#battling all of SHIELD’s ways of tracking people down

[theshadowrealmitself]

I need other people to imagine Spiderman with all his hair everywhere being bright blue and red, with his eyes completely spidery black when he’s not wearing glasses, has venomous fangs, and he has a fit body under the spandex and stuff, like that’s his default way of looking

But when he’s out and about as Peter Parker, he wears the coke bottle thick glasses over brown eyes that can’t see for shit, he dyes his hair brown and has to wear mascara and stuff to make his eyelashes and eyebrows look like normal human colors, he hides his fangs, he wears a ton of layers of loose clothing and slouches to look as much like a weak nerd as possible

And then when he’s out as Spidey, he’ll still wear like a blonde wig over his hair after washing out the brown dye (I like to think he sciences up his own hair dye stuff that shows the color perfectly without killing his hair so it’s still soft and easily washes out with a solution he made for it), and colored contacts, and stuff

And when Nick Fury finally sees him without his stuff, like it was an intense fight with carnage or something and Spidey’s suit is torn and bloody, his wig is gone, cried out the colored contacts awhile ago, his fangs are flashing because of the adrenaline from the attack, he tears off the torn remains of his mask, so Nick Fury whips around aaaaaaannnnnd he still has no idea who Spidey is because that’s not how he walks around as a civilian

[akutasoda]

HELLOO

can I request a S/o who always puts others before herself and always gets hurt and injured after :3

you're selfless, im selfish

synopsis - you're rather selfless and they hate seeing you get hurt because of this

includes - blade, luocha, aventurine, boothill

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, angstyy, slight blood mentions, wc - 968

a/n: Hellooo! you didn't specify and i am currently on a massive star rail fixation so i hope you don't mind! if you do please let me know and i'll write another!

taglist - @teddirika, @frankiesteinn, @little-miss-chaoss

blade ★↷

↪blade was immortal. he had little care for how many pieces he could be broken down into during a fight as at the end of the day he knew he would still walk away as a blade. weapon's were built to be durable, what kind of 'blade' would he be if he let up at the first sign of danger?

↪he was also used to thinking about nobody but himself, the stellaron hunters became the first exception but he knew they'd be able to take care fo themselves. so it made him suspicious when you'd willingly put him before yourself as what could you possibly gain by doing so?

↪it didn't occur to him just how angry he would get when he watched you get injured for the sake of his safety. not at you despite how much it semed that way. a weapon's job was to protect in a violent manner and his enemies quickly learnt that, especially when his shield would get hurt.

↪he would scold you for throwing yourself into dangerous situations but moved with a gentle contrast as he dressed your wounds. he'd remind you time and time again that he didn't need you to think about his safety, let alone others, and you should worry about yours.

↪but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop you completely and so he would swear that he himself would protect you at all costs despite your insistence of putting him before you.

luocha ★↷

↪despite the coffin that shadowed the merchant, luocha was a healer. someone who followed yaoshi and valued that selfless, healing behaviour and that meant assisting those among the cosmo's in medical affairs for a fair exchange - he was also a wandering merchant afterall

↪he found it rather endearing at first, how you always put those you cared about above yourself. it was rather admirable but he thought less of this trait when it applied to battles. he would prefer you to be selfish and uncaring if it meant you didn't get unnecessarily harmed.

↪especially when it came to you throwing yourself straight into danger for his sake. luocha feared that one day you'd throw yourself into danger for the sake of someone else and he would lose you - he didn't want to carry around two coffins now.

↪he would start subconsciously keeping track of you during dangerous situations, he needed to make sure you didn't do anything too risky. although he didn't mind catering to your injuries, he'd prefer not to stare at his lover's bloody cuts and bruises or whatever injury you accumulated for too long.

↪the merchant may admire that selfless behaviour but allow him to be selfish for once when he places a kiss to your knuckles after dressing your wounds and asking you to stay by his side, to not leave him if he can't get to you in time.

aventurine ★↷

↪aventurine strived to follow the path of preservation, it was a goal of his. achieving this goal was solely for the purpose of protecting his people and those who had helped his journey not hindered it. so when he learnt his original quest was impossible, he needed to strive for something else.

↪he wanted to protect many things and his relationship with you was one of them. at first, he relished in that kindness you showed when you would openly admit or demonstrate how you would always place him above yourself - your selflessness was rather admirable.

↪but he didn't like as much when it meant you'd get hirt in the process. he would not be able to bear losing yet another person he cared about, especially when he had the power to prevent it - especially if you died for him.

↪most of the time, he would be able to prevent you from getting to hurt but crimson was an ugly colour on his lover and he felt a small sense of guilt when he saw it after a fight. you would notice how he'd always be shielding you if you ever threw yourself in danger.

boothill ★↷

↪only two people knew what happened to boothill, himself and the doctor - although some times he didn't think he knew himself. however one thing was clear, he had suffered an amount of pain that pushed his human body to it's limits and bended it to a point of no return. now, he didn't live for himself.

↪recklessness was what probably had landed him in this situation, however when one has a cyborg body how could he not be reckless? he found it rather charming how you always put those close to you above yourself, a noble quality but his perspective changed when he realised just what that meant.

↪he had seen first hand just how little you cared for your safety if it meant protecting someone you cared about. a bittersweet sentiment. it pained his synthetic heart when you would come from a fight all injured and bloody as if it was him in your shoes, he'd be fine. but you had willingly thrown yourself in the way for his safety.

↪he had a metal body, you had a human one - if anything he should be throwing himself in the way as he could be rebuilt. boothill would try so hard to get this message across to you as the last thing he wanted was for you to be pushed to those same limits of pain just for someone who had already been there.

↪he would'nt live for himself but he'd live for you if it meant keeping you safe.

[rosieofcorona]

A Light To Break All Shadows

Just a fluffy little Halsin x Tav fic to keep the darkness at bay. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading! 💕

��How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Tav is eyeing Halsin suspiciously from the opposite end of Art’s bedside, where he’s been keeping watch over the sick man for days. At least, Halsin thinks it’s been days– perhaps three (or maybe four?) at the most. It is difficult to keep track in the Shadowlands.

At any rate, he cannot answer her immediately, which means his answer is insufficient.

“If you have to think about it,” Tav continues, “It’s been too long.”

She has a point.

He is exhausted, as they all are, but cannot bring himself to rest. They are so close– he is so close– to finding the child that will save them, to ending the hundred-year darkness, to restoring light and balance to the land. 

And Art Cullagh, ill as he is, is the key that will unlock their victory, so Halsin feels as though he must protect him every moment, must stay by his side in case he should wake, or take a turn. 

For days, he has persisted, spurred on by his stamina and willpower. For days, he has waited and watched. Now the idea of sleep falls on him like a spell. 

“It is my duty.” He protests. “I will see this through.” “You will,” she agrees, “When you wake. These people will need you in the days to come. And they will need you to be rested.”

She is playing to his sense of responsibility, he knows, but he is too tired to argue. Reluctantly, he nods his agreement. 

When he rises from his chair, it seems that all his centuries of existence catch up to him at once, his joints and muscles burning. He feels old and sore and weary as he drags himself toward an empty bed.

“Go on,” Tav commands gently. She feels like a mother nudging a child off to sleep. “Even the greatest leaders need rest.”

“Then you ought to rest yourself.”

She laughs at that, though Halsin means it. He knows so few who are so capable, so resilient, so kind. She has already accomplished so many things that he could not, not in hundreds of years of practice.

“You flatter me,” Tav smiles, but Halsin shakes his head. 

“You are extraordinary.” 

His gaze is on her when he says it, on her eyes and mouth and hands, the way her armor cleaves to her, the way her weapon rests against her hip. In another place, another time, another life, he would have had her already, would have known her inside and out if she asked him to. 

And she had asked him to, once, before they came here. He remembers. At the time he had denied her as gently as he could, in the knowledge that what was growing between them, if cultivated, could later prove a distraction, a weakness. 

But gods, he had wanted her then. He wants her still. 

Yet such urges, much like sleep, must be suppressed. At least for now.

Tav stares back at him with wide eyes until she feels a flush come over her cheeks. She turns her face away, just slightly, so that Halsin will not see. 

“Well.” She clears her throat, and redirects. “I’ll rest before we go scouting tomorrow. And I’ll watch Art while you sleep.” 

“As you say.” 

**********

In his dreams, he is back in the Shadowfell, that sunless, cursed place. 

At his feet are bodies, Harper and druid and shade alike. He knows their faces, their names, their stories. Here is Atlan, a boy from his own grove, no more than eighteen years of age. Halsin had cured him once of pox, had later mentored him in the healing arts. 

And here, Jehan the Harper, who had just received word that his wife was expecting. Twins, he’d announced, over a round of drinks at Last Light. 

And Moranna, the Selunite priestess who had blessed them again and again on their journey, had prayed over them and shielded them to the best of her ability. 

All lost to the shadows, corrupted beyond recognition. All dead, cut down by his hand. 

Halsin does his best to avoid stepping on them as he presses onward, each step a battle of its own. The weight of darkness seems to crush him, seems to drain the very life out of his body. 

His god is nowhere here. 

There comes a voice through the black night, distant, disembodied. Halsin, the shadows whisper, and whisper again, closer. Halsin. 

Wildly he turns and swings his glaive, hitting nothing, the panic rising in his throat, and–

“Halsin!” Tav exclaims, blocking a swing of his fist with her forearm. 

She is sitting at the edge of his bed looking concerned, frightened even. His skin is slicked with sweat, his breathing heavy, his body tangled in the bed linens. 

Immediately, a white-hot shame rushes over him, that he should be the one to cause her fear. 

That he should strike at her, even unconsciously, his savior, his ally. His friend, though that is too weak a word for the feeling that grows within him, wraps around his heart like wild ivy. 

“Forgive me,” he pants, “I was–” 

I was lost in the darkness, he means to say, I was frightened and alone, but the words stick in his throat like flies in honey.

Yet Tav seems to know already, a tenderness softening the furrows of her brow. Not pity, he notes. Understanding. 

She has seen equivalent horrors, has seen friends fall and foes flourish and still, and still, keeps fighting toward goodness, toward light. He aches with the thought that she might have such nightmares, that she might know firsthand how he feels now. 

But she soothes him, reaches out to wipe the sweat from his brow, her touch as light and cool as an evening breeze. 

“It’s alright,” she promises. “You don’t have to explain. You are safe here.”

Halsin lets out a breath he’s been holding for too long. It has been many years since he was last comforted, truly comforted. He is so accustomed to doing the comforting that he has almost forgotten what it feels like to be on the receiving end. 

Tenderness is no stranger to him– many of his lovers have been gentle, have been sweet– but none have ever known his burdens, none have carried them, taken them on as their own. Here is one who has, who does, who will, if he will let her. 

He takes Tav’s hand in his and guides it, flattens her palm over the rabbit-fast beat of his heart, breathing deeply, willing it to slow. He wants to say, Thank you, then, I love you, but it’s too soon, he thinks, too desperate, no matter how true. 

“Thank you,” Halsin allows, and swallows the rest. 

Tav smiles at him then, a soft, bright thing, like a single star in the night sky. The true last light in the Shadowlands. 

“Shall I stay with you?”

“Art–,” Halsin starts, but she shakes her head calmly, knowingly. “He’s sleeping soundly. Seems his bad dreams have come to visit you.”

“I do not wish to burden you with something so trivial.”

“You could not burden me,” Tav says quietly. “But I will leave, if you prefer.” 

Her thumb strokes over his chest, her hand still pressed against him. His pulse quickens again at so intimate, so innocent a touch. Halsin wonders if she can feel it.

“I prefer your presence, always. But you need your own rest.” 

“Very well.” 

Her palm slips from him as she rises to her feet, and he thinks for a moment that he’s made a mistake, has waved off her kindness, dismissed her.

Rather, she motions for him to move over and climbs slowly, wordlessly into the bed next to him. He finds himself lifting the sheets for her, inviting her in without hesitation. 

She’s changed, he realizes as she comes close, her armor cast aside for the day. Her nightclothes make her look, make her feel smaller, softer. He wants so badly to slip his hands beneath the fabric, to see how soft she is beneath. 

“Is this alright?” Tav whispers, looking earnestly into his eyes. Her fingertips flit over his cheek, brushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you alright?”

The bed is small and Halsin is not, and she is pressed against him like a flower between the pages of a book. He can only nod. 

“I will rest here then, with you.”

In the gentlest act he can or will ever remember, she leans forward and kisses his eyes as if bestowing a blessing upon them, a ward against the darkness.

**********

Halsin wakes again in near-total silence, save the gentle inhale-exhale of Tav’s breathing beside him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and for the first time in a long time, doesn’t mind. 

Instead, he is aware of how peaceful he feels in this moment, sheltered from the dangers beyond the inn, aware that at one point or another he had let go of his worry and settled deep into dreaming. The earlier tension in his muscles has melted into a tired ache, as if he is returning from a very long walk in the Grove. 

And she is here, wrapped in his arms. A light to break all shadows.

He can’t be sure when it happened. The shift had been imperceptible, like the feeling of falling asleep, or falling in love.

[starvine]

☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural. 

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air. 

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck. 

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam. 

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother. 

 “Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom. 

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.” 

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending. 

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom. 

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching. 

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily. 

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?” 

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.” 

“Just double checking,” 

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,” 

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world. 

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle. 

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward. 

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots. 

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts. 

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below. 

Just then, Neteyam responds. 

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,” 

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.” 

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?” 

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after. 

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire. 

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest. 

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife. 

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams. 

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face. 

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship. 

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored. 

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer. 

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly. 

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt. 

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment. 

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail. 

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had. 

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly. 

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself. 

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother: 

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.” 

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward. 

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin. 

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall. 

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest. 

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places. 

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural. 

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora. 

Something about that notion makes your heart sink. 

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp. 

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body. 

Neteyam was surely going to kill you. 

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully. 

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought. 

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!” 

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth. 

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry. 

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you. 

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward. 

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.” 

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?” 

“Damn, bro!” Lo��ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,” 

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now. 

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head. 

“What?! What I’d do?!” 

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces. 

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.” 

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view. 

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood. 

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents. 

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much. 

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man. 

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something. 

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back. 

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back. 

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,” 

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,” 

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now. 

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out. 

This isn’t even the worst of it. 

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face. 

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still. 

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother. 

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you. 

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap. 

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards. 

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs. 

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury. 

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact. 

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips. 

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover. 

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg. 

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band. 

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob. 

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up. 

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max. 

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind. 

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg. 

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you. 

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.” 

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze. 

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family. 

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

What a fucking liar. 

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure. 

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.” 

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that. 

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you. 

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that. 

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear. 

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win. 

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully. 

Who is he to deny you? 

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate. 

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him. 

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond. 

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright. 

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile. 

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow. 

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering. 

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“ 

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl. 

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you. 

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg. 

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance. 

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless. 

“Everyone out, please.” 

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,” 

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!” 

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit. 

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation. 

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg. 

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay. 

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration. 

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures. 

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn. 

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position. 

“Your face is filthy.” 

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds. 

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes. 

“I’m upset with you.” 

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you. 

“Why are you upset with me?” 

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate. 

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again. 

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” 

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face. 

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.” 

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,” 

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.” 

“That’s not the way it works.” 

“Um, yes, it is.” 

“It’s not.” 

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.” 

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp. 

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face. 

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot. 

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?” 

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you. 

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.” 

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.” 

“You weren’t careful.” 

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?” 

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.” 

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.” 

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill. 

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.” 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.” 

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.” 

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?” 

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you. 

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat. 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek. 

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form. 

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.” 

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it. 

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement. 

“I’m always down if it’s you.” 

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.  

“Yeah.” 

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would. 

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get. 

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours. 

“��S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word. 

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,” 

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch. 

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time. 

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach. 

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed. 

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches. 

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.” 

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.” 

“Then why can’t I touch you there?” 

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips. 

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.” 

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.” 

Oh. 

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.” 

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up. 

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.” 

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.” 

“What else?” 

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.” 

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his. 

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish. 

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.” 

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.” 

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.” 

ⓒ starvine 2023

[generalluxun]

Marinette and Clumsiness

So I reblogged the snarky 'clumsy in fiction' post and tagged it ML, but I don't think I've ever posted about it before and I want to, because my take isn't just skin deep on this. It goes all the way to the S5 finale.

Marinette *should* have been Clumsy in ML, not 'fiction clumsy' where she drops things and the laugh track plays, but actually bad at agility. Give her dexterity. The girl sews and crafts relentlessly. Give her nimble fingers, but terrible feet.

Why?

Well the obvious is 'Then it's a real trait and not your 'get out of Mary Sue free' card, but it goes into more than that.

Adrien is agile. He's a top tier fencer. If she is not it is a way they can complete each other. Allow Adrien to be not the best at dexterity based things. Marinette beats him at video games. The last time he tried to thread a needle, Nathalie had to cut his hands free.

Romcom gold, and narrative elements that are useful- because they can carry over to superhero mode.

Sure the Miraculous can compensate to a degree, but have this divide matter because the degree of precision needed is also more. There are tasks they need each other for, let this stand out. Notably- Ladybug should never be much of a fighter.(good vs humans/thugs/wacky monsters but not in a straight up fight) She's the thinker! She plans things, punching is a big part of Cat Noir's role.

The show kind of falls into these roles, but it also subverts them whenever push comes to shove. Reflektdol was a perfect opportunity for Lady Noire to actually struggle defending Mr. Bug as much as he had to struggle planning. Instead she just does everything better. 😩

So I mentioned the S5 finalé and why is this relevant? Because if we let this clumsiness/weakness stand it can reframe the finale fight into something actually much more sympathetic to Marinette/Ladybug.

The decision was already made not to have a clean 'happy ending', so we could skip the girlbossing and up the dramatic tension. Marinette isn't going in with a plan. She's responding to a chance encounter she really can't escape. She may have more power but she doesn't have her partner -Her shield.

The battle with Monarch could have been a struggle-in-retreat for Bugganoire. Every exchange Monarch throwing overwhelming power at her and Bugganoire using her wits and lucky charms to narrowly escape only for Monarch to throw something new at her.

Have taking the fight down to the lair be Monarch's doing. Have it symbolize in the moment how his own carelessness opens up the ones he loves to hurt.

When Bugganoire drops an elevator on Emilie this time, we've established she's overwhelmed, cornered, and desperate. She's at her wits end (and considering all she's been put through, zero people can blame her)

Begging Gabe to stop(he still has half the Miraculous) and trying to reach out to him can be framed a trying to normalize a world that has just gone insane from her point of view. Marinette ~~before the end of season 5~~ believes in people. Clinging to that in a desperate hour makes sense. Letting her guard down makes sense because she *has to* in order for the world to still make sense to her.

And so when she's betrayed and all else happens... her cavalcade of poor choices ALSO make more sense. She's making them not as a top-of-her-game girlboss but as a hero who just faced insanity and hasn't had time to pick up the pieces because the world(and her loved ones) need her.

All this- from just letting Marinette be clumsy.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

WASH YOUR WORRIES AWAY

pairing: opla!buggy the clown x reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+, cursing, oral (male receiving), p in v, honestly this one is pretty tame but it's cute <3

a/n: hi hi hi! im back with my bullshit! no but this one is really fucking sweet (maybe a tad cheesy at the end). i had the idea for a while so i was really happy to see that he people of tumblr voted for this choice on the poll.

i started this being super naughty with sanji and zoro and now look at me being a doll with buggy and mihawk (which is strange cause they can easily be the kinkiest mfs).

so i think im gonna write another oneshot for buggy in the near future. maybe one for nami and then i'm gonna go back and write the third part for the sanji x reader x zoro. that's gonna be real fucking interesting. it'll be my first time writing a threesome so wish me luck!

thank you guys for reading and putting up with my wild imagination!!

(as always my psa that this is solely based on the live action)

Buggy the Clown stomps into the Jolly Roger angrily. His crew is nowhere to be found on the empty deck. He expected them to be awake, running around, making plans to get their Captain back. Instead, they are snoozing in the rooms of his ship, shielding themselves from the cold ocean breeze.

Buggy mutters insults towards his freaks under his breath. The lot of them should freeze for all he cares. The fishmen kidnapped him, and all they're doing is getting their fucking beauty sleep. He's starting to believe he wasn't missed.

He beelines to the Captain's quarters, where he finds a pretty sight welcoming him. You're on his side of the bed, peacefully asleep. Buggy intentionally slams the door behind him, rudely waking you up from your slumber.

You jump at the bang and sit up, looking alarmed at the intrusion. "Buggy!" You gasp, relieved to see him, "You're back!"

You and the freaks have been working nonstop on keeping the ship afloat and searching for its Captain. You've barely rested in weeks, tracking down Arlong and his crew.

Today, you finally found the location of Arlong Park and set sail. You stopped an island away to let the freaks rest before marching into battle. They will need it to beat the fishmen or at least make enough damage to get Buggy out.

"No thanks to you and my useless crew," Buggy bites, throwing his coat to the side dramatically. At least his theatrics were not hurt while he was away.

You stand from the bed and approach him softly. He's like a wounded animal that might bolt at any second.

"That's not fair. You know we were on our way," you softly say, feeling bad about his harsh tone. Buggy loves to tease you and push your buttons, but it's not often he's genuinely angry at you.

"Taking your sweet ass time, it seems," he cries out, gesturing at the door as if referring to his sleeping crew.

You let it go and decide not to continue arguing. He's physically and emotionally wounded. Not to mention his ego. You stand centimeters away and grab his gloved hand, "Let me make it up to you, Bugs."

Being this close, you can assess his appearance closely. His makeup is smeared more than usual; it's faded on some parts as his blue stubble breaks through the white face paint, and his eyes look defeated.

"Yeah, make it up to me. Let's see what you come up with," he says sarcastically, letting your hand fall from his grasp. His words might drip with sarcasm, but they are a plea for help in disguise. So you pay him no mind, knowing that by the end of the night, you'll have him like putty in your hands. Only to rebuild him back into the Buggy the Clown you know and love and the Marines fear.

"I'll be right back." You tell him, leaving the room momentarily. You return minutes later with a freak who pushes a wooden tub behind you with steaming water. The freak barely spares a glance at Buggy, scared that the clown might lash out at him.

Closing the door once he leaves, you prepare the water with oils and fragrances. Buggy watches from afar, sitting on the wooden chair he has in his room. He's used to hunching on it for hours, examining his maps, and executing master plans for the next big adventure. He likes looking over his shoulder to watch you sleep peacefully as insomnia grabs hold of him. It brings him peace.

"Come 'ere, Bugs," you say, grabbing his hand to help him up. Buggy grumbles in protest despite looking forward to the bath. "Let me take care of you," you whisper, looking up at him. You place your hand on his chest in comfort.

"I don't need you to take care of me. I'm a grown ass man," Buggy gruffs out, avoiding your gaze. It's not like he's felt like a man in the past few weeks as he's been carried around in a sac as a mere head while his body was beaten constantly by the fishmen. It was degrading and made him feel extremely weak.

You roll your eyes at him but play along, "You're right. You are a grown, strong man. Will you indulge me, though? It'll make me feel better seeing you're okay."

Buggy finally meets your eyes and nods, "For you."

There's no reason for him to say no. You're the person that knows him best in this world. You probably know what he's feeling without him telling you in the first place. Still, he acts difficult because he's bratty like that and because sometimes he has a hard time understanding you're there for him no matter what, with no ulterior motive.

You softly smile at him and pat his chest. Your hands trail up to the scarf tied around his neck, and your fingers swiftly undo the knot. You throw it on the bed as you continue down his chest, reaching the buttons of his vest.

Buggy watches you closely as you concentrate on undoing the buttons. Your touch never lifts from his skin for more than a second, granting him the pleasure of feeling your soothing touch after many weeks.

The vest falls on the floor as you push it back over his shoulders. Fingertips tickle his arm as you reach his hand to take off one of his gloves. Your eyes timidly meet his as you plant a small kiss on his palm.

Before he met you, he never thought such a minuscule action could mean so much. Now, he craves it often. It's your way of saying 'I love you,' seeing as Buggy is not good with words. You give him options to show his love, and that's priceless to him.

Your curious eyes have already taken in all his bruises and minor cuts. There's no doubt Arlong's men had been beating him up. You don't bring them up, knowing Buggy will close up again. He'll talk when he's ready.

You kneel on the floor, helping him off his boots, and quickly after, you get rid of his pants, too. You guide a butt-naked Buggy to the tub, ordering him to get in.

"Ohh," Buggy bites back a moan as the warm water soothes his aching muscles. The smell of eucalyptus wafts up to his nose. It's his favorite scent because it's the one you used when you met.

"Would you like me to wash your hair?" You ask him, untying the knot on his head scarf.

"You said you were gonna take care of me. Do whatever you want, sweet cheeks," he knows you've already made your decision, as his hair is already down before he can respond. You beam at the nickname, knowing your Buggy is softening up.

His bright blue hair falls down his back and into the water. Grabbing a jug, you fill it with water and softly tell Buggy to tilt his head back. The water cascades down his head, wetting his hair and turning it a beautiful deep teal.

Buggy opens his eyes and sees your calm expression as you concentrate on not getting any water on his face. A small fraction of his anger chips away, seeing how much you care for him. Only you'd know he hates the feeling of water pouring down his face.

You grab oils from your selection and brush them through his hair, ridding him of any sand and grime stuck in it. Buggy involuntarily closes his eyes as you massage his scalp with the tip of your fingers. A mixture of a sigh and moan falls from his lips.

When his hair is clean and untangled, you grab the bar of soap and a sponge to clean his body. Your eyes are attentive to any bruise or cut, careful not to hurt him any more than he is.

You notice his neck is quite stiff as you spread the soap suds across his back, so you spend some time massaging the area. You dig your thumbs into the tension knots, causing Buggy to become more vocal, groaning and moaning whenever you hit a spot that needs extra care.

Moving to kneel beside the tub, you wash his chest and stomach. Buggy simply stares as you focus on getting every speck of dirt off of him. Any other day, he'd be making you laugh and throwing inappropriate jokes, but the time didn't seem right to him. So, he kept quiet and observed how you tried to hide your grimaces whenever you encountered a nasty bruise.

You massage his knees when you get to his legs because you know they hurt. Buggy might not complain about any pain, but you know the chop chop fruit makes his joints ache when he uses his abilities.

As the dirt is washed away from his body, so does his anger. He's sure that by the end of the bath, he won't be any better than a harmless puppy, and that's all you wanted. Buggy needs to let go of the anger he harbors inside so he can come back stronger than ever and lead the crew to its next adventure, whatever that may be.

You leave his face for last. You're the only person on earth who has the honor and pleasure of cleaning his face free of its makeup. Carefully, you wipe away with a rag the grease paint covering his handsome face. There's layer upon layer of paint staining his skin. A splash of blue over his eyes, red on the corner of his lips, white on his hairline. You wipe away each layer until you're able to see your Buggy. Not Buggy the Clown.

"There you are," you smile, cupping his face. Buggy's hand comes up to encase yours to simply kiss your palm. Beautiful blue eyes stare back at you shyly. Without all the makeup, he tends to feel more self-conscious about his nose.

"You know I was coming for you, right?" You ask him to make it clear you never intended to abandon him.

"I know, Princess," he says, leaning further into your touch. Your thumb brushes over his stubble before you pull back your hand. A soft protest leaves him.

"Let's get you out," you murmur, helping him out of the bath. You tell him to stay where he is as you fetch the towel.

Once you start something, you have to finish it. With the same love and care, you dry Buggy's body, kissing his bruises as you go along. You get on your knees to dry his legs as well.

It's a very intimate position you're in. Buggy's manhood is right in front of your face. He's looking down with hooded eyes, waiting for your next move. He'll go as far as you want to go tonight.

Having him away for so long, you can't resist kissing around his pubic bone. You avoid touching his cock for now as you tease him, looking up at him innocently.

His length begins to harden as you keep brushing your lips all around his thighs and pubic area, but not where he needs to feel you most. You notice his fists clenching as he holds back from grabbing your head and placing it exactly where he wants.

Finally, your lips kiss his length, all the way from the base to the tip. That alone gets all of his blood to surge down to his cock. You continue this torturous pace for too long, teasing the tip of his cock with your tongue.

"Fuck, Princess," Buggy groans, looking into your eyes.

He's tired. He's been away for weeks. Despite wanting to fall on his bed and die for the next ten hours, his need to have you wins out. So, with the energy boost you gave him with the bath, he grabs your arm and pulls you up.

There will be time for you to suck his cock another time. Now, he needs to feel you as close as humanly possible. Buggy grabs your face and presses his lips against yours.

He kisses you deeply and sloppily, tasting your minty lip balm. He hunches over you as you lean back, overwhelmed by the sudden display of affection. Kissing him back just as fiercely as your arms wrap around his sides, pulling yourself closer.

His hand leaves your cheek to tug on the strings of your night dress and push it off your shoulders. The falling fabric tickles your skin as you're left just as exposed as he is.

Buggy grips your breasts, your sides, your thighs, and your ass. All to feel you so fucking close to him. He doesn't care if he's suffocated by you. After weeks of being tortured, all he wants is to feel your soft, caring touch.

You push Buggy back into the bed, and you tumble down with him as his hold on you is unrelenting. You won't be leaving his side tonight. Buggy sits in the center of the bed with you on his lap, grinding against his length.

"Fucking adore you," Buggy breathes, digging his head on your shoulder to leave kisses there, "and the way you take care of me."

"I'll always take care of you, Buggy," you tell him, cupping his jaw so you can look into his eyes, "You're mine. I gotta take care of what's mine, okay?"

A whine comes out of him as he nods at your words. He kisses your palm again, telling you everything you need to know. Buggy leans his forehead against yours. Something he had to get used to at the beginning due to the fact your noses also touch, but right now, it's the farthest thing on his mind. Having you close is his number one priority.

You line his cock with your entrance and slowly sink into it. You watch Buggy's face contort into one of pleasure as his mouth slightly gapes and his eyebrows furrow. You start bouncing softly, being mindful to be gentle with his aching body. Meanwhile, he grabs into your hips, helping you along, his fingers digging into you, afraid this is all a dream, and you'll go away.

There's no way this is a dream. You feel too warm and tight around him for it not to be real.

Buggy's arms encase your body as he pulls you flush against him. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. It doesn't matter that it makes it harder for you to move on top of him. Buggy drags his short nails down your back, relishing the heat of your skin. It's not with the intent to hurt but to feel you close.

You keep your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots just how he likes it. You've resorted to grinding on his lap, as that's how much movement he allows you. His eyes bore into yours, depicting so many emotions he can't begin to comprehend, much less talk about. But it's enough for the two of you.

You peck his lips and ask, "You doing okay?"

Buggy nods and whispers, "I'm doing fucking perfect." He steals a kiss and another and another. Each kiss you let him steal gets progressively longer until he has his tongue in your mouth, tasting you.

The grind of your hips is enough to bring him to the edge. With a warning to your lips, Buggy spills inside of you. He revels in the level of closeness that brings. You play with his hair as he rests his head on your chest, catching his breath.

You need not say anything. It's a moment of vulnerability, and you let him have it. Buggy is resetting and pulling himself together back to the person he usually is.

That night, you sleep naked with Buggy basically on top of you. His head rests on your chest as he falls asleep listening to your heartbeat, and you hold him all throughout the night.

Except, when you wake up, he's gone. As your senses fully wake up, you notice the boat rocking. You've already set sail. Quickly, you get ready and go out onto the deck.

"About time you woke up, Sweet Cheeks!" Buggy yells from the helm, standing by the ship's wheel. The sun beams on Buggy's face, the familiar makeup freshly painted on his face. "It's time to get to work. I have some pirates to deal with."

"Yes, Captain!" You say, which earns you a sneaky wink from Buggy. With a soft laugh, you shake your head and walk through the ship to help the freaks with whatever they might need.

With you by his side, there is nothing Buggy can't overcome.

[ahanarhorse]

Who Am I If Not Your Guard?

Yay! My first fic! It ain't great, but it's something.

Summary:

Wild's reckless and self-sacrificing behavior has become even more concerning. The rest of the chain is getting more and more worried every time Wild shields one of them with his own body.

Then, during a difficult and dangerous battle, they find out why.

Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: Sacrifice in the name of Hyrule

Tired footsteps scuffed the path. The chain had been walking for miles and still hadn't found anything. They were currently in Twilight's Hyrule, making their way towards Ordon Village. The sun was setting, and they were trying to get to the village by nightfall.

"Are we almost there yet?" Wind asked, probably for the tenth time in the last hour.

"We're close," Twilight answered from his place at the front of the procession.

The peace only lasted for a moment before another whine rang through the air.

"I'm tired."

"I know."

"Are we almost there yet?"

"No."

Wind looked around, trying to find something to occupy his attention for the last bit of the walk. After a minute of searching and not succeeding, he hung his head and started to drag his feet.

"Where are all the monsters anyway?" He asked.

"Wind, don't jinx i-" Twilight's response was cut off by a shrill cry.

"Oh, there they are," Four said, surprisingly calm. His sword was already unsheathed, and the rest of the group did the same.

Soon, where there once was peace and quiet, there was a raging battle. Multiple bokoblins and a moblin crashed through the forests and fell upon the group of travelers.

Swords were whipped out of their sheaths, shields were retrieved from their rest, and arrows were pulled from their quiver. The numbers were about even, with a bokoblin to each person and a moblin to share.

For some reason though, they weren't making any progress. Hyrule swung, but each time the blade was blocked by his opponent. They were smarter than normal.

"Black blood!"

And that would be why.

The battle continued, cry after cry was heard, and thump after thump rang out as enemies dropped to the ground. There were only five bokos and the moblin left.

Hyrule peered around, looking for injuries. It didn't seem like anyone was hurt badly, mild cuts and bruises, but nothing worse.

While he was distracted however, a stray bokoblin managed to sneak up on him. The offending creature raised his weapon and squealed, prepared to strike.

"Hyrule!" He heard multiple people yell, and instead of alerting him to the danger, they only distracted him more.

Just when he was managing to turn back around, a massive weight crashed down upon him, and he fell to the ground.

He couldn't see, his face pressed into the packed earth. He could, however, hear. And what he was hearing was the voices of his brothers, currently yelling at him.

It felt like an hour, though it was probably only a few seconds before he felt the weight lift off his back. He whirled around, looking for the offending object.

Instead of seeing a enemy, rock or even a big branch however, he only saw a mass of blond, blue and red.

It was Wild, and on top of him, a bokoblin. Dead.

Wild was slowly coming around, blood dripping down his shoulder and a nasty bruise forming smack in the middle of his face.

"Is he okay?" Hyrule heard someone ask, though it was muffled, his own thoughts taking priority whirling around his ears.

"He'll be fine," a strong and steady voice said.

The fog over his eyes cleared, and Hyrule could once again see his surroundings.

He was lying in the mist of a battle field, dead monster carcasses lying about, waiting for some carnivore to carry them off.

He was being supported and checked for injuries by Sky, who's relief showed evident on his face as soon as he saw Hyrule tracking his motions.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, the concern in his voice matching the crease of his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," the traveler sighed, "What happened?"

"A boko snuck up behind you. Wild took the hit," Sky answered, looking over at both the savior and the future recipient of a stern lecture.

Hyrule also looked over and saw the now groaning champion being held still by an exhausted and exasperated captain. His face was still sporting an ugly mark, but his shoulder was patched up well enough. The front of his tunic was stained with blood, but it didn't seem to be his.

"Wild, why in the world would you do that?" Hyrule asked, almost a whisper amidst the louder chatter of the rest of the chain.

"You're 'bout ta get 'it. Not hit now," The champion slurred with a loopy smile one his face. It quickly turned into a grimace when Warriors prodded his shoulder.

"Ak! Cut 't out Cap'n!" He whined to the offender, who was now checking his face.

"You stop getting hurt and I'll stop it, got that?" He asked.

Wild pouted, but stopped talking.

Hyrule leaned into Sky, barely listening to the chatter around him. He wished Wild didn't get hurt, but thankful that his brothers were watching out for him.

"Twi! He's trying to destroy my face!"

~~~~

Well, that's the end of the first one, thank you to all of y'all who read to the end! If you have any thoughts or ideas for the next one, or just in general, I would love to hear them! Thank you!

[ms-fandomgirl]

BBHG: Japanese Curry (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 1,658

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Japanese Curry - a thick curry with a stew-like consistency, commonly including a protein, sweet onions, carrots, and potatoes. With many variations ranging from regions to households, it has become a staple comfort food in Japan. 

Tokyo was a living, breathing city. Its body was an ever-changing collection of homes, pop-up stands, and skyscrapers, stretching out as far as the eye could see and held together by the sinuous wires of telephone poles and railway tracks. Beautiful, messy, and thriving, it was all thanks to the heart which lay beneath. The pulse, strong and steady despite the city’s nature towards change, thrummed with citizens’ going about their day, carrying life which echoed throughout train stations and ricocheted off neon signs.

Overall, Tokyo was a beast, wild and untamable, especially when compared to your small rural hometown where people moved slowly and time moved even slower.

Descending into the underground railway station too early on a Monday morning, Tokyo definitely felt untamable, but not in a sense of freedom or adventure. Bento clutched in your hands and cross-body bag acting as a shield, you felt more like you were training for battle as you made your way down to the train station platform.

‘A straight ride through Shinagawa and then-’ the train doors opened two minutes early, causing a physical wave of panic to ripple through the crowd of hurried passengers as they pushed onto and off of the platform.

Time slowed, reduced to excruciating seconds as you watched the open doors get farther and farther away. You took a step forward, desperate to make up the difference and scuffed the toe of a stern looking businessman in the process. He retaliated in response, briefcase bumping you just enough to be forceful.

You threw out your arms to stop yourself, but there was nothing to brace against. Already dreading the embarrassment that was sure to follow your complete wipe-out, you gasped as you instead careened into an incredibly hard chest covered by a very soft army green hoodie. The scent of warm caramel and expensive smelling cologne invaded your senses, and for a second, you thought disaster had been avoided. That is, until your bento box, along with his, fell to the ground with a soft thud in the chaos.

“Watch it,” the stranger growled. He bent over, grabbing both bentos and shoving yours into your arms. You began to offer your thanks, but the stranger didn’t care to wait, immediately muscling his way through the crowd until he was lost from your sight.

“What an asshole,” you grumbled. A mother nearby gasped and covered her daughter’s ears. You opened your mouth to apologize, but she had already disappeared as well. Once again, you were left alone with only your bag, bento, and the rush of the train station.

You would like to say that the day got better, but it, in fact, did not.

Arriving at the Tokyo Central Hospital, you began your shift, checking on your assigned patients and tidying up the rooms. Things were normal, easy even, which should have been your first indicator that something was bound to go wrong. People called the ICU: Quirk-Related Injury unit many things, but “normal” and “easy” certainly weren’t among the commonly used phrases. Descriptors such as “crazy” or “a living nightmare” were much more accurate and commonly whispered over the water cooler in the breakroom.

It was right after your mid-morning break that things began to spiral. The springtime air made the general public get out and get active, but this also seemed to be the case for villains as well. One with a particularly destructive quirk had targeted a heavily populated food court, and you suddenly had an influx of patients to care for who got caught up in the crossfire.

In situations like this, time was a blur. You weren’t sure how long you had been working for, but you did know that you had just collected the charts for the last new admittee when Hina, a fellow nurse, dragged you by the arm into the breakroom for a very late lunch.

Walking to the far corner of the room, Hina flopped down into an unyielding plastic chair by the window, digging around in her satchel until she produced a crinkly bag of Tanko octopus chips. She opened the bag facing away from her, shoveling a handful into her mouth and swallowing so quickly you were glad that you knew how to perform the Heimlich.

“I can’t believe you’re still eating those,” you said, taking the seat across from her.

She shrugged her shoulders, giving you a sheepish grin. “They’ve really grown on me!”

You raised an eyebrow and eyed the package, looking at the small image of a hero nervously smiling at the camera. “Before the Suneater commercial, you used to say that you were allergic to octopus whenever we went out so you’d never have to eat it.”

“Well, these are octopus flavored chips, not octopus chips. There’s a difference,” Hina replied, smoothing out the empty package so she could lovingly stare into Suneater’s eyes. You were pretty sure Hina would spontaneously combust if she came within ten feet of the man in question, and you only hoped that you were there with popcorn and a camera if the day ever occurred.

“Yeah,” you snorted, “the difference is that you’re a simp.”

Unwrapping the pastel orange cloth from your own bento, you nearly missed the box as you went to grab your first bite, otherwise preoccupied with watching yet another hero interview that Hina was showing you: Suneater and Lemillion Answer Google’s Most Popular Searched Questions. You had been experimenting with your family’s curry recipe last night, and it was the best one yet: undeniably spicy, but with a soothing sweetness that came from adding in a dash of local honey. As expected, your tastebuds were immediately assaulted by the sting of spice. However, instead of dying out, the burn grew and grew, until your tongue began to go numb with the heat.

“Hey!” you spluttered, immediately looking for any type of liquid that would offer relief. “This isn’t my lunch!”

Reaching across the table, you grabbed Hina’s grape Ramune, downing half of it in two gulps. Unfortunately, the added combination of the carbonation and spice made everything worse, your face beginning to turn red from your uncontrollable coughing. A hand holding a small paper cup of water appeared in your periphery, and you gratefully looked up at Hina, your savior. Grabbing the cup, you let out a breath of relief as you drank, the water feeling like heaven as it slid down your throat. Eventually, the spice dissipated and you were left with residual tears in your eyes and embarrassment causing you to sink low in your chair. Although collapsing in a room full of doctors wouldn’t have been the worst-case scenario, you knew that you’d never hear the end of it. 

“What was that all about? I thought you said that you had almost perfected your recipe?” Hina asked.

You grabbed a bit of curry covered vegetable, glaring as you inspected it closely. “My curry recipe is almost perfect. But this isn’t my curry at all.”

“Look,” you said, waving around the vegetable in question, “I don’t even like squash.”

You continued to pick at the curry, separating the vegetables into somewhat identifiable piles while Hina looked deep in thought.

“Did someone here try to prank you?” she asked. “I know there was that prank war that happened in PT and Recovery, but targeting your lunch seems like a harsh way to start things off.”

“I don’t know.” Of course this would happen to you. First with the influx of patients, and then this morning with the train station– “It was that guy!” you yelled, slamming your chopsticks on the table. Hina jumped, clutching her drink to her chest and looking at you with wide eyes.

“I almost wiped out in the train station this morning, but some good-smelling asshole caught me and handed me back my bento after I had dropped it. I guess he accidentally gave me his, though.”  

At this news, Hina looked at both you and your bento with a curiosity that you knew all too well. It was the glint in her eye that she got when she discovered a new TV show or Suneater interview - an omen of mischief and oncoming obsession - and it was now directed at you.

“Oh?” she asked, trying her best to give you an innocent smile. You knew better, waving off her batting eyelashes. “A meet-cute in the train station?” 

You groaned but made no attempt to dissuade her. Any denial was proof at this point. “More like a meet-fight. That guy was rude as hell.”

“I don’t know, this could be the beginning of your enemies-to-lovers arc,” Hina teased, giving you an exaggerated wink that sent the both of you into a fit of giggles.

“You read too many romance books.” You tried to sound annoyed, but the facade crumbled when she stuck her tongue out at you.

Jumping at the chance, Hina began to regale you about her latest purchase at the bookstore down the street. You continued to pick at the bento before you, figuring that spicy food was better than no food and now stubbornly determined to finish despite the heat. There was no way you were losing to some stranger’s Japanese curry.

One intercom announcement later, and you and Hina were pulled back into work, idle fantasies and what-ifs lost to the very real needs of your job. By the end of the day, the only memories of the morning were rinsed down the drain and stacked neatly on the drying rack. After all, Tokyo was one of the biggest cities in the world. The only way you would meet the good-smelling asshole again would be through an act of fate itself. 

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this journey of posting my first multi-chapter story! Technically, Violet Petrichor has two chapters, but since it is only an epilogue, I don't count it like I do this one. Also, I would like to caveat this whole fic by saying that I am not in the medical field at all, so if something is terribly inaccurate, I'm sorry.

I currently have a plan to post once a week every Friday!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well. I've never done one before, so I'm not sure I did it right.

[riskyalt]

q!Bloodhounds are still so interesting to me, especially from q!Roier's perspective.

They literally act like brothers, with that constant banter and 'toxicity' that is never meant to mean anything other than just messing with the other; there's a thick layer of trust built on the foundation of that relationship that's had so little time to set in, but is already so large and reciprocated.

From q!Roier's perspective, it's really surprising to me how much he's trusting and believing in q!Etoiles, because q!Roier has really bad trust issues as a whole post-betrayal. My guy wanted to name a turtle he got somewhere, but refrained in fear that he'd get attached and someone would kill it just to hurt him. There's few people on the island q!Roier would fight tooth and nail to protect, and those bonds took time to come into existence.

But q!Etoiles? A few days. A week.

I think it's related to how q!Roier has always restrained himself, always stopped before he can bite enough for it to hurt, always held back for the sake of the other islanders. His longtime dream is to release the anger he keeps so close to his chest and kill. Without repercussion, or consequence, he just wants to unleash the pent up rage because it doesn't discriminate what it hits.

q!Roier is emotionally intelligent, he knows that this isn't something he can just go around telling people, because they'd think he's evil or something like that, which isn't at all what he is. He knows to keep this buried deep down because he has friends and family on the island that he doesn't want to hurt.

q!Etoiles though? He actively encourages this thirst for blood, even offering q!Roier companionship in something he always thought the islanders would dislike him for. Purgatory is where q!Roier can finally let loose that desire for blood, and with proper reason for once, so taking advantage of this he allows himself to kill without mercy, to use that anger pressed deep inside and hurt. And q!Etoiles stays. He isn't disturbed, or concerned, he just follows and tries to protect.

q!Etoiles acts as the grounding to q!Roier's bloodthirst, the voice of reason through the adrenaline, but if q!Roier is ever in danger q!Etoiles will always leap into battle to ensure his safety. We saw that on the first day of Purgatory, when q!Roier went to kill q!Carre, even after q!Etoiles was saying they need to wait for food. q!Roier wanted to kill, and leapt into battle head first, so q!Etoiles also went to attempt and protect q!Roier on impulse, knowing if the rest of Bolas were to come they'd be in trouble.

That bond runs deep, observed when q!Etoiles says "I trust you like my own sword" to q!Roier which is INSANE of cc!Etoiles to say (/pos) because q!Etoiles has always been rooted and based on combat, always fighting asking for a PvP check where he can get one, so for him to say that, to compare his faith in q!Roier to his reliance on his sword? That's big. That's real big.

q!Etoiles fully trusts q!Roier to jump into battle for him just like q!Etoiles does in return, and he's fully correct that q!Roier will go out of his way to accomplish that. One of q!Roier's biggest reasons for tracking down q!Bad and attempting to kill him, was that he wanted to avenge q!Etoiles for when q!Bad had killed him.

Even with their Ordem element picks, they also match.

q!Roier is Blood, the devotion to extreme emotion and a tendency to be blinded by feeling. That anger, that hatred that he has stored deep inside fuels him, feeds him, wants to explode, and that's what q!Roier runs on.

q!Etoiles is Death, the apathy towards cessation and the distortion of temporal effect. Everything has its own time, and q!Etoiles never attacks first. He's a protector first, antagonist second.

Blood's carnal perception is ruined by Death because everything has its own time. q!Roier is the sword to q!Etoiles' shield, q!Roier is the impulse to q!Etoiles patience.

To q!Etoiles it's exciting how skilled q!Roier is, to finally be beaten by someone who knows how to fight almost as well as - or on the same level as - him. q!Etoiles is always saying how much 'he wants to die' or how 'he doesn't give a shit' at the threat of his own life. It's not fun, he feels untouchable because of how little he loses, because of how he seldom ever finds himself respawning. It's boring, and then he bothers q!Roier for a fight, and the guy wins.

It's fun again, exciting, challenging, and now q!Etoiles is attached to fighting more with him, to take away that 'clown mask' and reveal how great of a warrior q!Roier is.

He takes pleasure from fighting by q!Roier's side because he recognises the signs of a great pvper when he sees one, and is fully excited to fight with him.

Even during Purgatory when q!Etoiles was being self deprecating, beyond that banter q!Roier would engage in, he's encouraging, telling him 'no no, you're actually not shit' sometimes to remind q!Etoiles that q!Roier does care, but also really enjoys to toy with him and insult him in true sibling fashion. This just means he's comfortable with q!Etoiles to be so 'toxic' to him, knowing it will be taken in good fun and reciprocated back.

Post Purgatory, q!Etoiles understands q!Roier, telling Pomme once that they can't fully blame q!Roier for his neglect to Pepito because he's lost so much, and tells her that they can take care of Pepito to help out his bro, and to me that is everything. q!Etoiles isn't great with emotion, but he wants to help, tries to show his support in any way he can, and is so patient and willing to care for Pepito if his petit frérot should he ever need it.

They are so brother coded it's actually insane can anyone hear me or am I screaming into the void

[tallulah477]

ℐ𝒮𝕖𝕖 ℛ𝕖𝕕

Colors of Pandora Day 1: Red

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Character Death/Love Interest Death, Grief, Anger/Rage, Illusions to Sex (but no actual smut), Mentions of blood

Word Count: 641

A/N: I pictured Neteyam while writing this but his name is never actually mentioned so you can probs picture whoever you want.

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

You think red is a powerful color - vast in its expression and eclectic with its meaning.

You see red in the honor of battle.

The thick, pigmented paint swirling stark and proud patterns along the bodies of your brothers and sisters, a visual representation of your bravery to protect The People from anyone or anything that wishes you harm. The sight of the paint against your skin makes you sick, the image of it on your fellow clan members like a mirror of what might happen in battle makes your stomach twist, acid rising in your throat the more you look at it. There’s no calmness in the color. No serenity or stillness. It’s bold and heated, exploding with emotion - meant to ignite action. Your home is being threatened, the people you care about are in danger.

He’s in danger.

Sometimes you can think the color might be pretty. When the faint red peeks against his skin, a reminder of the nights you’ve shared together. You see red in the passion he shows you, the passion and uncontainable desire he pulls from you in return. And despite any nerves or reservations you might have felt, he’s the only one who’s ever made you feel safe enough to express it. The pure raw emotion that you’ve never felt before, but that feels way too intense to contain anymore. Red bleeds out in the love you both share - the heated kisses and the shielded hugs, the way his arms wrap around you like an impenetrable shelter that no other force could ever breach.

You see red in the way the whites of his eyes haze over when the world becomes too much for him to handle. He’s confident, a mighty warrior, but he is not without fear or worry. He trusts you. And in the early mornings or late nights when everyone else is sleeping, he curls up into your side, pulling you close to him and nuzzling into your embrace. Heavy sobs wrack his body, and the amber of his eyes are surrounded by red.

The paint markings on The People’s bodies lose their symbolism when they’re replaced with their brighter and less strategically placed twin. You watch as your brothers and sisters fall in battle, fighting with all they have to protect their home and yet somehow it's still not enough. Blood paints the battlefield an endless sea of red, both enemy and friend’s alike. You can’t find him - can’t find him amongst the multitudes of bodies and metal demons, and the desperation feels like it's trying to crawl out from your throat.

And then you see him, across the field and locked in combat with one of the metal demons. The tawtute inside the machine is fierce, the large knife in its hand furiously swiping at your love’s body, trying to slice any part of him it can. He’s fiercer than it, dodging and shooting arrows at the protective glass cover shielding the tawtute. Despite the force, the arrows never pierce the glass and you can see how tired he’s getting from the constant take take take and no progress. You start to run, needing to get to him, but an anguished scream rips from your throat when the knife he’s spent so much energy avoiding suddenly stabs directly through his chest.

It’s red, all red - blood sliding down his back from the wound, dripping off the blade as the metal demon pulls the knife from your love’s body.

Your eyes track him as he falls to the ground.

He’s not moving.

As you stand there frozen, your soul feeling like it’s already left your body the second your love’s left his, you think you should be seeing blue.

But instead, your eyes cut to the man who just stole your life from you...

...and all you see is red.

**Special thanks to @xylianasblog for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @bambithewriter @xylianasblog

**Comment here to be added to or removed from my taglist!

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

First of all, I love this blog! Second, would Purrloin (one of my favorite Pokemon) make a good pet? I imagine it wouldn't be too different from keeping a real-world cat, but you never know.

Well would you look at that: it’s yet another pokémon that is, really, pretty much just like a real-world cat. However, as all cat aficionados know, cats have a lot of very varied personalities. Purrloins are very much like real-world cats, yes: but a very particular kind of real-world cat. The more naughty, mischevous, ill-behaved sort of cat. These kinds of cats are not for everyone, but us cat-lovers blinded by our adoration of the little critters can’t help but see them as lovable in their own way!

Purrloins are the perfect size to be a house pet, naturally, and this lends towards them not being the biggest physical threats. At risk of getting ahead of myself, this is another cat-like pokémon that isn’t capable of doing that much harm besides biting and scratching. In this way, they’d be model pets for anyone who’s willing to put up with the odd scratch (something many cat owners are very familiar with).

Their behavior is where purrloins get a little bit more off the tracks as far as the whole “model pet” thing goes. Don’t be deceived by their adorable looks, as many people are: purrloins love to steal for fun (Black)! And we’re not just talking food or toys; purrloins love to take people’s personal valuables, just to see the shock on their faces (Black2/White2). It seems that they’re good at it too, so unless your items are very carefully locked away, you can expect them to go missing whenever you let your guard down (White). As added salt in the wound, purrloins can and will laugh at you (Shield). It’s unclear if this behavior can be dealt with through training, but any cat owner could tell you that if it can be it’d be an uphill battle. Wild purrloins get in intense rivalries with other species that are known for being thieves, like nickits (Sword), so I wouldn’t recommend keeping these species (or even more than one purrloin) at the same time, or else they may keep one-upping each other, stealing more and more outrageous things. But c’mon, they’re so cute! The severity of how annoying this behavior is will really depend on the owner and what they’re willing to put up with.

As mentioned earlier, purrloins aren’t very dangerous. They aren’t slow to scratch when frustrated, playing, or simply bored (Sword, Shield). I’d also warn against adopting a purrloin to anyone with pet allergies: if they’re as similar to real-world cats as they seem, they may be big shedders.

Overall, however, there isn’t anything that drags purrloins’ score down from an A. Whether or not you’d get along well with one depends on the person, but when it comes down to it these pokémon are just cats. Naughty cats, but cats. Do you like cats? You’d probably like a purrloin.

[Special thanks to @glacecakes for the recommendation to introduce a “just a cat” rank! Will there ever be a “just a dog” rank? Probably.]

[supercap2319]

Being the Phoenix Soldier, and Spiderman saving you from Psycho Red.

Being the Phoenix Soldier Ranger was one thing, but along the way you managed to make some very powerful enemies in your short time as a Ranger.

You helped the Cosmic Fury Rangers against Lord Zedd and his mission to destroy the earth with his Squidrills given to him my Bajillia Naire. It was fun working with a team of Rangers, but after everything was said and done, you moved to New York to help the heroes there.

The earth was home to the Power Rangers. Along with the Avengers. A band of extraordinary people that came together to protect the world. So, you were no stranger to heroes like Ironman, Captain America, or Spiderman. People like yourself just protecting your home and the people that lived in it.

Along the way, some supervillain thought you were too comfortable in your new life, so they resurrected a Ranger enemy that was very dangerous: a Psycho Ranger. Specifically, Psycho Red. Psycho Rangers were created to hunt Power Rangers by tracking their energy, voices, and communicators. They had an unbeatable battling style against the Ranger they were assigned to destroy. That's where you came in.

Psycho Red attacked you in New York. He would stop at nothing to destroy you. Every chance he got, he would attack you, and you barely escaped his wrath. And this last time, you almost didn't.

You and Psycho Red were locked in a sword match as you defended and attacked with your Phoenix sword and shield. "Hahaha! You're getting better."

"You mean I'm winning?" You asked.

"That's what you think!" Psycho Red pushed back and slashed you hard and kicked you onto the floor as you rolled. "Hahaha! Finally. You've slipped through my fingers too many times. But this time I outsmarted you. Goodbye, Ranger!" He raised his sword and swung down towards you, but something blocked his attack as you looked up to see Spiderman in his Iron Spider costume.

"Hey, Buddy. I think you've done enough rough playing don't you think?" Spiderman asked.

"You!" Psycho Red roared.

"Well, who'd you expect? Batman?"

You watched as they began to fight. Spiderman weaved and dodged Psycho Red's attacks until he shot a blast of lightning at the hero as he flew back. The evil Ranger turned to you and smiled. If he was capable of smiling. "Ah ha! Don't think I've forgotten about you, Ranger." He ran towards you with the intention of ending your life once and for all, but he was suddenly webbed up by Spiderman.

"Phoenix Soldier. Do it now!" Spiderman called.

You stood up and charged an attack as you slashed at Psycho Red until he exploded in a burst of energy. You were breathing heavily underneath your visor as Spiderman walked towards you.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Everything's dark." You fell forward and would have hit your head if Spiderman hadn't caught you in his arms. You fainted in his arms. "Don't worry. I'll get you some help." He swung you back to Avengers' tower as you demorphed.

[renaisguy]

My mother rejoiced more in my skill with the brush than in my skill with the sword. I never understood why... 

Forde’s father was the greatest paladin in Renais. His skill with the lance and spear were legendary, his chivalry unrivalled. An entire generation of knights looked up to him, striving to be a fraction of the man he was. 

So Forde was told. 

Forde’s father had a deep scar on his shoulder. He never told his sons where he’d received it, but a fellow soldier had. He gained it whilst serving the royal family to serve Renais - personally shielding the king from an attack.

So Forde was told. 

Forde’s father died for a noble cause. The most dangerous assassin in Magvel had made his way into Renais’ capital, dead set (no pun intended) on taking out the royal family. Forde’s father tracked him down single handedly - asking for help would alert the assassin of his mission. He killed the assassin, saving the king once more, but in doing so was mortally wounded. 

So Forde was told. 

Forde’s father loved his family. On his rare visits home he would carry Forde and Franz around, listening to all their stories with a smile. His smile. A great, beaming smile. He would ask his sons to smile, too. Tell them that as long as they smiled, he would be able to smile… 

Or at least, he probably did. Forde couldn’t really remember.

Forde was 11 when his father died, two years after his mother passed from illness. Yet he could remember her face far more clearly. She smiled, Forde was certain of that. She beamed as they cooked together. She grinned when they came home covered in mud. And whenever Forde showed her a drawing of his, she sparkled.

All these years later, he still got told he had his mother’s smile. 

It was that smile of hers that made him want to paint in the first place. To capture a fraction of her happiness on his page, that was what he wished for. When she died, he lost the desire to paint people altogether. That sparkle was gone.

From a young age, it was decided that Forde would become a paladin like his father. It seemed only natural - his talent with a sword was head and shoulders above most his age, it would be a waste not to join the army. Forde was happy with this. What else was he going to do? 

He rose through the ranks quickly, and was assigned to Prince Ephraim’s personal guard. (As much as he hates to admit it, it’s more thanks to Kyle than him. Kyle was always roping him into intense training sessions, mock battles, the like. Looking back, Forde needed this push.) 

Then, well, I’m sure you’ve heard of this part. In the year 803, Grado launched a surprise attack on Renais, and long story short there was a war. In one very strategically sound move, Ephraim decided to attack Fort Renvall with only four men. Princess Eirika’s group got involved, and it was here that Forde was reunited with his brother. 

It was a shock, seeing Franz after so long - he’d gotten taller, for a start. But in the way he carried himself, the way he rode, the way he fought. He was still training, and unconfident in himself, but Forde could see it. There was a passion that Forde had only seen in one man before, the same drive to serve his country that kept their father away from home. 

It was a drive Forde no longer had. 

If he’d ever had it in the first place. 

And then the rest of the war happened. Forde was given a Knight Crest on the journey from Grado’s capital to Jehanna - y’know, that desert nation? Great terrain for a paladin? Then they were in Rausten. Then they were in Darkling Woods. Then they fought a massive demon and that was that. 

Looking back, it wasn’t the fighting he thought about, nor his accomplishments as a paladin. It was the connections he’d made, the smiles around the campfire when he told a stupid story, the sighs when he fell asleep when he wasn’t meant to, the amazement when people he’d known for years found out about his passion for art. 

When the war ended, Forde asked for a holiday. About a week in, he decided he wasn’t going back. He was going to be a full-time painter. (Well, maybe not full-time. Just a few hours a day?) 

He didn’t know where his parents were now, but he hoped they were enjoying a peaceful retirement together. He hoped his father would smile down on him. He knew his mother was. 

She rejoiced more in my skill with the brush than in my skill with the sword. I never understood why... Not until recently, at any rate.

Class Mastered: Paladin

[aliensupersyn]

Is Gege a Good Fight Choreographer? Why Todo is Amazing

This will be a sort of series analyzing different aspects of Gege's choice of fighting elements and his magic system, with considerations for the anime as well. Though I will be analyzing Jujutsu Kaisen's magic system, I will mostly be focusing on the physical fighting elements, including hand to hand, weapon use, and overall strategic combat. You cannot discuss a jjk fight without mentioning the importance of strategy and deception!

TLDR: Just read the Problem Solver Section for a general idea of what I'm talking about.

I've been reflecting heavily about how to use powerful people in a story all at once. In my mind, in order to have powerful characters, the author will simply have to upscale all others to somewhat match them; that way, an author can avoid a power fantasy or mary sue issue. Upscaling does not always mean bigger blasts. Todo exemplifies a character with a strong ability not reliant on a huge blast.

In effect, Todo uses Goku's Instant Transmission, but limited to an uncertain, wide range relative to himself. I enjoy Gege's ability to take aspects of other manga and effortlessly incorporate them into jjk. Even if Boogie Woogie was not meant to be Goku's IT, there are other direct references to other powers like Yuji's jajanken (Gon from HunterxHunter), and Domain Expansions being similar to bankai (Bleach). Point being, Gege takes pieces of other magic systems and adds to them what he needs to ensure jjkverse maintains its individuality.

Boogie Woogie, The Problem Solver

Boogie Woogie has stood up against two of the most difficult opponents in the entire verse: Kenjaku and Sukuna. Before I delve into breaking down Todo's use as a powerful story mechanism, a small rant. Skip the section below if you don't care about Yuki vs. Kenjaku.

Kenjaku having gravity abilities exists solely so that he can logically survive Yuki's Bombaye and mass-type cursed technique. It makes sense narratively for Yuki to defend Tengen and eventually face Kenjaku, considering they philosophically oppose one another. Yet, with all intents and purposes, Yuki should have killed Kenjaku there. While the fight was entertaining, why go so far as to give Yuki something like a black hole just for it to be countered with a cursed technique reversal? That part specifically was not entertaining, it was disrespectful to both Yuki and the reader who had to see it.

Rant over.

The difficulties that Kenjaku presents as an opponent in a fight:

Extremely powerful Simple Domain

An open Domain Expansion

360 antigravity shield

Any number of useful cursed spirits

Powerful rct/healing

The issue of Kenjaku having arguably the most powerful simple domain and having an open barrier with gravity powers meant that he was practically undefeatable. If someone tried to do a domain battle, he would either easily suffer their domain with SD, or he'd win the clash with an open barrier. If Kenjaku needs to block something, he will just use his antigravity shield. Kenjaku also has multiple cursed spirits with differing beneficial utilities for him to use; this allows Gege to add whatever backdoor or advantage Kenjaku needs ay any given moment. If Kenjaku needs to escape, Gege can write in a useful cursed spirit that will allow it.

In all fairness, in the Lake Gosho colony, Gege used Kenjaku's abilities to their most sensible limits. Why wouldn't Kenjaku have secured surveillance spirits? Of course Kenjaku can track all the resurrected sorcerers. Kenjaku's caution and overall security makes sense for his character, as he's calculating and strategic.

Kenjaku's own capabilities therefore demands a character who does at least one of two things: Gege needs a character that matches his SD, DE, and gravity abilities, and or someone who simply bypasses those factors. Todo, coupled with Yuta, simply bypass all the things that make Kenjaku a difficult opponent. To note, Takaba did his part in weakening and distracting Kenjaku, which allowed Todo and Yuta's attack to work.

From Lightning's Twitter:

Kenjaku's antigravity shield acts as the ultimate last effort defense. I will avoid saying that Gege wrote himself into a corner, but it does boggle my mind that Gege allowed Kenjaku to have this ability. Regardless of my issues with his gravity powers, Gege masterfully uses Todo to bypass such an overpowered ability.

Correcting TCB's Mistake

The sound effect on the double spread does not say SLICE, but it instead was Todo's vibraslap onomatopoeia. Kenjaku was standing next to Takaba's body, then after the attack, Yuta now stands in the same place. Yuta and Kenjaku switched places, which allowed Yuta to bypass the antigravity shield. Kenjaku would have been able to use it at least in the direction that Yuta was in, so Todo swapped Yuta to be behind Kenjaku.

Todo performed BW again here to bring Yuta and Kenjaku closer so Yuta could stab Kenjaku in the brain.

Just Avoid the Domain Clash

I originally believed that Sukuna would not get his domain back because there's no real way for anyone in the cast to survive it. Again, Sukuna demands the anti-mary sue rules: Gege needs a character that matches his DE and Kamino, and or someone who simply bypasses those factors. Todo does the latter yet again. By expanding his technique, he could successfully save the cast from being oneshotted. I like Gege's execution here, because it allows for the cool moment of Sukuna finally revealing Kamino, and the audience gets to enjoy the calamity that it brings. Gege does all of that while saving the audience from a complete wipeout of the cast. Yet, Gege still understands the give and take of a high stakes narrative and includes a heart wrenching death for good measure.

Essentially, Todo and BW allows for Gege to allow powerful characters like Kenjaku and Sukuna to sensibly perform at their best while not being the unbeatable plot devices that Gege made them to be. At the very least, BW enables defeat to a certain degree. Gege's characters' interesting and creative abilities allows for dynamic, somewhat chaotic, but fulfilling fights.

Thank you for reading.

[rabbitenn]

HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL.

After TRIGGER’s street performance, rain ones are not the only droplets sliding down your boyfriend’s cheeks. Luckily, you’re there to hold him.

ft. Kujo Tenn x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort.

A steely sky seems to come crashing down.

Bright pink light sticks are clutched in your hands, your grip knuckle-white.

You find yourself amidst a crowd, yet on this instant, all you can hear are the hammering thumps of your heart.

Not the falling rain, nor the whispers, or noises of faraway passing cars.

Only your heart aching for him and the silent moments before he steps onto the stage again.

It hasn’t even been five minutes since your arms wrapped around Kujo Tenn’s figure backstage, as he mirrored your actions, his way of wordlessly promising to make you happy with his singing.

The fleeting kiss you shared still lingers on your lips, tingling when his maroon gaze finds you on the first row amongst a sea of hooded faces.

And then, as you always do, you fall prey to your angel’s charm.

Not even the rumors surrounding TRIGGER lately or such a heavy downpour could ever put a damper on the way Tenn moves on stage.

Fuchsia tinted lights glint off of him like haloed wings, fusing with his groupmates’ colors as they all are in perfect sync.

Under the spell of TRIGGER, you wave your light sticks in tune with your lover, as if you were a lighthouse steering him to safer waters.

A thousand feelings battle in your heart: rage at the people who caused him and his friends all this pain; hurt, because of where they used to be and where they’re now; happiness, because Tenn is singing again, and you’re here to witness it.

Wetness, not from the rain, pools in your lashline the moment their performance comes to an end.

Cheers and shouts of ‘encore’ fill the tempestuous evening.

Instants after, however, all of it would feel like faraway static to you.

With widened eyes and your heartbeat at a standstill, the sight before you pierces your heart.

Crystal clear droplets cling to your boyfriend’s long eyelashes.

Not rain drops. Tears.

Tenn is crying.

Tenn is crying and metal hurdles, a stage, and the public eye are keeping you apart from him right now.

You want nothing more than to run towards him and throw your arms around him, being his warmth to fend off the storm.

Amidst a clamor that utters his name, Tenn’s next statement causes for your gaze to mimic his own, the city lights reflecting on the tear-tracks running down your cheeks now.

“I’m so glad I’m singing.” The idol claims, the moon above reflected in his melancholy smile, not unlike the one on your lips right now.

And then you find yourself running backstage, as the figures of Gaku and Ryu shield your angel from prying eyes.

And then a gasp of “Tenn!” is on your lips, as he feels the air knocked out of him, your body colliding with his own.

He leans his head against the crook of your neck, his tears, yours, and the rain mixing together in your shared embrace.

The modern day angel can feel your shoulders shaking against his form, when he utters:

“I’m sorry for making you cry.”

Your teary stare levels with his. And even though Tenn looks undoubtedly ethereal with tears streaming down his face, the sight of him resembling a kicked kitten breaks your heart.

“Don’t apologize, silly.” You give him a smile, fingers reaching up to thumb his tears away. Quartz-like eyes crinkle up a little, his fair eyebrows upturned. “You were perfect tonight, Tenn.” You continue, brushing damp strands of snowy hair away from his pretty face. “Whether you’re singing on the grandest arena, on a dark alley, or just for me, you’ll always be my number one, my love.” You tell him, as one of your hands finds his, fingers slotting together.

You squeeze them reassuringly.

He squeezes your hand back.

“[Y/n]?” Your boyfriend prompts, your eyes on his an indication for him to go on. “I promise to make you smile next time.”

“You already do, my Tenn.” Your index finger brushes over the pink of his lower lip. “Every day.”

His response comes in the form of a faint smile and a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

After that, you pull away a little, tucking some rebellious strands of starlight woven hair behind his ear.

“Now, how does omurice and donuts at my place sound? I baked your favorite myself this time.” You suggest, tone soft, swinging your hands that hold onto his between the both of you.

“Absolutely perfect.” Comes your lover’s reply, dilated pupils utterly mesmerized by your tender expression.

As you and your partner make your way out of the venue hand in hand, the knowing smiles of his two friends – who’ve been listening this whole time – soften. Perhaps they won’t tease him too much this time.

♡

Hours later, you and Tenn would find yourselves safely tucked in your bed, your arms around his slender figure as he peacefully sleeps, cheek resting on your chest. Fingers delicately brushing silken locks away from his face, your lips leave a barely there kiss to his temple.

Maybe for tonight, you could be Tenn’s angel instead, invisible wings enveloping him in a melody of warmth.

[leoneliterary]

Hi! I got quite curious after reading some of your answers to the magic anon and got inspired to think up some more questions; I guess you can say that this ask is Magic Questions 2.0! Although, if the questions get too close to spoilers, feel free to skip them!

Is it possible to enhance an item with specific magic? Like an enhanced sword, ring, helmet, bow, shield, etc. If yes, do the royal family/military utilize this skill?

Politically speaking, how is magic viewed in the world? Do certain factions support it more than others? Is it viewed negatively/positively in society, or perhaps is there just a neutral, common acknowledgment that it exists?

How long has magic been intertwined with humans? Since the beginning of human civilization? More recently?

Is forensic magic a thing? Like a sort of magic that can trace something back to another person? How effective would this kind of magic be to tracking down thieves? 🥲

How do the laws of physics interact with the law of magic? Does magic overrule physics or does physicals overrule magic? Does magic completely ignore physics or is it influenced by it? For example, if you were to use an ice or water based spell in a very warm and humid place, would that affect the strength of your spell? Or would the spell overrule those influences and remain equally as strong?

I’m loving the world building so far so I can’t help but crave for my tidbits! Thank you for all your hard work Leone! 😊

Ahhh thank you for sticking with me and for sending such a cool ask!

Sorry it took me such a long time to get around to answer it but I'm excited to have the opportunity to dive into some more of the lore!

Magic Questions 2.0

Is it possible to enhance an item with specific magic? Like an enhanced sword, ring, helmet, bow, shield, etc. If yes, do the royal family/military utilize this skill?

Yes and yes! Almost all noble families have magic heirlooms that have been passed down and magic is very much tied to warfare, with mages being used in both offensive and defensive battles.

The royal family also has many magical relics, artifacts, heirlooms, etc. But their relationship with magic is very old and very different.

Politically speaking, how is magic viewed in the world? Do certain factions support it more than others? Is it viewed negatively/positively in society, or perhaps is there just a neutral, common acknowledgment that it exists?

Everyone knows that it exists, but most people aren't involved with the extreme levels of it. Also, different groups have different origin stories of how it came to be, when it's appropriate to use it, etc. which can lead to friction between the many cultures that populate Hashind and the countries beyond. Politically, most view it positively, as long as you're doing it the way they think it should be done and for their benefit.

How long has magic been intertwined with humans? Since the beginning of human civilization? More recently?

Again, it depends on who you ask. Some groups that you'll meet will say that it is the result of their ancestor getting jiggy with a spirit, another group says that it's a force of nature, just as natural as rain and sunshine. But yeah, it's been around for as long as people have been able to pass down stories.

Is forensic magic a thing? Like a sort of magic that can trace something back to another person? How effective would this kind of magic be to tracking down thieves? 🥲

Everything leaves a trace and that's all I can say about that.

How do the laws of physics interact with the law of magic? Does magic overrule physics or does physicals overrule magic? Does magic completely ignore physics or is it influenced by it? For example, if you were to use an ice or water based spell in a very warm and humid place, would that affect the strength of your spell? Or would the spell overrule those influences and remain equally as strong?

The laws of physics and magic work together. You can't really create something with magic that goes against the laws of nature. Using your example, a water based spell in a very warm and humid place would cause a large amount of strain to whoever is attempting it and, depending of their ability, probably wouldn't last long.

Most spells interact with what is already natural, like accelerating the body's healing process, or starting a fire. But magic that tries to summon something out of nothing, or go against the laws of nature are very dangerous indeed.