concerned.

Surprisingly, a third option presents itself. Fred realizes after a few seconds that he’s been holding his breath, expecting Kelly to explode out of the snow and make a run for it, but…she doesn’t.

Palmer reaches the other side of the snowdrift and slows, confusion evident in her body language. She paces around the area, making sure not to stay still for too long, obviously reluctant to let her guard down completely. Fred can see the hazy mirage of Olivia’s SPI suit still moving in with careful deliberation.

There was no way Kelly could have moved. She hadn’t had enough time. More importantly, she would’ve been spotted if she’d tried to flee, so why couldn’t—

Palmer disappears. One second, she’s standing on the other side of the snowbank, visible from the waist up, and the next second she’s gone. Fred can’t see much of anything, but there are sounds of a scuffle and the blur of camouflaged armor as Livi sweeps in to assist with whatever the hell had just happened.

Barely a breath later, Roland announces the end of the match. “And Gammas-Plus-Palmer emerge victorious! …or should I say Olivia, specifically, seeing as she is the last Spartan standing. You know, you really oughta come up with a better name for your team—”

There’s a burst of indignant exclamations and flustered cursing from Palmer. She reappears only to rip her helmet off and kick some snow back in the direction from which she’d escaped.

Olivia removes her own helmet; Fred is surprised to see her laughing. “She got you good!” There’s a giddiness in her voice that Fred’s never heard before, but she seems to remember who she's talking to a moment later. “...ma’am.”

Kelly pops up beyond the ridge. She remains helmeted but Fred knows there’s a shit-eating grin on her face just from her posture alone.

“What happened?” He shouts the question out loud.

“She buried herself in the fucking snow and pulled my legs out from under me,” Palmer growls as she trudges over.

“And then I hit Kelly point-blank in the face!”

Olivia’s gleeful comment is backed by Kelly’s laughter over TEAMCOM. “Worth it.”

“Hey!” A different voice cuts into the conversation, once again pulling everyone’s attention toward the entrance. “Heard there was some kinda free-for-all goin’ on in here?” Gabriel Thorne stands flanked by the rest of Fireteam Majestic, all in full Mjolnir. “Got room for another team?”

Palmer waves them in. “Come on up, Majestic. We’ll get you briefed on the rules.” She sighs and fits her helmet back on. “Hope you’re ready to get your asses kicked.”

**********

An hour later, after Majestic had carved out a few victories of their own, Crimson shows up. Rules are recounted, home bases are realigned, play resumes. Within another two hours, there are four more Spartan fireteams on the field. Alliances are formed, both openly and secretly. Several hours are devoted to building snow forts. Play evolves. Forts are defended and captured, sabotaged and reinforced.

And then Lasky arrives.

“Captain on deck!” Roland bellows.

The silence that blankets the simulation deck is instantaneous and absolute. Nobody moves. If the snowballs already in flight could have frozen in midair, they probably would’ve. Instead, they land in a chorus of muffled thwumps.

Lasky stands there for a few seconds, small and unimposing by the distant doors, sporting his trademark expression of beleaguered amusement—presumably at being called out. “Don’t stop on my account,” he eventually says. “I just wanted to watch. …unless there’s a team looking for a liability,” he jokes with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Everyone on the field exchanges glances and shrugs. A sea of status lights blink across Fred’s HUD—most amber, some green. Finally, someone from Crimson waves Lasky over. “We’ll take you, Captain!”

He seems genuinely surprised by the invitation, but begins the trek across the snow. “Try not to kill me, alright?”

That draws laughs from most of the Spartans, but it’s John who actually banters back. “No promises, sir.”

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖘 𝕷𝖆𝖕𝖘𝖚𝖘

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Who doesn’t want a Spartan? Also thank you @kit-williams for practically being my mentor. This can also be found in my “ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ” if you would like to be tagged.

TW: Google Translation, Violence?

I woke up with a start, catching the hand that dared to reach for my face. Eyes boring into the person's soul while they tried to yanked their hand away.

Another, different hand caught my offending wrist. Their hand, stronger, bolder, and rougher. Pinning my hand back against the bed while his icy blue eyes; barely hidden by the shadow of his mask, stared down at me.

It left me frozen for a moment, staring into the icy depths of his eyes. A certain devotion in them that left my skin prickling.

He was a towering man with warm olive skin, and dawned in bronze armor with an almost unseeable face glaring down at me. Oh he was definitely a sight to see when waking up.

Jumping into ‘flight or fight,’ I gave a right hook to his helmet with my other hand. A crack echoing out as the soldier stumbled back, surprised while I pulled myself on top of him like a koala, trying to take off his red cloak. The previous person shouted out, and rambled in a language I didn’t understand. Irritating me as I struggled to get this moody man’s damn cloak.

He kept moving in circles. Tipping over things as he tried in every possible way to get me off his back. His hand sometimes wrapped around a limb, but not at a good enough angle to throw me off properly.

Damn it, man built like a goddamn mountain! Just let me take your cloak, and we will be good. Just stay still a little while longer- damn it! Fine!

Reaching up, I grabbed a wooden beam above me, and hung there for a second. Waiting for the soldier to recover.

The man stumbled, his head snapping up to look at me. Eyes absolutely furious. Quickly, I used my legs to wrap around his helmet when he came forward, his hands coming up to my thighs trying to dislodge me.

Putting most of my body weight down on him. I grabbed a hold of his helmet and leaned to the side, going full dead weight on him as we both fell to the stone ground. A loud clunk, and thud going off from our fallen body’s. A grunt coming from the soldier.

Successfully taking the cloak off from him. I didn’t account for his hand pressing into my ribs, a groan leaving my lips. Legs loosening around his helmet as he quickly pulled himself away.

Scrambling to get up on my own feet again, not intending to be pinned down by a chiseled man that I have no doubt that would keep me pinned underneath him. I made haste for the nearest window and jumped out of it.

“Angelus lapsus!” I heard the soldier shout when I jumped from the window. My feet landed harshly onto a wooden roof that broke beneath me at the sudden weight.

Straw surrounded me as my breath left my lungs. My mouth gaping open as I couldn’t breathe, like I forgot how too. My body, trying to curl up on itself to protect the most vital parts of itself.

Slowly shuffling around on the ground. Chuff-like sounds came from me as I struggled to regain my breath. I felt incredibly itchy, dirty even. To be in a bundle of hay, much less a stable of sorts.

Grabbing onto a wooden fence. I pulled myself up on it. My hand beginning to pulse when I slugged that bronze helmet of the soldier. Probably breaking a finger or two by just doing that.

With huff, I looked up at the soldier who looked down at me from the window I jumped from. His shadow only being seen as he quickly moved away from the window.

Using the slight time advantage, I wrapped the cloak in my hands around my shoulders. Hopefully covering me just enough that no one will get suspicious. Especially in the morning.

I wasn’t a fool to know I was in a different timeline. The bronze warrior, the different languages spoken, and the way the houses are made, and decorated are very different from the modern era. Smelled a lot cleaner too.

Flipping up the makeshift hood I’ve made from the cloak. The cloak smelled like it had a musky mint scent that hung to it, and it was a rather clean cloak too. There weren't any tears or stains on it. Was it a brand new cloak? Or was the soldier a clean person?

Stumbling my way out of the stable. I made my way through the streets of this…town? City? In hopes to get out of it quickly. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this timeline. Who knows what the people of this time would do if they found out I was not from here?

Another wheeze left my mouth while I cradled my aching hand to my chest. My other hand rested on the corner of a house to stabilize myself.

I could feel that some of my ribs had broken as I touched them lightly with my hand. It’s light pressure on both sides not helping the pain as I felt around for the broken ribs.

I don’t even remember having an event that developed into broken ribs. All I remember is taking a well needed rest, and now I’m here? That didn’t make any sense, why would I end up here in all of the places? In all of the worlds? In all of the timelines?

“Angelus lapsus!” The same soldier yelled, his voice sounded deeper, demanding up close. A spear lodging into the stone in front of me. My nerves jumped at the sound of it being thrown.

Looking back to where the man stood on top of a stone staircase. I gave him my own glare while I straightened up to look at him. His eyes not backing down from mine when I put my hand on the wood of his lodged spear.

Taking the spear from the stone. I gathered enough strength to throw it backup to him. His body moving swiftly sideways, catching the damn spear with ease. His stoic eyes never left mine as I realized this man had a lot of experience.

A spike of unease shot through my nerves. This wasn’t a man I could just kill. He was a man that I had to fight, or lose to, and neither of those options seemed worth it right now.

“Angelus lapsus. Veni huc.” The bronze man spoke again. His form suddenly felt unimaginable to stand 15 feet from. He was much taller than a few moments ago.

Taking a step back when he took one forward. His shadow nearly engulfed my own figure. We both watched each other carefully. Unsure what the other would do.

Would they dash for it? Rush me? Throw me into a wall? Pin me down? Throw their spear again? Just what exactly will the other one do?

His next step chose the decision for me as I turned back around to run away from the soldier, making a dash for it. No way in hell was I gonna try to tackle a man built like a mountain. The dude was at least 7 feet tall! I thought Spartans were 5 '9 on average?

The bronze man shouted out again in his language, that I still have yet to understand what the hell he is saying to me.

What type of language is he speaking to me? It wasn’t Greek. It was more of an ancient language, perhaps Latin? Was I in an Ancient Greek timeline?

I mean, that part could have been more obvious of how the soldier looked. He had the bronze armor of the Spartans and the red cloak they chose as their banner color.

Turning down a tight alleyway I could hear woven baskets falling over that the Spartan tripped over, a growl coming out of his mouth. Urging me to be just a little bit faster than I was despite having some broken ribs that make it painful to run, even twist.

Turning down another alleyway in hopes to avoid his sights. I ended up in a dreadful dead end. A very tall shadow slowly casting over my smaller form.

“Angelus lapsus.” The man’s monotone voice came out again, sending a shiver up my spine when I turned back to look at him. There was something about him that made him feel off. Something I can’t place.

Jumping back, a yelp came from my mouth as he threw his spear into the wall next to me again. Its point very well longed into the wall this time as I looked between him, and the spear before using it to my advantage.

Jumping onto the spear and climbing on top of the dead end wall, nearly tipping over to the other side. A curse of his language came off his tongue from behind me.

Using the wall a bit longer to hopefully get farther away from the Spartan. I slid off the wall when I thought it was safe before zigzagging my way through the ancient city that used to be in shambles. Getting lost a couple of times myself with all the corners I’ve turned.

Pausing to take a look around my surroundings. I wanted to find the best way to run away from this Spartan that seemed to make it his personal mission to collect me. To possibly bring me back where I woke up from.

However, not seeing anything in sight, not even a dock, my only available option was to find a way out of this city and make my way through the surrounding area. From what I assume would be a forest.

Making my way through the quiet night of the city I felt like I could feel an infinite set of eyes on my back since the Spartan had pursued me. My shoulders, heavy with anxiety.

Oh, how am I gonna find my way back to my own timeline in a primitive place like this? There was nothing here for me to figure out on how to get back. Was there even a way to get back?

I sighed and shook my head, slowly going through the city more with at least something to keep me going, and that’s to keep away from the Spartan.

The Spartan, who is only a couple roads down. His eyes staring down my form before slowly pursuing once more.

“Angelus lapsus, ego te capiam.”

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐮𝐬 II

[k-nayee]

Messenger's Daughter 300

wc: 4k a/n: video clip for the movie scene is inserted if y'all wanna see!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The dusty road leading to Sparta was long, every step taken heavy with the heat from the Sun.

Your father, the official representative of King Xerxes known as the Persian envoy, led the procession on foot.

You walk a few paces behind, eyeing the skulls of conquered kings dangling grotesquely from his horse.

Having spent countless days and nights studying what you can on Spartan culture, a sense of urgency knot in your chest of the potential outcome.

"Father we cannot do this," you plead, the desperation in your voice cutting through the dry air. "Bringing these skulls will only provoke their rage, not intimidate."

Laughter erupts from the men around you, coarse and mocking.

"A woman lecturing us on matters of war?" one sneers, his face creased with disdain. 

The others join in, their laughter a choir of ignorance.

 "What's next, a child advising the king?!"

Anger flares within you, burning away any hesitation.

Facing the man who dared to belittle you, your voice rise with every word. "You are fools if you think the sight of those skulls will make them cower! Spartans are proud, fierce...they will meet this threat with blade and blood."

As you spoke, uneasy glances were exchanged, your words igniting a flicker of doubt amongst the retinue. But your father saw only insubordination.

"They are—"

"Enough!"

Your words are cut off by a hard slap across the face.

The blow sends you reeling, head snapping to the side as a searing pain spreads across your cheek.

You look up to meet the steely gaze of your father, his hand still raised from the strike. "Your emotional, fear-driven babble have no place here. You have no right to speak of war and strategy."

His words sting more than the slap.

"Shall I remind you what lacks between your legs? The only reason you are here?!" Your wavering frame makes him step back with a scoff of indignation.

"Put your veil back on...and know your place," he turns away, dismissing you with a wave of his hand to rejoin the men who reveled in your humiliation.

You stood there for a moment, the pain in your cheek echoing the ache in your heart.

You always thought, hoped, he would grow to value your intelligence. That he saw the potential in you went way beyond the traditional roles of women, perhaps one day take his place as Messenger.

And dare say, even respect you.

But his words laid bare the truth. You are nothing more than a pawn in his task of diplomacy and power.

You can't help but feel a sense of loss. Not just for the father you thought you knew, but for the future you had envisioned.

With a heavy heart, you reach up, fingers trembling slightly as they drape the veil over your face.

The fabric felt suffocating, yet it was a shield, hiding your stifling tears from the world

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

As you approached the gates of Sparta, the atmosphere is palpably heavy.

The Spartan guards, known for their stoicism, eyed the group with a mixture of suspicion and disdain.

Your father stepped forward, his chest puffed with a misguided sense of pride along with his men. "I have come to speak with your Spartan King in the name of our ruler King Xerses!"

You linger at the back, exasperated from your father spouting praise of the tyrannical leader's strength and power.

The veil's once comforting ability of anonymity is rendered useless by the guards' unnerving scrutiny. 

A shiver runs down your spine once you finally pass their security, the heat of their gaze still following as you continue on to the heart of the city.

Despite the streets thrumming alive with activity, the tension is too palpable to ignore.

"Greetings!" Amidst the crowd of disciplined warriors and stoic citizens, a man steps forward, addressing the group with a sly smile.

Of average height, slightly shorter than the Spartan warriors, his presence still commanded attention.

He tilts his head in greeting, smile deepening till the point teeth show. Had you known better, you would say he resembled a wolf.

"I am Theron, a representative of the esteemed Spartan council. You must be the Persian envoy we've been expecting."

The delegation's arrival to the gate had already reached the ears of Councilman Theron it seems.

Your father nods. "Indeed, I am. We come bearing a message from the mighty Xerxes. Bringing with us, peace and cooperation."

Waves of disgust sweep over you upon catching his subtle hand movement towards you. 'So this is my purpose ? To be an offering of 'peace' incase a King needs more persuasion to bend the knee.'

"Peace you say?" Theron's sharp eyes catch the gesture and seems to understand the indication by the way he stares on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "Spartan hearts are not easily swayed by outsiders. Our loyalty is unwavering..."

As he talks, his gaze trails down your figure before settling firmly on where yours would be.

You shift uncomfortably under his leering, feeling as though he sees right through the veil that covers your face.

"Let us proceed to the palace, you will have the opportunity to present your message directly to our leaders there. Follow me."

You barely take a step when you're yanked to your father's side. "Speak out of line—ruin this chance of negotiation...and I will have your tongue."

His grip on your arm is harsh, tight enough to leave a bruise, but you refuse to show weakness.

Instead you remain looking forward, lips pursed as you give him a single nod.

Satisfied with your obedience, he moves to walk alongside the political man and delve into light conversation while you stay in his shadow.

After more minutes of walking, you finally reach the steps of the great Spartan palace.

You try to look and absorb as much as your veil would allow you, eyes wide in hopes of searing everything you see into memory.

It wasn't until accidently meeting the unwavering glare of a nearby guard did you remember where you are with a grimace and found focus on the floor.

The atmosphere feels suffocatingly tense, your clattering footsteps echo against the stone walls as if a reminder of your foreign presence.

A Spartan guard approaches Theron, whispering something into his ear. He nods subtly, view sweeping over your group before settling on your father with a practiced, stiff smile.

"I'm afraid it will be a while until King Leonidas and Queen Gorgo can receive you," the Spartan official announces, his diplomatic riddled voice echoing slightly in the spacious hall. "They are attending to matters of the state. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Your father, seizing the opportunity, steps forward. "Councilman Theron, while we await their majesties, perhaps we can discuss the matters at hand. The great King Xerxes desires only peace and prosperity for all."

Expression unreadable, Theron nods, though his eyes betray a hint of skepticism. "Of course, peace is a noble pursuit. Sparta understands the significance of such journeys and messages. Rest assured, your words will reach the King and Queen's ears in due time."

As the men engage in conversation, you find yourself drifting away to a window.

The stone is cool as you lean against its edge to take in the rugged landscape of Sparta. A breathtaking view that should offer solace, is instead a stark reminder of your reality.

'Is this what my life has come to? ' you wonder silently, eyes tracing the harsh lines of the distant mountains. 'I have no mother, no siblings, no one but him... and now, even he feels like a stranger.'

Your hands begin to tremble, the fabric of your veil fluttering slightly with each quiver. 'Once this negotiation is over...

Fear gnaws at your heart, the future a looming shadow filled with uncertainty and dread.

'...what will become of me? '

The soft patter of feet breaks you out of your solitude of thoughts. You turn to see a child—a young girl, no more than six or seven, standing a few steps away.

"Chryseis!" a voice urgently hisses.

Glancing through your lashes, you catch a glimpse of a woman, presumably the mother. Her face is etched with lines of worry and fear, trying to coax the child back to her side.

But Chryseis doesn't heed her. Instead she steps closer, doe eyes fixed on you.

Conversations around begin to dim as the onlookers' attention move towards the unexpected meeting.

You feel the weight of every gaze; some curious, some wary, all fixed on the interaction.

They seem to expect you to react, but rather than focus on the growing apprehension, you direct your full attention to the little Spartan. 

Turning to face her fully, you silently admire her courage. You're aware of how ominous the black veil and attire made you appear to those younger - often assumed to be a Mistress of Death.

Yet, she stands there, undeterred.

You take a step forward, deliberately ignoring the guards whose hands move subtly towards their weapons. They adjust their stances, body ready to intervene should the need arise.

Untainted by the tense atmosphere, Chryseis extends a cup of water towards you, her small hands trembling slightly.

Your heart warms at the gesture, a sheer contrast to the cold indifference you've faced since arriving. 'She must have seen me all alone while the others drank and conversed, and believed I was thirsty...'

Kneeling down to be at eye level with her, you carefully take the cup from her hands.

In a smooth, almost reverent motion, you lift the veil; revealing your face for the first time since setting foot in the land of Warriors.

"Efcharistó," you whisper, the Spartan language feeling unfamiliar yet comforting on your tongue.

Chryseis's eyes widen, not in fear, but fascination of your appearance.

The Grecian sun bathes you in a golden light, causing the rich brownness of your skin to take on a glowing hue.

Your features are youthful: soft cheeks that seem to capture the gentleness of your spirit, thick eyelashes delicately frame your eyes, while your soft lips form a smile so sweet and kind, it could weaken the hardest of Spartan hearts.

Framing your head, full and voluminous curls cascade around your face and shoulders. Amongst the dark strands, a thick strip of white stands out, running boldly from the front of your scalp before weaving through the mass of locks. 

The most mesmerizing feature, however, is your eyes. They are a indescribable shade of blue, almost ethereal.

The sunlight catches in them, making the specks of turquoise and azure within shimmer akin to the clearest Mediterranean waters.

Those who initially regarded you with suspicion, are now taken aback by your unveiled beauty. The air is filled with a palpable sense of awe.

Seizing the moment to spread a little joy, you reach into your garment and dramatically pull out a goose feather. The large, white plume shimmers as you present it to Chryseis with playful grandeur.

"You know..." you begin, capturing her attention with a teasing smile. "I've had the honor of meeting Victory herself. She spoke to me of you Spartans..."

She's instantly captivated, a gasp escaping her lips as she leans in closer. "R-really?!" she breathes out with wonder.

Matching her energy with a frantic nod, you continue, "Yes! She told me to forever sing the praises of your strength and valor. And as a token of proof, she bestowed me this white feather."

"She commanded me," you add, lowering the feather to Chryseis' level with a deliberate motion, "to give this feather to the one who dared to be brave enough to face me. Whose heart knows no fear, who stands undaunted before strangers from afar..."

The others are silent, watching as you extend the feather to the child with an encouraging smile. "...and here you are."

You are rewarded with her excitement filled giggles, small hands eagerly reaching out to grasp the feather.

Her delight is infectious, resonating so much through the crowd a few reluctant smiles appeared from even the sternest of bystanders.

When Chryseis' mother steps forward to gently coax her away, the little girl casts a lingering look back at you.

Her smile is wide and radiant, clutching the feather like a precious treasure.

The warmth of the moment fades as tension seeps back into the air with the arrival of King Leonidas.

He is a vision of a Spartan warrior: his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

Each muscle sculpted as if created by the gods themselves. Eyes, sharp and discerning, pierce through the crowd.

You feel a flush of heat coursing through you. The attraction so immediate and powerful, it leaves you breathless.

Your attention shift, falling upon Queen Gorgo. She...her beauty both striking and intimidating. Something within you trembles—maybe it's the strength in her gaze, the unspoken power in her stance.

Whatever it is, the confusing the stirring in your heart worsens at the sight of her.

"My King and Queen," Your trance breaks at the voice of Councilman Theron. He steps to the royal couple with a bow. "I was entertaining your guests."

"I am sure." The Spartan King dryly responds, his focus and bored-like stare fixed on your father instead.

"Before you speak, Persian. Know that in Sparta everyone—even a King's messenger—is held accountable for the words of his voice. Now, what message do you bring?"

A grin spreads across your father's face. Undeterred, he extends his arms grandly towards the sky. "Earth and water!"

King Leonidas' eyes narrow, a mix of disbelief and disdain flickering within them. "...You rode all the way from Persia...for earth and water?"

He says nothing. His silence telling all that needs to be answered.

Witnessing the entire exchange, Queen Gorgo releases a scoff. "Do not be coy or stupid, Persian. You can afford neither in Sparta."

You nearly freeze in shock. 'She...'

"Wha..." Initially taken aback by her boldness, it is replaced with disbelief. He turns to her with disgust coloring both his features and voice. "...What makes this woman think she can speak among men?!"

Without missing a beat she retorts. "Because only Spartan women give birth to real men."

Inspired by a mere woman causing such a charged atmosphere, you step forward. "And yet, beneath the mountain, there lies a pile of the weak and brittle—the newborns deemed unworthy by the same warriors...What of them? Are they not also born of Spartan women?"

The weight of your words stuns everyone into silence, every eye turning towards you.

Some of the Spartan onlookers rise in anger, taking your words as an insult to their way of life. But they pause upon noticing the reactions of their king and queen.

His expression is thoughtful. While hers...she simply stares at you with a small—could it be approving? smile on her lips.

Your father's reaction is immediate.

A mix of shame and anger covers his face, eyes shifting between you and the gathered Spartans.

"____!" He snaps out your name in rage, a sharp reprimand for your audacity.

Without warning, he yanks you to his side. His grip is tight, fingers digging into your flesh with a painful intensity.

"You dare to shame me in front of these...these Spartans?!" he hisses in your native tongue, his words laced with venom.

His chastising is ignored.

You instead hold contact with King Leonidas and Queen Gorgo, unflinching even as the grip on your wrist tightened. 

"Speaking out of turn? Challenging their ways as if you hold any sway?! Was my hand not enough?"

His voice grows louder, more insistent; but you are anchored by the eyes of the Spartan rulers—their expressions unreadable yet not unkind.

"Must I beat your place into you?!" He harshly captures your chin, forcing your gaze to his.

The proximity to his rage is terrifying; you can see the unbridled fury in his eyes, feel the heat of his breath.

You subconsciously shrink under his view, a faint tremble of your lips revealing the fear instilled in you from a young age.

It seems years of facing his temper and punishments in the name of 'remaining silent and submissive' have left too deep of a scar.

"There is no need for such reactions," the King Leonidas intervenes, booming voice authoritative and calm.

Queen Gorgo, stare never removed from you, speaks with a clarity and strength that resonates within the hall. "Your words are bold, foreigner, and they cut deep. But it is the Spartan way to face even uncomfortable truths. We do not fear words; we learn from them."

Visibly shocked by their rebuke, your father releases his grip and steps away.

The shift is palpable, from a moment teetering on the edge of violence to one of cautious quiet.

"Come," The Spartan King takes the attention once more. Turning, he begins to walk, a silent command for others to follow. "Let us walk to cool our tongues."

The courtyard still echo from the tension of the standoff before resuming back as the assembly falls into step behind their king.

As you follow, it gives the citizens of Sparta who witnessed the entire exchange a chance to disperse with murmurs and speculative glances.

The path taken is led to a more secluded part of the city; it is here, under the imposing architecture and watchful eyes of its greatest warriors, does the conversation continue.

Having regained his composure during the brief interlude, your father stands firm. His voice carries across the open space, filled with a renewed sense of purpose.

"If you value your lives over your complete annihilation, listen carefully Leonidas. Xerxes conquers and controls everything his eye rests upon." Briefly flitting to Queen Gorgo, veiled threat in his look, "He leads a force so massive, it shakes the earth with its march. So vast, it drinks the rivers dry."

The messenger fails at noticing the changing mood as he continues his sung praises. "All the God-King Xerxes requires is this, a simple offering of earth and water. A token of Sparta's submission to the will of Xerxes."

At the mention of the God-King, King Leonidas stops in his tracks. "...submission...?"

You shift at the steady yet barely contained fury in his voice, growing wary of the feeling of dread growing in the pits of your stomach. 

"That's a bit of a problem." The Spartan man turns, corner of his mouth twitching in disdain. "You see...rumor has it the Athenians have already turned you down. And if those philosophers and boy lovers found that kind of nerve..."

Seeming to pick up on the shift as you, Councilman Theron suddenly step forward. He has a thin smile, a light and forced chuckle leaving his cautious frame. "W-we must be diplomatic."

King Leonidas silences him with a simple raise of the hand. Giving the cunning man a brief glare from his peripheral, he retorts. "And Spartans have their reputation to consider."

Your father's patience thins.

"Choose your next words carefully, Leonidas." His voice is cold, warning sharp and laden with danger. "For they may be your last as king."

It's silent. Leonidas says nothing for a moment.

Hardened gaze scanning from the envoy to the Persian bodyguards, his thoughts began to drift as the distant laughter of children fill his head.

'Earth and water...'

The freedom of his people...

'Earth and water...'

The simple, pure life they have built...

'Earth and water...'

Seeking silent counsel; his eyes finally rest on Gorgo. The mother of his child, his Queen.

In a fluid motion, Leonidas draw his sword.

The metal sings when bared and is swiftly brought to the Persian messenger's neck. The armed men in your delegation reacts with alarm, but the Spartan guards are quicker.

"Madman... you're a madman!" your father gasps, terror evident in his voice as the Spartan guards mirrored their king, their weapons drawn against the Persian force.

"Earth and water," Leonidas coolly declares in resolve. He begins to back the man towards the open well—a final answer to the demands of Xerxes. "You'll find plenty of both down there."

"N-no man, Persian or Greek, no man threatens a messenger!" your father protests, desperation coloring his words the closer he's inched to the void.

Steadfast, the King steps closer, the tip of his sword barely touching the envoy's skin.

"You bring the crowns and heads of conquered kings to my city steps. You insult my Queen. You threaten my people with slavery and death." His voice rises with accusation, each one a blow that seals the older man's fate. "I've chosen my words carefully, Persian. Your message is clear. It is that of a war party!"

"This...this is blasphemy!" the cornered male cries out, his eyes darting desperately for any sign of mercy.

In doing so they land on your lone form standing amidst it all, wide teary eyes watching everything.

But...

You're not captured?

'Why isn't she-'

"My King, please. This is madness." Councilman Theron's last-ditch effort to prevent chaos interrupts his internal confusion.

As your father's heels dangled over the hole, the King shares a final look with his Queen.

A firm nod is given.

And that's all the confirmation he needs. 

"Madness?" Leonidas echoes, a storm brewing in his eyes. "This. Is. SPARTA!"

With those final words, he delivers a powerful shove, sending your father plummeting into the darkness of the well.

His screams echo hauntingly into the void as Spartan warriors unleash their wrath upon the remaining Persians.

"Leave one man alive," his voice shatters the trance you were in. You try to blink away the disbelief, the memory of him falling to death fresh in your mind.

'Run. Run away now...'

Feeling the stare of another, you look up only to lock gazes with your father's killer.

King Leonidas, the man who had just sealed the fate of your father and traveling caravan. Is looking at you.

The unwavering conviction in his eyes nearly roots you to the spot, every instinct screaming at you to flee.

'...before he kills you.'

 In a desperate bid for escape, you turn to run...only to be caught by a nearby Spartan guard.

"N-No!" You yelp in fear. Desperately dragging your feet and squirming in hopes of breaking away, it seems fruitless as his grip remains unshakable while pulling you.

Panic sets in.

The closer you get to him and the ominous pit, the more palpable your dread becomes.

 It isn't until you're standing before King Leonidas do you realize just how overwhelming he truly is. 

His presence alone commands attention, but it's his voice that anchors you back to reality.

Booming and authoritative, he speaks. Not to you, but to the sole survivor of your group. "Tell your god Xerxes, Spartans fear no one. We bow to no one..."

In a swift motion, King Leonidas grabs you from the guard and yanks you against him. His arm wrap around your waist possessively, a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

You can feel his strength, the hard lines of his body pressing against yours. It sends a wave of both exhilaration and fear through you.

He reaches up, his fingers entwining in your hair before pulling your head back with a firm tug. Throat exposed to the cool air, your breathing becomes shallow at his next move.

His breath is hot against your skin. You feel his lips and nose lightly tracing along your pulse line, reveling in your trembling figure and rapid heartbeat.

You're acutely aware of his body pressed against yours, the controlled power in his every movement.

Fear of what might come next battles with the indescribable feeling of being so close to the current ruler of Spartans.

"Warn him," he murmurs with a low growl, face hidden in the crook of your neck "warn him of the force that is coming..."

Lifting his head, King Leonidas meets the terrified eyes of the sole survivor, "...has made a wife of his pathetic Persian messenger's daughter."