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dee-writes-angst · 2 months ago

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Endless, Soulshattering Quiet (Eris Week Day Five)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x Tamlin Sister!Reader

SUMMARY What else are you expected to do when you lose your mate, the one person who kept you tethered and alive? Not try everything in your power to bring him back? Yeah right.

CONTENT WARNINGS angst, death, grief, graphic descriptions of pain, death, and wounds, sadness, loss, broken mating bonds, smut, war, tamlin being a good brother?, the holy trinity (angst, smut, fluff babies)

AUTHORS NOTE happy day five @erisweekofficial!!! I had the be the one person to serve some death content, did you really expect me not to with prompts like war and adventure? I promise that while I will rip your hearts out with soul-destroying angst, I will also make your legs cry with some yummy smut at the end ;)

The air was thick with smoke, a haze of ash and blood lingering over the battlefield as the war raged on. You stood at the edge of it all, your heart pounding in your chest, hands trembling.

Eris had always been a beacon of strength and resilience, but as you watched the battle unfold, a cold dread crept over you. You’d always known the risks, the dangers of loving someone so involved in war, but nothing could have prepared you for the sickening feeling that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

He was out there.

Your mate was out there, somewhere in the fray, and every second that passed without seeing his familiar auburn hair or hearing his sharp, commanding voice felt like an eternity.

The war with Hybern had taken its toll on everyone. The Spring Court was crumbling under the weight of its losses, and yet you, Tamlin’s sister, had found solace in the most unlikely place—in Eris Vanserra. His love had been fierce, all-consuming, a fire that burned away your fears and melted the ice that had built up around your heart.

And now, that fire was out there, on the front lines, fighting for his life.

You were pacing the edges of the war camp, wringing your hands as you scanned the horizon for any sign of him. The hours dragged on, each one heavier than the last, and with each passing moment, the knot in your stomach tightened.

“Please,” you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the chaos. “Please come back to me.”

And then, as if the gods themselves had heard your prayer, you saw him. His tall frame emerged from the smoke, his armor glinting under the pale sun as he moved through the wreckage. Your heart leapt into your throat as relief surged through your veins. He was alive.

You ran toward him, desperate to reach him, to feel his arms around you, to know that everything would be alright.

But before you could get to him, you saw it.

An arrow, dark and gleaming, soared through the air. It moved in slow motion, cutting through the fog of war with terrifying precision.

“Eris!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the arrow struck.

It hit him square in the chest.

He staggered back, his hand flying to the shaft lodged between his ribs. You could see the shock in his eyes as he looked down at the wound, his fingers stained with blood.

“No,” you breathed, your legs moving before your mind could catch up. “No, no, no.”

You sprinted toward him, your heart in your throat, the world around you fading into nothing but him. The noise of the battlefield was a distant hum, drowned out by the sound of your pulse thundering in your ears.

Eris fell to his knees, his body swaying as he struggled to stay upright. You caught him just as he collapsed, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, pulling him into your lap.

“Eris, please,” you begged, your voice trembling. “Stay with me. You can’t—” Your words choked off in your throat as you pressed your hand to the wound, blood seeping through your fingers. It was too much, far too much.

He looked up at you, his amber eyes dull with pain, but there was a soft smile on his lips, one that broke your heart into pieces. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.

You nodded frantically, tears blurring your vision as you cradled him closer. “I’m here, I’m right here,” you said, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. His skin was already growing cold, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “You’re going to be okay, Eris. I promise, just stay with me. We’re going to get you out of here.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was a lie. The wound was fatal. He wouldn’t survive this.

Eris’s hand found yours, his grip weak but steady as he brought your trembling fingers to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face in these final moments.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, your voice breaking. “You’re not—this isn’t goodbye. You’re going to make it. We’re going to get you home, I swear.”

But Eris only smiled, that soft, heartbreaking smile that shattered what was left of your resolve. “We were going to build a life,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I wanted to give you everything.”

Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking as you held him closer, your hands gripping his armor as if you could anchor him to this world. “We still can,” you whispered, desperation clawing at your chest. “We still have time, Eris. Please, don’t leave me.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of sorrow passing through his amber eyes. “I’ll find you,” he promised, his voice barely audible now. “In the next life, I’ll find you. And we’ll have our time.”

You pressed your forehead to his, sobbing openly now as you felt his body growing heavier in your arms. His breaths were slowing, each one more labored than the last.

“Eris,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Please don’t go.”

The moment Eris's body fell limp in your arms, a horrible, soul-crushing realization slammed into you—he was gone.

A scream ripped from your throat, so raw and guttural that it tore through the chaos of the battlefield like a wild animal unleashed. It was the sound of pure agony, of a bond severed far too soon. The world seemed to hold its breath, soldiers pausing in the middle of the fight to glance your way as your voice echoed through the field. It was a sound unlike anything they’d ever heard—a wail that came from the deepest, darkest part of you, as if your very soul had been wrenched from your chest along with him.

The bond—your bond—shattered.

You felt it break as the last flicker of Eris's life faded. The once warm, golden thread that connected your souls was severed, leaving behind nothing but an aching void, so cold and hollow it made you want to scream again, to fill the unbearable silence with anything, anything but the emptiness.

But there was nothing. No warmth, no soft pulse of his love in the back of your mind. Only stillness. Only quiet.

The bond had been your secret—hidden from everyone, even from Tamlin, your own brother. No one knew, not the Vanserras, not your court, not anyone. It had been your decision to protect each other, to keep what was precious hidden from the treacherous eyes of those who would ruin it. But now, now that Eris’s life had been snuffed out like a candle, there was no more hiding.

Your scream—the raw anguish that poured from your lips—told everyone. His soldiers, your brother’s men, they all knew.

Eyes turned toward you, and in that moment, the truth lay bare.

Eris Vanserra and Tamlin’s sister were mates. And now, he was gone.

A stunned hush fell over the battlefield, as if the world itself were mourning his loss, as if the gods had pressed pause on this wretched war just to bear witness to your grief.

You gripped his armor, fingers trembling as you rocked back and forth, refusing to let him go, the pain of the broken bond still coursing through your veins like poison. The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, pressing down on your chest until you could hardly breathe. You had felt that bond, that beautiful, fragile connection, every single day since it had snapped into place. And now…now there was nothing but this dreadful, unending quiet.

As your sobs tore through the battlefield, the silence became too heavy to bear. From the edge of the fray, figures broke away from the lingering chaos, running toward you with a growing sense of urgency.

Tamlin was the first to reach you. His broad frame, usually exuding the power and strength of a High Lord, was trembling as he knelt beside you. "No..." he breathed, his voice barely audible. His green eyes were wide, horrified as they took in the sight of you cradling Eris's lifeless body, the truth settling over him like a crushing weight.

“No,” he whispered again, harsher this time. He reached out, his hand shaking, but he didn’t touch you. He couldn’t. The shock was too great, and his mind was spinning too fast. His gaze flickered from Eris’s bloodied chest to your tear-streaked face, the anguish there too much for him to comprehend.

Lucien arrived moments later, his steps faltering as he neared. The color drained from his face, his usually sharp eyes dulling in an instant as he saw his brother’s body lying in your arms. For a long, breathless moment, he stood frozen, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out. His mind, too, was struggling to catch up, to process what he was seeing.

"Eris?" he rasped, his voice breaking. He dropped to his knees beside you, his shaking hands hovering over his brother’s chest, not daring to touch the body that had already gone cold. "Eris," he whispered again, and this time, it was a plea, a desperate cry to the gods. But the gods were silent.

His amber eyes, wide with disbelief, turned to you, searching for answers, for anything that would make this moment less real. “You…” he started, his voice thick with emotion. “You—” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. He could see it now, as clear as day. The bond between you and Eris, the love you had kept hidden. He had never known, never suspected.

Behind him, Rhysand approached. His violet eyes, always so calm and calculating, were filled with sorrow as he stepped into the circle of grief. He took in the scene—Tamlin’s horror, Lucien’s devastation, and your broken form holding onto Eris as if you could bring him back by sheer force of will.

Rhys knelt beside Lucien, his voice soft, steady. “He’s gone,” he said, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the air. His gaze flicked between you and the others, understanding dawning on him in the grim silence.

“You were mates,” he said, not as a question but a solemn acknowledgment of the truth no one had seen. His voice was gentle, full of quiet sympathy, but it still cut through the air like a knife.

Tamlin flinched, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. “Mates?” he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. His eyes searched yours, his face pale and stricken as the truth settled in. He had never known, never even imagined his sister could be bound to the eldest Vanserra. His breathing became ragged, fury and heartbreak warring within him as his hands clenched into fists.

You couldn’t respond, your throat too tight, your sobs too harsh. All you could do was hold Eris closer, pressing your face into his bloodied armor as if you could somehow protect what little remained of him.

Lucien finally found his voice, but it was hollow, broken. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His question came out as a whisper, the anguish in his tone raw and palpable. He stared at you, as if knowing might have made a difference, as if there was something he could’ve done to stop this.

But there had been nothing anyone could do. The war had taken Eris, and it had shattered you along with him.

Rhys placed a steady hand on Lucien’s shoulder, his own grief hidden behind a mask of calm. “There’s nothing we can do now,” he murmured. “He’s gone.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The bond was severed, and with it, the world felt quieter, darker, as if all the light had been extinguished.

You had kept it hidden, thinking you could protect your love by keeping it secret, by shielding it from the cruelty of the courts and the ugliness of politics. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. Eris had still been taken from you, and now everyone knew.

And there was nothing left but the unbearable silence where the bond used to be.

After Eris's death, you returned to the Spring Court like a shell of yourself. The once vibrant halls of Tamlin's manor felt suffocating, their earthy charm now stifling and cold. Days passed in a blur, though you were hardly aware of them. You didn’t eat. You barely slept. You didn’t even speak. Each sunrise and sunset blurred together, an endless cycle of loss that dragged on without meaning. The bond was gone—ripped away as cruelly as the life of the man you had secretly loved. Without him, the world seemed to exist in muted, lifeless tones.

Your room became a prison, its four walls confining you to the agony of his absence. You’d spend hours just sitting by the window, staring at nothing, waiting for something that would never come back. Your body ached, not from hunger or fatigue, but from the cold void where the bond used to hum with life. It was as if the very air around you had turned to ash, choking the last flicker of light from your soul.

Tamlin came to your door every day, knocking softly, hoping that today would be the day you’d speak. He’d ask if you wanted to go for a walk, eat something, maybe even talk about what had happened. But you didn’t respond, not to him, not to anyone. His patience seemed infinite, but his heart was breaking watching his sister crumble into nothing before his eyes.

Lucien tried too. He’d sit beside your bed in silence, sometimes telling you stories of their childhood, hoping that memories of a better time might pull you from the darkness. But you never reacted, your gaze never shifted. You were simply... gone.

The silence stretched for weeks.

No one could reach you. Not even Tamlin, who had always been your protector. He was the one who held you after the battle, the one who shielded you from the harsh stares of the court as they discovered the truth of your bond with Eris. The one who should’ve been the first to know about your love but only found out when it was already too late.

Now, he watched helplessly as you withered, your once vibrant spirit consumed by grief. He saw the way you flinched at the sound of footsteps outside your door, the way your body seemed to curl in on itself as though you could shut out the world entirely.

One evening, Lucien and Tamlin spoke in hushed tones in the hallway, their voices barely audible through the thick door. You didn’t need to hear their words to know they were talking about you, about how you were slipping further away with each passing day. How your silence had grown more unbearable than any scream or cry could have been.

But then, Tamlin said something that cut through the haze, something that stirred the faintest ember within your hollow chest.

“There might be a way to bring him back.”

Your heart, once heavy and lifeless, gave the faintest flutter. You barely heard Lucien’s response, but the idea—bring him back—echoed through your mind like a bell tolling in the distance. For the first time since Eris’s death, something stirred deep within you. A flicker of hope, small and fragile, but enough to push you to move.

The next day, for the first time in weeks, you left your room.

The sunlight seemed too bright, too warm on your skin after being confined in darkness for so long, but it didn’t matter. Tamlin and Lucien were waiting, their faces a mix of relief and caution as you slowly descended the staircase.

“Tell me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from disuse. Tamlin blinked, shocked to hear you speak, but quickly regained his composure.

“There’s a place,” Tamlin said, his tone hesitant but certain. “In the Autumn Court. The Ember Grove. It’s dangerous—nearly impossible to find—but if anyone can reach it, you can.”

“You knew this?!” You approached, stopping abruptly before him, your body trembling with the effort as anger surged through your veins. “You knew there was a chance, and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t—” Tamlin started, his own frustration bubbling to the surface as he tried to reason with you. “It’s not that simple. The Ember Grove—it's dangerous. The magic is wild and uncontrollable. It could kill you. I didn’t want to give you false hope, not when—”

“When what?” You spat, your voice rising as you advanced toward him. “When I’ve already lost everything? When I’ve spent weeks trapped in this hell, barely able to breathe without him? And you knew? You knew there might be a way and you didn’t tell me?”

Tamlin’s jaw tightened, his heart breaking at the sight of you unraveling. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.”

“You already have!” you shouted, the sound of your voice reverberating through the room. “I’m already gone, Tamlin. I have been since the moment I felt that bond go silent. You can’t lose something that’s already dead.”

The room was heavy with your words, and Tamlin could only stand there, helpless in the face of your grief and fury. He wanted to tell you how much he understood, how much he hated that you’d been forced to hide your love, how much he wished things could be different. But nothing he said could change the past.

Instead, it was Lucien who stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not that we didn’t want to help. We were just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the air. “There’s nothing left to protect. All that’s left is this emptiness, this nothingness. I’m done protecting myself. If there’s a chance, no matter the risk, I’ll take it.”

Tamlin’s gaze softened, but the worry remained. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. The Ember Grove... it’s not just dangerous. The trials you’ll face—if you even make it to the heart of the grove—will test you in ways you can’t imagine.”

“I don’t care.” Your voice was cold, final. “Tell me where it is.”

In the heart of the Autumn Court’s oldest woods, there exists a place forgotten by most, spoken of only in whispers: The Ember Grove. It is said to be where the first Vanserras were blessed by the forest, where the very essence of the Autumn Court’s power—fire, rebirth, and renewal—originated. According to legend, within this grove lies a single, sacred tree, its bark glowing faintly with embers, its roots entwined with the magic of the land. The tree is said to possess the power to reignite life, but only for those bound by fate and blood.

The spell that will bring Eris back is not without a cost—it demands something of equal worth. Lucien tells you that the ritual involves binding your magic to the land and using the remnants of your bond as a tether to call his spirit back. It is said that the magic of the grove will only grant him life for one willing to take on his pain.

To bring Eris back, you must willingly take his death wound into yourself, allowing his body to heal while you endure the agony of the blow that killed him.

The journey to the Ember Grove was a grueling test from the very start. It began in the outskirts of the Autumn Court, where the forest thickened into a dark, twisted mass of trees. The air was different here—heavier, older, carrying the weight of a thousand forgotten spells. The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though the forest itself was alive and shifting, watching your every move.

As you ventured deeper, the forest closed in around you, the trees towering over you like silent sentinels, their bark blackened and gnarled. Shadows danced between the branches, and you swore you could hear whispers on the wind, voices long lost to time. The deeper you went, the more the magic thickened in the air, pressing down on you, making it harder to breathe.

The first trial came when you reached the river. Its waters were still, unnaturally so, and dark as ink. You had to cross it, but as soon as you dipped a toe into the water, icy tendrils shot up from the depths, wrapping around your ankles and dragging you under. The cold was paralyzing, your lungs burning for air as you fought to break free, but the river wanted you. It wanted your despair, your grief, your soul.

The only way out was to let go of the weight that had been dragging you down since Eris’s death. You had to release it, had to believe that he could be saved, that you could find him again. And only when you surrendered your fear did the icy grip release, letting you stumble onto the other side, soaked and shaking but alive.

The next trial was worse. As you climbed a steep hill, the air around you shifted, the forest blurring until you found yourself standing in the Autumn Court’s battlefield once more. But this time, you weren’t a bystander—you were forced to watch Eris die over and over again. Each time more brutal than the last. Each time more hopeless.

You screamed, fell to your knees, your hands clenching the earth as you watched the love of your life be torn away from you in every conceivable way. It was torture, pure and relentless. But you couldn’t leave. You couldn’t look away, because this was the trial—you had to endure the worst of your memories, had to confront your greatest fear.

And you did. For him.

It wasn’t until you reached the heart of the Ember Grove that the forest finally relented. The trees parted, revealing the fiery glow of the Ember Tree. Its bark shimmered with a heat that radiated across the clearing, and the air buzzed with a magic so intense it felt like it was burning through your skin.

You knelt before it, your body broken and battered from the trials, but your heart resolute. You whispered the ancient spell, the words foreign on your tongue, but you could feel the magic stirring beneath your feet, responding to your call.

The ground shifted, embers rising from the earth to swirl around you, and the fire consumed everything in its path. But you didn’t flinch. You welcomed the burn, the pain, because you knew what it meant—knew that with each passing second, you were closer to bringing him back.

You remained kneeling in front of the ancient, burning tree, its embers swirling faster and faster, drawn to the words you chanted in the old tongue.

You didn’t know what you were saying—only that the magic was speaking through you, commanding the earth and air, fire and spirit to bring him back. Each word felt like it was being torn from your chest, heavy with power, with longing, with desperation. The glow of the tree grew brighter, casting the entire clearing in an eerie orange light. The embers, once slow and floating, began whipping around like sparks from a fire, encircling you and the tree in a whirlwind of heat.

Your voice grew raw, your throat aching as the spell neared its end. The ground beneath you trembled, and with a final, guttural cry, you spoke the last word. The ritual had taken everything from you—every ounce of your strength, every fragment of your soul. But that final step, the one that had required you to bear the agony of Eris’s death wound—it had nearly broken you.

The Ember Tree had demanded a sacrifice, and when you pressed your hand to its scorched bark, you had felt the cold grip of death itself wrap around your heart.

The arrow that had impaled Eris, the one that had severed his life from yours, had been remade—plunging through your body with such force, it felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. You could feel the cold metal tearing through your skin, ripping through flesh and bone as if you had been the one on the battlefield that day. The pain was indescribable—a burning, crushing weight that threatened to drag you under, to take you into the dark with him.

But through the haze of agony, something changed.

The bond.

It had been a dead thing since the day Eris had fallen—quiet, silent, a gaping void in your chest that had left you cold and hollow. But now, now it was flaring back to life. Slowly, at first, a faint spark, but then—then it grew. Warmth spread through your body, threading through the pain, pushing back against the darkness.

And then, you felt it. Him.

The embers began to stir at your feet, swirling in the air, weaving together in the space before you. With each pulse of the bond, you felt his life tethering itself back to you, stronger and stronger with every beat. The ember-born winds gathered in front of you, twisting and turning, building him back from nothing.

You watched, breathless, as the fire coalesced into the outline of a man, a figure you had memorized in every stolen moment you’d shared.

First, his hair formed—the familiar fiery strands that had once caught the sunlight so beautifully, and then his shoulders, broad and powerful, the ones you had buried your face into when the world had been too much. His chest came next, rising and falling with the shallowest of breaths, his heart beating in time with yours. You felt the bond solidify in your chest as the embers continued to craft him, filling the gaping hole inside of you as it mended itself.

Then came the details—the intimate, tiny pieces of him you knew better than your own skin. The freckles. You leaned in, your breath trembling as you watched them appear on his pale skin, one by one. There was the cluster just below his collarbone, the one you had kissed so many times it felt like yours. Your eyes traced the path of them across his body—scattered over his shoulders, across his back.

Your gaze drifted lower, and there it was—the small mole on his right ring finger, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. You had kissed it once, tracing the curve of his hand as you lay beside him. Now, seeing it remade before your eyes, you couldn’t hold back the sob that rose in your throat.

His hands, those calloused, warm hands that had held you so tightly, now twitched with life, his fingers curling slightly. You could see the lines of his palms, each crease and scar, familiar and so achingly beautiful in their imperfection.

The embers worked their way over his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint stubble that you had once teased him about. And then his lips—soft, full, and slightly parted as they took in the first breaths of his new life. You could already feel them against your skin, the ghost of a kiss that hadn’t yet been given.

Finally, his eyes. Those brilliant amber eyes, the ones that held a thousand secrets, a thousand promises. Slowly, they opened, and when they met yours, the bond flared so violently it nearly brought you to your knees. It wasn’t just his presence you felt—it was his soul, his essence wrapping around you, filling you up until there was nothing but him.

“Eris,” you breathed, your voice trembling, tears streaming down your face as you looked into those eyes, the ones you thought you’d never see again.

He blinked, disoriented, but then recognition flooded his features. His lips moved, but no words came out—just a breath, a small, shaky exhale as his hand lifted weakly toward you.

You didn’t hesitate. You surged forward, pressing your body against his, needing to feel him—his warmth, his heart, his life.

His arms, though still weak, wrapped around you, pulling you into him. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was real. He was real.

“I thought I lost you,” you sobbed, clutching him tightly. “I thought I’d never—”

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice raw and broken. His hand cupped the back of your head, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’m here.”

You weren't able to walk after to ritual, body too weak from the stress of the powerful magic that you channeled to summon him to do much else than cling to him. You had wanted to stay there, to not move as you memorized every part of him once more just to be sure, but Eris was insistent on getting out of the oppressing weight of the forest, carrying you to an abandoned cabin just outside the powerful barrier of magic.

The cabin was old, forgotten by time, its walls weathered by countless storms and its windows fogged over with dust. It wasn’t much—a single room with a fireplace, a rickety table, and a bed that had seen better days. But it was shelter, a place to breathe after the chaos of the ritual.

Eris had carried you inside, his steps slow and measured, the weight of his new body still settling into place. You hadn’t let go of him since the ritual, your fingers gripping his tunic as if he might disappear if you loosened your hold. You couldn’t stop touching him—running your hands over his chest, his arms, up to his face, memorizing the feel of him, grounding yourself in his warmth.

The bond between you was fierce now, stronger than it had ever been, pulsing with each heartbeat as if reminding you both that he was alive—that he was here.

But even that didn’t calm the frantic desperation inside of you.

He sat you on the edge of the bed, gently prying your hands from his tunic as he knelt in front of you, his amber eyes soft with understanding. He hadn’t said much since the ritual—he didn’t need to. The bond conveyed everything, every flicker of emotion, every unspoken thought.

The air in the cabin felt too thick to breathe, the quiet too loud, like the entire world had been reduced to this moment, this space, and the man kneeling before you. The flickering light from the fire cast soft shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the determined set of his jaw, and the unmistakable intensity in his amber eyes.

Eris was calm—too calm—as if he hadn't just been ripped from death and thrust back into life. As if he didn’t understand that every beat of your heart now felt like a miracle, that the bond between you was buzzing with a newfound ferocity, pulling you toward him like a gravitational force you couldn’t resist. But it was more than that. It was the fear still clinging to the edges of your mind, the terror of almost losing him. You had lost him, and now that he was back, you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him slip away again, not even for a second.

You’d spent days—weeks—since his death barely surviving, barely feeling. But now, every emotion, every sensation was alive, almost too intense to bear, and it all centered around him.

“I need you,” you whispered again, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer. “I need to feel you, Eris. Please.”

He stood up slowly, unfolding himself with that familiar, unhurried grace, and took your trembling hands in his. His fingers, warm and steady, threaded through yours, grounding you in his presence as he pulled you to your feet. Even with the weight of your desperation pressing against him, he moved with patience, every touch soft, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt.

“You’ve had me for years,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through your bones. “I’ve never left you.”

But you did, the thought screamed in your head. You died. You left me. You were gone.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as the storm of emotions raged inside you. He didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—what it had been like without him. The bond, once so vibrant and alive, had gone utterly silent the moment he was taken from you, and the pain of that void had been unbearable, suffocating. And now? Now it was back, fierce and unyielding, and you couldn’t handle the thought of it going quiet again.

The fire crackled softly, but the world seemed to shrink, the cabin feeling smaller as you stood before him, your hands gripping his tunic again, pulling him closer, needing the warmth of him pressed against you. The desperation clawed at you, making it hard to breathe, and the only thing that felt real, that felt solid, was him.

“I need more than words,” you said, voice trembling, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you spoke. “I need to feel you. I need to know you're here. Truly here, with me.”

He inhaled slowly, the flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and for a moment, you could almost imagine it was enough—almost. But it wasn't. His arms alone weren't enough to silence the fear inside you, weren't enough to quench the wildfire of need roaring through your veins. You needed to be closer, to make sure that every part of him was still real.

You pressed against him more urgently, your hands fisting the fabric of his tunic as if you could pull him closer by sheer force of will. “Please, Eris,” you begged, the words a breathless whisper against his neck. “Don’t make me wait. Not after everything.”

For the first time, you saw a crack in his resolve—a flicker of heat in his gaze as he looked down at you. The control he always held so tightly began to fray at the edges, his breath hitching ever so slightly as his thumb traced along your jaw, down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that made your pulse quicken.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice huskier now, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair. “For me to give in?”

You nodded, unable to form words as the bond between you thrummed with the intensity of your need. The bond flared, every beat of your heart echoing in his chest, every shuddering breath mirrored between you. It was like a lifeline, tethering you both together, pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared.

He studied you for a moment longer, his amber eyes darkening as he searched your face, as if weighing the gravity of what you were asking. Then, with a soft exhale, he leaned down, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

The kiss was consuming, a fierce and unrelenting thing that stole the breath from your lungs and left you gasping. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that matched your own, the calm control he’d maintained for so long finally giving way to the fire simmering beneath the surface. He kissed you like he was trying to burn away the last remnants of death, to remind you that he was alive—that you both were.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, as his tongue slid against yours, tasting, claiming. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, your fingers desperate as you clung to him, trying to bridge the gap that still felt too wide. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to drown in the sensation of his lips, his touch, his presence.

But it still wasn’t enough.

You pulled back, breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss, and looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible. “I need all of you.”

For a heartbeat, he hesitated, his gaze locked on yours, as if he could sense just how much you needed this—needed him. Then, with a soft growl, he scooped you into his arms and carried you toward the bed, the soft, worn mattress creaking under your weight as he laid down.

You straddled Eris's lap, his body now fully alive beneath yours, the familiar warmth of him grounding you after the terrifying emptiness of his absence. As you sank down onto him, the sensation was both a relief and a reminder—he was here, with you, alive. The pressure of him inside you was overwhelming, but in the best possible way, as if it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. Each movement sent shivers down your spine, the desperation of lost time making everything more intense, more vivid.

Your hands roamed over his chest, fingers trembling as you felt his heartbeat strong beneath your palm. The reality of him alive, warm, and solid beneath you made your breath catch in your throat. "Eris," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion, "I thought I’d lost you."

His gaze met yours, filled with the same mix of emotions—relief, hunger, and something deeper, something that words couldn't quite capture. "I’m here, love" he murmured, his hands coming up to cup your hips, steadying you as you rocked against him. His voice, roughened by the strain of all that had happened, held a promise in it. "I’m not going anywhere."

His grip tightened, and his hips met yours in a steady, unhurried rhythm, each thrust a reassurance that he was real, that you had brought him back. "I feel you," you breathed, leaning forward, your lips brushing against his neck. "You’re alive, Eris. I need this, I need you."

Eris’s response was a low, guttural sound, his hands sliding up your back with both a tenderness and a hunger that mirrored your own. “I need you too,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I never stopped wanting you. Even then... I was holding onto you.”

The words sent a rush of heat through your body, the weight of what he was saying settling deep in your chest. Your movements became more urgent, the need to feel him, all of him, consuming you. You pressed yourself closer to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you began to ride him faster, desperate to close the gap between what had been and what was now.

"Don’t stop," you gasped, your voice shaking with a mix of pleasure and emotion. "I need all of you. I need to feel every part of you, Eris."

He groaned, the sound raw and full of need, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulled you down onto him. “You have me,” he rasped, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every part of me is yours.”

The rhythm between you grew more intense, the fire in the hearth forgotten as the heat between your bodies took over. The feeling of him inside you, of the way he moved with you, was everything—proof that you had him back, that he was yours. His lips brushed your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers through you as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. I swear it.”

You clenched around him, the pleasure building to a crescendo as his hands roamed over your body, guiding you, grounding you. "I love you," you gasped, the words slipping out as you lost yourself in the rhythm, in him.

Eris’s eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as he thrust deeper, harder, his voice strained with both pleasure and emotion. "I love you too. Always." The intensity of his words was matched by the force of his movements, his body answering your every need, your every desire.

When the release finally came, it washed over you like a wave, pulling you under as your body trembled against his. Eris followed soon after, his groan low and rough as he buried himself inside you one last time, his grip on you never faltering.

In the quiet that followed, you collapsed against him, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. His heart, steady and strong beneath your ear, was a reminder that he was here, that you had brought him back.

ERIS WEEK TAGLIST

@littlest-w01f @mp-littlebit

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wh0rezs · 2 years ago

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“PIRANHA”

PAIRING: DAD!JAKE SULLY X DAUGHTER! READER, MOM!NEYTIRI SULLY X DAUGHTER! READER

SUMMARY: An ordinary day is interrupted by the wailing of children and someone screaming “she bit me, she bit me” and years in the future the Sullys relive the past.

WARNINGS: non, fluff, mentions of blood and biting, fighting

Neytiri and Jake relaxed in the newfound silence that filled the hut, Mo’at had graciously agreed to take her four grandchildren to the play grounds/ training of “young warriors” for the new parents.

Soon their peace was interrupted by the rustling of the flaps, and emerged was one Jake’s trainee, greeting the Olo’eyktan and tsakarem in the customary way .

“Olo’eyktan and tsakarem, you must come to play grounds. There has been a situation involving your eldest child, [name].” the young warrior huffed as the mated pair stood up at lightning speed.

As they ran towards the play ground, their minds swirling of the most terrible outcomes- [name] having an arrow sticking out of her arm or eye, or [name]’s tiny body broken in several places. But the sounds of Omaticaya child- boy and definitely not one of theirs-yelling words at someone reached their ears.

Quickly the scene came clear to them- a young boy, roughly a year older than you, was clutching his right arm while his parents comforted him and Mo’at was putting a salve on his arm. Neytiri and Jake’s eyes switched to other side where their own children and Tarsem (young boy who hung out with [name]) stood. On both of [name]’s hips rested Lo’ak and Kiri, who were both four. Neteyam, who was five, stood behind his sister.

The boy’s wails finally reached Jake’s ears again once he realized his own children were safe, and now it was clear he was screaming “she bit me, she bit me.”

“Mo’at, what happen here? Who bit the boy?” Jake demanded, pulling everyone’s attention. Mo’at glanced at Jake before her eyes flicked towards you, his eldest child at the age 6.

“Seems like your daughter bit the boy, and wouldn’t let go until she was dragged off of him” she told him and showed him the boy’s arm where sure enough there was your teeth marks tattooed into his skin. As Jake glanced at you, you smiled showing off red at the end of your canines.

“[name] tell me why you did this and then apologize to the poor boy.” Neytiri commanded you, and you quickly explained that the boy Taronyu was bullying Lo’ak and Kiri for their tawtute looks. Lo’ak happily clapped and laughed at the story, as if it was the funniest thing to hear when you said bit him.

Jake couldn’t help but feel proud of you for defending your siblings as you apologized to Taronyu. Afterwards, Neytiri took Kiri and Lo’ak from you, and the Sullies headed home for the day.

On the way, Jake ruffled your braided hair and whispered “I am proud of you, my little piranha.” You glanced up at him, clearly confused as what a piranha was.

[10 YEARS LATER]

The scuffle on the beach reached Tonowari and Jake’s ears, as ear piercing scream broke the silence. When the two dads reached the scene, they were surprised to see the Metkayinas trying to pull a deep blue body off an ocean blue body.

Jake quickly assessed the scene, finding three out of the four eldest also huddled around the two. His eyes darted to familiar body, whose tails and arms were being pulled at by Ao’nung, was when he pieced together the puzzle. Your incredible sharp teeth were sunken in to the Metkayina’s arm, and you weren’t going to let go as easily as 10 years ago.

“[name] let go.” he commanded and you quickly did with red staining your canines. The whole group started off to mauris, all the children getting hell from both respected adults.

“And [name], what the hell was that? Biting someone like a that?” Jake turned his attention to the smiling form of his daughter. You explained that Ao’nung and his goons had harassed Kiri, calling her a freak and once the fighting started you did what you knew best.

Jake hid his smile at your explanation, and later that night he explained to Neytiri that it felt deja vu. The sight of you smiling, teeth stained red, at the thought of protecting your young siblings. You were always gonna be his little piranha.

A/N: this sucks but i love comforting fanfics

#dad jake sully #dad!jake x daughter!reader #mom!neytiri x reader #avatar 2009 #avatar 2009 x reader #sully family x reader #atwotw x reader

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yuesya · 4 months ago

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The barrier breaks.

It’s too soon. The thought flashes across her mind like lightning. Swift and sudden, without any time to dwell on it; for there is an overwhelming surge of sheer destruction wreaking havoc everywhere –with her standing in the very epicenter of it.

Balor stumbles, as her barrier falls. As it breaks. Far too soon, releasing all the mindless rage and malevolent energies of the god she’d just killed into the world around her. A veritable flood of darkness, with roiling shadows that twist themselves into bestial forms. Simulacrums of the thralls that the Mistress of Dreams had commanded in life, that turn on her and lunge forward viciously.

Exhaustion tugs at her limbs, from both the high expenditure of energy and the backlash from her barrier being forcibly broken. The two factors only serve to compound the lethargy and numbness in her body. It’s been so long since she’d been drained like this, but Balor knows that this is not the time to be showing any weakness. Not now, and not ever–

Her powers have yet to recover–

She cleaves the shadow-beast in front of her in two; but there are claws aimed at her back and three more beasts plunging down from above–

Something crashes into her, bodily knocking her aside. Briefly, the breath is knocked from her lungs.

Balor looks up, only to see a wind spirit crouched above her like a protective guard. The avian spirit’s chest heaves visibly, clearly from its own exhaustion, but sharp gold eyes remain locked on the shadowy enemies circling them. These beasts born from the Mistress of Dreams’ lingering malice are focused on Balor –and yet this wind spirit does not move to escape.

He’s bleeding. Blood drips down from open wounds, and the heat and miasma of it scorch her skin.

Wordlessly, Balor pushes herself upright from the ground. The wind spirit obligingly moves to crouch at her side instead, lowering its head in a deferential bow.

Why?

… She shelves aside the question for now. For all that the wind spirit had formerly been one of the Mistress of Dreams’ thralls, it no longer appeared to be actively hostile, and there were currently far more pressing matters for her to deal with.

Eyeing the prowling shadow-beasts for a moment, Balor takes stock of her surroundings –so many dead humans; so many corpses– and then turns to look up towards the skies instead.

Almost as if on cue, a massive tremor shakes the air. Golden swirls of Geo energy surround the half-dragon entity clashing against a five-headed Hydro serpent, each head hissing with laughter. The half-dragon’s Geo spire is blocked by a twisting pillar of water; shattered pieces of stone go flying everywhere, followed by a deluge of water spilling down from the heavens.

No wonder her barrier broke.

Still, she’s not exactly pleased that apparently two gods decided it was a good idea to start a fight right above her barrier before she’s had a chance to tidy everything up properly. Decarabian had impressed upon her the potential dangers that could occur when a god was slain in combat, so this was…

Balor clicks her tongue.

She lets go of her sword, allowing it to dissipate in a shower of brilliant sparks. A new weapon materializes in her hands instead, a curved bow. Accented with gold and traced with an almost feather-like pattern upon its head, white and indigo hues entwined in harmony. Unlike her sword that is only a simple weapon of mortal steel, the bow radiates power, and even just holding it is enough cause for Anemo energy to begin gathering around her.

As it should.

Balor pulls back the bowstring. A glowing green arrow of pure Anemo condenses beneath her fingertips in the empty space where an arrow should be, and the wind picks up in her surroundings.

She calmly points Decarabian’s bow towards the two gods battling high above, and loosens the arrow; a thousand howling winds instantly fill the skies.

#Writing #zenith of stars au #guili au #n years later when cloud retainer tells the traveler about balor #'oh yeah she tried to turn rex lapis into a pin cushion back when they first met'#traveler: ???

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mrs-weasley-reid · 4 months ago

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EXECUTION STYLE

an UNFINISHED DRAFTS entry...

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Synopsis: Sometimes, despite all the love, it's never enough. Warnings: cliffhanger. angst. brief mention of shooting. a little plotless. will not continue. A/N: i asked if some of you would want my drafts that i can't for the life of me finish; here's the first entry. (also, hotch is really getting a lot of attention from me lately; his spirit is def doing some witch stuff)

Blurry vision of red and blue lights slows each motion under the moon's dim luster. You sit at the edge of an ambulance, wrapped in a silver blanket. A maroon jagged line from temple to chin.

You watch your team reunite in bone-crushing hugs, but an aching tug in your chest brings your lower lip stuck between your teeth. Steamy tears begin to pool in the back of your eyes— unshed.

"I think we should reevaluate this relationship."

You straighten up from grogginess to a fully awake state as you turn to Aaron. He swallows at your gaze. A guilty look drains the color of his face.

"Because I asked you to shoot me, or is it because I didn't blink when I shot you?" A wry smile makes its way to your face. No matter how heartbreaking it is to look at him, you can't bring yourself to do so. You want to see it through. You need to see it through.

Aaron gulps thickly like a thousand pieces of broken glass are stuck right in his throat, scraping what little strength he has as he fights his will to look into your eyes. "It's part of the job. You had to do what you thought was right."

"Yeah, right," You scoff, inhaling deeply as if the simple manner of breathing in front of him has become suffocating. "If it was Derek or Emily who pulled the trigger, you would've reprimanded them right on site."

"The situation was different."

"No, it wasn't, Aaron."

Your voice hits like a bee sting. The sound is harsh against his ears. And Aaron knows you're right.

Cheeky smiles glow up ahead. You know Emily's saying something laugh-worthy to the other members of your team as they gawk at the two of you.

If only they knew.

If only they knew it was over.

If only they knew... Will they still joke about Aaron's smitten affection towards you? Will they still joke about your natural skill to calm Aaron with your presence?

It's over.

You have been hit, execution style, straight to the heart.

"I'll get my things during my lunch break on Monday." You say, shifting your gaze to the herd of profilers that got tired of watching from afar. The closer they get, the brighter you seem.

The smile on your face shoots an arrow into Aaron's chest. He knows you too well to know it's not genuine. That it's a mark of pain and suffering.

But it's over.

Is it?

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #cm #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner angst #ker's angst department #ker's fics #hotch #x fem!reader

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adoreeenina · 1 year ago

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I wanna be yours - Ch. 1

Relationships: Recom! Miles Quaritch x Sully! Reader x Recom! Lyle Wainfleet

WC: 2.9k

Series Summary: ~~~ 𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪.

It’s been a year since the destruction of our home. The ongoing war has been hard on my family, especially on my father. My father gotten worse… cold, stricter, becoming less kind, especially to Neteyam, Lo’ak, and me. He became more like a Drill Sargent than a father. My father made us move to the hidden caves in the Hallelujah Mountains.

Within a year, the sky people expanded, their sizes tripled. My father had orchestrated many raids to destroy their machinery’s to keep them at bay from exploiting our home anymore than they already done. But no matter what my father has done to keep them away, they always bounce back. I’ve seen many ships constantly landing, bringing more people onto our home and more supplies to rebuild on what we broke.

Today my father prepares us for another attack. The supplies train was coming through the train rails not far. My father’s plan was to damage their railway system and take their supplies as our own.

“Do you have to go” Spider walks behind you as you readied your bow and arrow onto Rawm’s saddle.

“Don’t you worry about me. No matter what they throw at me, I always come back, you know that” Spider walks closer to you as he eyes the scars on your body, it went through so much from protecting Spider and your siblings.

Despite what you tell him, he still feels guilty, and it didn’t help that Neytiri blames him.

“That’s what I’m worried about” Spider softly says as he pats Rawm’s neck. Rawm chirps loving the attention.

You finally turn to look down at Spider. You knew Spider is worried about you. How could he not? You were always getting yourself into trouble and coming back with blood on you. You’re worse than Lo’ak, at least that’s what Jake says.

“Spider” you gently place your hand on his shoulder, making him look up at you.

“I promise you. I’ll come back in one piece” you promise with an encouraging smile. Spider couldn’t help but smile back with a nod.

“Y/n, let’s go” Jake calls for you. You sigh as you turn to check you have everything. You do.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back” with that, you bend a knee, placing your foot on Rawm’s harness, pulling yourself up onto his saddle, making Tsaheylu. The bond.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” you smirk down at Spider as you lower your Rider’s Mask. With a loud yip, Rawm allows himself fall off the ledge.

Ikran’s screech and roars all around you as Rawm fly’s behind Jake and Neytiri. Many of the warriors hooting and ululating, including your mother.

Following close behind, squinting your eyes through the Rider’s mask, you could mask out the fast moving train.

“Ground team, go” you hear Jake speak through the comm.

Hundreds of warriors on direhorses come flooding through the forest, letting out loud war cries. Some carrying bow and arrows while others are armed with heavy artillery.

An explosion went off on the railway, perfectly timed. Part of the track has blown up, the train screeches as it nails its breaks, an attempt to stop, but the destruction was far to close.

The train couldn’t stop in time, colliding to the broken rail railroad, breaking it into pieces and parts of it falling on its side. The two gunships halted a turn. You knew you had to work fast, before they would call for backup to arrive.

Guiding Rawm to one of the gunships with a loud cry. You dove underneath the ship to its left side, readying your bow, you aim to the soldiers chest, killing him. Rawm flys above ship, quickly aiming your bow and arrow, you shoot an arrow, letting it break through the glass and to the pilot, killing him instantly. You let out a holler as you watch the gunship crash down with an explosion.

With that, many the Na’vi below got to work exploiting the scattered RDA cargo. You watched from above for any more incoming airships.

“Let’s go. Two minutes, people. Let’s go.” You hear Jake.

“Bro, we have got to get down there” you hear Lo’ak. You turn to see your two idiot younger brothers, riding close behind you. A mischievous glint in eye, a look that you knew well.

“No way!” Neteyam calls back.

“Dad will skin you alive” you warn.

“Come on. Don’t be wusses” Lo’ak challenges. with that, Lo’ak guides his Ikran to the ground.

“Lo’ak! Get back here, you… Argh!” Neteyam grunts, watching our younger brother

“Damn it, Lo’ak” you yell after your brother. You turn to Neteyam before he could follow your idiot brother.

“Neteyam, go with mom. I’ll get Lo’ak” you tell him. Neteyam hesitates before glancing down at Lo’ak.

“But-“

“Go!” Neteyam hisses under his breath before listening to you and leaves to the other way. You rather take the blame than let Neteyam take the fall for it.

“Taking the whole case! We’re taking mags, the RPGs, the stingers”

You follow close behind Lo’ak as you both land. You hop off of Rawm as you disconnect the bond.

“Y/n, let’s go. Come on!” Lo’ak calls for you before running towards the the rest of the people.

“Lo’ak!” you hiss as you quickly run close behind him.

“Move! Take that!” You hear Tarsem as he hands out RPGs. Lo’ak runs in line, waiting his turn to grab a gun.

“Tarsem don’t-“ before you could stop him, he already handed Lo’ak a gun. Damn it.

“Take these weapons. Here, boy. Go!” Lo’ak excitedly let out a war cry as he walks away with a gun in his hands.

“Lo’ak!” You were getting tired of calling for him. You started sounding like a fucking parrot, the animal you’ve seen on one of the movies Spider has shown you.

You cut off Lo’ak’s ululating as you grab him by his arm, pulling him towards you.

“You don’t even know how to use it” you nod your head towards the gun, visibly irritated.

Lo’ak looks at you with a smirk as he held up the gun, loading the chamber.

“Dad taught me”

You sigh feeling irritated as you watch Lo’ak pick the gun up to look through the scope.

“Stop that! That is not a toy” you hiss. Lo’ak is really testing your patience, you really want to smack him upside the head.

Not far from where you’re at, you hear a spotter hollers out, a signal.

“Gunships inbound! Fall back!” You hear Jake yell.

You look up seeing two more gunships aiming. Shooting.

“Lo’ak, Go!” You push him in front you, running towards your Ikran’s.

“Y/n, come on!” Lo’ak calls for you.

“I’m right behind you! Go! Hurry!”

You look behind and see one of the gunships aiming at you.

“Lo’ak!” You push Lo’ak, just when they shot at you, setting an explosion off. The impact threw you off. You fall with a grunt. Feeling lightheaded from the impact, you reach to touch your head, feeling blood. Shit.

Jake runs through the debris and broken parts of the train, looking for you and Lo’ak. No matter how bad the relationship between you and him. You’re still his daughter.

“Lo’ak, where are you?” Jake calls out, his eyes squints as he tries to see through the smoke.

“Y/n!” He calls out for you. Jake hears coughing and a dark figure and quickly runs towards it. Seeing it’s Lo’ak, he reaches for him.

“Easy, easy, you okay?” Jake softly tries to comfort him. Lo’ak is still in shock but none the less nods

“Yeah”

“Where’s your sister?” Jake hurriedly ask.

“That way” Lo’ak points at a direction.

“Where is she? Where?” Jake follows the direction on where he pointed.

“Get outta here! Go on!” Jake demands, climbs on top of the destroyed gunship seeing a trail of blood.

“Y/n!” Jake calls. He looks . His heart beating rapidly.

“Shit” you cough out.

“Oh no” Jake whispers, he follows the trail and jumps down from the ship. He sees a dead Na’vi on the laying face down. “Oh, no, no, no” he leans down to check the body, seeing it’s not you.

“Oh god” Jake breathes. He hears your coughing. He notices your body not far. He runs and jumps over a rock, kneeling down over you.

You’re laying on your stomach, Jake gently moves you on your back. You groan, the pain going from 0 to 100. You hiss feeling a burning sensation on your back.

“Y/n” Jake says softly.

“Dad?” You cough out, seeing Jake holding you.

Jake grabs you by your shoulder to sit you up and looks over your shoulder, seeing multiple burns and cuts on your back. You hiss from the movement as Jake lays you back down.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Jake growls as you cough. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Dad, can we not-“ you reply weakly.

Jake stands up as he pulls you by your arm and puts your body over his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call ‘em in. From a distance” Jake growled angrily at you. “Does any of this sound familiar? Get in here!” Jake tells Lo’ak, who was standing by his Ikran, away from our father wrath. Jake is once again acting like a Drill Sargent rather than a father.

You glare at the ground as Jake berates you. He’s pissed. You never cared of his constant piss show. You did what you had to do, and that’s to protect your brother, and you did. You’ll take pride to it, despite what they’ll tell you. You won’t feel guilty or small by your fathers anger.

You turn to your left feeling someone’s hands on you, seeing Kiri. She looks at your back with a grim look. She gently reaches to touch your back, you grab her hand to pull her away.

“Jesus. I let you three geniuses fly a mission and you disobey a direct orders” Jake scolds you. You once again push Kiri’s hands away when you felt her touch a tender wound.

“Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?” Jake says with a softer tone.

“My sister is wounded” Kiri points out, unamused by Jake’s behavior towards you. This isn’t new, Kiri is familiar with how Jake treats you, and she hates it.

“It’s fine, Kiri” you reassure her.

“Baby girl, please. Tuk, go with her. Go.” Jake demands softly. Tuk and Kiri leaves with huff sigh.

“Dad” you call. Jake turns and gives you a hard look. You look back with a glare. Out of all your siblings, you’re the only one who’s not afraid to fight back.

“I’m not going to apologize for this. I’ll admit I went against orders and I’ll take full responsibility for that but-“ Jake cuts you off before you can’t continue, making you clench your jaw.

“Yeah, you do. That’s right. ‘Cause you’re the oldest. You gotta act like it” Jake scolds. Your upper lips twitch with a small snarl you let out towards Jake. Jake glares, challenging you.

“Ma’Jake” Neytiri softly calls. Jake reluctantly turns away from you to look at Neytiri. “Your daughter is actually bleeding”

“I am fine, mother” you turn to glare at Jake. “Not like you care” with out being dismissed by him, you roughly bump your shoulder against his.

“Hey! We’re not done talking!” Jake yells after you, but you ignore him as you went to see Mo’at, your grandmother. Neytiri gives Jake a look as she follows close behind you, not before looking at Lo’ak with a knowing look.

“Neteyam, go with them” Jake dismisses his oldest son. Neteyam gives Lo’ak a look before following you.

Jake sighs before looking at Lo’ak, placing his hands on his military vest.

“You do understand that you almost got your sister killed” Jake lowly says.

“Yes sir” Lo’ak nods.

“You’re grounded. No flying for a month” Jake says. Lo’ak looks down, feeling disappointed. He sometimes wish he had the courage to fight back like you did. Lo’ak Unwilling accepts the punishment, not wanting to anger him.

“Now, see to the Ikran. All of em” Jake demands.

“Yes sir” Lo’ak nods.

“And get that crap off your face” Jake demands before leaving.

“Ow. Ow!” You wince as Mo’at works on your back. Spreading the mixed herbs over your wounds.

“Aww, want a kiss on the boo-boo?” Spider teases.

“Shut up” you playfully place your fingers into a bowl with mixed herbs and flick your fingers at him.

“Hey!” Spider laughs.

“Enough!” Mo’at scolds you. A few feet away from you, Kiri is doing another batch of mixed herbs, tasting it with a hum of approval.

Since the arrival of the sky people, your grandmother been teaching Kiri as well but you’re still to be the next Tsáhik and wed to Tarsem. Your grandmother says it’s for the best, but you think bullshit. You know your grandmother is against your father’s mistreatment of you, she assumed if she lays off responsibilities, it’ll give you a break. It somewhat did.

“Give her this” Kiri instructed as she hands the cup to Tuk.

“Okay”

“I would use yalna bark” Kiri mentions to you and your grandmother.

“Here drink” Tuk instructs you. You nodded softly, gratefully smiling at her before taking a sip.

“Ugh” you stick your tongue out, gelling revolted by the taste. Spider laughs at your reaction.

“Oh, you would? And who is Tsahik?” Mo’at says.

“You are, grand… move!” Kiri begins to speak before pushing Lo’ak and Neteyam out of her way. “You are, grandmother. But yalna bark is better.” Kiri argues softly.

“Ow, ow! Ow.” You wince, feeling your grandmother spread more on your back.

“She’s right, grandmother. It stings less” you mention with a wince. Kiri sighs, she hates seeing you in pain, hates seeing you always coming home with a new wound.

“My sister is a mighty warrior!” Neteyam snickers, making fun of your pain.

“Screw you” you curse at Neteyam.

“No cursing” your grandmother chastises before lightly hits your head.

“Ow”

Neytiri looks into the tent, with a disdain look on her face. This is one of many times you’ve been in the healing tent, and she hated every single one. She felt lost, she hated seeing you in so much pain, and the worst part is… you won’t even come to her for comfort like you used to. Since that argument about Spider, she had lost you. And she no one else to blame but herself, for letting her distaste of Spider her the best of her.

Neytiri glance over her shoulder, seeing Jake solely focusing on his guns, it angers Neytiri. You got hurt. Yes, you were okay, but you and your siblings are in the tent. He hardly gave glances at the tent from where he’s sitting.

“What?” Jake sighs, feeling Neytiri’s glare.

“Neteyam and Lo’ak try to live up to you. Y/n despises you” Neytiri starts. She finally turns to look at Jake. “It is very hard on them”

“I know” Jake doesn’t bother making eye contact with Neytiri.

“No. I don’t think you do…” Neytiri moves closer and knelt down close to him. “You are very hard on them. On Y/n”

“I’m their father. It’s my job.” Jake says, finally turning to look at Neytiri with a hard stare.

“This is not a squad. It is a family” Neytiri says softly/sternly. “We almost lost our daughter today”

Jake sighs, he looks away before making eye contact with Neytiri. He finally places the gun down. It’s been hard on for the last of couple years, more since the sky people arrived. He almost lost you, and he didn’t know how he would’ve felt losing you. It’s one thing acting like strangers but another when he almost lost you.

“I thought I lost them. I thought I lost Y/n” Jake whispers. His eyes big, watery and filled with so much pain. Neytiri sighs softly before reaching out for Jake’s hand

“Hey” Spider softly calls you.

You’re in your own Kelku once your grandmother finished on your wounds. You were carving an arrow when you heard Spider’s light footsteps enter.

“Hey” you smile as you place your arrow and hunting knife besides you.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to check on you” you notice how Spider fidgets with his hands. You have a feelings on what’s really bothering him. You sigh as you stood up.

“Spider… I’m fine” you tell him softly, you place your hand on his dreads.

“But you could’ve…” Spider couldn’t finish his sentence, he couldn’t bare the thought of losing you.

“Look at me” you kneel down, you grab the bottoms of his mask and gently pick his head up. Spider’s eyes were red and watery.

“Oh Spider” you pull him into your chest, hugging him. Spider instantly wraps his arms around your midsection, hugging tightly. Spider couldn’t hold back his sobs. You gently shush him.

“I promised I would be back. Didn’t I?” You try to lighten the mood, you try to pull away to look at him but Spider resists, not wanting to let you go.

“Spider. You are my heart, my soul, my world, my best friend, and my everything” you promise softly.

“I love you, Y/n” Spider muffled voice say. You softly smile as you lean down and peck his hair.

“I love you brother”

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#spider x reader #recom miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #recom lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet x reader #sully reader #polyamourous #polyamory #throuple #miles quaritch x reader x lyle wainfleet #I wanna be yours

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thewalkingwillowtree · 1 year ago

Text

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

Warning! This part contains sensitive topics (one mention of miscarriage (not Xi) & Non-con touch)

Part 16- Li'ona

Scanning the interior of their home, Neteyam felt sick to his stomach. His eyes burned, prickling at the sight of its ransacked state.

It was almost disbelieving at first.

But reality slowly sank in with every passing glance as he stayed frozen at the threshold.

When bile finally threatened to make its way up his throat, he forcefully tore his gaze away from the crimson pool on the tapestry covered flooring. He didn’t want to think about where the blood came from- what caused it- or more importantly, whose it was.

None of it was real…right?

Please, Eywa.

Arriving back at Home Camp in an already frantic state, Neteyam had instantly noticed a change in the air. The energy was off- fear and panic replacing the usual calm peace of the Omatikaya clan. Ignoring it, along with the abnormal flurry of activities surrounding him, he’d hurriedly made his way straight for his tent, bypassing the clan members who lingered outside of his home in worry.

The sight he was greeted by caused him such utter distress, he almost collapsed, catching himself on a beam at the entrance- a heartbreaking cry of anguish falling from his lips.

Their mainroom was a scattered mess consisting of strewn cushions and blankets, torn and shredded tapestries and decor hangings, broken knickknacks that Xi had once carefully littered around their home. Baskets, chests, cracked clay bowls, pots and food sacks were all haphazardly knocked over- their contents either spilling out or completely missing.

Their personal food stock and quite a few other possessions were obviously stolen. The grand bamboo stand that housed his wide collection of weapons ranging from knives, daggers, specially crafted arrows and spears- was a splintered heap of broken pieces- all gone now, save a few smaller daggers.

And the bedroom- fuck…He wished he hadn’t mustered the strength to enter the space.

Their bedroom was just as bad- worse in his opinion.

It reeked of blood.

His little tech setup in the corner was completely destroyed- tiny parts smashed as if someone had a personal vendetta against the human-made devices.

And when he spotted the shredded strips of blankets stained crimson with a blood coated dagger abandoned between the sheets, his legs finally gave out- knees colliding hard with the floor beneath him.

Body shaking uncontrollably, a sob escaped him.

Why?

Tears of fury slowly stained his cheeks as his chin trembled.

Why?

It was too much.

Why?

He couldn’t do this.

WHY?

He was breaking- on the verge of hysteria.

WHY?

His mind screamed blame. It was all his fault.

Why did you leave her?

The knife.

What have you done?

The blood.

Look at all the fucking blood!

All him.

Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?

Gone.

She’s gone.

Xilä.

She needed you and now she’s gone.

He jumped when a hand of comfort squeezed his shoulder- breaking him from his spiralling thoughts.

“Come on son, up you get. Let’s- let’s take a breather from in here,” Jxo’s gravelly voice soothed.

Helpless, Neteyam allowed the elder to pull him to his feet, staggering in a daze as they made their way through the shambles of his home.

Once outside, he sucked in a much needed breath of fresh air. Air that wasn’t suffocatingly stifling him with its coppery fumes.

He collapsed again, sitting heavily this time onto the last of the stone steps- physically unable to make it any further. His head fell into the cradle of his palms, elbows digging into the tops of his thighs.

He sensed his father-in-law’s presence near him- knew he was probably giving him a moment to pull himself together. Neteyam felt it though, the worry and anxiety rolling off of Jxo in waves.

But how could he face the man? He’d failed his daughter- he’d failed Xilä.

“Jxo,” he eventually croaked, hands falling away as he tried to formulate a sentence. He swallowed hard to stifle another incoming sob. “Jxo, tell me she’s not- I- ” chin trembling, he shook his head in disbelief.

Was he going crazy?

Was this all some fucked up nightmare?

He made the mistake of looking up. Jxo’s distraught expression was all the confirmation he needed. The elder looked ragged and seemed to have aged even further in the short span of time Neteyam had last seen him.

Gaze softening, Jxo squeezed his shoulder again, crouching down to his level to face him head on. “Kid, listen to me, okay? We can’t fall apart, not right now. Our Xilä…she- she needs us,” the elder said, almost as if he were trying to convince even himself of his own words. “Yeah?”

“Y-yeah…yes, sir,” Neteyam nodded. He needed to hear those words. Jaw clenched, he forced himself to get a grip on his emotions. But the clear head he was searching for only intensified the swirling rage inside of him.

He wanted to scream.

To lash out.

To kill.

A voice calling out his name made them both get to their feet, expectantly. Jake strode towards them, brushing past a few onlookers- Gwuyle flanking him. The second-in-command barked at the growing crowd, making them clear the area, for which Neteyam was grateful.

He didn’t miss the subtle head shake Jake sent to Jxo however. He guessed that meant they hadn’t found his mate yet.

“Son are you-” The Olo'eyktan’s speech was cut off when his eldest shrugged his arm off, not wanting to be touched. Jake was expecting the reaction. The hurt and betrayed glare Neteyam sent him was justified. Lo’ak had already prepared him for the wrath to come. “Son I get that you’re upset, but-”

“Upset? Upset? Oh no, I think I'm more than goddam upset! She’s gone dad! My mate is GONE!” he screeched hysterically. “Tell me, exactly who’s bright fucking idea was it not to call me? Huh? Huh?”

Jxo pulled him back from advancing any further.

But Neteyam was too far gone.

He gestured to the open flap of his home, “Did you have a good look for yourself? Did you see? You must have seen what I saw…I don’t get it, sir. The moment you saw this you should have called me! You should’ve-” Neteyam sucked in a deep breath, wiping his palms down his face in not only frustration but utter despair.

His father-in-law murmured soft words that fell on deaf ears to the other two men, calming his temper in a way Jake wished he could in that moment.

He felt pained as he stared at his son, it was a parent's worst nightmare to see their child so distraught. It hurt him to see him so broken- unhinged to the point of feral. He exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Jxo who stood by Neteyam’s side. The elder was never in agreement with him, keeping Neteyam in the dark about Xilä.

“It was my call,” Jake admitted, owning up to his fault. “But you need to understand, there was a palulukan attack…two males managed to make it past the southern border- it seems they were leered. By the time we had it handled and found out about Xi, I- I thought we’d find her…you’re right, I should have called you. I know.”

His son’s shoulders slumped- the fight leaving him as he absorbed his father’s explanation. “Well shit. An attack? Was anyone hurt?” he asked, albeit a bit distractedly.

“At least twenty severely injured, a couple others not as bad…three deaths as far as we know. The healers have their hands full right now.”

Silence filled the atmosphere.

All four men internally digested the reality of the situation- the echoing of Jake’s words lingering in the air.

Neteyam pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “Okay. Okay- um, where are we with the search, sir?” He felt a stab of guilt for glossing over the attack, but there was only one thing on his mind right now, and that was finding his wife. He’d have to process everything else some other time.

“We’ve got twelve units still out searching- your mother has a team headed to the Hallelujah Mountains. Each of the border points are being covered as every tent, shack, shed and lab gets inspected- every nook and cranny will be searched. Lo’ak’s with Norm at the labs as we speak. They're checking the inferred maps hoping we could pick up on any unusual activity- the bad news with that is it only covers our territory. We’re trying to find some sort of trace for the direction they went before we move the search past the borderlines of the forest. Messengers were also sent to the nearest clans to keep a lookout.”

“Li’ona. That’s where he’s taking her. That’s where we need-”

“We don’t know that for sure, do we?”

“Exactly and why would he even go there? Don’t those savages want them dead?” Gwuyle frowned.

“Yes, but T'shteyo has threatened to take Xi back to Li’ona with him- she said he wants to return to his title.”

Gwuyle, Jake and Jxo shared matching grim expressions.

“What?” Neteyam asked, reading their body language all too well. “What are you not telling me?”

“You know Stephan right?”

“The weird techie?” Neteyam frowned at his father.

“Yeah…he’s missing, well his Avatar body that is. And so too that old RDA aircraft he used to fiddle around with,” Jake admitted uncomfortably. “It’s not like him to be gone for so long… We believe T'shteyo may have taken him hostage. Max is trying to get communication running with the ship to confirm.”

Neteyam scoffed disbelievingly. He wanted to cry all over again. “Are you saying…are you saying they’re flying in an aircraft as we speak….and you’re only fucking telling me this now?!” he seethed, taking a step forward, shaking off the Jxo’s hand from holding him back.

“Watch your tone son,” Jake snapped.

“Look, Teyam, we don’t know this for sure, okay? But we will find out…I thought he was just a primitive bastard, it seems we’ve all misjudged T'shteyo. I know I have,” Gwuyle said, trying to ease the tension. “I’m going to head back and see if there’s been any updates. Call me if you have any news, Jake.”

When it was just the three of them left, Neteyam hung his head. “I should have killed him. I-”

Jake stepped forward and hugged his son. Neteyam resisted at first but it didn’t take much coaxing before he sagged against his dad, accepting the much needed comfort.

“I can’t begin to understand what you are feeling right now, but I need you to know, we are going to do everything possible to get Xilä back.”

“Neteyam. Jake,” Max greeted when they entered the link shack. The scientist sent a respectful nod to Jxo when he saw him follow them in as well.

“Anything yet? Stephan?” Jake asked, eyes immediately locking with the link unit that housed Stephan’s human form.

“Unfortunately no. Since the assumption is that he’s most likely piloting, we don’t want his Avatar shutting down right now. His vitals are all over the place though- he’s injured,” Max informed them, showing them the rapidly moving numbers and lines on the clear glass screen bedside the bed, “head wound, probably concussed.”

The room fell silent as they all took in the scientist's information.

“Well shit,” Lo’ak said, breaking said silence as he and Norm made their way over to the group from the connected lab.

“GPS? Where are we with that?”

Max grimaced. “It’s definitely busted. Greta over there is trying to see what she can do, and Phillip here, is trying to reactivate the chip that was once embedded in all the Avatars- if all else fails.”

“Chip?” Jxo frowned.

“Microchip. We can track Stephan if we’re able to reactivate it-”

“What is taking so long then?” Neteyam asked impatiently. He hated standing around. He felt like they were losing time. “I know where they are going already! Back to Li’ona, I don’t see why any of this matters. Why can’t we just go?” he asked his father for the second time.

“I can maybe answer that,” Norm replied quickly as glided on a wheeled stool. “Come check this out you guys,” he said, furiously typing on a keyboard.

A large holographic map appeared and Neteyam instantly recognized it as the same one Norm had shown him and Xi before.

“Li’ona is massive okay? Not the clan per say, but the land they occupy. It’s called D’asanii I know,” he said, nervously glancing at the menacing looking, arms folded Jxo, who was looming over him, “but we named it Little Aussie- as in it’s almost the freakin’ size of Australia,” he emphasized, widening the map so they’d see for themselves. “But the Deadlands in particular is where we have the trouble.”

“I do not see the issue here. Our lands are far larger, what about the Metkayina, they own most of the seas, no? You have found them easily before, and even other clans, your lot have done hundreds of studies on Pandora for Eywa sake! What is so different? Are you honestly telling me that none of our people know how to find their clan?! Do we have all this technology for nothing?! How about our elders? Have none of them ever ventured that far?”

Norm made a noise in the back of his throat as he shifted his feet uncomfortably. “Bud. I get it, and you’re right. But unfortunately we don’t have that information right now. I did thorough research when I was investigating the rains. We just don’t have it…Xi couldn’t even point out where on the map her clan could possi-”

“They are not her clan!” Neteyam roared.

“No- no, of course not,” Norm pacified quickly, nervously shooting Jake a pleading glance.

“Neteyam-”

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. Just- just finish what you were saying,” he said tiredly, forefinger and thumb working at his temple.

“Look, all I’m saying is, I get that we’re in a time crunch here. I do- but…we don’t even know where to begin to start looking. If we can just wait to get a ping from either the GPS or the Microchip- we’d have something to work with instead of blindly going past the borders to search.”

“It would help yeah but technically we wouldn’t even need it,” Lo’ak pitched in. “If Stephan wakes before then, he could easily tell us what we need to know…what we’re up against.”

“Sure but do we even know for sure if it’s Li’ona they’re actually heading t-” Max caught himself, swallowing deeply before muttering a quiet apology when Neteyam cut him with a glare.

“I told you all already…it’s Li’ona! He’s taking her there. Why do I feel like I am the only one thinking logically right now?! You’re all fucking over complicating things!” Neteyam barked, patience wearing thin. “Standing around and spewing a shit ton of jargon that’s not doing anything to help the situation. Let me and a team head out for now, you can always direct us from there and we’d have covered significant grou-”

“No.”

All eyes turned to the Olo'eyktan.

“Neteyam. I know this is the last thing you want to hear,” Jake said, eyes pleading for his son to understand, “but they’re right about this. We need to be smart about the moves we’re making right now. We need intel.”

“Think about Xilä, bro,” Lo’ak chimed in, trying to help out, unaware that his words did more harm than good.

“Don’t you dare,” Neteyam seethed. “She is all I am thinking about!” he hissed. “I need-” he stepped back, the faces of the men gathered around turning blurry. “None of you could possibly understand what I am going through right now…none! And I am this close from blowing my fuse. So I am going to step away before I say, or do something I regret.”

“Listen you barbaric lunatic, I am telling you, if you do this, they’ll kill you, alright? Jake and Neteyam won’t let you get away with this. You're as good as dead. Just-” Stephan sighed tiredly, “just let me drop you off somewhere, dude. I’ll take Xilä back and convince them not to come after you. Can you- OWW shhhiiit!” The man’s speech was cut short when he was clobbered on the back of his head.

The junk of a ship they were currently being flown in, dipped, rocking shakily before it stabilized once more when Stephan scrambled to adjust a few settings on the holographic dashboard.

“Jesus fucking Christ! You fucking psycho! I am trying to safely fly us in an already unstable aircraft right now! An aircraft that requires not one, but two goddam pilots! Do you really want to kill the only person on board who can operate this hunk of junk! Hit me again. Hit me, I dare you, fucker. I swear to God I’ll crash us right now!” Stephan threatened, tail thrashing angrily behind him. “I'm pretty sure I’m already concussed from when you knocked me unconscious.”

T'shteyo, “the fucker” who had hit him, paid the dreamwalker no mind. “You talk too much,” he complained, dropping himself into a seat with a pained grunt.

Fiddling with a small pouch of highly scented medicinal herbs, a needle and thread and a damp strip of fabric, he began to tend to his still bleeding shoulder.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Stephan who shot him a smug look. “Xilä fucked up up real bad, huh? Broken nose, face scratched to shit, and icing on top of the cake- stab wound.”

“Quiet!”

Stephan snorted with a shake of his head. “Your own daughter stabbed you…don’t you think that’s messed up?”

“I said, SHUT UP.”

The silence lasted barely five minutes before Stephan was blabbering again- although he did specifically wait until T'shteyo had begun to sew himself up.

“So, I get that you want to go back to Li’ona, but uh, why? The rumor mill said you were a wanted dead man over there. Why the change of heart?” the Avatar asked, trying to gain as much information from the man so he could report back if he had the opportunity.

He grinned at the pissed off look on the Li’ona male’s face. “Come ooon dude. You’re going to kill me anyway right? Who am I going to tell?”

“Do you ever stop speaking?”

“I promise I will…if you answer me. Scouts honor,” he said, holding up three of his four fingers, confusing T'shteyo even further. Stephen found it somewhat amusing that the bastard was now staring at him as if he were the lunatic.

“I am going to reclaim my title.”

Stephan stifled his surprise that he actually got a response. “Cool, cool, cool. Leadership shit. I get it……But see not really, why not just go? I mean, why’d you have to drag your kid back with you?” he pushed again, mentally crossing all his fingers and toes.

“She gets me the title.”

“Oooo-kay…how?”

“Su’ko wants her.”

“Su’ko?”

T'shteyo begrudgingly told him about man, and all the while Stephan had to hide his disgust over the fact that was another psychopath out there just like the fucker, next to him.

This had him shifting uncomfortably now. Quickly glancing at the man seated in the pilot's chair beside him he hesitantly asked, “So this Su’ko wants her?” he swallowed. “Wants her for what?”

“His whore or slave…whichever.”

The Avatar clenched his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret- to keep from messing up the progress he’d made so far.

“What’d she ever do to you?” he couldn’t help asking, voice far softer than the faux carefree one he’d been forcing before. “Why would you do this to her? She’s just a kid.”

“Enough!” T'shteyo roared. In a flash the tip of his knife met Stephan’s throat, threateningly sinking deep enough to draw blood.

Stephan froze, both hands held up in surrender. “Alright! Alright. Chill out man, I’m done.”

“Show me again!”

“I will just- will you drop the fucking knife, I can’t think.” He released a loud breath when T'shteyo sank back into his seat.

“Show me!”

“Okay, hold on, I’m getting it…Here- see, still on track for Li’ona,” the Avatar said, pulling up a screen on the dashboard that showed the small diagram of a map of Pandora and the illuminated coordinates they were currently heading to.

He was damn sure T'shteyo couldn’t read an ounce of English or even “human numbers” but it didn’t mean he was stupid. The asshole had enough sense to explain where he wanted to go, even showing him on the map what routes to take.

“Good,” the psycho grunted.

Stephan let the silence run for well over an hour this time before he tried to speak again.

“So that last question I asked- about Xilä…that was my final question. I swear I’ll shut up if you answer...colour me curious as to why a father would do this to his own blood…To what would drive a man to such decisions.”

T'shteyo unseeingly sighed as if he were a mother dealing with a petulant child, it was almost comical, given the situation. “What does it matter to you, why? I am going to kill you anyway. It serves you no purpose.”

“Well,” the Avatar laughed depressingly, “all the more reason right? If I’m dead, who am I going to tell? Think of it as my death gift.”

The Li’ona male stared out at the flashing sea of greenery below them as he considered the man’s question. He surprised Stephan for the second time when he actually responded.

“She is the product of hate…Xilä is- she is a constant reminder of the woman I once called, my mate…she,” he inhaled, “looks exactly like her,” he whispered, “beautiful, fair…but poisonous.”

“Poisonous?”

T'shteyo grunted a yes before continuing, “Muiä.” He snorted, “fair…Odd that she was nothing like the meaning of her name. There was nothing fair about Muiä besides her appearance, I suppose.”

“What was she really like then?”

“She was a coward…and before that, she was a constant nag…and a whore. Nothing ever made her happy- no matter what I did…Her father was Olo'eyktan before me. I fought. I won. It was me!

“Me, who claimed her. Me who claimed my rightful title. But it was she who was my downfall… She, who loved another…I never had her heart. I tried, I did everything…anything! But in doing that, she made me soft, weak.”

T'shteyo’s face turned stony, darkening at whatever memory haunted him.

“And then I found them. Together….Still? Even when she was already mine! They were planning to run away together,” he laughed maniacally, “....so I killed him…I killed her fucking lover. Strung him up for all to see that I was not to be trifled with. After that she learned her place, or at least I thought so.

“She behaved for a few years…and then Xilä eventually came along. I thought I did good, I thought she was finally happy. We were a family. But no. Even a child didn’t make the bitch happy……She still left. She still left me. Muiä’s out there, probably cursing my name as we speak. I should have strung her up with her lover…missed opportunity I suppose,” he mused.

Stephen, who was silent the entire time, too stunned to speak, swallowed deeply. Feeling disturbed, he adjusted a few settings on the dashboard, before responding shakily.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “so, you’re punishing Xilä…because- because you couldn’t punish your wife? Xilä has to pay?” Stephan frowned, not understanding, angry at himself for feeling a sliver of pity for the psychotic man next to him.

T'shteyo shrugged lazily. “If you put it that way…Now shut up. The next time you speak, I cut off your tongue.”

When Xilä had first woken to find herself curled in a corner of a strange, rocking room, she was a loopy, drooling mess. It took her almost two hours to gain her bearings and sit up, and another one to even stand on shaking legs.

The small rocking room had a large window. When she’d finally made her way to it, she released a ragged choking scream.

It was all coming back now.

The attack.

The stabbing.

The syringe.

The screams.

LI’ONA.

She was already scared and confused, but now- finding herself being flown away…she began to hyperventilate.

Li’ona! Her father was taking her back to Li’ona.

No!

Thumping steps alerted her that someone was coming.

Xilä turned feral the second T'shteyo entered the small space. With what little strength she had, she clawed and lashed out at the man who had taken her from her home- the man she called father.

It was no use however, one hurtling blow had her crumbling into a whimpering heap once more.

In a daze, she barely felt herself being dragged through a short narrow tunnel, until she faintly heard the furious and raged shouts of an unfamiliar voice.

“No! You’re going to kill her! If you give her that amount, she’ll be dead in seconds, you sick fu-”

Xi most definitely knew she imagined the howl of pain from her father being struck by someone else- the rocking room spinning the world away- body sliding along the cold metal flooring.

A muted scuffle of two blurring blue shapes played out before her while a trickle of liquid slowly flowed down her cheek, drops tickling the corner of her mouth.

“Blood,” she vaguely thought when the droplet found her tongue.

She didn’t fight when her father came near- she didn’t fight when he pricked her neck with another one of those lab darts- mind swimming as she felt that floating feeling again.

And she didn’t fight it when she felt herself sink into the darkness- head lulling until she went still.

“How’s Sal?” Neteyam asked hoarsely, eyes avoiding the abandoned meal in his lap. His mother had forced it into hands two hours ago and yet, it remained untouched. He couldn’t eat.

How could he?

He felt like a shell of a man.

Practically numb- void of feeling anything but simmering anger.

“Not good,” Jxo replied. “Wrecked. There’s no consoling her right now...D’av-” he cleared his throat, “D’avi’s with her, doing what she can.”

How could Neteyam possibly respond to that?

“You know, she’s always wanted another child…damn near almost did…three times. It wasn’t meant to be I suppose…But then you came that night, told us all about Xi, said she needed a safe place to stay, and I knew- I saw it in Sal’s face that night. And when you brought her the next day, well, that just sealed the deal. She was going to be ours, no matter what.”

Neteyam stared at Jxo’s profile. “I remember you told me that I had no clue what I did for Sal…”

Jxo nodded. “You brought home our second chance- a daughter. I don’t exactly know how to explain it, or if it even makes sense at all or if…but I felt it. I feel it in my soul. Not at first- not like Sal, but over time, some days I’d look at her and I’d- I’d feel the same way I did with my D’av. It felt like she was mine. My kid.”

“It makes sense, Jxo. It does…She felt it too, you know. It scared her. She didn't want to get attached. She’d- Xi told me once she pretended sometimes. Pretended you and Sal were her parents…she’d laugh it off and say she was just being silly. Then I’d see the three of you together and I knew she didn’t have to worry. She didn’t have to pretend.”

Jxo released a hushed laugh, covertly brushing away an escaped teardrop. “Ah that kid…” he cleared his throat. “She’s coming home, son. She is.”

Neteyam nodded mutely, head falling backwards, landing with a THUMP against the metal railing of the Link Shack’s staircase. He was reclined on a step, mindlessly staring out whatever he could see of the clan.

He’d been seated there for probably hours now. No one had disturbed at him at first except his mother. The others were too scared to be on the receiving end of another one of his outbursts he supposed.

Upon her arrival back from her search, Neytiri tenderly kissed his forehead, sad eyes conveying all meaning as she handed him a simple wrapped meal before heading through the door behind him.

Jxo came out a half hour ago to keep him company. Both sitting in silence until Neteaym had broken it by asking about his mother-in-law.

“How are you holding up, son? And don’t give me that bullshit you’ve been giving your mother. I want the truth.”

A small smile graced Neteyam’s lips, falling away just as fast. “The truth…”

“Can’t keep it all bottled up. It’s going to eat you alive.”

“I think I’m falling apart, but I know I need to hold it together…I’m pissed…and angry…at everyone. She needed our help, and we weren’t- I’m mostly angry at myself though…If I had just been here, Jxo. If I hadn't left…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “And now,” he continued, puffy, red rimmed gaze peering at his father-in-law, “we’re doing nothing. Nothing, just- just sitting here while she-”

Fists balled on top his thighs, Neteyam shook in fury- emotions rolling and changing in waves.

“Li’ona, we need to head for Li’ona and no one is fucking listening to me! We’re wasting time, Jxo. Anything could be happening to her right now. I try not to let my imagination and fears run wild, but God-”

He rubbed his face, head bowed in distress.

“And they won’t let me leave! They won’t let me try! Why won’t you let me try? It’s been so long now, Jxo. I- I just want her home. I want her safe…So, no. I’m not holding up at all,” he finished.

Almost six hours ago he had tried and failed to make his way out of the clan. When he’d left the labs after his last outburst, he’d had enough. He was tired of waiting. He was going to get his woman dammit.

But Gwuyle had stopped him at the border- had called his father as if he were some rebellious teenager trying to sneak out.

And they did come for him- Jake and Jxo, both saying words of comfort or maybe trying to tell him it was dangerous and why he shouldn’t go alone- that it wasn’t safe- he didn’t know. He didn’t hear a lick of it.

So now here he was.

Waiting.

After another hour of sitting in silence with Jxo, a cry of, “Holy shit!” got their attention. Both men scrambled as a commotion of chatter and activity echoed behind them.

Inside, the link shack, and the open floor of the labs it was joined with, was a frantic mess of human, Avatar and Na’vi bodies, and there, surrounded, was Stephan.

He was awake. Sat up on his open link unit, the scrawny human man with slightly greying hair and an odd mustache was choking back water as if he were dying of thirst.

Neteyam hadn’t had very much interaction with the technician before. He knew the man could be a bit…much sometimes, knew he was an eccentric, “curses like a sailor”, herb smoking genius.

Making his way to the front of those gathered, he tried to tame his impatience. Just when he was about to launch into questions, Stephan beat him to it- turning the room silent as he spewed words a mile a minute.

“That fucker is a goddam, motherfucking psychopath! He’s got me flying to Li’ona of all places. We’re stopped for the night right now near the Johkadah crater. I managed to get him to stop under the guise that the ship was overheating- which it was, piece of crap,” he muttered, “It’s going to be eclipse soon though and the dummy still wants us to push through- he’s lucky we even have the fuel,” he said, reaching for the tablet in Max’s hands, punching a few buttons.

“You guys should thank me, call me the asshole whisperer if you will. I got that idiot to tell me shit you’d never believe. He told me where their village is- two clicks from the border of the Dead Forest- north east. That’s where we’re heading. He’s got a hoard load of shit with him too- food, weapons, medicine.”

His eyes met Neteyam’s amongst the people surrounding him. “He’s trading her- Xilä, for his title…this Su’ko fucker or whatever- leader of the savages who overthrew him- he’s giving her to him…It’s not good.”

Neteyam clenched his jaw, suddenly unable to speak. He felt his mother’s arms wrap around him as he processed the techie's words.

“Xilä?” Jxo asked. “Is she injured? There was blood all over the place.”

The scrawny man nodded, “I tried, but he won’t let me go near to check on her…from what I’ve seen, she’s banged up but the good news is, I’d bet most of that blood you found was T'shteyo’s. She stabbed him, broke his nose…she did real good. Real badass, if you ask me. When she woke up for the first time, she fought hard- but he drugged her again, stuck with a sedative. I had to fight him when he…almost overdosed her.”

The link shake grew quiet.

“He drugged her? Where’d he even get that shit?” Lo’ak asked, wide-eyed. “The labs?”

“Nah, took ‘em off the Doc who tended to him after he got the crap beaten out of him. Apparently they had to keep him under most of the time.”

“Stephan, can you stall him where you are right now? We can make it to the crater in a day or two,” Jake interrupted.

Stephan nodded. “I can try, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. I pushed him too far I think, he’s been wanting to cut off my tongue,” he shared with a shudder. “I can’t stay too long. I don’t think he knows I can communicate with you guys, but I also don’t want him to figure it out if he tries to wake my Avatar and thinks I'm dead. You lot need to hurry the fuck up and come get us, yeah?”

“That’s the plan,” the Olo'eyktan responded in agreement.

“Oh right, wait there’s something else,” Stephan mumbled as he quickly began to stuff his mouth with the meal an assistant handed him. “The ship keeps sending me these warnings…the place we’re headed to, the heat readings are off the fucking chart. So, if I can’t stall- if we end up there…prepare yourself. Loincloths or a Tee and cargo shorts,” he said, gesturing to Norm’s Avatar appearance, “aren’t going to cut it.”

“Okay, good to know, thanks. Max, Norm talk to him- I want that GPS up and running,” Jake ordered. “You’re doing a hell of a job brother, thank you,” he said before stepping away from the crowd as he paged Gwuyle, immediately giving instructions for their warriors to assemble.

When Stephan was finished and began getting ready to lay back into the machine, Neteyam approached him before Max could close it.

“Stephan…thank you, for-”

“Hey man, nah, it’s no biggie…your girl, she’s real tough shit…she’ll be home soon.”

Neteyam nodded. “You too brother.”

“I’d call dibs to kill T'shteyo, but something tells me there’s a line,” Stephan joked.

Neteyam followed his gaze around the room, finding Jxo, Lo’ak and his mother who were in deep conversation- plans being set in motion. Spider was there too, now showing Norm and two lab technicians something on a map as they all seemed to be nodding in agreement.

Gwuyle strode in just then, flanked by a fierce looking Leati and two council members.

“There’s a line alright,” Neteyam nodded. “Keep an eye on her for me, will you?”

“I’ll do my damn best,” Stephan assured just before the link bed closed shut with a beep.

Lo’ak made his way over. “You ready, bro?”

“Fuck yes…my lucky dagger suddenly has a date with two pieces of shit.”

“Two?”

“Oh yeah, I also want the one they call, Su’ko.”

Xi squinted from the harsh, red tinged glare when the door of the ship opened. She huddled further into the blanket wrapped around her when the sting of the brutal weather hit her.

Li’ona.

It had only taken them a few days of constant travel by the human-made flying contraption.

She frowned at a tied up and unconscious Stephan whose body slumped in his seat. T'shteyo had knocked him out with a heavy handed swing and Xilä prayed that he wasn’t dead and was back home, safe.

“It’s not too late to leave…please don’t do this,” she pleaded when she saw T'shteyo’s fleeting pause of hesitancy as he stared out at the vast lands- his lower face completely hidden by cloth.

“Don’t,” her father hissed, tugging on the end of the rope that kept her hands bound- making her cry out as the ties sank deeper into her skin. “One more peep out of you and I swear I’ll rip your tongue out…Understood?”

She nodded mutely, head bowed in submission.

With another forceful jerk of the rope, he led them onwards- towards the empty ruins of a land.

She had no choice but to begrudgingly follow- hissing the moment they stepped onto the dry land. The ground was scorching beneath her booted feet. Even T'shteyo released a surprised grunt when his own covered heels left the cool platform of the ship.

Xi didn’t know if it was because she’d been gone for so long or what, but somehow it seemed worse than before. The air was sweltering- blisteringly sweltering. It was almost difficult to breathe through the cloth covering her mouth and nose.

T'shteyo’s long strides forced her to practically sprint to keep up.

The journey was long and grueling. Xilä cried silent tears the further they travelled. She wanted to go home. She wanted her husband.

Sweat soaked her head to toe, parched lips begging for water. Whenever she began to lag, her father would pull on the tie, causing her to trip a few times, uncovered palms burning painfully when she tried to catch herself from falling face first on the scorching ground.

Xilä couldn’t tell whether it had been minutes, hours or days. She followed blindly, feeling somewhat feverish and delirious- and not just from the heat. Whatever foreign liquid he’d pierced her skin with, she was sure had left her with lingering effects.

Travelling through the barren lands, uprooted painful memories she thought she’d successfully stifled. She had failed though, because it was when they’d finally come across a familiar and horrifying landmark, her eyes began to water again.

That high and sharp jutting rock not only meant that they were near their destination, but it was also a reminder of the danger she was in- of the savageness of the people here- savageness far worse than her own father.

Kayoanaska was what they called that place. It was where they’d string up the treacherous- anyone who betrayed or were disloyal to the clan were strung up and left for dead. And with roaming, wild deadland beasts- not even a corpse would be left.

When they drew closer to the settlement that was once called her home, Xi’s brows puckered in confusion.

Where were the guards? Where was…anyone?

Entering the village was like walking through a shadow of the past. What was once a busy but suffering village- was now empty…abandoned… eerie.

Poorly constructed structures were either half collapsed or completely disintegrated- the brutality of the dust filled wind and weather having done great damage to what was left.

Xi wished she could have felt an ounce of sympathy for those who suffered here, but like she had told Neteyam so long ago, there was nothing left in her heart for them. They’d brought it upon themselves.

T’shteyo spun in a circle as he too seemed to be looking for signs of life. He snarled at the ruins of his home. What had they done to it?!

They didn’t have to wait very long before life soon found them. Both stilled when the ground suddenly began to shake. For a split second Xi thought it may have been a land quake, but then she spotted them.

Just in the distance, clouded by a storm of red dust, was a group of hooded figures. Cloaks flying behind them as they rode fast on their massive and terrifying beasts- the beasts who she knew reeked of decaying flesh.

Xi grew tense when they pulled to a stop some feet away. She gulped when the armed, hooded figures from her nightmares dismounted their skeletal, half dead creatures with ease.

They closed the distance on foot.

It was easy to recognize Su’ko. He was front and center, flanked by ten others. But it was the faux grand spear he wielded that told her exactly who he was. That spear had once belonged to her father when he was Olo'eyktan.

Four men broke away, rounding behind Xi and T'shteyo, effectively blocking them from any form of escape.

“T'shteyo…you actually returned,” Su’ko sneered in mock fascination from beneath the cloth covering his face- soulless piercing eyes crinkling with mirth. “You are far braver than I gave you credit for, fool…I admit…I have lost a wager then,” he snickered, making a few of the others chuckle in amusement also.

“Su’ko,” her father grunted in greeting, glare set on the man who’d cost him his title. “What have you done to my clan? My village! Where are my people!”

“Ahhh…so many, My’s. You forget they no longer belong to you…but fret not. They are safe. Sheltered. Loyal to me now since I did what you could not do, brother. I did what you were not willing to do.”

“Enough!” her father roared.

Xilä knew he hated to be undermined more than anything. Being perceived as weak was indeed her father’s greatest weakness.

“Fine then,” Su’ko agreed with a nudge of his head. “Why don’t you show us the gifts you’ve brought with you?” he gleamed, head tilting to roam over Xi’s hidden form appreciatively.

T'shteyo dropped the overstuffed sack he’d been painfully carrying to the ground- dust momentarily clouding around their feet before clearing away. “One of many,” he said, “food, clean water, weapons, medicine…just like you asked.”

Su’ko gave an ordering hoot, and at once, one of his men stepped forward to inspect the loot. He offered a fat water skin to his leader, who jerked his head at the man.

Picking up on Su’ko’s hesitation, Xi’s father growled a deep angry snarl. “It is not poisoned! If I wanted you dead I’d go about it very differently!”

But the leader was not deterred, glare still fixed on his underling standing in the center.

Hesitantly, the man uncapped the skin and drank, and drank…and drank. Xilä knew that feeling all too well- that first taste of clean fresh water. The sweet sweet, tear jerking taste. She remembered waking up in Mo’at’s tent like it was yesterday- her first time experiencing it. She remembered wanting to beg for more…but she never had to beg.

“That’s enough!” Su’ko roared, grabbing the waterskin away. He released the cloth from his lower face, baring his teeth in a sinister smile before drinking his full until the bag went empty. Grin wide and happy, he said, “You did good T'shteyo, very good…where’s the rest of it?”

“No. My title,” her father demanded. “You don’t get anymore. The rest is mine. I decide who gets what…don’t make me repeat myself.”

Su’ko raised a brow at his tone but said nothing.

A stifling silence filled with murderous glares prolonged until Su’ko broke it with humored huff. There was absolutely nothing funny to laugh at however, especially when his attention turned towards Xilä.

Despite the unbearable heat, a cold sweat rippled through Xi’s body as her breathing became erratic.

“Have it your way then, brother, if you must. But won’t you at least show off the most important thing you’ve got hiding behind you?” he asked, making all eyes focus on Xilä now.

“Did you not hear me? I want my title!”

“Now, now T'shteyo,” Su’ko said in a mocking tone, “The deal was, I get the girl and you get the title…so unless we no longer have a deal…” he sang, lips twitching tauntingly.

“No wait…wait…” T'shteyo tugged hard on Xi’s bindings, causing her to stumble forward. “Your whore…as promised.” He tossed the end of the rope which Su’ko caught with ease.

With a pleasurable groan, he yanked Xilä towards him, cupping her throat to give her a warning squeeze when she tried to resist him.

“Aww, be calm Petal,” he cooed as he pulled down her face covering. “She is wounded,” he spat in fury, gipping her trembling jaw tightly to twist her head to his liking. “I told you to deliver her unharmed!”

“Yeah, well the bitch put up a fight. You have her. She’ll heal,” T'shteyo said nonchalantly, making Xilä whimper in defeat.

“Ahh, I see…So she’ll need a bit of training, hmm? Doesn’t know how to behave just yet,” he cooed again, scarred face stretching into an ugly grin.

Xilä grimaced, holding her breath when he pulled her up onto her toes to lick a stripe across her uninjured cheek, putrid breath clogging her senses.

“Mmmmm, even better than the water,” he whispered for only her to hear. “Oh yes…yes, yes, yes. She will do just fine,” he said, releasing her, binding the end of the rope to the sheath tethered to his hip.

T'shteyo cleared his throat, jerking his head at the spear in Su’ko’s free hand, expectantly.

“Ahhh…the title…hmmm. Here’s the thing, old friend. There’s a little hitch in the plan,” he sang in faux sadness, eyes still roaming over Xilä’s petrified face.

She whimpered, struggling against his hold when he pulled her close to openly inhale her sweet scent, nosing along her hairline, down her cheek, tucking into her hood to sniff along her jaw and neck.

“No- don’t, please don’t,” she whimpered, tears stinging her eyes when his hand pushed through her cloak to trail up her hip, rough fingers palming at the exposed skin of her waist.

“What fucking hitch?! We had a deal you bastard!” T'shteyo roared, bringing Su’ko’s attention back to him.

“Did we?” Su’ko pondered sarcastically, “Hmm, either way-” he continued calmly- his cool tone contradicting the tense moment, “I thank you for your generous gifts, but you see, I seem to have had a change of heart. I have decided that I will be keeping the title.”

T'shteyo howled angrily, expletives rolling off his tongue as he advanced towards Su’ko, knives drawn and ready to strike.

But he did not get very far…

Su’ko laughed at his actions and turned away without care, storming back in the direction of the beasts that were waiting for them, dragging his prize along by the rope tethered to him.

As he refastened his face covering, he called out, “You may kill him now!”

Xilä pulled on her bindings, looking back in horror to watch as four men advanced on T'shteyo. He fought hard against his attackers, but they were quick to overpower him. Guttural screams echoed through the empty air as they brutally began to beat him.

“T-traitors! Cowards! Ev-ery fucking one of you! Weak b-bastards!” her father cried in agony.

“Wait!” Su’ko ordered, making the warriors cease their vicious actions. “I changed my mind…He does not deserve a quick death.”

The hooded men hooted in delight.

Su’ko peered down at a sobbing Xilä, “What do you think, Petal? How should we kill him? Hm?”

Without making her respond, he instead grinned at the sight of the crumpled heap of a man who was rocking and wailing in pain.

“It is settled then…Kayoanaska awaits. We string him up instead!”

The sound of retching filled the air and the putrid stench of bile caused Su’ko to grimace at his newly acquired gift.

A few of Xilä’s braids had gone loose, strands of hair sticking to her sweat slicked face as she doubled over for another heaving round, completely draining the contents of her already empty stomach.

Her father was dead…well not yet, but he was as good as. It was only a matter of time. Whether it was the heat or starvation…or the deadland beasts who’d most likely get to him first.

She’d seen them do it. Seen them strip him of his weapons before binding him to the jagged high rock, feet dangling in the air as he sobbed and begged for mercy. She’d heard his gut wrenching cry for her to help him as she wrestled and fought against the hold of her new capturers.

But he’d done this to them.

There was nothing she could do, and Xi hated him for it. She hated herself for still not wanting him dead. And as much pain and hurt he had inflicted upon her all the years of her life, as much as she still loathed him in that very moment for releasing her into the hands of monsters, she could never- Stop.

He deserved it…didn’t he?

“Disgusting shit! Send in someone to deal with this mess. I was promised a woman to fuck, not this infected, disease bearing flea!”

Su’ko sent her one last scornful glare before storming out of the small alcove he had shackled her in.

They were underground- a short ride’s journey from where the village once was. It was a dim, low ceiling cave which had probably been created overtime due to the many quakes the land had experienced. Or at least she thought so-

Xilä hadn’t gotten a proper look of it yet- she was too busy trying not to fall as Su’ko dragged her by the wrists through a sea of onlookers- clan members hissing and cursing at her as he paraded his new whore around.

They’d reached out cruel hands- hands that yanked off her hood, tugged at her braids and queue and snatched off the boots that covered her blistered feet. Her now exposed face showcased her frightened tear filled eyes and stained cheeks which only made them laugh in glee at her weakness.

She had tried to make eye contact with someone- anyone who'd show her a hint of compassion…but they all wore masks of evil- bared fangs, wild grunts and cruel words.

It wasn’t until she was tossed into an alcove, did all the events and bodily pain finally catch up with her, making her hurl and heave whatever little was left in her stomach.

A few moments after Su’ko left her, an old, shriveled water skin was chucked at her feet, along with a frayed rag and a small chunk of half rotting bark.

“Clean yourself up,” snapped the voice of a woman.

Xilä recognized it- it was Vhin, a middle aged Na’vi who Xi had come to despise over the years. She used to be a friend of her mother’s.

With a slew of curses, the woman began to clean the pool of vomit Xi had made. From a quick glance around, Xilä guessed this must have been Su’ko’s private space she had defiled.

“Better do as told, girl,” Vhin warned when she saw that Xi hadn’t moved from her slumped position on the dirt floor, crumbling rocks loosening beneath her. “The Olo'eyktan wishes to claim you after the feast.”

“I cannot be claimed, Vhin,” Xilä rasped as she levelled a glare at the vile Na’vi before her. “I am a mated woman. I am already-”

The older woman cut her off with an unimpressed noise. “It does not count…Su’ko makes the rules here now.”

“I am a claimed woman. I was bonded to my mate before Eywa-”

“Ha! Eyyyywaaa…” she drawled sarcastically, “Where was the Great Mother when we her people needed her? How many years- decades has it been since she’s shown her presence? We live like vermin! What has she ever done for us? Su’ko is Olo'eyktan now and his word is worth more than the mighty Great Mother. You’d be wise to remember there is no Eywa here anymore. He will take you as he wishes.”

Not wanting to discuss such a revolting topic any further, Xi steered the direction of the conversation.

“If you don’t have the Great Mother, there are other ways- there were other things that could have been done. Did you know help has been offered by the Omatikaya. If only my father was not so stubborn- Your Olo'eyktan, the people can choose differently. We did not have to live this way- you still don’t have too. My clan can help! You have a choice now, Vhin. All the people of Li’ona do. My mate,” Xi said, tearing up from just calling his name, “his father, Jakesully- Toruk Makto can save-”

“Quiet!” Vhin hissed, “You have been gone far too long, Xilä. I see your head has been filled with fruitless lies. Our people take care of their own. Remember?”

Xi scoffed bitterly, causing her ribs to ache. “No, they are too proud to accept help. Or maybe just too stupid.”

Vhin squinted at her as if seeing her for the first time. “You are different, girl... No longer the whimpering mess you used to be.”

Xi ignored her, choosing instead to break off a small piece of the cleansing bark near her feet. It was stale, but it aided in settling her rolling upset stomach and removed the rancid taste from her mouth.

“It is a good thing, Xilä. We need strong women in our clan, there are already far too few of us. Why do you think Su’ko was so eager to claim you? We will have a chance at a new start.”

Lip throbbing from talking so much, Xi said, “There is no us. I will not be here for long.”

Vhin laughed, amused, “And just where do you think you will be going?”

“Home. My husband will come for me,” she replied defiantly.

The woman shot Xi a pitying glance. “Oh you poor silly girl. Oh to be young and stupid again.” The harsh lines of Vhin’s face crinkled when she smiled, making her look much older than she truly was. “Clean yourself up. I will be back to ensure that you have. Don’t make me have to punish you,” she threatened.

Xilä released a sob once she was alone. Giving herself a moment to react to the situation at hand she wept as quietly as possible, muffling the sounds into her blistered palms.

She was terrified.

Not only had they left her father out for dead but Su’ko was planning to claim her- to mate her. She wept harder at that thought. She knew Su’ko would take her against her will, he was not one to reason with.

‘Please hurry Neteyam,’ she prayed.

All she wanted at that moment was to be held by her husband and to be far away from this wretched land.

Sobering up, she began to take note of her injuries, wincing when she touched the corner of her bottom lip. The dried blood on her cheek felt tight and itchy. Running a knuckle along the torn flesh, she felt relieved that it was only a shallow cut.

Her throat was still sore of course, it hurt to swallow her own saliva. She shuddered at the memory of her father’s hands squeezed tight around her neck. Xilä thought she was going to die then.

Sipping the water Vhin had left was a bad idea. It was murky and tasted more like slosh than anything- she spat it out instantly and tossed it away. She wouldn’t even use it to clean her palms, or cheek. Who knew what infections it could cause.

Xilä’s eyes trailed to the rusty old chain around her ankle. It was human-made of course. Probably looted from an old RDA turf. Xi noted that much of the contents of Su’ko’s space held several foreign items that Xi had never noted in Li’ona before.

It puzzled her because it was a punishable crime to have possession of such items.

Glaring at the chain that held her prisoner and unable to run, Xi grimaced at her poor ankle- it swollen and almost mangled looking. Angry harsh marks tinged in blood circled her cyan skin. Su’ko had been quite rough with her when he’d tied her up.

She had already tried and failed multiple times at releasing the bindings on her wrists. So, attempting to slip her foot free again, she wailed in frustration when she failed yet again. It didn’t even budge.

Over and over she tugged and pulled and yanked- trying to break free.

But nothing.

Slumping in defeat against the wall of rock she was held in, Xi prayed to Eywa to give her strength.

It had been an hour since two men dragged her from the alcove and tossed her at Su’ko’s feet.

Xilä stifled the need to cry again, she refused to let them see her tears.

She was tired, hungry, thirsty. Her injuries were no longer numb from a rush of adrenaline or maybe it was the muted effects of whatever drug her father had most likely overdosed her with- but she was in pain.

And then here she was as well, on display for the entire clan to see.

They’d stolen her cloak a few minutes ago- a soft blanket really. The faint lingering scent of home had been roughly ripped off of her and was now wrapped around some other woman who’d brutally beaten the one who’d stolen it from her.

Animals.

All of them.

Xi watched them all now from her perch between Su’ko’s thighs. She stayed eerily still as he played with her hair, occasionally breaking away from his feast of smoked fish and squashed yovo fruit, to nuzzle at her neck, deeply inhaling each time.

She felt revolution from his touch and naked in front of the clan.

Unlike the other fully covered women in their poorly sewn, weather appropriate- long ugly dresses, Xilä was probably a sight to see in her revealing tubed top and short skirt.

Men stared and women sneered. Su’ko on the other hand was downright delighted.

Xilä watched the faces staring back at her. They were gaunt, pale, sickly. Savages who fought each other over the food “Su’ko” had provided for them- the food her father had stolen.

Eyes roaming, she realized she’d been right. The cave was dim, low hanging so that taller Na’vi had to watch their heads while standing at full height. And while it was still hot, it was definitely not as blistering as the outside. Members were now free to reveal their faces or shrug off their outer threadbare cloaks.

“Pretty little thing,” a nearby member complimented his leader, grunting through a lisp- half his teeth missing. “You will share her, no?”

“But of course,” Su’ko purred, tongue darting out to lick a bead of sweat off her temple. “What precious gift we have here.”

Hoots and cheers echoed around the cave at the man's words.

“Oh, Petal. I am going to have so much fun with you.”

Xi felt herself shutting down. She screwed her eyes shut, blocking out the world around her.

“Come on Xi. You can do this. Let’s go again. Ready? Breathe in… out… In… out. Focus on your breathing…clear your mind before trying to find her.”

Xilä’s nose wrinkled as she tried to focus. “Ugh, it’s not working, ‘Teyam. I can’t do it.”

“Bullshit. Yes you can. Again.”

“It’s too hard, let’s go back to-”

“No.”

Xi pouted. She realized he’d crumble to her will lately- especially if she played it right.

He glanced away, nose flaring, sharp jaw clenched as if denying himself temptation. When he stared at her again, she felt breathless…she felt seen- as if she mattered.

What was he doing to her lately?

“Alright, fine. Come here then, let’s try another way.” He gently tugged her towards him, unlinking his legs as he helped her settle against his chest.

Xilä bit her lip, head tilting forward to hide her furious appearing blush as his thighs caged her in. He was doing this a lot now…touching her. It was innocent enough but she felt the hidden more- she liked it.

His palm covered the entity of her stomach, applying a small amount of pressure. “Breathe with me Xilä, feel how I do, okay?” he said quietly, pressing her flush with his chest.

“Okay.”

He whispered in her ear this time, puffs of warm breath tickingling her. “Breathe sweetheart. In…out…In…out…In…out…Clear your mind…in, before you sharpen your thoughts, out…In…out. What do you hear? In…out. What do you feel? Make the connection, Xi……Feel it?”

“Yes.”

It was indescribable. Since starting this particular lesson, it was the first time she’d felt it- the first time she connected with Eywa without Tsaheylu with the Tree of Souls. The Omatikaya were a spiritual people. Eywa was their way of life.

And now it would be hers too.

Neteyam linked his pinkie with her index like they always did of late. He nudged her with his chin playfully. “See? How was that?”

“Good…Beautiful. I didn’t think I could do it,” she admitted.

“Why? Don’t you see? There is nothing you cannot do, Xi. I want you to start believing in yourself like I do,” he said, lips brushing her flickering ear.

“I know. But this in particular…I thought Eywa would want nothing to do with me- it’s stupid.”

Thick arms circled her, hugging her close. “It’s not stupid…do you want to talk about why you would think such a thing?”

“I don’t, not right now anyway. Maybe another time.”

“Fair enough. Do you want to try again, or call it a day? Your choice, sweetheart. I’m feeling generous today,” he joked.

Xilä turned to peer up at her friend- gold clashing with silver. She felt that tickling flutter in her stomach again. The one that would sink lower into secret parts of her- parts that tingled and dampened. The same fluttering she’d feel whenever she stared at his sweat slicked abs or arms when she watched him train with his team. The one that made her weak at the knees when he called her “sweetheart”.

“Xi?”

She blinked, a beam growing on her face. “Yes, I want to try again.”

“Alright,” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they settled into the position again. “Ready?”

Breath in…and out…In…out…in…out.

Xilä opened her eyes- piercing gaze fiercely glaring into her lap.

The memory did something to her.

It sparked the fire she needed. Hearing Neteyam’s voice relit the hope she knew was slowly dimming.

If he were here with her, he’d tell her she was strong. He’d tell her she could get through this. He’d tell her to think, to plan, to be smart and to strike when they least expected it.

Xi could do that.

She refused to accept defeat.

She refused to let them break her.

So all of that just happened...My heart breaks for Xi and Neteyam rn.

This took a darker turn than expected...we'll see what happens in the next part...

I know that this chapter is a month over due, so again, I'll spear yall my sob story. I really do hate having long stretches of no update, really sorry lovelies.

Not going to lie but this chapter was a strugggggle to write. It's not my favorite and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy at all with the final result...but it's done, so *shrugs*

Special shout out to Tori who's idea's helped immensely. As well as those of you who would have sent an Ask. It honestly helped A LOT!

Feel free to share your suggestions of course and as always please let me know what you thought, since you know I love hearing from you all :)

Ps: Curious of what you all think of Stephan's character. Lol

Tags: @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @granddearduck @riatesullironalite @strawberri-blonde @earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop @blkmystery @neteswife @luvteyams @isnt-itstrange @erenjaegerwifee

If you'd like to be tagged or I forgot you by accident, please let me know.

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

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marigold-hills · 4 months ago

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Dunes & Waters, part 19

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

Remus watches Sirius eat.

Sirius shouldn’t be eating, but he’s a sneaky one and managed to smuggle a bag of dates into the museum when Remus wasn’t looking. He gets snacky, he said when he took them out and put them on his desk. Helps him think, having something to chew on.

Remus should not be watching Sirius eat. For his own self preservation, really. Not when the dates are sticky and Sirius licks them off his fingers. There’s a hint of teeth, a flash of tongue. Remus is pretty sure he would hate seeing anyone else do this, but on Sirius… he still hates it, but for different reasons. It’s obscene. His mouth opens and his fingers enter it and each time, Remus has a vivid, gut-pulling, earth-shattering reminder of the dream he had. Has to bite the inside of his own cheek to stop from moaning.

It’s been an unproductive day. He’s stuck on a translation of a word from the 30th sequence of the tomb-chapel of Rekhmira. There are some Muggle translations but none of them makes sense within the context of what Remus knows and what the Muggles wouldn’t: Rekhmira is a key.

Hng r.k mxA.i n.k r.k r qsw.k

Your mouth is ..., I measure your mouth for you to your bones

Sirius, despite emptying his stash of snacky brain food, is also getting nowhere with the Box.

“Let’s finish for today,” he says, “it’s almost midnight.”

“Run out of food, did you?”

“Yes,” a grin with so many pretty white teeth, “and I want to feed Ziggy. Poor thing’s been alone for hours.”

They walk through a night-quiet Aswan. It’s clear, star-lit, moon-bright.

“There’s my star,” Sirius point out, “bright, aren’t I?”

“That you are,” Remus answers, “very pretty.”

Sirius points out constellations as they walk, the main star in each. There’s Leo, and Regulus, it’s heart. There’s Cassiopeia, the Stag.

“And look, Aquila. Like on your Box. But it’s Altair, the Eagle’s eye, that’s the brightest, not…” he stops dead, arm he was using to point towards the sky suddenly limp by his side.

“Sirius?”

“It’s the Falcon.”

Remus wants to ask more but there is something so wonderful about watching Sirius put pieces together. He’s loath to disturb it and scared to move – he knows the face of breakthrough. He knows how easy a thread of new thought can be broken.

“Aquila was the falcon of Horus in Egypt, not an Eagle - that’s Greek. And the red star, Alshain, on the Box - it’s the peregrine, also the falcon.”

Sirius breaks eye contact with the sky, looks to Remus, bright and elated. “The whole Box is a multi level riddle, like your bloody crosswords.”

They turn back to the Museum.

It’s strange walking through the ward and into a sun lit room straight from a dark night outside. Confuses something in Remus’ time perception. It’s a liminal space, this office of theirs, where nothing is real but the two of them and what they work on. Remus gets lost in it. Could spend days in it. Work away the nights.

Sirius transfigures a blank sheet of paper into an enormous blackboard. Draws the Box on it – an approximation of it, three dimensional son flat canvas, all sharp edges and quick, overlapping lines.

“There are constellations here,” he points to one of the edges, draws an arrow to it, “and here.”

Aquila, he writes, the Falcon. “We know this. On the other side is Lupus, the Wolf.” More arrows, more notes. “But Lupus has no named stars… so what’s the clue here?”

Remus does no work of his own, just watches the storm in front of him and lets it sweep him along. Thinks just how bloody lucky he’s gotten that the convict he pulled out of prison has an in-depth knowledge of star systems. Cringes at it because calling Sirius this now? Unthinkable. Senseless.

He tries to imagine it. Sirius, hurting all those people. Can’t: even in the midst of an attack, Sirius didn’t hurt Remus, only himself. He’s been so gentle. With Ziggy. With Remus. It makes no sense, that somebody could be both.

More writing. Lupus underlined, and below it: Wolf. Roman: Bestia. Greek: Therium. Babylon: Mad Dog – UR.IDIM.

Then a drawing, something with a head of a man and body of a wolf.

Sirius draws back. Thinks about it. Summons a book of deities and it flies into his hands. “I’m missing something.”

Then he’s quiet for a while, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He’s a beautiful mess.

“That’s Anubis and Wepwawet on the front. They’re both dog gods, but that makes no sense…”

“Wepwawet is a wolf,” Remus interrupts.

It’s dangerous, now, with the disfigured human drawn on the board, how close Sirius is to figuring out the core of the research. Remus knows it, and he sees in Sirius’ eyes that he does, too.

“It’s time you give me another piece of information, Remus. The missing link.”

Remus knows he’s right. To have a chance at figuring this out, he has to know just why the Box stroke his interest. He was hoping to delay it. He was hoping not to do it at all. And Sirius was so good, he got so much of it already – more than Remus has, more than anyone since the Box had been found. Falcon. Bestia. Dog-Man.

“I’m studying werewolves.”

NEXT PART

NOTES:

Does this make sense? It makes sense to me but that could be because I know the big picture.

extra long chapter today to make up for missing yesterday :)

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #fanfic #remus x sirius #marauders era #dead gay wizards #dunes and waters

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norman-fucking-reedus · 9 months ago

Text

high late night thought but I have this crazy idea about the reader making Daryl a multifunctional wooden crossbow and its frying my brain

It happened as the two of you were making your way back to your campsite after a long day of splashing and hand catching fish in the lake, Daryl nudged your shoulder with his and pointed to a deer. “M’gon get it” He whispered, already aimming his crossbow.

You turned your head briefly, checking to see where Dog had wondered off too when you heard what sounded like elastic snapping, followed by Daryl’s very frantic cursing.

“What happened?!” When you whipped around, Daryl was already crouched around the bow as he made an attempt to fix it. You got next to him to try and see what was wrong. “It didn’t fire like it was supposed ta… Hold tha part” Your fingers pinched the piece he pointed at, watching as his hands slightly trembled as he tried to re string the bow to the actual trigger, you holding down the piece that clamps the trigger into place.

Snap.

Daryl held up the fully broken string, feeling his heart break along with it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Daryl” You whispered as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, once again trying to jam the string ends back into place but to no avail, only further damaging the weapon. He exhaled in frustration. “I’ve had this damned thing since I was a teenager, it was tha’ first thing Merle ever got fer me” Daryl mumbled, rolling the thick bowstring in his hands. His chest hurt and there was a small lump building in his throat.

You stared down at the crossbow, analyzing it’s shape before carefully picking it up to take a better look at the mechanics. “C’mon. We can figure something out handsome”

It took you a few months to figure something out.

Over that time period, Daryl was absolutely crushed.

He was visibly upset, snapping and yelling at anyone who talked to him, on one occasion at Judith, but he quickly apologized.

It was obvious to everyone that Daryl’s crossbow was of extreme sentimental value, and it would take time for him to heal. Carol had offered to teach him how to use a standard bow, only to be dismissed with an agitated “I used a goddamn bow ‘nd arrow before”

Daryl was frustrated with nobody but himself, frustrated that the countless times he’s had to fix the thing, he couldn’t do it one more time.

You spent the first half of the first month studying how all the strings worked and the mechanisms of the weapon in general. It wasn’t complicated, especially when you started to pick stuff apart. You spent the other half brainstorming and designing ideas for a more sturdier and functional crossbow, trying to stay calm as you watched Daryl intimidatingly stalk around the community. You felt bad knowing you both blamed yourselves, even though it was neither one of yours fault.

You got lucky in the second month, when you and Carol had gotten lost in the woods, and your only flashlight stopped working.

You just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, “I’m trying to make Daryl a new crossbow” You blurted out as the two of you stopped walking. Carol turned to you in the dark, striking a match as she did. “That’s nice, how’s it goin?” She smiled softly at your eye roll. “I just don’t know exactly to build it, let alone design” You scoffed, kicking a rock. You weren’t some kind of handyman, but it made busied your mind to have something to build or deconstruct. “Well, we’re in the forest. Why not get some wood?” Carol struck another match, your eyes flickering towards the sound, watching the stick ignite into flames. You nodded, smiling absently as you followed her.

When you got home, you dropped the logs and rummaged through the drawers, grabbing a box of matches and speed walking over to your drawing pad.

You pulled the crossbow out from where you kept it, placing it on the table and quickly walking back to snatch up the logs.

There was more than enough to make a decent amount of arrows, and to try creating a new piece to properly re-string the previously broken one, plopping down into a chair as you started to pick apart the weapon, creative thoughts beginning to flow.

You used your large knife to chop and carve the wood, occasionally nicking yourself or cutting just a little too much off. You took breaks inbetween to draw out ideas, standing up to get a better look before sitting back down, scribbling on the paper or dragging the sharp blade down a wooden piece.

By the third month, you were gluing and securing down new parts and pieces, following a vision in your head.

The crossbow has its original black structure, a small piece of wood right behind the formerly faulty trigger to help it fire once more. You had taken off the head in previous months, not sure what to do with it until recently, picking up the separate piece and turning it around in your hands. The idea of multi function flooded your head, staring down at the arched part and back at the structure as you already busied yourself with mending and bending metal.

You had to re-string and re-wire a few sections, standing up for a test run every so often as you worked vigorously. You were proud of yourself for being able to fix the trigger itself, however this was an even greater fix. You rose to your feet and slid the weapons end over your shoulder, aimming before firing. The string cracked forward as the arrow shot out, and you pulled it back into it’s wooden place, firing one more arrow.

You smiled softly to yourself for being able to fix it, and moved to once more pop the bows head off, only this time setting the structure down and holding it put in front of you, pulling the string back with your fingers and releasing, arrow flying to join the others. “Damn I outdo myself everyday” You pumped a fist in the air as you moved to yank the three arrows from out of the wall.

The head snapped easily back into place, along with the string. You added the dozen wooden sticks you had carved into various sized arrows into the crossbows original holder, staring down at weapon for any overlooked mistakes or potential last minute details. The matchbox briefly crossed your mind.

“Where’s Daryl?” You squinted your eyes and shielded them from the sun, glancing up at Aaron. “Said he was going out. Didn’t wanna push” The man shrugged and you nodded, thanking him for his help before going back to your house to put your gear on.

As you walked out the gates, newly modified crossbow slung around your shoulder, you couldn’t help but wink at your friends prying eyes.

Part of you wasn’t even sure where Daryl would be if not hunting out the woods, but then you realized he wouldn’t go anywhere but the woods.

Your feet led you back to your old campsite, where your heart soared as you spotted faint but very much footprints, following them with your knife drawn closely by your side. The prints were leading you to the lake, and at first you thought maybe you followed old prints, however held your breath when you finally spotted Daryl sitting on the edge of the water. You approached carefully, trying your best to keep the weapon concealed.

“Quit followin’ me” Daryl mumbled when you were standing behind him. You sat next to him, crossbow behind the two of you as you stared out into the water, then at Daryl. He simply looked at ground while digging a small hole with a rock, choosing to remain silent in your presence. It comforted him a little, and he spared a quick glance at you, head snapping upwards. “You- Did you-“ You placed the bow into his lap, fighting your smile as he carefully picked it up and analyzed it. “Why… How’d ya fix it?” He whispered, fingers caressing the wooden chunks and the bow head itself. “I’m sorry it took so long” You mumbled but Daryl shook his head. “Who cares? Ya still fixed it ‘nd then some!” His eyes sparkled as he was already positioning it onto his shoulder, aimming at a nearby tree and whooping at the sound of the string cracking and the arrow flying.

When he noticed the string out of it’s place however, he frowned. “It’s broke” You chuckled, taking the weapon from him and angling it so he could watch you. “It’s got lots of new feats. Bow and arrow good sir?” You popped off the head and handed it him, laughing at his stunned look. Daryl held the arch out in front of him and pulled the string back, sending an arrow next to the previous one. He whipped his head back around, eyes catching your fingers as they fiddled with a red stripe in the middle of the structure, right where the arrow goes. “I haven’t tested this myself” You whispered as you showed Daryl how to properly snap the head back on before rising to your feet.

“Ain’t a self-destruct is it?” Daryl stretched as he stood next to you, moving to yank the few strays out the tree. You shook your head, sliding one of your wooden arrows out the holder and bringing it to the stripe, quickly dragging it across and sliding it into position, flames licking the arrows head. Daryl whistled as it fired into a tree, fire still burning until it wasn’t. “Damn girl. I ain’t ever lettin’ ya get away” Daryl stepped into your space, one hand grabbing your waist and the other relieving you of the heavy weapon, slinging it over his shoulder. “Nice strap” He snorted, glancing down at the magneta shoulder strap replacing his black one. You softly kissed his lips, smiling as your hands rested against his chest. “How else will I identify you, huntermam?” His hands on your waist pulled you closer, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin. Daryl looked and felt much more like himself, an easy smile resting on his lips, his crossbow once again slung over his shoulder, and his woman warm under the touch of his hands.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

its 3 am and im fucking high as fuck guys live laugh love actually who’s down for a stoner reader fic thats sounds so fire

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #norman fucking reedus #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #daryl x female reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd

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0chemicalwaste0 · 4 months ago

Text

We Will Meet Again

(Haldir x reader)

-Part 1-

request thanks to the lovely @SierraSama from Wattpad. Anyway this is her request and enjoy. "Could you possibly do a Haldir imagine in which the reader is injured when she arrives in Lóthorien with the fellowship and he helps her back on her feet?"

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 951

'So help me if we live to see another day I'm going to kill Mithrandir.' I thought to myself. Why? You may ask, well I, along with the Fellowship, were currently in Moria in a bit of a conundrum. You see my friends and I were having to run for our lives away from thousands upon thousands of goblins. Not to mention the fact we had to escape from a Balrog as well. Gimli had thought it would have been a wonderful idea to traverse through the abandoned mines. A few loud noises later; curtsy of Pippin, the group and I were dashing through the old halls to the nearest exit as quick as possible. And at the current moment, I was holding up the rear of the group to make sure none of the hobbits were left behind and to let some steam off while shooting goblins in the head with my arrows. And I'm not guilty to say I imagined their heads to be Gandalf's. Then running across a narrow bridge with Gandalf staying behind to make sure everyone makes it safely across, the Balrog made his appearance. For the first time in my immortal life I saw Mithrandir afraid for his life and ours. He started to make his way over to the center of the bridge. Raising his sword and staff saying " You shall not pass!" Then slamming the butt of his staff to the ground braking the bridge beneath the beast. We let out a sigh of relief too soon, because a fiery whip rapped itself around Gandalf's leg and pulled him until only his head and arms were visible over the edge of the broken bridge. Looking to us with sadness and slight fear, "Fly you fools," was his last words before releasing his grip and falling to the chasm below. I screamed in heartbreak along with Frodo, standing there in disbelief of losing a close friend and a father figure to Frodo. Boromir grabbed Frodo and slowly walked backwards with a sword in hand to protect him and himself. Looking in my direction Boromir yelled. " (Y/N)! We need to go!" I broke out of my stupor and made my way to the exit, but before I could make it fully through I felt a sharp pain in my right side from the back. I looked down to see a poorly made arrow stuck in my flesh. Standing behind the wall separating the orcs from their target to pull the arrow out. I looked at the tip of the arrowhead to see a dark substance. 'Poison.' I thought to myself then throwing the object to the side. I tore a piece of my tunic underneath my cloak and rapped it over my wound. Making sure that it was out of sight I ran out of the Mines to finally feel the sun on my (S/C) skin and feel a light breeze ruffle my (H/L), (H/C)hair. For a moment I felt better until reality set in. 'Mithrandir is gone.' I told myself. I look at the others and realized they knew this too. I felt a signal tear run down my face and drop to the ground below.

We had been traveling for about half a day and I could feel myself losing strength quickly. Everything was fuzzy around the edges of my vision, I could feel vertigo starting to set in. I could hear Gimli talking to the hobbits ahead of me but it was muffled by the sound of blood pumping in my sensitive ears. Suddenly the Fellowship had stopped. I looked up and tried to focus my sight. That's when I saw him. He looked like he was one of the Valar descending from the halls of Mandos. He was beautiful in my eyes. Perfect blonde hair in warrior braids running down to his shoulders. I thought I was dreaming, but to soon was I pulled from my revery. I felt a sharp pain over the flesh that was pierced by that foul arrow. Everyone looked to me in confusion and worry once I opened my cloak to look at my wound only to see that blood coated most of my right side. Dark spots started to set in when the blonde elf walked over to me with concern in his baby blue eyes. I realized he was speaking to me, but I could not hear him. Then I felt myself lose balance and start to fall, but before I could hit the hard ground beneath me the elf caught me and was yelling to his men and to the Fellowship asking what happened. They didn't know because I didn't tell them. I wouldn't want them to worry. Soon an elf brought a horse over to us, the beautiful blue eyed elf lifted me up bridal style, put me on the horse, and hopped on behind me. He pulled me in to his chest so I didn't put strain on my wound or fall. While one hand carefully slid around my waist and the other grabbed the rains of the horse. Then every thing fell into darkness with my head leaned into the chest of my savior. I hoped I would live long enough to know his name.

#lotr imagine #lotr x reader #lotr imagines #lotr elves #lotr #lotr elves x reader #lotr fandom #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fic #lotr headcanons #lotr movies #h #haldir #haldir imagines #haldir x reader #fyp #x reader

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gayfanservice · 5 months ago

Text

Dylan Lenivy x Male Reader

Reader teaches kids archery bcuz I want to learn it and think it’s cool (edited lol)

*********

Putting chairs in place, art supplies in the right area, filling up the towel bin or praying the radio turns on for just one more year, picking up garbage that somehow got there and cleaning away cobwebs. Except Jacob, who refused to go into the cabins until the spiders were gone. Whatever needed to be done to prepare for the kids’ arrival.

There wasn’t much that needed to be prepared at the archery corner of the camp, just a little shack cleaning and inspecting the arrows and testing the bows to make sure they wouldn’t break on a kid. There was one bow in particular that the kids were not allowed to touch, and that bow belonged to (Y/N). It looked like every other bow, only having a different color scheme and being slighter bigger than the others. He even had his full name carved into the wood in case the children can read.

“I’m sure Mr. H. wouldn’t mind if I take a few practice shots. Probably. Hopefully… meh.” (Y/N) shrugged, Mr. H. wouldn’t come this way anyway, and there was still half an hour before the counselors had to meet at the lodge to greet the campers.

He grabbed arrows, not counting the exact amount and dropping them on the ground beside him, disobeying his own rules that he will make the children follow. No one’s here to witness his crimes, so it’s fine. (Y/N) snickered at himself, loading the bow and straightening his stance, taking a deep breath to steady his hands, I wish I ate breakfast. his stomach growled. His hand stretched back, the familiar faint burning creeping up his muscles as he aimed towards the round target.

(Y/N) took another sharp breath, straightening his arms and legs as he pulled back the string. The chirping of birds and rustling of the wind drowning into the background, focusing on nothing but the target in front of him.

With one swift movement, his fingers left the arrow and away it flew into the target, hitting the red inner circle but not smack-dab in the middle. So close to being a cool movie character. He sulked, picking up another arrow from the ground and equipping it to the bow’s string.

“Whoa, good job!” Clapping ensued behind him, the sudden noises making (Y/N) literally jump and land on an arrow he left on the ground with a SNAP.

“Fuck!” From both being startled and breaking an arrow.

The guy, Dylan as (Y/N) saw when he turned, wore a guilty expression has he nervously smiled, “Oh shit, sorry, man,” (Y/N) picked up the broken arrow pieces, groaning and thanking god that was the only damage done.

“Mother- fuck me, man.” He picked up the other two arrows, finally counting how many he had.

“Whoa, you want to fuck your mother?” (Y/N) stopped, staring into the void of dumbass-ness (Dylan).

“I- what- huh? Dude,” He stammered, completely dumbfounded at what Dylan just fucking said him after causing him to break camp equipment, even though it was his fault. Dylan still had that goofy smile on his face, obviously trying to make the mood lighter. A smile broke onto (Y/N) face, then cackling as he gave up trying to stone-face Dylan, “Dude, what the fuck?” He laughed, suddenly remembering how Dylan made him quite literally jump and laughing harder, wheezing almost. Dylan joined in, his dorky grin growing. “Bro, why’d you do that? I could’ve hurt myself!” (Y/N) playfully scolded, walking towards the target and ripping the arrow out of it.

“I just wanted to come see how the others were doing, I didn’t know you were a wuss,” he followed (Y/N) to the shack, “besides, isn’t it, like, your number one rule to not put equipment on the ground?” Dylan held the door open as (Y/N) put his bow and arrows away, deciding to hide the broken one and hopefully blame it on a kid later.

“Three, actually,” (Y/N) replied, walking out and locking the shack with the keys Chris gave him. “No one was supposed to see; no witnesses, no crime.” He shrugged, “I would’ve gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for you meddling kids,” He joked as he walked towards the lodge, Dylan following behind, hands in a surrendered pose, “I won’t tell if you won’t,” (Y/N) rolled his eyes, “Sure, buddy,”

“So,” Dylan started, eyes glancing around the trees and trail, “you arch?”

“Huh?” (Y/N)’s face contorted in confusion, wondering what the fuck is going through his head.

“Archery, you arch, y’know?”

“… uh, yea-s?” (Y/N)’s favorite, socially awkward boys. Cute, socially awkward boys.

“Cool, cool,” He trailed off, “So, how long have you been into it?”

“Oh, uh, well, did it on a school field trip once, like, eight years ago maybe? I don’t know, but I liked it so I begged to do lessons and now I’m here.” Good story telling skills.

Dylan hummed, keeping his eyes to the ground in front of him as they talked. “So, is it fun?” He paused for a moment, “Like, just shooting stuff?”

(Y/N) snorted, Just shooting stuff. Sure. “Well, it’s more than ‘just shooting stuff,” he quoted with his fingers, “It’s, uh… it’s kinda just nice, I guess. Feeling the arrow zoom away and hearing it hit what you were aiming for. It could also be a good stress relief.” (Y/N) shrugged, kicking a tiny rock in his path.

“Cool. I’ve always thought about trying it, seems interesting.” His eyes scavenged the area around them, feeling heat rise up his neck and into his face. Probably the heat.

“Well,” (Y/N) started, sheepishly, “If you want, maybe one of these days I can show you the ropes.”

“Don’t you mean ‘string’? Heh, get it? ‘Cause-” (Y/N) interrupted Dylan with a soft punch to his arm, a grin on both of their faces.

“Yes, Dylan. I get it.” Dylan’s goofy smile stayed on his face as he rubbed his arm in fake pain, “So, you in?”

He pretended to be in deep thought, crossing his arm and rubbing his chin as he hummed, “Y’know what? Sure, it’s a date!”

(Y/N) coughed, suddenly forgetting how to breathe as he felt his face become warmer, “Yeah, okay then, it’s a date.”

Dylan’s face began to hurt from smiling so much, but it was worth it when (Y/N) was the cause of it.

“Fuck, what time is it?” The two panicked, not having phones to check the time didn’t help. “Fuck, run?”

“Run.”

*********

It’s short, its bad, i dont care hope someone likes it and maybe request some quarry

#the quarry x reader #the quarry x male reader #dylan lenivy x male reader #dylan lenivy x reader #im back in the quarry again lmao

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snowdice · 1 month ago

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Big Bang Editing Story [Day 125]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story years ago, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag ‘proofread stories.’ I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57

I have been sick and I'm very tired, but I will work on the epilogue today for a bit at least!

Chapter 58 (Patton)

If Patton hadn’t already been looking, he probably wouldn’t have had any idea what happened.

Everything had been fine. Virgil had been sitting cross legged, idly watching the conclusion of the game they’d been playing when his posture had suddenly changed. Patton had looked over at him only to see an expression on his face he didn’t recognize, but it didn’t seem good.

“What?” Patton had asked, but the question didn’t seem to register to Virgil.

Logan had glanced up confused and also noticed Virgil’s face. He’d just opened his mouth to also ask what was going on when chaos descended.

Virgil was suddenly moving, crashing into King Thomas who hadn’t even looked up to see something was wrong at that point. Patton realized after the fact that Virgil had swiped up the board of the game they’d been playing as he jumped over it, the pieces previously stacked on it scattering all over the blanket. There were three thumps as some things hit the thick board, imbedding themselves into the surface.

When Virgil discarded the board in favor of the picnic basket, Patton saw there were small darts in it oozing a dark black liquid. The parts of the board they touched were dissolving, the grass under the new holes beginning to wilt rapidly.

Logan seemed to notice the oozing liquid the same moment Patton did and was quicker to realize what it was. He grabbed Patton’s arm and yanked him away from the board so hard he almost dislocated Patton’s shoulder, not that Patton was too worried about that. He scrambled away from it when he realized what it must be himself.

He could hear the sound of glassware smashing above them. Logan and Patton had rolled off the blanket in their quest to get away from the smoldering, melting board and apparently Virgil had pulled the picnic blanket fully over the king at some point.

Virgil himself was now gone from where he’d been the last time Patton had looked and it took him a moment to figure out where the boy had gone. The person who had been shooting poisoned darts at them had been drawn out of the wooded area they’d been hiding in by Virgil’s attacks.

They were cloaked in dark green from head to toe, explaining why they’d been difficult to spot when they were in the woods. Whoever they were, they were significantly larger than Virgil, possibly an actual adult or almost adult assassin, but they were also clearly a long distant fighter. They had not been expecting resistance let alone resistance in the form of a so quick he was almost a blur fellow assassin.

They had a bow strapped to their back, but they hadn’t had a chance to get it. Instead, they were trying to fight Virgil off with an arrow they’d managed to draw from their quiver. Virgil, meanwhile was lunging at them with a broken piece of plate in one hand and the picnic basket in the other.

Virgil dodged out of the way of the arrow striking towards his arm, though Patton didn’t think it was because he was afraid of getting scratched by an arrow, but because it may also be poisoned tipped.

Virgil was distracted by dodging for long enough that the older assassin managed to hit him in the face with the arm not holding the arrow.

He went down, but he took the older assassin with him, sweeping their legs out from under them. Patton hadn’t noticed (his mind working too slow for how fast they were moving) but they were on a slight incline. They went rolling in a tangle of arms and legs towards the edge of the cliff and skidded to a stop only a few feet away.

Virgil ended up on top, his piece of broken plate in his hands. He moved to slash it across the other assassin’s throat and managed to draw blood, but the assassin’s fist came out to shove at Virgil’s chest at just the right moment, causing the strike to veer off course and slice across the assassin’s cheek instead.

Virgil jerked to the side to avoid a second strike to the chest and went back for another slash. The other assassin rolled to the side as he did and the plate only managed to nick their ear. The point of the motion hadn’t been to dodge, however. They were lunging for the arrow they’d dropped a few feet away while they’d rolled. They grabbed it with their right hand and in the same motion stabbed back behind them towards Virgil.

Virgil rolled to avoid the hit, already slashing up with his plate as the assassin turned back towards him.

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He didn’t hit them this time but his swipe managed to stop them from stabbing him when they tried again. They shoved themselves back to avoid Virgil’s swing, putting a bit of distance between them. Both of them managed to make it to their feet during the momentary reprieve, but both also stayed crouched, eyeing each other.

They both lunged towards each other at the same time. The assassin went for a stab to Virgil’s neck with the arrow, but Virgil was already ducking down. This time, he wasn’t going for a kill shot. He grabbed the assassin’s wrist and at the same time drove his piece of plate into the assassin’s arm, slicing down from the elbow to wrist. The assassin spoke for the first time, cursing in a language Patton didn’t recognize as they were forced to drop their arrow.

Virgil took a moment to kick the arrow away from the assassin and it ended up falling off the cliff.

However, this pause gave the assassin enough time to regroup. Despite their arm bleeding profusely, they still decided to use it to backhand Virgil across the face viciously, leaving a long line of their own blood across his face.

Virgil lunged back forward, but the assassin was able to get a leg between them, kicking Virgil squarely in the chest and sending him flying back a few feet parallel to the cliff’s edge.

The assassin went to grab their bow and another arrow from the quiver still strapped to their shoulder.

Virgil, however, apparently went for another weapon too and he was much faster with a knife than any archer. A knife appeared in his hand, having been strapped to his ankle and was embedded into the assassin’s chest before they could even full remove an arrow from their quiver.

The assassin promptly burst into flames, fire catching their clothes (and from the smell of it their skin) ablaze. Panicked and dying, they stumbled two steps to the side. They stepped directly off the cliff.

There was a second of silence. They heard the sound of the body hitting the ground far below and then the flap of wings and screeching as birds below fled from the startling sound (and possible soon to be forest fire).

…

“Uh, Virgil?” King Thomas said. He had managed to get the blanket off his head at some point. When, Patton didn’t know, but seeing any of it was probably enough.

Oopsie.

Chapter 59 (Logan)

Logan and Patton had been useless during the fight, but that may have been for the best. Considering the skill differential when it came to fighting (and that differential had never been as clear as it was in this moment), that was probably for the best. They likely would have just gotten in the way.

The moment Logan’s father spoke, however, they both jumped into action.

They both knew their jobs in a situation like this. Patton pushed himself up to his feet ungracefully and all but sprinted over towards Virgil. Logan, on the other hand stood to face his father, putting himself very purposefully between the man who had no idea what was going on yet and the boy who was two seconds away from remembering what was going on.

“I can explain,” Logan said.

His father was still sitting on the ground. “You can explain,” he said slowly, “how Virgil just threw an assassin off a cliff.”

Logan thought pointing out that Virgil hadn’t thrown anyone off a cliff and instead had set them on fire with a magical knife causing them to walk off a cliff, would not be useful in this moment. He glanced back briefly towards where Virgil and Patton were standing and then turned back to his father. “Yes.”

“And what would that explanation be?”

Before even starting to speak, Logan found himself making large dramatic ‘explaining hand gestures’ that he’d thought he’d long since trained himself out of. When he was younger and in trouble, he always used to give himself away as guilty by being overly expressive with his hands (and arms).

“So,” Logan said. He was still not able to stop the hand motions. “Virgil was an assassin. He came here to kill you last fall, but he accidently went to the wrong room in the royal wing. Patton and I were having a slumber party and caught him in the act. Then we reformed him and now he doesn’t kill people anymore.” He paused and glanced back, remembering the body that had just toppled off the cliff. “Er, uh, he doesn’t kill people who haven’t shot poisoned darts at people recently anymore?”

“What?”

“Look,” Logan said. “You’re going to have to tell him you’re not going to execute him soon. Patton can only keep him from bolting for so long.”

“Execute him?” his father asked.

“Well, he was a Mocnejsi assassin sent to kill you,” Logan said.

“Virgil is a Mocnejsi assassin,” his father repeated as though to confirm he’d heard him right.

Logan had thought the Mocnejsi was implied. “He was,” Logan confirmed.

“Why does that make more sense than any other explanation I’ve come up with for him?” his father asked while pinching his brow. Logan took that as rhetorical. Then, his father looked at him again. “He’s 14.”

“Yes,” Logan said, “I’m also pretty sure this is the first person he’s actually killed while not under a blood compulsion, so you really need to tell him he’s not going to be executed.”

His father seemed to actually absorb Logan’s request this time. He finally looked over Logan’s shoulder at Virgil, concern crossing his face at what he saw. “Right.”

He moved to step around Logan then, and Logan let him. Logan turned to watch him slowly approach Patton and Virgil, his hands out in a placating manner. He stopped a few feet away.

“Hey,” his father said. “That was a bit scary, huh?” Virgil looked at him, eyes wide and darting around like they did when he was looking for an escape. There wasn’t much of one being so close to the edge of the cliff.

Logan would worry he’d contemplate throwing himself off of it in a bid to escape if Patton wasn’t clutching him to prevent that. “You did a good job.”

That seemed to give Virgil pause, his eyes focusing on father. “Good job?” he asked.

“Yes, well,” father said with a small smile, “judging by what those darts are doing to the grass and how far we are from any supplies for counter potions, I think you blocking them probably saved my life. So, I think a good job is in order.”

Virgil did not respond verbally, though he tilted his head like he did when he was thinking through the steps of a potion.

His posture changed enough that Patton released him cautiously, taking a step away.

“But,” Virgil said. “I’m an assassin.”

“Yes,” Father said. “I could tell by how that fight just went.”

Virgil shifted his weight. “I came here to kill you.”

His father spread his arms wide. “Yet, here I am,” he pointed out. “You’ve had me alone multiple times including once in a secret room possibly no one would have ever found. Plus, you saved me today. I think that more than makes up for the intentions you had months ago.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to send me to prison?” Virgil asked. “Or execute me?”

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“No, of course not,” his father said.

Virgil eyed him, still slightly warry.

“I promise, Virgil, you’re fine.”

“Dad wouldn’t lie,” Logan interjected. Virgil looked over at him and then back at Father. He nodded slowly.

“Good,” Father said. “Now can we get a bit further back from the edge?” He glanced at Patton. “You too, Patton.”

Virgil and Patton both stepped towards him, and he herded them far away from the edge until they were at the edge of the surrounding forest. Logan followed as well.

“Can I touch your face?” Father asked once they were sufficiently away from the cliffs.

Virgil nodded and father pulled out a handkerchief. He carefully wiped the blood off Virgil’s face the best he could (most of it was not Virgil’s) and inspected the boy’s split lip and already bruising eye.

“Is your chest alright?” Father asked.

Virgil nodded. “Yeah.”

Father considered him. “Enough to ride back to the castle.”

“It wasn’t that bad of a hit,” Virgil insisted.

Father studied him for a moment longer. “I’ll choose to believe you for now,” he said. “We should get back to the castle as soon as possible just in case this is not an isolated attack.”

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“We don’t work in teams,” Virgil informed them. “They worry we’d get emotionally attached and not complete our missions.”

“I can understand why they would say something like that,” Father said, letting just a bit of his scorn come through, “but still, we should be on our way.”

With that, he put an arm on Virgil’s back to guide him back towards where they’d left the horses.

“Huh,” Logan said to Patton as they began to walk behind them. “I thought we’d be in more trouble for all of this.”

His father paused at overhearing that, turning to look at them over his shoulder briefly.

“Ah,” said Logan with a grimace. “I see.”

“It’s been nice being your friend all these years Logan,” Patton said solemnly. “Too bad we’re both going to be locked in our rooms for the rest of our lives.”

“Until your 50s with good behavior,” Father informed them blandly.

That was… probably fair. They did allow an assassin to freely roam the castle for months without telling anyone. The fact that his father was now watching that assassin like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t more injured than he was saying, did not change that fact.

Logan couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

Epilogue

“Do you think they’ll light your trees on fire this year?” an amused (but slightly concerned) voice asked from behind Jeffers. Jeffers ran a finger over the empty thumb of his slightly dirty gardening gloves while watching the two boys. They were currently leaning over an unlit lantern and various “supplies.” In truth, he’d stopped his own work to watch the two boys out of that very concern.

“Virgil helped me fertilize that tree a week ago,” Jeffers replied. “So, I’d hope he has some caution.”

“Virgil likes fire though,” Thomas pointed out.

Jeffers sighed. “That he does.” He tilted his head towards Thomas. “You did confiscate the fire knife again after last week, yes?”

“I did,” Thomas confirmed, “but that means very little. Even burying that thing with a corpse did not dissuade him.”

As he spoke, a sudden spark of light flew from where the boys were working. A whining sound and then pop sounded as the spark exploded into 10 pieces, raining down colorful light. Luckily, they burned up before hitting the ground (or the tree).

“Boys, if you set anything on fire, you will be grounded from the festival,” Thomas called in a booming voice. Both boys jumped. Jeffers imagined Logan hadn’t even known he was there. (Virgil certainly did, but he still jumped. “For the second year in a row in Logan’s case.”

“They’re not flammable!” was the claim from Logan.

“I don’t believe you,” Thomas called back.

The boys ignored this, turning back to their experiment.

“We should have kept them grounded,” Thomas muttered. Despite Thomas’s original decision to ground Patton and Logan until their 50s (and Helen’s push to keep them grounded until Thomas, Helen, and Jeffers himself were all dead and couldn’t enforce it anymore), the boys had only been grounded for two months after Thomas had found out the truth of Virgil’s origins. That did, however, mean that Patton and Logan had been grounded from most of the lantern festival the year before.

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Logan, at least, seemed to be trying to make up for lost time this year (explosively). Jeffers did worry about where Patton was slightly, but honestly Patton without Logan or Virgil tended to be much less destructive in his hijinx. The worst he was probably doing was stealing sweets out from under Helen’s nose. Which was why both Jeffers and Thomas were currently here watching these two.

There were more sparks from the boy’s experiment. The grass caught fire at their feet. Virgil hastily stomped it out.

“I’ll watch them if you want to get food to bribe Virgil away,” Jeffers offered.

#proofreading stories

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cursedhaglette · 10 months ago

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Apples to Apples

He pulls away from Halia, looking up at her and the world feels like it’s hugging him. “Hal, pet, what does the devilweed feel like?”

“Warm,” she giggles, looking up at him as she props herself up on her elbows. “Like my body is heavy and warm and everything feels so good. You feel…so good.”

“I think it’s in your blood and now,” something like a giggle bubbles up in him and he remembers how giddy everyone had seemed around the campfire, “and now I think it’s in me.”

---

The party decides to share some devilweed around the campfire, and Astarion is surprised to find the effects can be felt after drinking the blood of one who's indulged.

Rating: E Word Count: 3,600 Content: 18+, oral sex, sixty-nine, PIV sex, blood drinking, recreational drug use

[ao3 link]

A/N: this is a piece expanding on a scene referenced in my longfic, "The Broken Chosen", but very much intended to be read standalone so I hope you enjoy either way. Halia is technically the dark urge but that doesn't come into play in this one shot. please note the tags if you are not comfortable with recreational drug use.

His hunt was successful, relatively speaking. Badger tasted…well, uninteresting, but it got the job done and at least it was a bit different than the prey he’d grown used to while camping around the Grove. He feels mostly sated as he walks back through the dark forest, his footsteps and the occasional chittering animal the only sounds to escort him back to camp.

Luckily, it was a night where he would be allowed to cleanse the taste of badger from his mouth with Halia’s sweet, perfect blood.

The mountainous terrain proves frustrating in the dark, even for his elven eyes, but after a spell he can finally hear the chatter of his companions over the hill. Some part of him knows it’s too loud, given how close they’ve gotten to the creche, but he’s gotten used to being ignored around dinner time. It was one of the few hours where it seemed everyone got along without question, and as such, it was the easiest time to make himself scarce.

Astarion approaches the campfire, preparing himself for another night of far too much camaraderie only to find Lae’zel already fletching arrows, both Shadowheart and Wyll nowhere in sight.

“What’s going on?” he asks the githyanki who sits on the edge of the wide circle of tents, practiced hands working feathers and arrowheads without even needing to look down at her work.

“Gale has fashioned some sort of contraption from which the rest of them are smoking that reeking substance,” she explains, her tone derisive as always. “I do not recall the name of it, but it seems to be altering their mind in a way that will be highly inconvenient should our camp find itself under attack.”

“Devilweed?”

“Yes, that sounds familiar. Nothing about such a name sounds safe to ingest.”

He snorts at the assessment before grabbing some arrows of his own and walking over to the four still circled by the fire, watching as Karlach lifts an apple to her lips and inhales deeply, smoke filling the air around her.

An apple pipe crafted by the wizard of Waterdeep. He’s officially seen it all.

“‘Starion!” Halia grins, her pupils like black saucers in the glowing firelight. She’s obviously partaken in the wizard’s find. At least she was happy to see him while under the substance.

It’s been a few days since the tiefling party, and they’ve been hiking nearly nonstop through the mountainous terrain that would lead them to the creche Lae’zel was adamant they visit. He wasn’t convinced it would lead to a cure, and he knew at least Shadowheart agreed with him.

For some reason though, they mostly follow Halia, and since she seeks to keep everyone happy more often than not, the creche is their next destination.

The first couple of days, he kept her close by trying more of the same lines he’d used before - even though she hadn’t been particularly fond of them to begin with, he told himself they’d worked for centuries and they’d eventually score him another shot with her. It didn’t matter that they’d been moving toward something deeper before the party - he had a godsdamned plan and…

And she had quickly become something far more interesting than just a human shield, should anyone turn on him. Those wide eyes staring up at him, such excitement in her smile, made it even harder to pretend he was still just using her.

He sat down beside her, watching as Karlach passed the pipe to Halsin.

“I’ve not quite got the hang of it yet,” Halia whispered, leaning into him but watching as the druid took a deep hit and blew billows of smoke. The brute didn’t cough once, taking another hit before passing it to Halia.

“She says that,” Gale chimes in, “but she hasn’t coughed once, which tells me this is hardly her first time indulging. I’d have guessed an upper city lady like yourself would have far finer drugs to keep her busy.”

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Halia gives them a coy grin before reaching for the apple and bringing it to her lips, and Astarion ignores the tug behind his navel at the way her lips part against the opening they’ve fashioned in the fruit. No one else seems to notice the curve of her mouth or the quick flutter of her tongue, instead devolving into riotous laughter within moments, and he realizes he’s out of his element.

She extends the apple to him next, her offering accompanied with a sweet grin, but he’s almost certain vampires can’t smoke the stuff and he isn’t entirely inclined to find out what happens if he tries. So Halia passes it back to the rest of them, chipping in with some strange joke of her own that he assumes is only funny once high on the foul weed.

He decides to rejoin Lae’zel, silently working in tandem with her as they restock their arrow supply amidst the reeking cloud and endless chatter and laughter of their companions. He stays that way, quietly keeping his hands busy with the tedious but necessary work, until he sees Halia beg off from the group and sprint into the darkness. No one goes after her, everyone still focused on their giggling conversations and the last of the smoking drug, so he decides to do something he very well may regret later.

He follows her.

Astarion finds her in the woods a moment later, humming to herself and thoroughly unaware that anyone had found her.

“Hal - “ he starts and is immediately interrupted by her surprised shriek as she turns around, fussing with the tie of her skirt as she gapes at him.

“Astarion,” she gasps, but the sound quickly turns into a giggle, “Gods, you startled me, you ass!”

He closes the distance between them without hesitation or comment, pulling her into a deep kiss. Her mouth tastes like the smoke he’d been breathing in across the camp all evening, but still manages to retain a bit of her telltale sweetness.

He licks along the seam of her lips, and she opens eagerly, her hands twisting in his loose shirt as she pulls him close to her. He likes her eager like this, and feeling the way her cheeks lift - her smile widening as he kisses her - twists something inside him.

Breaking away to let her breath, he kisses along the slope of her cheek to her jaw, then down to the familiar scars where he’d last fed on her. Scars she never asks to heal, bearing the marks like some sort of trophy.

“What’s gotten into you?” she gasped between his kisses, her hands tugging on his hair as he ran his fangs gently against the spot he fed from.

“I saw you having fun, and I thought I could have some fun with you now,” he hums, aware that it’s not his best line but content that it’s not his worst either.

“I owe you dinner, don’t I?” She asks instead and the question is playful but immediately has him on edge, unsure if this is actually the right move.

Is he making it seem like he’s only interested in her for blood?

Is that the right counterbalance to the whole ‘make her come so hard she protects you with her life’ plan he’d been trying?

If she’s offering…does it matter?

“Only if you’re feeling up to it,” he says, stepping forward and taking a strand of golden hair between two fingers, twisting lightly and trying his best to ignore how soft it feels between his calloused fingers.

She pulls her long hair to one side, offering her neck, and he has another idea - another that will likely have him questioning his own intentions in the morning but is too tempting to deny tonight.

Astarion slips his hand into the side slit of her skirt, drifting his fingers towards her inner thigh where he knows a delicious artery pulses. Familiar goosebumps dance up Halia’s skin, her breath going shallow in anticipation.

“Can I have you right,” he taps the pulse point in her upper thigh, “here?”

She meets his eyes and he looks back, waiting for approval or to be scolded. All she offers him is a nervous nod, and then a soft, tentative grin.

“Lay back for me,” he instructs and she does, pliant and giddy. She shifts her skirts to expose where he’s requested to taste her and leans back on her elbows, watching as he gets comfortable before her. He can feel her already beginning to warm him when he’s this close, so he licks the skin a couple of times in preparation, looks to her for a last, quick approval, and bites down.

His teeth break the skin of her inner thigh with ease and then his mouth is full of her, full of that smoky, sweet delicious taste that he’d kill to call his alone. She lays quivering for him and he can’t help the soft moan that escapes when he feels her fingers thread through his hair, her breath catching at the sound.

Astarion takes a few mouthfuls, enough that the warmth begins to spread through his veins like it could be his own and it’s like he can feel the loop of blood in both their bodies, connecting them. and then he tidies her up - licking at the wound to do what he can to ease the pain and replace it with pleasure.

He can taste her slowly growing arousal and this close, with his tongue already lapping at the wound he’s inflicted, his eyes drift to the slit of her skirt that’s been pushed up nearly to her hip. He can smell her arousal too, he realizes, and her perfect cunt is right there and it seems such a shame to leave it untasted.

His mouth travels up her thigh, slowly testing if she’ll push him away as he draws close to her core but all she does is tug his hair just a bit harder and he knows what she’s wordlessly asking for. But wordless is never enough for him, he wants to hear her shaky voice, the way she mewls for him.

“Halia,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss into her exposed hip, “Let me taste you, Halia. Tell me you want me.”

“Please,” she gasps, and he wastes no more time. He tears her panties away, aware he’ll likely be charged with repairing them but uncaring because his mouth is on her and she is already swollen and soaking for him. He’s tasted her only once before and Gods, how has he kept himself from this every night since?

He buries his tongue in her, using his nose to rub her warm clit as he feasts, closing his eyes to the shuddering moans that accompany every clench of pleasure.

But then he notices it, a strange warmth that seems to start at his throat and spread like warm honey through his always tired body. Not like her blood warms him, this is somehow different - like his body is alive and buzzing, but also relaxed in a way that almost feels like slipping into a warm bath.

He pulls away from Halia, looking up at her and the world feels like it’s hugging him. “Hal, pet, what does the devilweed feel like?”

“Warm,” she giggles, looking up at him as she props herself up on her elbows. “Like my body is heavy and warm and everything feels so good. You feel…so good.”

“I think it’s in your blood and now,” something like a giggle bubbles up in him and he remembers how giddy everyone had seemed around the campfire, “and now I think it’s in me.��

“Oh shit,” she whispers and in a blink she’s sitting up, her hands cupping his face in genuine concern. “Are you - do you feel okay?”

All he can do is nod, unable to keep the stupid smile from his face as the drug settles into him.

Her eyes go wide and then she’s kissing his grinning face with her own and lapping at the taste of her that lingers on his tongue. “I taste good on you,” she purrs, and he can’t help the way his cock twitches in response.

Astarion kisses her again because he’s not sure what else to do, but the sensation is different than what he’s used to. All at once he’s stopped overthinking how he sighs into her mouth and the way her hands dance up his arms, pulling him closer to her. Everything is just this moment, there is no more plan or doubt or fear - only the pleasure that can be found at her fingertips, in the sweeping arch of her tongue, and between her thighs.

She pulls away and he’s mesmerized by the way her lips go pink and full after he’s kissed her thoroughly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks him again, and he can’t tell her the truth - that he isn’t sure he can remember the last time he felt so at peace in his body.

Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling that’s spread since he drank her drugged blood, the way the warmth has settled into him and how his body feels blurred at the edges. His muscles somehow feel both tensed and relaxed all at once.

“Strange,” he admits to her, wondering if his pupils are as wide and black as hers are, “but overall, pretty damn good.”

She laughs and collides with him, and then he’s on his back laughing with her. How long have they been out in this darkness, kissing and giggling amongst the trees? Have the others started asking after Halia yet?

Her hands shift to run against his still clothed, still hard, length and he groans into her mouth at the way she cups him. Her fingers aren’t as practiced as his, so when she moves to unlace his trousers without looking, she struggles enough to pull away from his mouth once more.

With his cock free, he can’t help but whimper as her warm hand grips him again, applying the perfect amount of pressure as she begins to roll her wrist and pump him. He leans back again, groaning as she works - the devilweed in his system enhancing every sensation while dulling all his inner monologues and anxieties.

“Can I taste you?” She asks, repeating his question from minutes ago and he nods, but as Halia’s head lowers and her tongue licks across his head, he sits up.

“I have an idea, if you’re open to something different, darling,” he offers and she smiles but licks his slit again, her eyes on his as she waits for his suggestion. “Come here.”

Halia gives him a quizzical expression but obliges, crawling forward until he can pull her hips toward him, and there’s no way for him to hold back the devious grin he knows is on his face.

“Sit on me,” he tells her.

“What?”

“Sit on my face,” he insists, attempting to guide her hips while laying flat and thank the gods he’s high or this might have him cringing in embarrassment at his awkward movements. “Come on, love.”

She shimmies out of her skirt and panties before moving to straddle his face, but hesitates just before actually sitting. “Are you sure?”

He’s staring up at her perfect ass as his hands move to her hips, shifting so her cunt is where he wants it, and then he tells her, “make yourself comfortable, dear,” before tugging her down and latching his lips around her clit.

The moan she elicits is delicious, going straight to his cock, and he’s lucky that Halia picks up on what he’d been hoping for as she leans forward. Her bare chest warms the flat of his stomach and then he’s in her mouth again, warmed by the whole of her on top of him and eternally grateful he doesn’t actually have to breathe as he laps at her heat.

He sucks and licks and kisses, working her with his centuries of practice, and she’s moaning around him - each vibration echoing through him. He focuses entirely on her pleasure, knowing that if he spends more than a moment thinking about the way she’s taking him almost wholly down her throat, he’s liable to spill far too soon.

“Grind on me, Halia,” he tells her through their shared connection. “Give me everything. I can take it. I want it.”

It works, she’s finally giving him everything - all inhibitions lost as she seeks out the pleasure he’s eager to provide. He tightens his grin on her thighs, holding her against him as she rides his flattened tongue. His face is soaked and he feasts, all before moving a single finger higher, to the tight ring of muscles he’s never toyed with, and presses gently against her puckered hole.

Halia pauses and pulls off him long enough to let out a guttural moan, and he knows he has her. He goes back to sucking on her swollen bud and swirls his tongue around it once, twice more and she’s shuddering above him - twitching and panting as she comes undone for him.

She shifts forward and turns around, dragging her body along his and then she’s lining him up with her entrance, looking back to see if he’s alright and all Astarion can do is nod.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs and the sound is like bells while she’s trying to hide her smile with one hand and the other goes to his face. “You’re just so shiny.”

He shifts and with how wet she is, he’s quickly able to bury himself inside her without difficulty, turning her laughs into a breathy gasp as he moves to wipe some of her release from the bottom half of his face. She stays still, keeping him warm inside her, then goes to lick a long stripe of the moisture he’s missed from his face before kissing him once more.

She is desire incarnate, she is the sun and warmth embodied, molten around him and mewling for him and he is lost in her when she finally begins to roll her hips.

“You are so good for me, ‘Starion, so good,” she hums, her lips hovering just over his as her pretty words dance through him like sparks of electricity. “I want you to feel good, lover, I want you to feel everything.”

He does, he wants to tell her, but his mind has been emptied out and replaced with sheer desire and the endless warmth where his body fills hers.

“Fuck me, Halia,” and it’s neither an ask nor a command, but something more like a prayer. “Show me how good you want me to feel.”

When her eyes meet his again, Astarion can see that she’s taken it as a challenge, and her hips begin to work. She rubs her clit against his abdomen while her body begins to bounce against his, and though he asked her to fuck him but he can’t help meeting her halfway - matching her rhythm by snapping his hips into her. It draws a pleased gasp from her, enough that she clenches around him tightly, and then the movements become feverish and desperate as they chase the high he knows they can reach together.

The wet sounds of their joining echo through the dark woods, but neither of them seem to care. Let their campmates hear how she works him, let them hear how he is the one she’s chosen time and time again.

The haze of devilweed is slowly clearing, his body already working through the blood he’d taken from her, but he wants to hold onto the blissful mindlessness for as long as he can.

Halia’s head tilts back and her lips part like she is ready to roar at the sky as she comes, and she’s panting his name as she finishes. Her lips are at his ear like she’s whispering a prayer of her own. He follows her into that abyss shortly after, the final hazy moments of the devilweed pulling him through a long, heady climax - the strongest he’s had in recent memory. She pants as he finishes and she comes down from her own high, their bodies sweaty and tangled.

They pant together for a minute or two, Halia still in his lap, and then the sounds of the campfire are suddenly noticeable again and Astarion wonders if it has been all along.

Halia slides off him, laying in the dirt for a few seconds more before rolling on her side and kissing his cheek, then standing and reaching for her clothes.

“You’re beautiful,” he hears himself admit while he watches her dress. He knows he shouldn’t, that the statement is too tender for what hes doing and who he is but its true - she’s a fucking vision. Her eyes are still wild and hazy, her cheeks flushed with release, and brambles in her hair but it’s a simple fact that Halia is gorgeous. He’s going to hate himself for it in the morning, knowing that it only complicates his already weak plan, but for now, he lets himself bask in the truth.

“So are you, Astarion,” she smiled, running her hands through her hair and catching only a couple of the leaves that had caught in the golden mess since they started. “We should…we should do that again.”

Astarion studies her as he stands, making to tug on his own trousers and pausing to watch the way she bites her lip in hesitation. He ignores his clothes for a moment more and goes to where she stands, reaching to clasp her face between his hands so he can kiss her once more.

“Yes, Halia. Yes, we should.”

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