#blue pouch clutch

[churipu]

PAINTING THEIR NAILS 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, itadori yuuji

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. none :)

note. i don't know, something about painting your partner's nails feels intimate to me. like, yes. make art on my nails pls.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"what are you doing, baby?" gojo asks, his cerulean blue eyes gazing into the on-going television series playing in front of him.

you didn't answer him, brows furrowed in concentration — slipping your tongue out, a bit past your lips. index finger and thumb clutching onto the polish brush as you try to stroke his nails neatly with a light pink color.

"are you painting my nails?" he asks again.

much to his dismay, the room was void of answers yet for the second time. but gojo wasn't angry, his eyes finally gazes at your figure, eyeing you in content. his chin prepped on top of his free hand, limping the hand you were holding onto, "just a little more," you whisper to yourself.

three minutes passed and you pulled yourself back, "all done and dolled up, give me your other hand," you commanded, ushering gojo to give his other hand.

"good job, baby. they look pretty," he chuckles, indulging to your command — letting you have your fun, "can i do yours after?"

you nod, "mhm, i want to use (favorite color). and you gotta do it neatly too . . ."

gojo shrugs, "easy job to me."

it was in fact not an easy job to him.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

"paint my nails?" geto parrots softly.

you stood in front of him, holding a grey colored pouch — that geto knew was filled with different colored polishes, he's seen you done your nails for fun and then erasing them just a few hours later because you were bored.

"yes, i want to paint them. can i?" you ask him, taking a seat right beside him on the couch, immediately letting yourself sink a bit into the fabric.

"mhm, sure baby. what color were you thinking?" geto raised his hand up to your thigh, letting you take over.

you hummed, "i was thinking . . . just a simple silver colored cat eye nails, you have pretty nails, you know?" geto, frankly, couldn't understand what you meant by that — cat eye on his nails? but you were his partner, and he trusts you.

it didn't take you long to finish a hand. his eyes never leaving your hand as they moved in slow strokes, "how do you think they look? i was watching a video on the internet, and i thought this might look pretty on you. 't looks a little different than what i saw though."

geto's gaze fell onto his nails, a smile popping up onto his lips, "'t looks pretty, thank you."

"really? you're not just saying that, right?" you ask, narrowing your eyes jokingly.

"nope, 'm being serious. do my other hand," he offers, leaning his lips to the top of your head, "ever considered opening a nail boutique? you have the skills for it."

"now that you mention it, maybe i should."

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

"can you do my nails, please?" yuuji asks, wiggling his fingers in front of your face, "i want them to be painted prettily."

you raise a brow, "they're already pretty though."

yuuji puckered his lips out slightly, "but i wanted you to paint them for me," he draped himself over you, chin laying on your abdomen. brows furrowed like a baby, "make them look prettier."

"grab my nail polish pouch in the room, yeah?"

your words lit him up like a lightbulb, and yuuji was almost immediately up and about — disappearing into the room to grab the pouch you told him to. his giddy smile not leaving his face even when he came running back to you, laying the pouch on your tummy.

"i think maroon would suit you," you rummaged through the pouch, "or black? whichever you'd like . . ."

"can you do both? zig-zag?" yuuji questions.

you nodded, "mhm, anything for you, yuuji."

it was obvious that the boy was excited, his body trembling as you painted his nails, "woah . . . they look pretty," he whispers, squeezing your hand a bit.

"you're pretty," you replied back.

yuuji looks at you, a bit taken aback, but said nothing to deny you — only letting out a soft laugh, "too busy for a kiss?"

shaking your head, you leaned in towards him, stealing a kiss from his lips, "nope, never too busy for a kiss," yuuji huffs out with a large grin.

"i love you, you know?" he asked you.

"mhm, always. i love you too."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[eywa-eveng]

ᴠᴏᴡs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ & ʀᴏɴᴀʟ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴹᴱᵀᴷᴬᵞᴵᴺᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.8k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst, hurt/comfort, slight nsfw

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – pregnancy, mentions of childbirth

A lorpaytsyal with its rows of shimmering fins swims past, stirring a cloud of syuratan that glitters like a burst of blue stars over the sun speckled sand. The shape of the white light bends to the pattern of the rippling waves, tracing out swirling shapes that break only in the shadows beneath the rows of coral. The polyps bloom in shades of purple, spindly limbs weaving together to form a canopy of darkness. Some pieces are broken, the cracked knobs revealing inner layers where something tore away the unwanted sprigs. The stony flesh of the coral has been cracked and shaped into a small alcove, just big enough to host a nest. A bed of stray lengths of seaweed and dead fragments of coral sit in the space hollowed out in the shadiest part of the sea floor. It’s lit with only the faintest glow of blue algae that’s dotted over the eggs nestled within the shallow burrow. Nestled in the shallow burrow are eggs, enough that a few going missing wouldn’t be enough to noticeably deplete the clutch.  

Light warms the hidden recess as you swim closer, the txampaysye clinging to your back filling the dusky hollow with the light of a soft sunrise. The pale green shells take on hues of gentle yellow and warm pink as you pick over the mound of eggs. They’re small, no larger than your palm, and each is only the weight of a small stone. You’re careful as you sift through them. The shells are soft and pliable, the texture like skin as you press lightly against each one. Curious fingers trace over the weighted areas of the wrinkled shells, feeling the slightest silhouette of the sea snake growing within. The light of the gill mantle is just enough to pierce through the thin membrane to the veins lacing through the shell. Each occupied egg is set gently aside but every few are empty, unviable. The shells harden when there is no life to support inside it. Though there’s no way for the mother to know that so you’re quick about your work, checking and replacing the eggs before an angry snake comes threading through the net of coral branches. By the time you’ve picked over the entire nest you’re left with a bounty of six eggs that you tuck gratefully into the satchel slung across your chest. 

It’s already heavy with other trinkets found during your exploration. Pearls in shades of blue and pink, shards of crystal smoothed over by the tide, and shells formed into delicate designs. The fabric of your pouch is nearly over encumbered as you tuck the last egg inside, leather ties straining as you tighten it closed. Sunlight traces across your skin as you swim away from the resettled nest, spears of light beginning to poke through the farther you get from the center of the coral hoard. The light of your tanhì flickers out as you emerge, sunlight swallowing the flecks of bioluminescence as it dances over your skin. Its warmth is lost in the coolness of the water as you swim, calling for your tsurak with a few throaty clicks. It takes time and a few more calls before the skimwing returns in its own time, darting through the forest of sea plants and schools of meandering fish to find you, though it doesn’t stop to allow you to mount as it rushes past. There’s a practiced ease to catching the handle of its saddle and tucking yourself against its back. Tsurak are known to be temperamental creatures, stubborn and selective with who they allow to bond with them. 

It is only your own temperament that keeps your fieresome companion returning after hunting in the open ocean. Some mounts have been known to leave the village and never return, leaving their rider to find another mount to bond with. It’s a vague fear whenever you go beyond the bounds of the village. You are not a hunter despite your childhood training. There is no reason for you to be beyond the seawall if not for your own pleasure and your tsurak knows this, can feel it each time tsaheylu is made. Your curiosity and excitement sings through the bond. It should’ve been tampered years ago and likely left you without a willing mount but you’ve yet to allow expectations to dampen your indulgences. There is balance in your excursions. For every treasure you find there is something of utility. Bones to be made into needles and knives, healing plants that only grow in the deeper waters, fish that seem to favor areas beyond the village. You leave no room for reproach and so you’ve been allowed to continue to spend your days however you’d like, coming and going as you please unless something in the village demands your attention. Still you return while the sun is still high in the sky. 

The terraces are crowded with people fishing as your tsurak leaps over the wall, beating its wings with a loud screech that draws eyes to your arrival. There’s no slowing even as the shore draws closer. Instead you simply loosen your grip and pull your tswin free of the bond, sinking into the water as your tsurak turns tail towards the open water once more. It leaves you in a cloud of frothy bubbles stirred by the rapid swing of its tail fins, unbothered by your distance from land. This is the way of things between you. Your chosen mount is bolder than most, hardly tampered by your own personality echoed through tsaheylu. It is a privilege to ride such creatures and it never lets you forget even after so many years of bonding. 

Warmth kisses your cheeks as you surface for a breath before diving back into the water. The morning had been tiring, your palms and feet scuffed and sore from climbing along the jagged edges of the island cliffs. The shore isn’t so far off that you’ll tire before you can reach it yet you still roll to your back and allow your body to float on the gentle waves. A deep orange glow plays behind your eyelids as you close them against the bright light beaming overhead, the heat of it drying the drops of water from your exposed skin. Beneath the water, the lazy paddling of your tail is interrupted by a quick tug that shocks your eyes open, stinging your gaze with the white heat of the sun. It’s hardly frightening as you recognize the distinct feeling of fingers wrapped around your appendage, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant sort of shock. The white clouds seared into your eyes disappear as your secondary lids slide closed as you look beneath the water to see the one bold enough to snatch at your tail. 

A sharp swing of your hips yanks you free of Tayku’s grip and he lets go willingly, raising his hands in a show of peace even as a roguish smile plays at his scarred lips. The boy is young–young enough to be your son–and yet he chases your tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. There’s an air of flirtation about him as he swims circles around you, the smug smile never leaving his face. His intentions are clear, as clear as your own answer has been. A terse rejection is what he and all your other suitors have received since this new season of courting began. It’s why you find yourself beyond the bounds of Awa’atlu more often than not in recent days. To avoid interactions such as these where the newly made men of the clan come nipping at your ankles, yapping about giving you strong sons. 

It wouldn’t be so terrible if they were closer to your own age, if you hadn’t watched them grow up alongside your firstborn. Each of his life achievements you’d been there to see and now he’s pulling his tswin over his shoulder in a bold display of his intentions. It would almost be endearing if he was younger and didn’t yet know the weight of his words and what he is asking for. But he’s a man now, one of the People, and knows exactly what he’s asking for as he tilts his head and flashes his fangs. You watch him posture and boast in the water for a few moments longer before rolling your eyes hard enough to open your secondary lids and turn to swim towards the shore. 

A brief surface for air gives Tayku a chance to swim beneath you and you nearly knock into him when you dive under again. He’s close, not so close that you can scold his overly familiar behavior, but just near enough that you can’t forget his presence. He clings close like a fish to the underside of a nalutsa, swimming with his face towards the surface and eyes on you. His distance is well-placed, just far enough to keep out of range of your annoyance. For all their simpering advances the young men don’t allow their infatuation to cloud their knowledge of your brash personality. This is the closest Tayku has gotten in all his advances and he still knows to keep out of your reach after inciting your temper with his childish grabbing. You’ve never been known to be particularly docile. If you were a fruit your skin would have thorns and your meat would be sour before it turned sweet, a delicacy only few people could enjoy despite the outwardly attractive look. 

«I was looking for you earlier.» Tayku signs, perfectly timing his words to your sparing glances towards him. It isn’t interest that draws your eyes to him. You’re more curious to see if he’ll leave you be if he’s ignored, though it seems Tayku has taken your brief glances to mean more than they are. He must have because he doesn’t abandon the conversation even as you arrive at the village, pulling yourself on to one of the many overhanging paths without so much as a parting glance. He stutters for a moment as you whip your loose hair over your shoulder, pelting his face with stray drops of water. 

“Where did you go today?” He asks after pushing his own damp hair away from his face, arm flexing purposefully. He’s harder to ignore outside of the water being the size that he is. Tall and wide, crowding your vision as he trots along beside you, uncaring of where you may be leading him. It hardly matters. The village is a place of finite spaces and he’s well aware of where your marui is. All of your suitors are if the gifts left outside your pod are any indication. Newly tanned fish leather, a carved box full of delicate beads, a freshly caught fish wrapped in thick leaves. There has been no shortage of anything in your home since the village welcomed its newest adults into the ranks. 

It feels so strange to be spoiled in this way again after so many years. Your time for courting had come and gone with no mate to show for it. Your son was made from a humble request for a fertility match. A quiet meeting with the village elders and tsahìk praying that Eywa grant you the child you’d so desperately wanted despite your lack of a mate. It had taken some time but they found an auspicious match and you fell pregnant quickly after, still unmated but filled with new life. It’s just as well that the two of you forwent the forging of tsaheylu seeing as your child’s father went on to be named olo’eyktan soon after you fell pregnant. He was mated off to the chosen tsahìk as is tradition and you certainly didn’t have the knowledge to assume such an esteemed position. 

The three of you became a true family, raising your children together as proper siblings despite their mixed parentage. And seeing Ronal pregnant again after so many years has raised the desire to be a mother within you once more. It was your mistake in making your intentions known to others because now you have men like Tayku trailing after you in the hopes that they’ll be the father of your next child. Never mind that they’re all nearly the same age as your first, some younger in fact. Far too young to be sniffing after you like a hunting nantang. You say as much but Tayku simply laughs, tossing his head back as if you’ve just told the funniest joke. He’s hardly being subtle in his advances. It’s nearly desperate how badly he wants to please you and yet he won’t indulge your greatest desire of being left alone to find a willing man on your accord. You’d been there for the first matchmaking and now know what to look for. An unestablished man is not something you are interested in at your age. If you are to share a parultsyìp with someone you’d rather they know their place among the clan.

Tonowari was beyond your expectations. The day the elders had collected you, and led you to a marui seldom used and sequestered within a particularly thick thatch of mangrove roots, you hadn’t known what to expect. Least of your wildest imaginings had been the clan’s finest warrior and chosen successor to the olo’eyktan. Everything that Tayku is even now in his youth is a single spark next to the open flame that Tonowari was when he was the same age. He’d been a few years your elder when you formally met, already covered in a multitude of scars and tattoos. Testamates to his prowess. It was your honor to give him his first child. 

His arrangement with Ronal was to the benefit of the clan and you’d never begrudge them that. If not for the elders’ decision you would’ve been settled with less than the best the clan had to offer you. It hardly mattered that he was mated so soon after. And now, nothing would make you lower yourself to allow the first man that asks to father your next child. If you were to have another baby it would be with a man who had earned his place within the clan, not these boys that had only just come into their own. 

“Did you find anything interesting today?” Despite your lack of answers Tayku keeps up a steady stream of chatter that sounds like bugs buzzing in your ear. He’s sweet and eager to please, and handsome despite the thick scar running through his lips. He will make a woman very happy someday. But not you. And you aren’t selfish enough to rein him in until you’re satisfied that he’s proven himself. That could take months or years and by that time he’d expect to mate fully for all the trouble you’d put him through. It wasn’t something you wanted. 

Being tied so closely to someone has always held a bit of terror to someone like you, utterly uninterested in staying tied down. When you were younger you dreamed of exploring the ocean, of visiting with neighboring sea clans and learning their traditions. But now you have your son, you have your family. Even without a mate you’ve managed to halt any plans of leaving Awa’atlu for too long. Still your childish fear of being mated persists. It may be rare but mating bonds can go sour and without death to break it you’re left tied to someone your soul no longer desires. It makes you wonder if Tayku even realizes what he’s asking of you. He has heard that you want another child, yes, but he courts you as if he expects tsaheylu to be made. You’re little more than a stranger to him, the mother of his childhood friend. To be tied to you could be his nightmare but he can’t see past the opportunity to lay with a previously untouchable woman. The thought is dizzying. 

“Don’t you have chores to attend to?” You ask at last, tiring of him shadowing your every move through the village. He raises his chin, grinning down at you, most likely elated that you’ve finally deigned to speak to him after his flaccid attempts at starting a conversation. 

“I’m already finished. I went hunting early this morning and my catch was enough for the day.” He goes on about the two large fish he caught along with his regular bounty, enough to measure the haul of any other hunter still out fishing beyond the reef, caught within the first few hours of the day. “I wanted to bring you one but I couldn’t find you.” Just as well because you wouldn’t have accepted his gift. A fish as large as he says is far too sumptuous to hoard to yourself with only you and your family. It’s a lavish courting gift, one that anyone would be elated to receive, but it would be passed out of your hands just as quickly as it came, sent off to feed the village as it should. 

“Do not feed me before the village. Your duties come before your indulgences.” It’s what you were always told when you were caught sneaking off somewhere but he blinks as if he’s never been scolded in the same way, his smile slipping for a moment. Your words are no harsher than they’d usually be but it seems they’ve finally started to break through the shell of adoration he’s formed around himself. Of all your aspiring mates he is one that has lasted the longest, clinging to even the thinnest thread of hope that you might one day share in his laughter or return a flirting remark. Instead you’ve remained steadfast in your rejection. In the days to come you can only hope he will fall away and shun you like the others, scorned and embarrassed by their own insistence that they’d be the exception. His mood only worsens, smile falling completely, when your son’s voice carries down the path towards the two of you.   

Ketsräno stands with his brother at his side, both their faces drawn tight in a show of hostility. Ao’nung has his spear in hand, ears drawn back as he glowers at the man beside you. Tayku is closer to his age, an old playmate and friend that slowly fell away as his responsibilities expanded. It is easy to see why neither of your sons would be happy to find an old acquaintance lingering close to their mother. 

“Ma Sempul is asking for you.” Ketsräno says, eyes not leaving Tayku’s face. A heaving sigh empties your lungs. Returning to the village has been one inconvenience strung after another like beads choked around your throat. It had been your hope to return home and go over all of the morning’s findings, but the wind has seen fit to blow you from one discomfort to the next. Tonowari is one of the people you’d least like to see today aside from these men flocking to you like hì’ikran over a dead fish. His sentiment towards you seems to have soured lately and you aren’t keen on subjecting yourself to his sullen mood. But the summons seem to keep Tayku at bay, at the very least. Any man with love for his life would be too afraid to follow you into the akula’s den Tonowari’s home has become in regards to you. Or perhaps he simply isn’t keen on testing your sons as they part to allow you past before meeting shoulder to shoulder once more, a clear sign for their old friend to keep his distance. 

They’re fiercely protective of both you and Ronal. It’s your hope that you’ll find the tsahìk at home beside her husband but there is no such grace upon your arrival. The marui is deserted save for the olo’eyktan sitting just inside the entrance whittling away at a piece of gnarled driftwood. 

A glance at the sun still sitting at its peak in the sky tells you none of your children will be joining their father for many hours to come. Tsireya will be teaching the village children, and Ao’nung and Ketsräno will likely have returned to their own chores. If Eywa is kind Ronal might return to relieve some of the tension already beginning to fill the home. Emotional discord incites her temper. As tsahìk she empathizes in a way that runs far deeper than anyone else and the labor on her soul is nearly exhausting at times. Her tolerance for such things in her own home has dwindled to nothingness with her pregnancy. If your silent prayers are heard Ronal will return shortly and send you away before Tonowari can finish saying his piece. Because he seems to be in no rush to speak to you despite asking for you as wood shavings gather at his feet. It must be his expectation that you’ll speak first, a trap for him to find something to pick at you for. You tighten your satchel over your chest and hope he won’t ask about its contents as you go about making a purposeful formal greeting. 

“Oel ngati kameie, olo’eyktan.” You bow far lower than necessary and watch Tonowari’s lip twitch with displeasure. “Your son said that you were looking for me. How may I be of service, nawmtu?” It’s a thinly veiled dig and he knows it. There’s no reason for such formalities between the two of you. You may not be his mate but he is still the father of your child and that affords you some privileges when it comes to speaking with him. Purposefully invoking formal speech is a slight against him, as if he is a stranger to you, a clan leader and nothing more. At last he sets aside the wood he’s carved into a lethal point and sheathes his knife, standing to his full height. His jaw is set, muscles flicking beneath the ink of his tattoos. 

“‘Nawmtu?’” His tone is curt, brows knit tight as he stares down at you. 

“Have I said something wrong?” He nods with soured understanding at your coy question, clearly not pleased with your sudden lack of sense. He stands aside and nods for you to enter and you bow in thanks despite having entered his home many times with no permission needed. This is the place your son was raised, of course you have long since been given leave to come and go as you please. And yet you stand just inside the entrance, feet not moving a step further until Tonowari pulls the covering shut to be sure your meeting won’t be disturbed. Any hope of Ronal coming to dissuade her mate’s brewing anger is dissipated with the closing of the curtain.

Without the uncovered entrance the marui has gone somewhat dark, only the faintest light filtering through the blue membrane woven into the curved wall. It’s not so dark that you can’t see but just dim enough that Tonowari’s tanhì have come to life. Anxiety curls in your stomach like stinging tendrils. What had you done to make him so upset with you that he wants no one to stumble upon this conversation? Many nights have been wasted worrying over what could’ve made him turn so cold towards you in recent times, and many more days were lost returning the bitter feelings he has given you. The love you thought you had for each other has withered on the vine, leaving only this angry awkwardness in its wake. At least Ronal is still kind, still loving, albeit more distant than before. 

If he will not speak on it you will not ask. So the two of you stand in the dusky room, eyeing each other with no words to say. He has called you here. If he wants to speak you’ll hear him, but it won’t be your voice that sparks the embers simmering between you. 

“Sit.” He says at last. His voice is stripped of any emotion. There’s only the blunt command of a man above your rank. Your knees find the woven floor and your teeth nip at your lip, biting near to bursting to keep your less than polite remarks at bay. It’s clear his patience with your attitude has thinned beyond salvaging. It feels as if you’re a child at your parent’s feet, waiting to be scolded for unruly behavior despite your age. You’ve aged far beyond reproach, but no matter your relations Tonowari is still olo’eyktan. 

“There are no eyes but mine to see you now, so let this song and dance be finished.” He expects that your attitude will dissipate because he asked it of you? After weeks of animosity he wants to call off your ire with only a few words. Not even an apology for forcing you to anger. It’s almost insulting how sure he seems of your complacency. He walks to sit behind you and you flinch at the feeling of his hand brushing behind your ear. First one then the other as he removes the dried fish fins you weave into your hair. The style is reminiscent of how forest Na’vi adorn their hair with feathers, though it’s a rarer style to find in Awa’atlu. Still, in recent times you’ve noticed younger women beginning to favor your hair ornaments and clothing. Likely in the hopes of catching one of the men trying their hardest to court you. The thought of Tayku and the rest willfully ignoring girls that would happily be courted only further sours your mood and distracts you enough that Tonowari’s hand brushing against the nape of your neck startles you. 

“What is on your mind that you’re so distant from me?” His voice rolls like thunder through the dark pod as he begins to comb through your hair, carefully unwinding any tangles he finds. So it’s you that wedged this distance between you? It also must have been you that started this battle of poorly concealed anger. How can you be faulted for your distance when it was he who first sent you away with his sudden lack of kindness?

“Where is Ronal?” It is not what you mean to say but it’s the only thought plaguing your mind aside from the resentment festering in your heart. 

“Ronal?” He seems taken aback. “I’ve called you here and you are thinking of her? How far your heart has gone from me.” 

“It isn’t me who put this distance between us.” You say bitterly. It is not your place to be faulted for his own lack of accountability. 

“No?” He doesn’t sound convinced. If anything he sounds more incensed than he had been before. “I’ve been hearing things recently, talk among the People.”

“There is always talk in the village.” It’s how days are passed. Idle chatting about small squabbles and other petty drama between people. Family rivalries persist through generations, childhood rifts persist through the years, age old stories are told to warn younglings against the mistakes of the past. Talk never ceases, it rolls in and out like the tide, constantly renewing with more things to whisper and laugh over while cooking or fishing. The elders of the village are far more intune with the business of everyone else, but it isn’t so surprising that things have gotten back to Tonowari. It is his job to keep the clan in harmony and he can’t do that if he allows conflicts to fester without at least a small acknowledgement. 

“Yes, there is always talk, but very seldom does it involve your name.”

“But it isn’t surprising if it does.” Whatever gossip has spread with your name linked to it can hardly be of consequence. “Is someone questioning my abilities as a tattooist? I’ve heard Wepxtil has gotten better at his craft as of late. If he wants to spread word that his abilities have eclipsed mine I don’t care enough to stop him.” You’re one of the most renowned tattooists in the clan and many people carry your marks on their skin. The elders have said that hands like yours are only born once every few generations. If someone wants to question your abilities they’ll simply have to ask Eywa why she has blessed you so graciously. 

“It isn’t about your tattoos. No one would believe that someone that just passed his rites could rival your abilities. It is about other names that have been spoken in the same breath as yours. Rumors of your future.” 

“Speak clearly then.” You’re growing tired of his words swimming in circles. 

“There is talk of you wanting another child.” He says it as if he’s swallowed poison, like the words sting his tongue as he speaks. 

“Is that all? It is the truth. I want another child. Ketsräno is a man now. He doesn’t need his mothers to dote on him as Ronal and I used to. My nest will be empty once he finds a mate. I want a new baby to love. Seeing Ronal pregnant again has made me miss motherhood. She looks so happy. I’m jealous.” The last part is said in jest as an attempt to lighten the heaviness in the air. You could never be jealous of Ronal. She is strong and beautiful, yes, but she is your equal in family matters. Your hearts share a bond that is deeper than simple friendship. Her children are yours in all but blood. You’ve raised them as your own just as she has raised your son. There is only love between you. Or there had been before this sudden rift. Tonowari doesn’t seem to hear the joke in your voice. His hands fall still in your hair. 

“Jealous?” 

“Not truly.” You rush, trying to keep the exasperation from your voice. “I only meant that seeing her pregnant again has brought back cherished memories. I’m not too old to have another. I would like to have at least one more.” 

“So it’s true. You want another child.”

“Why are you treating this as if it is a problem? I expected that you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy?” His anger bubbles over at last. His hands fall away from their idle combing and he stands to pace, tail strained tight with tension. “How can I find happiness when you try to keep this from me? I didn’t hear these words from your own mouth, I had to hear them from others.” 

“I hadn’t thought it mattered to tell you. I was going to see about any unmated men of the clan that showed interest before asking for another match from the elders. Though I suppose I should’ve gone to the elders as I had before, or at least asked Ronal of her opinion. Trying to find a match myself has been like catching fish in a torn net.” Which is to say it has been a failure, time and time again. The men your age had overlooked you once before or you turned away their offers of courtship for one reason or another. In the years since Ketsräno’s birth your options have only continued to dwindle. Now it feels as if you’re trying to reap crops from infertile land. 

“You still have not mentioned speaking to me about this.”

“What need would I have of your advice? I respect your word, of course, but fertility matches are matters for tsahìk and the elders. Olo’eyktan was not needed for my last match.” His insistence surprises you. Tonowari has been a strong and magnanimous leader since he was named olo’eyktan but he has always known his place, deferring to Ronal and consulting with village elders on things that were beyond his years of wisdom. Never have you known him to dip his hand into things that were of no concern to his position. He shifts to kneel before you, body moving with the tight precision of a bow being drawn. Tension has gathered on his shoulders beneath his mantle of akula teeth. 

“What need?” He tilts his head in a way you recognize, ears quirking upwards in interest as he assumes the tone he’d always use when the children asked him a simple question. It was slow and understanding of their lack of knowledge. For him to turn it on you as if you know nothing of what you speak about is patronizing. At last your distaste can’t be quelled and your lips pull back to show the points of your teeth. Instead of heeding the obvious show of hostility Tonowari laughs. It’s short and humorless but a chuckle nonetheless. 

Heat flashes across your cheeks, down your neck, and up your ears as they pull tight against your head. The loud hiss that accompanies the burst of hot embarrassment is perhaps the first you’ve ever directed at Tonowari. There’s never been a need to snap at him aside from a few dissatisfied scoffs when his words are just a touch too cruel when the children have misbehaved, though you’re admittedly the least strict of the three of you. Still it’s well deserved now as he treats you as if you’re a child for not confiding in him something that was none of his concern. Perhaps you might’ve told him when you found a match as you would’ve everyone else close to you, but now, before decisions have been made? He has no part in it.

You draw in a deep breath through your nose before pushing it out of your chest. “Apologize. Now.”

“You want an apology?” His tone isn’t as cruel now. Instead he sounds disbelieving as if demanding anything of him is beyond what he expected of your audacity. 

“Yes, I want an apology. You’ve been speaking to me with such disdain as if I’ve done something wrong for making a change in my life! It hasn’t even come to pass and here you are shaming me for going about it in a way that doesn’t suit your tastes. Apologize and tell me plainly what you want to say. I can’t know your mind if you do not share it with me.” The two of you are not mates, you do not share the deep emotional bond that forms when tsaheylu is made. Perhaps Ronal as tsahìk and his mate could parse what has been eating at his spirit but you aren’t so enlightened to his deepest thoughts. If he has something weighing on his mind the only way to share it is through words. Not this callous critiquing and avoiding he’s taken to. 

Tonowari sits back on his heels, no longer leaning towards you as he seems to mull over your words. His eyes linger on your face as if he’s trying to trace the shape of your pil with his gaze. It would almost be disheartening, his silence, if you didn’t know him to be a man of carefully considered words. In all things he is calm and collected. Striking only when a target is within reach and speaking only when he’s sure of his words. 

“I’m disappointed.” He says at last. 

“Disappointed?” Your voice is pitched with disbelief. “Because I want an apology after the way you’ve been treating me?” 

“Because you can’t seem to imagine why I would want to be told about this.” He still doesn’t sound angry. He rarely is. But he truly does sound incredulous as his lips pinch together to stave off the smile curling at the corners of his mouth. If he’d been truly upset before, the feeling has passed like a storm. Now he seems amused as he watches you work through your thoughts. He’s speaking in riddles, words tied into knots for you to try to unravel. 

“Is this because of Ketsräno?” At last a gentler expression finds the olo’eyktan’s face. 

“In part, yes, this is because of our son.” The way he says it is more possessive than you’ve ever known him to be. Our son. A reminder that the two of you will always be intrinsically linked no matter the paths you choose to walk. Still, you can’t fully understand his meaning. 

“What about our son? I have no interest in any of his old friends that have been fawning over me if that is your worry.” 

He frowns. “They should not be trying to court you.” 

“I’ve made my disinterest known but they’re rather persistent. It’s almost insulting that they think I would entertain their advances even for a moment.” 

“I agree, they’re reaching far beyond their place. But it would stop if you made your choice. I can be of assistance if you would only let me.” 

“Then who would you suggest?” He seems taken about by your requests for a name as if he hadn’t just offered his insight in the matter. When you say nothing more he nods slowly as if he’s made a decision he doesn’t wish to share.

“If you don’t know then I don’t wish to speak of it any longer. Clearly our hearts aren’t as closely aligned as I once thought we were.” He decides. 

“If you don’t wish to speak then I’ll leave. No sense in us sitting here exchanging barbs. You won’t tell me what you truly want to say and I’m not going to force it from you. It’s clear neither of us are in a place to speak kindly with one another.” He stands as you do, and for a moment you expect him to stand in your way. He doesn’t but seems to think better of it as his hand catches your shoulder before you can push the covering aside. With the petulance of a child you wrench your shoulder free of his hand only to tear your satchel as the overencumbered fabric finally gives way under the harsh movement. Crystals, shells, pearls, and eggs spill over the floor, leaving a glittering heap at your feet. For a moment you simply stand there, not even looking down to acknowledge the mess that’s been made of your collection. When at last you look down Tonowari is already there collecting what he can into his hands, pausing when he picks up one of the eggs. He stands, staring at the small egg in his palm.

“How many times have I asked you to stay out of their nests?” He asks slowly, fist curling around the hardened shell. It won’t burst as a fertile egg would but there’s a fear that his hold will be enough to shatter it as his knuckles begin to pale with the tightness of his grip. You ignore him and gather what you can in your hands, fully intending to leave without another word. He doesn’t allow you. Instead he lifts your chin with a gentle hand, blue eyes burning into yours. 

“You never listen.” He says softly. “What if you’d been hurt?”

“I wasn’t. I am not a child. I can take care of myself.” You say hotly despite the common knowledge that the ocean holds beauty and danger in equal parts. On another day you might’ve heeded his words as a gentle reminder to take care of yourself and not sprint into danger, but today you only hear incessant insults. 

“You’re acting like a child.” He snaps, anger finally rushing forward. You scoff, stepping back away from his touch. With your salvaged treasures held tight to your chest you turn to leave. He calls after you, drawing eyes to watch you stride purposefully away from him. Here is more kindle for their fire. How the rumors will grow with whispers of strife between you and Tonowari. No one but your family has seen the growing tensions between the two of you and now it’s laid bare for all to see. The prying eyes allow you the courtesy of pretending not to see either of you as he storms back inside, not bothering to follow you. His stubbornness is a blessing as you retreat home with all the dignity of a finless fish. 

What has changed? What has gone so wrong that Tonowari seems perturbed by your every decision. The first instances of his more callous attitude trace back to when you’d idly mentioned having another child while fishing in the terraces. The seawall has always been a breeding pool for village gossip and it doesn’t surprise you that rumors have sprung up like flowers in the wake of your thoughtless banter. He must’ve hoarded the knowledge to himself, let it poison his every thought of you until it all came rushing forward at once. 

There’s a braided band of flowers waiting just outside the marui when you return home and you nudge it inside with your foot, quickly drawing your own coverings to properly wallow in your thoughts by your lonesome. The treasures you salvaged from the floor are dumped unceremoniously into a basket. Some had gotten left behind but you don’t even want to look at what you’d managed to save. Instead you focus on cooking. Lighting a fire and gathering ingredients to keep your mind from wandering. 

Ketsräno doesn’t come home even when the evening deepens to night. It isn’t anything out of the ordinary, him not joining you to eat. Most meals are taken in communal eating areas or with the entire family. It is you that hasn’t been where you’re expected to be of late, the shared hostility driving you away from the simple comforts of a family meal. Instead you eat in silence, watching the dying embers of the cookfire. The night isn’t quite deep enough to sleep but you’re exhausted both physically and mentally. 

Tomorrow will be spent close to home, perhaps sequestered away just as you are now, with chores that keep you away from anyone else. Leaving home would mean facing your foolhardy suitors and disgruntled olo’eyktan. Neither sound appealing as you go about straightening the marui in the fading firelight before unfurling your bedroll, keen to be done with the day. You’ve only just laid down when someone enters the pod. Expecting that it’s your son returning from his meal, you simply roll away from the light coming through the parted covering, intent on falling asleep as quickly as possible. The blue light of Naranawm disappears just as quickly as it appears in the corner of your eye as the curtain is drawn once more. When no word of a greeting comes you know it isn’t your son. After a moment the marui swells with flickering light despite your groaning protests. 

“I am sleeping.” You complain, pulling the dark curls of your hair across your eyes in a vain attempt to shun the low light now filling your home. 

“Not deeply enough to stop you from speaking.” Ronal tuts. “I come to comfort you and you can’t spare me a single look?” Of course it’s her that has come for an unannounced visit. Where was she when you needed her earlier to help mitigate her mate’s bitter attitude? 

“What do you want, Ronal?” You sigh, finally sitting up to look at her. You needed her with you before, now you shun her presence as she stands beside the shell torch she’s lit with the forgotten wreath of flowers in her hand. It sets her hair alight with a wash of amber light that plays across the thick waves, green eyes paling in the orange light as she scowls at the gift. Distasteful fingers pluck at the flowers before she tosses it down. More petals fall when it lands but she hardly seems interested in the mess she’s made of one of your courting gifts. Truthfully, don’t want that gift or any of the others but there was still work that went into crafting it for you. Maybe you’d kicked it earlier but it deserves better treatment than being torn at by Ronal’s judging fingers. The gift and the boy that left it for you deserve better than your scorn. 

“I want you to be rid of your anger, firstly.” She frowns. “I’ve only just arrived. You have no reason to be upset with me. If you have anger you’d better dispel it before you decide to turn that venomous tongue against me.” 

In most things you and the tsahìk are perfectly matched. That includes a shared propensity for sharp retorts, though Ronal seems to keep her brashness reserved for you in specific. Perhaps because you’re the only one that won’t startle at her blunt responses. Her tongue is sharp as an arrowhead when she means it to be and she won’t spare you from a verbal sparring match if you provoke her. She’s likely to trade jabs with you long into the night if you think to turn your dour mood against her. Though she’s stirred your irritation simply by coming to disturb your peace when it was clear from the shut covering that you want to be left alone for the night. 

You stifle another sigh, letting the anger rush away from you in a deep exhale. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?” 

“I want nothing, it’s you that wants something. Another child, I’ve heard.” It isn’t a question. She means to tell you she already knows what it is that’s upset you and that she’s here to rectify the situation. She and Tonowari must’ve had time to themselves before the children returned home for the night. Ronal wouldn’t dare to raise such a topic of conversation where their ears could hear of their parents’ quarreling, though this goes far beyond the typical spats shared throughout the years. This will set a rift between the three of you that might never be bridged or mended. 

“I do,” your tone is careful, “though it seems my desire has disappointed everyone.” Ronal turns towards you with a swiftness, long skirt twirling around her legs as she snaps at you. 

“Skxawng. Sometimes I think you are willfully wrong.” The heel of her hand thumps your temple when you stand, as if she’s expecting something to rattle loose inside your head. All it earns her is a warning oìsss as you smack her hand away, temper flaring once more.

“Is it my lack of sense or everyone’s lack of explanation?” I snap. “Everyone seems upset but no one will tell me why. May the Great Mother guide me because I do not know what to do anymore.” 

“Ask.” She says it as if you’ve yet to think of such a solution. 

“Ask? That is all?” She stares patiently, emptily. Enough to draw a scowl to your lips. “Alright, Ronal, what do you suggest I do?” Her ear twitches at your sardonic tone but she seems to accept your words as a genuine plea for help. And it is, because you’re desperate to return your life to some semblance of peace. To do away with the pesky suitors and despondent looks from those around you. 

“You are asking for a fertility match?” This is hardly the formal environment in which you first kneeled before the previous tsahìk and passed on elders all those years ago, but Ronal is still tsahìk and she can make a ruling on the matter despite the lax environment. When you confirm your wish she hums. 

“I have already chosen someone suitable for you, if you’ll have him.”

You’re hardly convinced. “Who?”

“Tonowari.” She says easily. Your heart turns to stone in your chest, the weight of it dropping to your stomach. A flash of something cold prickles across your skin like an ocean spray as humiliation warms your cheeks. 

“Don’t mock me!” For a moment you truly thought that she had come to offer her guidance as tsahìk but even now she is clearly teasing, trying to further incite your ire. What had you done that both of the people you hold dearest seek to toy with you in this way. A prickling heat rises behind your eyes as tears begin to blur the edges of your vision. All these years of love and compassion and they’re tossing it aside to tease you for daring to want something more in this life. Ketsräno is all you have that is truly yours and even he is shared with his father. Soon he’ll slip between your fingers, passed from one hand to another as he makes his own path and finds his rightful place among the clan. Is it such an awful thing that you want to go through the journey again? Raising your son has been your greatest honor, more than any glory you’ve received within the clan. You were meant to be a mother and they’re mocking you for it. 

“Get out.” Ronal seems surprised, ears flicking upward as her brows rise in disbelief. “Get out!” 

“No.” She sounds astonished that you’d ask her to leave. 

“Leave! Get out and leave me be!” You aren’t shouting, not yet, mindful that the woven walls aren’t thick enough to trap your voice inside if you speak too loud. 

“Mawey, paskalin.” The term of endearment is hardly mollifying but you gather yourself even so. Anger has turned to sadness and all you want is to be left alone. By Ronal, by Tayku. Everyone. The chaffed heels of your hands are rough against your cheeks as you dry your tears. Ronal pulls your hands away from your face to lead you to your bedroll, pulling you down to sit in front her. Slowly she releases your hands in favor of holding your face. Her thumbs are soft as they brush away the stray tears still beading in your eyes. 

“Ease your storm.” Her voice is low as a roll of thunder though you can’t decide if the rain is coming or going. Going it would seem, as she holds your face like a precious stone between her hands. 

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Why have you lost faith in us?” Us. As if Tonowari didn’t look to be cursing your name the last you saw him. You left him. Walked away without a second glance as if he meant nothing. A bridge has two sides and both of you have burned them in turn. 

“You have been hurting me at every turn in recent days. Where were you earlier? Surely you knew Tonowari was going to express his anger eventually and you left me with him to drown. At least if you had come to send me away I wouldn’t be so upset now.”

“So it is my fault that Tonowari wished to tell you his feelings? He is a grown man–your olo’eyktan and father of your son–if he wants to air his grievances with you, that is no business of mine. Do not put the blame on me for his actions.” 

“The same way you aren’t blaming me? Because it certainly feels like there is no one else in the world you’d rather snap at than me. What bond can we have if it frays so easily? Son or not, there is no us. Both of you have made that plain to see. There is me and then there’s you and Tonowari. I regret that I spent so long thinking otherwise.”

Ronal tilts her head impatiently. “You don’t believe that.”

“No? Why shouldn’t I when all either of you has done for the past weeks is belittle and mock me for something you would never begrudge another woman? Tonowari acts as though I am stupid for not knowing what he won’t say and doing as I please. And now you’re here to tell me I’m wrong, too. I don’t want to hear it anymore, so, please, leave. Leave so we can move on from this. You are still tsahìk. I will always respect you as such but right now I’m not certain my heart can take being so close to you.” 

Ronal looks as though you’ve struck her across the face, green eyes growing wider with each passing word. For a moment you expect her to stand and storm out, to go back to her home and her family and be done with you as you’ve requested. Instead she sits in silence. Her face is guarded as you try to read her thoughts through the subtle shifting of her muscles. The firelight doesn’t help as it throws shifting shadows over the shape of her face, hollowing her cheeks one moment and darkening her eyes the next. When at last she speaks her voice is doleful,

“We’ve hurt you. It was never our intention and it pains my heart to know your hurt was done by my own hand.” She won’t cry, she’s too resolute for that, but the upset is evident in her voice. “But, you’ve hurt us, too.” Perhaps you have caused them grief lashing out the way you have but it doesn’t absolve them of anything. Biting the hand that stabbed you doesn’t heal your own wounds. 

“We’ve become clouded so let me say this and clear the air; Tonowari and I have given our souls to each other as mates. Before Eywa, tsaheylu was made. This is known.” You nod, unsure of what she’s trying to say. 

“A mating bond is made by choice. A choice you have decided to never make. We know this. But it is not the only way to be bound to someone. There are vows and oaths, bonds made through words and actions. And you made that bond when you didn’t estrange Tonowari from his son, when you allowed me to raise Ketsräno with you. A fertility match is usually forgotten when one partner finds a mate, but you felt no such need to shun us or hide yourself away. You stayed by our side from the moment you were matched.” Her hand brushes the edge of your shoulder as she reaches behind you to draw your tswin forward. Her fingers are gentle as they trace the weave of your hair wrapped tight around the sensitive nerves within. 

“Your first tsaheylu is with your mother.” She’s suddenly quieter, eyes distant as she winds your thick braid between careful fingers. “I remember when Ketsräno was born. You were tired but you smiled brighter than I’d ever seen as you held your son and made the first bond, and you didn’t rest until you’d seen Tonowari and I bond with him, as well. I thought from that moment on we all acknowledged our place in each others’ hearts.” 

The day is one you will remember for the rest of your life. Ketsräno had come early in the day, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. Most of the night had been spent warring against the pain in the shallows, squeezing tight to Tonowari’s hands as he held you and Ronal tended to what he couldn’t. It had been only the three of you and your spirit sister until you were far enough to call the clan to witness the birth of a new life. Your cheeks were sticky with tears by the time Ketsräno came at last into the pink light of dawn, legs kicking to the surface as he made easy work of his First Breath. There was the usual whooping and cheering but you didn’t truly hear any of it, far too enamored with your little son. 

It was a moment meant to be shared with the clan but all that mattered to you was the family gathered around you. There was exhaustion and blinding happiness filling your head and then the gentle thrum of Ketsräno’s vitra as you made the first tsaheylu. There hadn’t been a thought in your mind in regards to what allowing Tonowari and Ronal to bond with Ketsräno would mean, and now you are dealing with the consequences of your addled decisions so many years later. In that moment you had treated the olo’eyktan and tsahìk as your mates and continued every moment after. You don’t regret it, not for a moment, but you loathe your own ignorance. Tears begin to burn anew in your eyes as you recognize your mistake. 

“I’m sorry.” Over one misunderstanding you had nearly burned your world to the ground. “I’m sorry, Ronal.”

“Hear me now, paskalin. Listen well because I don’t want to have to repeat this ever again.” Her tone is strict but not without her own stern sort of affection. “Oel ngati kameie. Nga yawne lu oer. I will say this once and you will carry it in your heart for the rest of your life; we are yours, and you are ours.” You know it. A hidden piece of your heart has always known that even if you never found a mate you would be content with your life with Ronal and Tonowari. But they’re mated with each other. Of course you never considered you could fit in a place where two halves already made a whole. 

“Tonowari has been in love with you from the moment he was set to be your fertility match. His love for you was easy. I didn’t earn his affections so easily, you remember.” You do. Being olo’eyktan or tsahìk is a heavy burden to bear and while Ronal always did so with grace it was plain to your eyes as someone close to both of them that their love took some time to blossom. They were awkward with each other, stepping lightly to avoid any upset before finding their standing as a mated couple. Ao’nung and the rest followed soon after. So strange that two arrangements had such different results. Or perhaps not seeing as the three of you managed to tie your hearts together in the end. Though you never considered your place in their lives to be valued in the same way they regarded each other. Clearly you’d been wrong all these years. 

She leans in close to rest her forehead against yours and heat builds in the space between your lips as you breathe against each other. It’s a familiar sort of closeness that you’ve neglected to think could ever mean more than a close bond of friendship and parenthood. The tip of her nose draws across your flushed skin, brushing through your drying tears as she nuzzles against you. Her breath is warm against your cheeks as she takes in the scent of your skin, kissing the ripples of your pil until her lips find yours. They’re soft and warm and she tastes of sweet juice. The kiss is fleeting and precious. 

“Oel ngati kameie.” The words are whispered against her lips as she kisses you again. How long have you spent saying such words when you hadn’t truly seen what was right before your eyes. So many years wasted considering yourself an accessory to their bond when, in their minds, you had always been included. How much you have missed trying to live freely and save your heart the ache of abandonment when everything you could ever want was already within reach. Your fingers trace over the tattoo etched around the shape of her and curling high on her cheekbone. She hums quietly, eyes falling shut as she pulls you as close as her stomach will allow. The torch she lit is still burning but it gives you light to see her by as she falls asleep beneath your gentle touches. You resolve to speak with Tonowari when you wake, to try to mend the hole you’ve torn in your lives. 

It’s easier said than done, though, because when the sun rises and Ronal with it you find yourself hesitant to approach Tonowari. Dawn turns to day and you find your hands busy in places the olo’eyktan would have no reason to be. By the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky you’re busying yourself in Tsireya’s shadow, assisting her in teaching the children. She seems grateful for the added guidance you can offer, never asking what possessed you to suddenly want to stay so close to the village when midday usually finds you far beyond the terraces, hunting or frolicking on some lesser traveled islands. Weaving is easier work than hunting, not as strenuous of a task, as you teach the younglings the different types of braids and knots that make their homes and clothing. When the sun begins to set the children scatter home and you realize the day has been wasted without you speaking a single word to Tonowari. Tsireya keeps up a pleasant conversation as the two of you straighten up the marui used for teaching, collecting dropped beads and setting aside the childrens’ weavings. 

“Txa’ro shows a lot of promise, I think.” She hums happily. “She learned the arrowhead pattern quite quickly.” You nod, though your mind is far off. If any student showed any outstanding capability today you hardly noticed it. The whole day has passed in a haze like fog has settled before your eyes. Last night was like a dream, a short breath before the waves crashed over you once more. If your daughter is bothered by your uncharacteristic silence she doesn’t mention it, simply carrying the conversation herself as you follow her absently through the village only to stop once a familiar marui comes into view. It feels as though your feet are caught in mud, sucking you into the bouncing path as Tsireya continues on, happily chatting until she realizes you’re no longer beside her. 

“Ma Sa’nok?” She reaches towards you, expecting that you’ll move to take her hand, and her face falls when you don’t. Both of you stand watching each other until finally Tsireya nods and says good night, finishing the trek home by herself. It pains you to see your daughter upset and distant but you can’t bring yourself to face her father. Not yet. Instead you go in the opposite direction with no destination in mind. You walk until you run out of woven paths and the air no longer carries the scent of dinners being made, until you reach the fringes of the village where the beach is deserted. 

This isn’t how the day was meant to end but it ends all the same as you sit and watch Naranawm’s shadow swallow the sun. Soon the eclipse will break into deep night and you’ll return home without having shared a single word with Tonowari. So strange that is. There were once days when the two of you could be parted for only a few hours, for as long as chores demanded it and not a moment more. But that was when the children were young and needy for their parents’ attention. Now they’re old enough to deal with things on their own without your guidance. The sand is soft as you lay back to stare at the sky until it goes dark as your eyes drift shut. They don’t open again until you feel the sand shift beside you. It’s different than a rising tide swelling around you and you turn your head towards the disturbance. 

Tonowari sits beside you, lit in deep shades of blue beneath the night sky. He isn’t looking at you yet. Instead his eyes are fixed in the far distance, on the dark silhouette of the seawall where the terrace pools are lit with rippling syuratan. When he finally looks at you his eyes are filled with a foreign sort of longing. It’s a strange expression to see on his face. Tonowari has never been known to put his desires before anything else, if anything his wants and needs can be forgotten and buried if it means peace and prosperity for the clan. His role as olo’eyktan is put before everything in his life. Every clan needs a leader and Tonowari and Ronal both uphold their roles with the utmost care, never straying from the path Eywa has set for them. Seeing him look so lost within himself would be mystifying if you didn’t know the cause of his clouded mind. It’s in the reflection of his blue eyes, the pattern of your glowing freckles appearing like aysnatanhì in his forlorn gaze. You’re the reason for this and it feels like a knife to your heart and you desperately want to heal the wounds you’ve caused. 

“I’m sorry.” It isn’t enough but you say it anyway. Sorry is for stepping on someone’s tail or being too rough during training. It’s for small disagreements. Not something like this. Still you want to cling to the idea that what’s broken can be fixed with enough patience and attention. Tonowari seems to share the sentiment as he brushes the sand from your hair as you sit up, fingers tracing down your arm until he can bring your hand to his lips. It isn’t a kiss. Not truly. He presses his lips against your knuckles like he’s trying to see if you’re truly here before him. He seems soothed when you don’t turn to smoke before his eyes. 

“Don’t.” He says before you can further embarrass yourself with meager words of atonement. “Don’t apologize.” Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. Apologies are all you have to give. If he won’t accept them then perhaps this distance can never be bridged again. 

“May I speak plainly?” You’ve never asked his permission to speak as bluntly as you do, but Tonowari is always considerate, even when it is undeserving. He takes a while to speak after you nod your acquiescence as if he’s weighing his words to see which will sit heaviest on your heart. Even in his anger he can find a moment to be kind. 

“You’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.” He says at last. It doesn’t sting as much as you’d expect it to. It’s a sentiment you’ve heard your entire life. Too brash, too harsh, too willful. Of course people will find you difficult but it’s the first time Tonowari has said it so plainly. 

“Ronal may not mind having to fight with you and wrangle you like an untamed beast, but I do. I only want to love you but you make it so hard for me. If I get too close you pull away. It feels like I am fighting to keep you by my side. And then you say–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You say you want another child and you don’t come to me for this. You flaunt yourself around the village as if I cannot give you what you’ve asked for. I can. I will. You just have to let me. That is all I want.” 

“I didn’t know.” It’s hardly an excuse but it is the truth. Tonowari stiffens beside you, lips pressing into a firm line.

“Didn’t know?” He glowers, ears pulling back before he calms himself. “Then let me tell you so that you know. From today onward, paskalin, let there be no more confusion. I love you. As a husband loves his wife, I love you. I know you do not wish to be mated. I understand your heart. But you are my mate even still. You belong to me and I belong to you. Just as I belong to Ronal. Just as you belong to her. And if you want children I will give them to you. No one else.” He bares his teeth though there’s no one but you to see his show of possessive aggression. 

It’s so strange to hear him want something so desperately. Tonowari has always done what is expected of him. For the good of the People he has always thought of the clan before himself. To hear him almost begging for this allowance to be selfish, it lights a fire inside you. 

“I don’t care about them. Tayku and the rest,” Tonowari scowls at the sound of the boy’s name, “I never wanted them.”

“Then what do you want?” You’re reminded that beyond his duties as a leader, Tonowari is a warrior. He pulls you into his lap with great strength, one hand keeping your eyes on his as the other holds your waist. 

“I want this.” You whisper. “I want you.” 

His lips burn as they meet yours in a deep kiss, searing the promise you’ve made into your memory. The night air is warm but you shiver as Tonowari’s hands trace across your skin. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close with him and it overwhelms you as he pulls you tight against him and whispers sweet promises over your parted lips. You whine as his fangs nip over your neck, tongue tracing the shape of your tattoos until he finally settles against your chest. He noses at the delicate shells of your draping top, breath puffing against your heated skin. His blunt nails drag down your exposed back to your hips, pulling you harder against him. His intentions are clear and you’re more than happy to comply as he toys with the knots keeping you covered. You’re far enough from the village that no one will stumble upon the two of you as he lays you bare beneath the stars.

The hardest part passes with the rising of the sun but there is still work to be done before things can truly be as they should between the three of you. Hunting is strenuous but there is always more to do after the beast is slain and prayers are said in its honor. There is cleaning, skinning, cutting, cooking, and preserving even after that. The hunt is not over until even the bones of the animal are put to some use. The renewed and deepened intimacy with the olo’eyktan and tsahìk is hardly enough to heal the pain amassed over many years. A wound needs to be tended not ignored lest it bleed you dry. It was nearing that point, would’ve surely reached it had you gone through with letting another man father your newest child. The strained bond would’ve been shattered to splinters beyond salvaging but as it stands you can manage to slowly place the pieces back together. 

It is a slow walk to where you want to be, but each step brings all of you closer. At first it’s only small things; Ronal stealing kisses in secluded places and Tonowari lingering near you far more than necessary. They’re more protective now as if they’re worried someone will come along to trample on your budding affections. It’s all new to you, this deeper sort of courtship as you’ve never allowed anyone to go beyond the point of flattery and gifts. The fierce loyalty is to be expected. In truth you’ve never been loyal to anyone besides them. Even before your confessions and admissions of love you never bothered to be closer than friends with anyone. To be doted on so openly soothes the bruised piece of your heart still agonizing over being left behind if they grow tired of you. In so many years their feelings have remained unflinching for each other, and for you. It’s a nagging feeling you wish to starve out of your mind. Eywa has graced you with two people you adore and who love you with equal fervor in return. Tsaheylu or not the three of you have been mated since you laid with Tonowari beneath the night sky. 

Things have finally fallen back into place. Ronal still bites back at every curt remark you make and Tonowari still worries anytime you’re too far from home. But there is no more edge of awkwardness as you hesitate to kiss Tonowari or lean against Ronal. Bashfulness is unneeded when they revel in your tentative touches. Their affections manifest differently, Ronal being more subtle as Tonowari is more boastful, but you learn to balance yourself between the two of them. Ronal won’t ask for a kiss. She will simply stare at your lips until you offer one. Tonowari acts instinctually, wrapping you in his arms the moment the desire rises. It swirls new rumors of the clan leaders’ mate though many simply laugh over how long it’s taken you to accept the title they all called you in secret. It dizzies your head to know that it had been only you standing in the way of your happiness, clawing and hissing when no one meant to harm you. How foolish you’d been to run from your feelings when they were so plainly reciprocated. All that pain suffered and inflicted with no reason for it. The thought weighs heavy on your heart, ears lowering as you mull over your work. 

“Enough.” Ronal says just as quickly as the regret begins to creep in. The energy of the air has surely shifted as your soul sinks into a dark place and your tsahìk is quick to catch it. She’s irritable in the last months of her own pregnancy, more easily disturbed by small things. 

“Come here.” She makes room on the hammock she’s sitting in expecting that you’ll join her without protest. Of course you do, dropping what you’d been doing to sit beside her. The squid can wait. You’ve harvested enough of their ink for the moment though the one in your hand clings defiantly, little tentacles winding around your fingers as you try to drop into the bowl with the others. Ronal makes a face as she watches you gently peel the creature from your hand. Despite their necessity for the tradition of tattooing, she’s always found squids to be unpleasant. Something about their wriggling legs unsettling her. It’s an amusing distaste she has considering how many times you’ve reminded her their legs are more similar to the sinuous nerves of a kuru, but she won’t have it. You press a kiss to her temple as you sit to offer penance for bringing the creatures near her. 

She hums and goes back to her sewing, stitching delicate beads into the intricate weaving of a new top. Idly you flex your leg, gently rocking the hammock as you bury your foot in the sand. The day has gone by with a harmonious sort of stillness as the clan spent the heat of the day on menial tasks. Despite the more secluded area you find yourself in you can still hear the soft din of voices; work songs and gossip and children shrieking happily as they splash in the waves. You rest a hand on your stomach. Enough time has passed for you to be showing. Tonowari has been pleased since Ronal first confirmed the news, hands constantly brushing over your stomach even when you looked no larger than you had before. Now he’s weak with anticipation for their first stirring. You can already hear the words on his tongue as the olo’eyktan appears down the beach, smiling happily at the sight of his mates cocooned together. 

“Oh.” Before he can ask there’s a sudden fluttering in your stomach, light and quick like the feeling of a fish swimming past you. 

“Oh?” Ronal asks, setting aside her sewing. Your hand presses lightly against the place you felt the burst of movement. 

“Are they moving?” Tonowari asks excitedly, already kneeling before you. His hand trails up your calf to settle on your knee, blue eyes imploring as you stare blankly in wait for another flutter. It comes again and you laugh at the strangely ticklish feelings, pulling his hand from your knee to press against your stomach. 

“Did you feel it?” You ask when the baby moves again. Your child is strong, moving with great vigor. It isn’t always a pleasant feeling as you remember the bouts of sickness Ketsräno raised while he twisted and kicked inside you, but this is the first of the new baby’s movements and they’re hardly enough to disturb you. Tonowari nods though his eyes stay trained on your belly. Ronal’s hand pushes in beside her husband’s, fingers overlapping with your own as you guide Tonowari’s hand to where the kicks are strongest. She’s shared in your toiling of carrying a child, knows that it won’t always be this easy, but for the moment neither of you mention it. Instead she presses a kiss to your cheek, your nose, landing one on your lips when you turn towards her amorous mouth. Tonowari catches your lips soon after, hand still pressed against your stomach. He doesn’t go far as he pulls away. 

Instead he wraps his hands around your waist, lifting you from your seat to twirl you in a circle. There are no words for what he’s feeling because all that falls from his lips are sounds of pure elation. Laughter, as deep and rolling as the ocean fills the alcove as he dances with you. Ronal watches the two of you for a moment before smiling herself and standing to join. Your heart swells near to bursting as you realize this is what you would’ve missed had the storm of distance and anger never torn through your life. You’ve made something better of what remained when the rain gave way to sunlight. This is what you tried to deprive yourself of with your rash overthinking. You’ll never be so presumptuous again. Not when Tonowari and Ronal renew their vows to you with each passing breath. Paskalin, tìyawn, muntxate. They don’t let you forget their love for even a moment and you’ll dedicate your life to returning it a thousand times over. 

ɴᴀ’ᴠɪ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

Lorpaytsyal – chandelier fish

Syuratan – bioluminescence

Txampaysye – gill mantle

Tanhì – bioluminescent freckles, star

Parultsyìp – little miracle, term of endearment for a child

Sempul – father

Hì’ikran – dorado verde, small ikran (speculative)

Nawmtu – great person (honorific)

Pil – facial stripes, skin stripes

Naranawm – Polyphemus, the planet Pandora orbits

Skxawng – moron

Oìsss – angry snarl, watch it!

Paskalin – sweet berry (term of endearment)

Tswin, Kuru – neural braid

First Breath – Metkayina birth ritual

Vitra – soul

Nga yawne lu oer – I love you

Aysnatanhì – constellations

Tìyawn – love (term of endearment)

Muntxate – wife, female mate

[squishysoftmonsters]

Trigger Warnings : Sexual Content/Belly Expansion/Hypnotism/Brainwashing [Mature +18 Minors/Ageles DNI]

💚What if Easter Bunny wasn't an Easter Bunny at all? Imagine you going to a deep lake in search for that one easter egg to complete your said hunt?

Within the lake,eyes meet yours. You swear this genderless beauty came out of a dating simulator..They look into your eyes,slowly rising from the deep,eye color similar to an ocean tinged with blood,skin buttery and flecked with spots..Hair styled and multicolored like those poster boy K Pop idols everyone loves..a giant rainbow colored merman with same elongated ears and soft features like the Easter Bunny we know who just wanted companionship from a human dressed in a bunny costume? A beautiful bunny to stuff their Easter clutch into?

Drawn to the eyes,you waded slowly into the ocean.

Gently edging and easing you onto their pouch,being as tender as can be to avoid cutting you,their sweet bunny with their scales...

A stereotype of serpentine creatures.

But it worked on you

Their tepid face into your neck,speaking in a language not exactly english..the warmth of them growing inside of your body. Nose inhaling the scent of your human skin..You get comfortable,listening to their bubbly purrs that fill your ear as they ease you closer and closer to them..

..Shh

They whisper in your ear upon the utter of a whimper from your mouth. You feel them inside..tender,hot and throbbing. A heat..an overwhelming fire inside you.

Your said bodily easter basket filling up with warm eggs..not the eggs hoping to collect this day..those soft,chocolate marshmallow ones you looked forward to.

Your bunny fur costume was soaked with ocean water,but you were too enraptured in their tepid embrace,hands caressing your now tender belly..You sigh softly as the merperson takes you with them underwater..to their home,the deep blue sea..slowly you transform into a similar merperson as you follow them into the cloak of dark blue..the cape of nightfall.

What's done at sea,stays at sea..💚

[random-brushstrokes]

Ford Madox Brown - Manfred on the Jungfrau (1842)

The subject of this dramatic scene is taken from Lord Byron's romantic poem Manfred. It shows the moment when the hero, Manfred, contemplates suicide but at the last minute is persuaded from going through with it by a chamois hunter. Manfred is at the centre of the picture. He stands on the brink of a precipice crowned with thick snow, clutching his hands to his head in a gesture of despair; his dress is intended to be in the style of that of the tenth or eleventh century, being a red belted tunic worn under a brown cape, both of which are blown to the side by the strong wind, also long, pointed shoes and a small pouch hung from his belt. Standing a little way from the edge of the cliff on the right is the figure of the chamois (goat) hunter. The hunter approaches Manfred with caution; dressed in furs and carrying a long staff, he leans forward and extends his right arm towards the desperate man. In the left background are the snow-capped peaks of distant mountains with clouds of yellow fog swirling about them; the sky is painted in vivid blue and mauve tones. (source)

[captain-hawks]

ykw i typed it out but i cant immortalise myself in those tame tags twice.. your askbox however, is a different story since i do think i need to share my thoughts so 🙏🏼

# (the next time he wears them he gets off on knowing your pussy was snug against the same fabric) # (when /you/ wore them you tried to ignore how the pouch was a little stretched out and the.. reason why)

i blame your 🫵🏼 roommate! kuroo for being a perv with a big dick. not me.

— @wtfcuk835

scar....this is.......so hot.........i'm going to go and take a bite out of a giant piece of concrete rn. thank you for letting these thoughts see the light of day, i was about to beg for them when i saw your original tags HAHA.

okay okay he's such a perv i had to add to it. (context)

18+

kuroo doesn't even wash the boxer briefs before doing it. you're out with your friends one night, and he's lying on the couch drinking a beer, a little buzzed and absolutely fucking haunted by the knowledge that his boxers that you wore are now probably just sitting in your laundry basket.

he tips the bottle to his lips, downing the last few drops before hastily wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. stumbling a little, he makes his way through the dark apartment toward your bedroom, reasons that it's less weird because you left the door ajar. he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at the navy blue material now clutched in his hand.

shaking himself out of his stupor, he stuffs the dirty boxers in his pocket and goes back to watching tv. it's only later—after you've come home, after he's been forced to endure an hour of you tiredly curled up on the couch beside him in a little sundress that's another problem in and of itself—that he remembers what he did as the boxers fall to the ground as he's tugging off his sweatpants before climbing into bed.

and then before he can stop himself, he's lying on his back atop his sheets in those fucking boxers, the heel of his palm pressed against his growing erection. he knows it's fucked up. he thinks about how you wore these, imagines the fabric warm and damp against your pussy. thinks about how the material would taste like you if he put his mouth to it—wonders if it would taste the same if he buried his tongue in your cunt. kuroo's losing his fucking mind, lips parted in a silent moan that sears its way up his ribcage, drool pooling on his tongue as he roughly palms his cock through the boxers.

he imagines that you touched yourself in them, pussy lips sliding against the cotton, the material soaked through with your arousal as you grinded your hips down into a pillow. until it wasn't enough, and then you used your fingers to press at your aching hole, to tightly push your way inside through the material thinking of kuroo's cock.

desperately stroking his clothed cock with his hips jerking up off of the mattress in frantic, uncoordinated motions, kuroo comes hard with a groan, hot, thick ropes of cum flooding the already-soiled boxers.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 24: Neglect

The prompt is kinda funny cause a lot of this fic centers around being cared for but anyway here it is

Read on ao3

Warnings: injuries galore, blood, a little vomiting, removing arrows and a broken bone

————————————————————

Sky doesn’t even have time to feel overwhelmed.

The moment the last monster is cut down, he’s running back towards the others, none of them in fighting shape anymore. It had been Sky alone who’d defeated the last several infected monsters, and the screams of the others as they’d fallen still rings in his ears.

He drops to Hyrule’s side first, the traveler clutching a hand to the side of Warriors’ neck. Blood streams through his fingers as his hands glow blue, but he seems heedless of the blood dripping off his own forehead and arm, and his face is pinched in concentration, even as he shakes.

Legend is next to him, holding Warriors steady, but one of his arms is held tightly to his chest, and his face is pale in the light from Hyrule’s magic.

Sky looks between the three of them, wondering where he should even begin, but then Hyrule exhales, and lifts his bloody hands.

“H-He’ll, he’ll live,” he croaks, hands shaking uncontrollably. Sky has just enough time to catch him as he collapses backwards, unconscious.

“I got him,” Legend says as he reaches over, but Sky shakes his head, scanning Warriors’ neck and face. He’s unconscious, but Hyrule was right that he’ll live, the slice that had slipped past the captain’s defenses and sent him plunging to the ground in a spray of blood now almost fully healed. He has other smaller injuries, but they’re less pressing right now.

“Drink this,” Sky says, handing a potion to Legend after rifling in his pouch. For once they’re actually well-stocked in healing supplies, and Sky thanks Hylia for it.

“Give it to Four, he’s almost passed out over there,” Legend says in a mutter, and Sky glares.

“We have plenty of potions and your arm is a disaster, drink it,” he says firmly, then gently sets Hyrule on the ground next to Warriors before getting to his feet. Hyrule’s injuries will have to wait until he’s awake, or they can find a fairy. “Besides, Four needs care before he drinks one.”

Sky doesn’t wait to see if Legend obeys or not, rather slides himself over to the smithy himself. Four is curled over himself, his leggings ripped and legs scraped, and shakily trying to remove the arrows stuck in his upper arm.

“Here,” Sky says gently, placing a hand on Four’s back. “Let me.”

The smithy looks at him, his face drawn with pain, and nods weakly. Sky gives him a smile that hides the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and quickly gets to work, the familiar motions of pushing the arrows through or snapping them in half born from bitter experience.

Four clutches at Sky’s arm the whole time, the Skyloftian patiently letting him hold on so tightly he’s sure the smithy leaves bruises. He murmurs comfort as Four bites back cries of pain, holding a hand firmly over the holes he leaves, and finally he pulls the last arrowhead out.

Four breathes in a shaky breath as Sky wraps up his arm, then gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Go help the others, I can handle myself,” Four says a little shakily, and Sky hesitates, then nods as Four starts to fish in his pouch. He trusts Four not to cut corners.

Sky gets up and looks around, and runs over to Twilight’s side just in time to help him turn over and throw up into the grass.

Sky swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let go until Twilight is done, panting for breath, sweat and blood on his forehead. He lets out a quiet whimper, and Sky gently brushes the hair back from his face, trying to get a good look at his eyes.

Twilight blinks at him, looking the very definition of concussed.

“Sky..? Wh... wh’ happened?” Twilight slurs, and Sky sighs, patting him on the shoulder as he studies the blood pouring down the side of his face. There’s a lump under his hair, and several nasty gashes all along his temple.

“You got hit, buddy, right in the head with a spiked club,” Sky reports, and Twilight blinks at him like he’s having trouble focusing.

“...R’lly?”

“Really,” Sky replies. Twilight had been one of the first to go down, and the noise the club had made as it had hit his skull wasn’t one Sky would easily forget. He squeezes Twilight’s shoulder as he props him up, and tries to coax him into drinking the potion he has.

“Not thirsty,” Twilight huffs, turning his head away, and Sky patiently turns his head back.

“It’s a potion, Rancher. You got hit really hard, you need this if you’re going to be healed,” Sky says, and Twilight squints at him suspiciously.

“‘M not a potion rancher...” Twilight mutters, but he finally drinks the potion, Sky careful to give it to him slowly. Twilight doesn’t seem to change much once it’s in his system, but he seems a little less dizzy, and Sky studies him to make sure that the blood is actually slowing from his head.

Once he’s sure it has, he wraps a quick bandage around his head to stop any more blood from escaping, then moves over to Wild.

Wild is sitting up against a tree, his eyes closed as he takes in quick, shallow breaths. His tunic has several bloody gashes torn into it, and he’s clutching at his leg, Sky quickly looking away when he notices the angle his knee is pointing.

Legend is sitting next to him, talking quietly, and when Sky comes up, Legend makes eye contact with him.

“We’ve got to get his leg back in the right spot before we can give him a potion,” the veteran says a little quietly, and Wild’s breath stutters. “And I... can’t with my arm.”

Sky swallows, the sick feeling in his stomach returning. He’d been lucky so far not to have dealt with anything too horrible, the arrows in Four’s upper arm the worst. But shifting a broken leg back to the correct position...

He breathes out and nods, shoving away the lurch in his stomach. Somebody has to do it.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Legend does his best to explain as Sky bandages the gashes on Wild’s chest, and once he’s finished, he feels like he’s steeled himself enough to deal with it.

“Ready Wild?” Sky asks gently, and Wild gives him a faint nod.

Legend grabs his hand with his good arm, and Sky moves Wild’s leg before he can think about it.

The champion screams, and Sky nearly throws up as bones shift under his hands, noises he never wants to hear again coming from under his hands. Legend does his best to help hold Wild steady, but there’s only so much he can do, his face nearly gone white. Sky ends up nearly sitting on Wild as he thrashes and cries out, but he finally gets his leg and knee back in the right direction.

Wild sags, tears on his face, and Sky runs a hand through his hair.

“There you go buddy, you’re alright,” Sky says in a soothing voice, and Wild doesn’t resist when he and Legend put a potion bottle to his lips.

Sky forces himself to watch his leg right itself, the bit of blood and odd shape slowly smoothing out. The gashes on his middle seem to still be there, the potion having mostly gone to his leg, but the color has returned to Wild’s face.

“Thanks,” Wild says in a trembling voice, and Sky smiles a little weakly before going to the only heroes he hadn’t given any attention to yet.

Time is holding Wind to his chest, what of the sailor’s tunic Sky can see looking burnt in several spots. Time himself has claw marks dangerously close to his good eye, and looks like he’s not breathing the easiest, but the older hero is already wrapping bandages carefully around most of Wind’s left arm, the sailor shaking a little as he works.

Time at least seems reasonably functional, considering the states of some of the others.

Sky hasn’t seen exactly what had happened to either of them, but he’d seen fire, and heard a scream that was way too young. Time had shouted, and there had been enemies running around, but Sky had been busy trying not to be killed himself at the time.

“Here,” Sky says as he hands Time a potion, and the older hero shakes his head.

“Wind already had one.”

“This is for you,” Sky says sternly, and Time ignores him, shushing Wind when the sailor lets out a pained whine. “Old man, those scratches need healing, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t the only thing you’re dealing with.”

“His breathing is a little funny,” Wind whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as Time fixes the bandages. “He got hit in th-the ribs.”

Sky puts a hand on his hip, ignoring the sore feeling he gets for his trouble, but Time ignores him as he continues to help Wind.

“Come on, we have enough potions for you to have one,” Sky says firmly, and Time finally looks at him, blood on his face like a mockery of the tattoos on his opposite cheek.

“Please Time,” Wind says quietly.

The older hero looks at the sailor, then silently takes the potion, his face more worn than usual.

And so it continues.

Having given everyone initial treatment, the job still isn’t done, and Sky runs back and forth between the heroes for most of the afternoon and evening, replacing bandages, settling people into more comfortable positions, and scrounging up some dinner as well.

Even the more functional ones of the group are worn out from their injuries and the fighting, and though Sky aches to rest, he keeps going, heedless of his body begging for him to stop.

When Twilight throws up the potion he was given, Sky patiently gives him another, and when it turns out Legend has a nasty gash on his leg he thought he could walk off, Sky is there and helps him clean and bandage it. Warriors wakes up with a choked gasp much later, and Sky calms him down, offering him some dinner, and Four falls asleep on top of Sky’s sailcloth, his face still pale from blood loss.

It’s the early hours of the morning before everyone is sleeping, at least somewhat peacefully (though Hyrule is still sacked out from magic loss). Sky does his rounds yet again, and realizes suddenly that there isn’t anything else for him to do.

The adrenaline and stubbornness that have so far kept him afloat began to drain away, and Sky quickly sits down, exhaustion weighing on him, pain shooting up from his—

Wait, what?

Sky turns his head around to look at his hip, and sees a tear in the fabric of his tunic, mostly-dried blood soaking most of his lower tunic and upper part of his pant leg.

Sky blinks.

He’d forgotten he’d even been injured, right at the tail end of the battle. He remembered the dark knight swinging at him, and the pain that had torn up his side, but he’d ignored it in favor of finishing the fight and helping the others until eventually it had slipped his mind altogether.

Though that would explain why he’d begun to feel rather dizzy as the evening had worn on.

Sky carefully lifts his bloody tunic out of the way, breath stuttering when it sticks a little. The wound underneath is unpleasant to look at, reasonably deep with half-dried blood stuck all over it. Peeling his tunic away made it begin to bleed again, though sluggishly, and Sky can only stare at it for a minute, the sudden urge to cry sweeping over him.

He’s exhausted, from the battle earlier, and from running around all afternoon and evening caring for the others. He hadn’t been planning to sleep (somebody had to keep watch), but he’d still thought he would get some rest, and now there’s a gash in his side that’s bleeding all over the place.

Maybe it’ll just... be fine for the night, he thinks with a sinking feeling. It’s nearly morning anyway, and there’s no—

He leans over to take off his boots, and gasps, stars glittering at the edges of his vision.

Four shifts where he’s curled up next to him, and before Sky can get a hold of himself, the smithy is sitting up and blinking at him. He stares at him for a moment as be wakes up, then his eyes catch on his side, and they widen.

“Sky! You’re hurt!” he gasps, and Sky shushes him, looking at their lighter sleepers.

Nobody stirs, and he looks back at Four.

“Smithy, I wasn’t—”

“You can’t neglect yourself just because the rest of us are hurt!” Four says more quietly, but his voice is still equally dismayed. Sky shakes his head, feeling that same urge to cry come back even stronger.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad, I... I forgot about it,” he says in a small voice, and Four looks at him, his eyes looking almost red in the firelight.

Then he puts his good hand on Sky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Sky, you’ve done enough for today,” he says softly. “Let me help you.”

“But...”

“You deserve care as much as the rest of us,” Four says firmly. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Sky. You did a good job healing us up, and come tomorrow most of us will be in working order.”

He gives Sky a little smile, and lightly knocks his head against his.

“Helping you after everything you did today is the least I can do. And I know the others would agree.”

Sky can only nod in response, his throat tight as he turns away. Four gives his shoulder another squeeze, and gets to work on his side, grabbing a damp cloth to clean it with, and wrapping it up once it’s cared for.

And after he’s finished, he scootches himself over next to Sky, leaning on his shoulder, and pulling the sailcloth over the both.

Neither of them say anything further, and if Sky sniffles once or twice as he finally lets himself relax, Four doesn’t acknowledge it aside from a gentle squeeze.

[wraithdance]

I'm sure it's just because of reading your fic and watching "Caped Crusader", but had a vision of Gaz as Batman/Bruce Wayne - no clue how that AU would work, but it's nice to ponder!

Ohohoho My friend, I don't think you know what you’ve just done! I moonlight as an amateur comic artist/writer so I saw this notification at five in the morning and shot out of bed. I have not known a moment of respite since then you big brained evil genius!!!

Give me a couple hours and I’ll tag you in something else I got cooking for this lil brain worm 🐛💖

CW: AFAB!Reader but no gendered terms used, non-con ( I think the first bit counts as slight non-con?), Mentions of extreme violence, reader being mugged, I have a potty mouth so lots of F-bombs, MDNI there's a bit of nsfw because I’m a slut and blacked out at the end there.

[the 5 Year Plan Gotham City AU] 

How could you be so Stupid. 

The man making a mess of your purse is taking his time scattering things out into the alley carelessly. Your Fenty lipgloss, tossed near the dumpster with your phone. The knock off Gucci shades you’d found at a swap meet, sailing in the air and landing with a definitive crack on the wet blacktop. 

When he ignores your wallet to continue his violating search through your belongings you protest. Thrashing your body in an attempt to escape the hands that clutch you in a vice grip.

Blunt nails dig into the fleshy fat of your upper arms hard enough to leave indentations that burn. The whimper you let out echoes in the darkened alley before you can bite it back.

Stupid, Siggy. Unbelievably STUPID!

“Oh? I think I liked the sound of that moan sweet bird. Why don’t you do it again?” He’s squeezing tighter and it takes all of your reserves to not give him the satisfaction of another single sound.

His partner lets out a laugh, pausing from his searching to watch you squirm.

“I think you’ve got a tough one there Charlie.”

“Yeah, think so, sweet birds got some nerve.” The one named Charlie hums in your ear, huffing out a throaty laugh. 

The stench of tepid beer and old meat on his breath is foul. He nuzzles his unkempt beard against the skin of your throat, the sensation makes angry tears cascade down your face without reprieve. 

You send an elbow into his gut, yelping when he presses his hard cock against your plump ass in return. 

“Be nice, soft thing,” He whispers, hot breath sending shivers down your spine “What about I keep you, hm? Come home with me and Brucie boy and you won’t have to walk so late at night, wot about that?”

You think there’s no fucking way in any planet or alternate universe where you’d agree to that and you say so.

“Let me go you stinking bastard! Just take my money and leave me alone for fucks sake!”

In a flash there’s a big hand letting go of your arm to grip your jaw painfully. Your head is pulled back to meet the unfocused rheumy blue eyes of Charlie. With a glare your lip curls back in visible disgust, refusing to back down.

It was probably the cherry on top of the stupid sundae you’d made, but you can’t bring yourself to be submissive against this unwanted violation. You’d been followed from the office by the two drunken louts. 

One had distracted you with his catcalls, you’d been focused on staying steps ahead of him before you realized you’d been corralled into the darkened alley. The other man had materialized at the other end of the narrow space before you’d had the chance to weigh out if running in heels would be a fruitless endeavor.

The one named Bruce had wrestled your bag from you when you’d turned to run the other way. There’s slight satisfaction when you look at the already discolored skin beneath his eye from where you’d decked him. 

Bruce notices your attention and sneers at you. “Little bitch is more trouble than it’s worth to carry ‘em home.” 

His hands stop digging into your bag and you know the second he’s got his hands on the satchel tucked deep into the inner lining.

Fuck!

“Oh wots this?” Bruce opens the velvet pouch and his eyes widen at the sight of your boss's diamond necklace and earrings.

You really do hate yourself for being so senselessly dumb.

Should have taken the damn taxi instead of being a cheapskate.  ‘It’s only a couple blocks to the jewelers’ you’d thought, ‘be there in a jiffy and home in no time, no need to spend the £7.60!’

An absolute dumb arse of a decision to make.

You’re about to beg that they at least put you out of your misery when they leave. Anything better than the impending death of your career and livelihood if you make it out of this preventable situation alive, when you see something dark flash at the mouth of the alley.

Charlie sees it too and stiffens behind you.  “Who’s there!” He barks out into the night, pulling you back against him tighter. Bruce looks up too, jewels in hand, searching. There's silence before you hear the sound of a bottle clattering. Charlie hisses out a low ‘fuck’ before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a switchblade with a flick of his wrist. 

Your eyes widen like saucers because you had just been joking about dying! 

“Come out!” Charlie shouts “Or I’ll stick the bird right between the ribs.”

You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat, struggling against the arm that now bands across your chest. What the fuck happened to taking you home?! Creeping Jesus all the men in London were sweet talking, lying sacks of SHIT and you were so fucked!

After a moment Charlie shifts, looking at Bruce and jerking his head to the side. Bruce nods and spirits his own knife in hand from his jacket. Much to your indignation he stuffs the jewels into his pocket as well. 

Bruce shuffles to the other end of the alley slowly, Charlie and you watch on with bated breath. The fattest rat you’ve ever seen darts out from out of the shadows and Bruce yelps.

“Fockin’ hell!” Bruce jumps back as it races between his legs, squeaking in terror. He looks back to you and Charlie with a laugh. “Just a fockin’ mouse-”

The kick to his chest is sudden and loud, the crack of his ribs writs the air with a sickening pop. 

“What the fuck!” you cry out.

A masked man in blue-black spandex steps out into the dim light, standing over Bruce’s gasping body. He’s absolutely massive. At his hips is a cache of indistinguishable weapons including a small metal rod. You watch as he lifts a powerful thigh up and rams his boot covered foot into Bruce’s nose, sharp and definitive.

Screw this.

There's no fucking way you were sticking around for whatever this had become, you think as you watch the blood arch from Bruce’s broken nose. 

Charlie yells out when you stomp his foot with a stiletto of your heels. You don’t make it far from his grasp when he snakes a hand out and clutches your arm, whirling you around. He’s dropped the knife in your pursuit of escape, it leaves his hand open to strike across your cheek in a slap that leaves you dazed.

He shoves you down to the ground harshly and your hands shoot out in front of you to break your fall. Hissing at the stinging pain in your palms, you can only try to scoot back as you watch Charlie reach for the discarded knife at his feet. 

He doesn’t make it. 

You can’t look away from the masked hero raining blows like thunder over Charlie's face and body. Charlie tries to fight back but is overwhelmed by the barrage of attacks that come in rapid fire succession. When Charlie finally goes down you’re torn between shock and relief before it turns into worry about whether the newcomer means you his own form of harm. 

You get your answer when the masked man extends a hand to help you to your feet. He doesn’t make a sound at the effort to pull you up. His hand rests across your back for support as you wobble unsteadily on your heels.

He doesn’t let you go when you’ve caught your balance. You tilt your head up to look at him, one hand placed on his covered bicep and the other resting on his chest. You can feel his heart beat in a staccato through the thick material of his suit. 

“Close your eyes.” He says after a moment.

Your brow furrows in confusion thinking you misheard. 

“What?” 

The masked man crowds you in until you’re up against the brick wall of the alley, his solid chest millimeters from your own. You can feel the heat from his body emanating from beneath the spandex suit. He smells like smoke and hearth. You think there's something else beneath, familiar and it causes your brain to buzz with energy. You inhale deep.

Bergamot and notes of Cedar wood. 

Your brows furrow trying to place the niggling memory that comes up when his gloved hand makes contact with your cheek. The touch is soft and light, fingers trail along the place you’d been slapped by Charlie. You can’t see his eyes from behind the flat black holes of his mask but you can feel him search your face. 

“Said, close your eyes luv.” 

He tilts his head and watches your lips when you dart a tongue to wet them. After a moment you do as he asks and shutting your eyes.

Your gasp is wheezy to your own ears, jerking at the feel of his breath on your cheeks. You are squeezing your eyelids shut so as not to open them. When his lips brush against yours, you gasp once more, belly swimming with butterflies. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sucking your tongue and stroking with his own in tandem. Mind finally catching up, you chase after the foreign intrusion with a demand for more, always taking a mile when given an inch.

The pressure of the mask where it’s been pushed up against the bridge of his nose, tethers you to reality before you're swept away in the taste of him. Your senses are bombarded with the roll of his tongue and you give as good as you get, fighting him for dominance.

His hand rests at your throat, firm but relenting. He squeezes once when he nips your bottom lip and you shudder when he pulls away with an anguished groan.

You peek beneath your lashes and see the brown skin at his adam's apple before he can cover his face again. You know he’s smiling beneath the mask when he calls you a cheeky thing. He cups a hand over his cock pressing down as if to relieve the ache. 

Your thighs clench together. ‘Fuck.’

“What's your name?” You ask when you’ve finally caught your breath.

He hesitates and you think he’ll deny you. 

“You can call me Rook.”

You thank him for saving you, saying his name softy. He swipes his gloved thumb across your lips before he taps your chin twice with an index finger. 

“Go straight home, I’ll be watching.” The low timbre of his voice is an aphrodisiac. The promise of his watching is supposed to ease your frazzled nerves but instead sends heat flushing through your body in other ways. Your core is throbbing and slick against your undergarments when you shiver.

Stupid and horny, you think sadly as you watch him back away into the shadows. You don’t leave the alley until you can’t see him anymore. You turn to glance at Charlie and Bruce’s prone bodies and shake your head.

Stupid, stupid decisions Siggy.

When you wake the next morning you make eye contact with your boss’s diamond jewels on the side table next to a note. He’d been inside your home when you were sleeping. 

Your concern for your mental sanity is only a side thought when you're reaching beneath the covers to slide your fingers against the slick pooled inside your cunt. One digit, then two gliding over your clit and then past the knuckle into your soaking sex.

Your moans are stuttering, keening things, as you chase your orgasm. It’s dangling at the precipice of where your fingertips roll across the textured nerves of your G-spot. Back and forth you stroke until you’re cumming with a broken cry, mind going white with the force of your orgasm.  

‘I need to see him again’ you think as you lie in bed boneless. Your thighs are still shaking, cunt still clenching around nothing when you reread the note.

Don’t walk home in the dark anymore. I’ll know - Rook

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 17: “Leave me alone”

Read it on Ao3

- Fierce Deity & Mask

- Summary: Fierce cares for a wounded Mask

CW for blood and injury

———————————-

Link sits on the outskirts of the battlefield.

Fierce can see him from where he stands, a small, hunched figure silhouetted against a hazy blue sky and the remnant wisps of smoke. He starts toward him at a brisk pace, picking his way around the remaining bodies and rubble. He cannot help but wrinkle his nose at the conglomeration of unpleasant smells.

War god though he may be, he has never truly enjoyed conflict. At times it is necessary. But never is it enjoyable. The destruction it brings makes him ill.

Especially now, as he comes closer to the child and gains a better look at his injuries. He is bleeding. The emerald sleeve of his tunic has turned dark with the gory substance. A gash snakes its way from the very base of his neck down through his shoulder to end at his bicep. Its angry edges are coated in dirt and soot.

There is bruising too, peppering his arms and legs. And when he raises his head, Fierce can see that one of his eyes is swollen shut.

“Little one.”

He squats down, feeling abnormally large next to this tiny Hylian he has come to think of almost as his own child. Link looks up at him and sniffles. He raises a trembling hand, swiping viciously at the tears carving trails through the blood and dirt coating his face.

“Where’s the captain?”

There is anger in his voice, but Fierce disregards it. He has known this little hero for years now. He can tell quite easily when his anger is merely a front.

“He is safe.”

He reaches out toward Link’s injured arm. Link backs away.

“You are badly injured. Allow me to help you.”

Link shakes his head, cap flopping, bangs falling into his face. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.” There is a pause, then, “and he doesn’t either.”

Fierce blinks.

Ah, so that is what this is about.

Though the captain had willingly given himself over to the Deity’s strength, Fierce should have expected this to be a struggle. After all, Link does not know the promise he had made to the older hero. And his fear of the mask has not yet vanished.

With good reason, Fierce thinks, bitterly. Every time the hero uses it, his immense power takes its toll. It is a price he wishes he could rid him of.

“He tasked me with protecting you when he could not,” he says, solemnly. “Helping you would be fulfilling my oath to him.”

Link’s head jerks upward. More tears stream down his cheeks.

“You wanna help me? Let him go!” A sob tears through him and he clutches at his arm. Crimson runs down his fingers. “Let my brother go.”

Fierce raises his hands, instinct crying out that he comfort the broken child before him. But when Link curls in on himself further, he stops short of touching the hero. With his strength he could simply scoop him up and carry him away. He holds back, however. He does not wish to force his way unless absolutely necessary. So, they simply hover uselessly in the space between him and Link.

“Allow me to tend to your wounds and get you to safety. Then, I will release the captain.”

Link hiccups, his grip on his arm tightening, and finally, Fierce reaches out. Slowly, he pries the tiny fingers away from the wound. The captain had had bandages in his pouch and though he had been forced to use some for himself, there is still an ample supply left over. He begins winding them around Link’s arm with as much care as his war-calloused hands can manage.

“You’re hurting him.”

He doesn’t pause in his work, but he does look up from it for just long enough to see the broken expression on Link’s face.

“No, I am not. The captain gave himself willingly. As you know, that is the least painful way to utilize my power. He is not fighting. He is at rest.”

Another hiccuped-sob shakes the hero.

“Why? Why’d he put you on?”

Fierce tears off the remaining bandages and ties them tightly. It is not a perfect job, but it will hold for long enough to get him back to camp. They can take proper care of him there.

“Out of necessity. He needed to win this battle and care for the wounded. He could not do so with the strength he currently possessed.”

Link hands curl into fists. “That idiot. I told him never to wear it. I told him it was dangerous. I told him…” His words dissolve into another sob.

Fierce rests a hand on Link’s uninjured shoulder and the hero looks up at him, emotions swirling in his eyes.

“I promise you, little one, I will release him once you are safe. I have no wish to harm the captain…or you.”

He holds his gaze for a moment more, then turns to place the bandages back into the captain’s pouch. When he reaches for Link, the hero doesn’t struggle. And when he scoops him into his arms, he slumps against him with a trembling sigh.

Whether he is simply too weak and tired to fight any longer, or he has decided the Deity’s words are trustworthy, Fierce doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter to him, either way. His responsibility is getting Link to safety.

“The captain knew that you would not approve of his use of the mask, you know,” he says, once Link is securely in his hold and he has started his journey back. Link blinks, slowly, like one of the puppies they saw so often in Termina, exhausted after a day of running, yet still fighting sleep. “But you are precious to him. No sacrifice is too large if it ensures that you are safe.”

Tears well in Link’s eyes once more and he turns his face away.

“Idiot,” he mumbles again.

But there is something in his voice that Fierce cannot identify. Something almost like the feeling of sunshine trying to break through the clouds. It seems, sharing the captain’s sentiments was the right choice.

Humans really are such curious beings, he thinks as he walks back toward camp with the child curled in his arms. They care and yet, see fit to pretend that they do not.

“Fierce?” The voice is small, hesitant.

“Yes, little one?”

“You really are gonna let him out, right?”

Fierce smiles, grimly. So trust is still a ways away, then. No matter. He will repeat his promise however many times is necessary to soothe Link's fears. Someday, perhaps the hero will know that he wishes no harm upon him.

“I give you my word.”

Link sighs. His hand is curled around his tunic sleeve, Fierce notices now. The realization ignites a curious warmth within him.

“‘K,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

[basic ID in alt, detailed ID below]

i love them more than words can say. already i wish i could listen to the children's adventure for the first time all over again.

[ID: 1. A height chart lineup showing the main characters of The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One side-by-side in the main campaign and the Children's Adventure. In order it is Eursulon, Suvi, Ame & Cool Dog, and Grandmother Wren & Taro.

Eursulon is a huge bear-like creature standing bipedal on digitigrade legs. As an adult (left) he stands to a height of 220cm. His fur around his ears and forehead resembles the plumage of a horned owl. He has an ursine nose and large tusks, and big, hazel eyes. He has white freckles on his face. He is wearing a long green cloak and beige and brown traveller's garb, and a golden pauldron is partially hidden by his cloak on his shoulder. It has a small dent in it but is well polished. In his right hand (viewer's left) he holds a round wooden shield, and in his left hand he holds an unsheathed sword, Wavebreaker, with pale blue silk lining wrapped around the hilt. He has a neutral expression.

As a child, he was still large at about 145cm tall, but had a rounder face, smaller fangs, and shorter feet. He is unclothed except for his golden pauldron, undented, and instead of a sword he is clutching a broom handle with both paws. He is smiling.

Suvi is a Black human girl who stands at around 183cm as an adult. She has a turquoise afro which is pulled back neatly into a bun and decorated with fine gold chains as well as a round golden censer hanging from the back. She is dressed in a smart Imperial blue uniform with gold and silver trim, and wields in her right hand a crystal staff decorated with the Imperial sigil and wings made of floating shards. In her left hand she holds a book bound in dark blue leather. Instead of wearing glasses, her brown eyes are magically treated, which causes a teal sheen to be visible over her pupils. She is smiling confidently.

As a child, she was about 120cm tall and her hair was still dark brown and not tied back. She has yellow asteria flowers in her hair as well as a pencil and a cool leaf, and wore huge round glasses. She wears a red button-up dress with pockets, stripey white tights, and smart indigo shoes. She clutches a brown canvas-bound book to her chest and looks wide-eyed.

Ame is an East Asian girl who stands at around 150cm as an adult. She has long, dark straight hair and dark brown eyes. She has her right hand on her hip while her left hand adjusts her giant red witch's hat. The hat has a white underside and there is a gold censer attached to the pointed tip. She is wearing a white wrap top patterned with pink petals, and the long flowy sleeves have been buttoned back. She has two bracelets around her left wrist, one is woven lilac and green, and the other is small pink flowers chained together. She has red skirt that resembles a toadstool, with white spots on the cap and pink ruffles under the rim. She also has a white half-apron with several pockets tied to her waist by dark pink cord, which also holds a light brown pouch. She has one skinned knee showing above her flowery pink-and-white socks, and red stompy boots. She is smiling out of the corner of her mouth. Wrapping around her legs is Cool Dog, her fox familiar, eyeing the viewer suspiciously.

As a child, she was extremely small at 100cm. She has a bowl cut and dimples. She wears an oversized yellow shirt with white stripes, the sleeves pushed up past her elbows, and orange dungarees. She has muddy red welly boots, and is wearing the lilac and green bracelet. She is grinning broadly with her eyes shut and holding her fists up near her chest.

Grandmother Wren is an old witch standing at about 155cm with light brown skin and frizzy grey-and-white-streaked hair and brown eyes. She is wearing a dark purple witch's hat with a golden buckle and a curling tip, a knitted lilac shawl around her shoulders, and a cable-knit yellow sweater. She is wearing a stripy half-apron over a floor-length patchwork skirt, and is leaning on a gnarled wooden cane with both hands. She is smiling ruefully. Taro, her rooster familiar, is standing on the brim of her hat.

2. A cropped version of the same drawing, this time including Eursulon's glamoured forms. His glamoured form is a Black human, resembling Suvi as if he were her brother, although his eyes remain hazel and his hair is ginger instead of dark brown. He has dark brown freckles on his face and a gap in his front teeth, although the gap can only be seen in his childhood glamour as he is smiling. As an adult, the glamour is dressed identically to the unglamoured form although he's shorter by about 25cm, and his hair is braided back neatly into a bun. He also has some facial hair on his sideburns. As a child, his hair is shorter and styled into mini locs, and he is wearing a white shirt and green shorts, though still barefoot. He is about 15cm shorter than his unglamoured form.

3. A cropped version of the remaining lineup, showing Suvi, Ame & Cool Dog, and Grandmother Wren & Taro. /end ID]

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

In Love, in War Pt. 4 | Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary | Thomas Shelby is heading back to his unit at the front with one more wound to soothe. They hated each other and then they loved each other but its understandable that things can change rapidly under such disastrous conditions. What can their love withstand?

Warnings | Death, Gore, Blood, and severe injuries.

Come Tomorrow- Peter Bradley Adams 🎵

Bullet With Butterfly Wings- The Smashing Pumpkins 🎶

Word count: 1713k

Not proof read- my b, folks!

“Wake up, nurse.” She heard him whisper against her ear. She stretched and breathed in Thomas’ dark, heavy scent. When she opened her eyes, the tent was full of light, breaking in through the slits in the canvas. He was dressed and had her clothes in his hands. 

“Are we leaving now?” She asked sleepily and he nodded. 

“I have to get back to the infirmary before they mark me down as a deserter.” 

She sat up and let him button her blouse and fix her black stockings before he pulled on her skirt. He buckled her shoes while she combed her fingers through her hair and tied the warm shawl around her head. Thomas pulled a curl out from under the shawl and kissed her softly. 

“Let’s go.” He pulled her to her feet and they left the tent, hand in hand, hurrying back to the infirmary before the shifts switched. The nurse in the infirmary had fallen asleep and didn’t notice when Thomas snuck back in, sticky with sweat from the night before. 

“I leave at 2 o’clock. Will I see you?” He asked quickly from his bed. 

“I’ll come to say goodbye, I promise.” She smiled and kissed him again. Pulling away from him, she left the tent and went back into her’s, careful to not wake any of her roommates. She washed her face and returned her cap to her head and her apron around her uniform. In the mirror she saw a happy woman, a woman in-love. She blushed at her own reflection and left once again to prepare for her shift in the hospital tent.

The morning was wet and arid, pushing and pulling clouds of fog along the campsite. She washed her hands, scrubbing soap beneath her fingernails and along the curvature of her wrist bone. She followed one of the doctors like his shadow and helped as he removed a dented bronze bullet from a patient's thigh. A second nurse held a cloth doused with chloroform briefly under the soldier’s nose and he fell immediately into unconsciousness. She watched the clock with anxiety, despising it for running so fast and sending Thomas back to the hell he’d just escaped from. Another round of screaming entered the tent and a nurse tugged on her apron. 

“We need one more set of hands on this one.” She pulled her away and led her to one of the operation tables. The man was covered in blood, so rich and dark that she couldn’t make out the man beneath it. 

“Oh, God.” She whispered beneath her breath. 

“Don’t just stand there, girl! We need chloroform and gauze now!” The doctor yelled and she brought over the chloroform to put the patient to sleep. As she rounded the table’s edge, she was able to just make out the bright blue eyes, wide in terror and pain, staring straight at her like the bull’s eye of a target. 

“Francis?” She whispered, completely removed from the scene around her. The man stared back and thrashed about, but his eyes stayed on her’s. He screamed and grabbed his stomach that was bleeding heavily over the side of the table, onto the ground. She gasped and stumbled into a nurse. 

“Get a hold of her!” The doctor yelled over the patient, his hands matted with Francis’ blood.

“I think she knows him, sir.” The nurse behind her yelled back over the noise, clutching beneath her arm and holding her above the ground. 

“Then get her out of here if she isn’t going to help!” He returned to the table and she watched in horror as he shoved her fiance’s internal organs back into the pouch of his stomach.  

“Francis!” She screamed with a blood-curdling cry before she fainted, her world growing black and still like a winter night. 

The nurse left her on the ground and hurried to the table to assist the doctor as he restored the man’s organs into his abdomen. A second nurse covered his nose with chloroform and he slipped painfully into sleep. They cleaned the gaping wound and stitched him up with their slippery hands. Someone came running with blood bags and connected Francis to a tube. He was deathly pale and so was she. They laid together in mutual unconsciousness as the war of medicine was waged around them. After they had wiped the blood from Francis’ body, they moved her too, lying her out on the cot in her tent. One of her roommates held a bottle of whisky beneath her nose until she awoke with a snap. 

“Where am I?” She panicked, twisting around to orient herself. 

“You’re in our tent. You fainted…” One of her friends, Brooklyn, explained gently. 

“I fainted?” She shook her head, rubbing her eyes with her dirty hands. She tried to sit up but Avonlee coaxed her back down. 

“Don’t get up yet, you’ve had quite a fright and you need to rest.” Brooklyn held her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

She stared up at them for a while, trying to remember what had preceded her faint. She thought through the bad dreams she’d just had and in a horrible second, she realized it hadn’t been a nightmare. She gasped and tugged at Brooklyn’s uniform. 

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Where’s Francis? Is he alive? Was it actually him? I thought he was dead! It couldn’t be him!” She sobbed into her friend’s chest. 

“He didn’t have his dog tags so we don’t know exactly who he is. All we know is that you called him Francis before you fainted.”

“And is he alright?” She urged, crying helplessly and overwhelmed. 

“They stopped the bleeding but the doctor isn’t sure if he’ll live through the night.” Avonlee frowned. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I need to see him. Please help me see him!” She cried and her friends nodded. 

“Of course but you shouldn’t be walking yet. You were out for almost two hours.” Brooklyn pleaded with her but it was no use. 

“No, I need to see him. I need to see Franics, please!” She sobbed angrily into the cot until Avonlee pulled her up. The two girls carried her, her arms strung over their shoulders. She could walk but her strength was limited. She stumbled across the camp to the infirmary tent where the nurse on duty directed them to a bed behind a sliding screen. 

“His injuries were so bad, we thought it best to keep it away from the other men.” The nurse said awkwardly to Avonlee. 

She pushed aside the curtain and paused at the doorway, frozen in her place as she looked down on the man who was supposed to be dead. He was tucked tightly into the cot, his hands wrapped in mittens to keep him from clawing at the stitches. He looked deathly pale and, quite honestly, dead. She released a shaky breath and went to his side, collapsing in the chair by his head. He still had a youthful charm to his face, though wrinkled from war. He wasn’t as she remembered him and it made her desperately sad. She pushed a lock of blood-dyed hair from his face, needing to confirm that he was real, that his body was truly there. 

“He was supposed to be dead.” She heard herself say again. 

“So it's Francis then?” Brooklyn asked quietly. 

“Yes… Francis Gild Jr. from Birmingham, England,” she said slowly. “I have to write to his father.” She looked down at his stomach, wrapped in layers of stiff gauze. 

“I can do it if that’s easier.” Avonlee offered and she nodded distractedly. 

“Yes, you’ll have to explain to him… Francis is alive.” She shook her head and crumbled into tears, they fell onto her skirt like droplets of warm summer rain. “Oh God, he’s alive. This whole time, he’s been alive. Poor Francis!” She wailed quietly to herself, almost incoherent. 

“We’ll leave you.” Brooklyn announced and hurried the other nurses away and pulled the curtain closed. 

She laid her hand palm down on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and dissolving into tears again. 

“Damn you, Francis,” she whispered. “I grieved you. I was your widow. I-I oh God!” She gasped, remembering Thomas and her promise to say goodbye. She jumped up and rushed through the curtain, grabbing a hold of the nurse on duty. 

“Has the transport back left yet? What time is it?” She panted, tears staining her cheeks. 

“It’s 2:15. They’re leaving now. You could still catch them if you tried but I really don’t think you’re in a condition to run.” The nurse tried to reason with her but she shook her head. 

“No, no- I need to go. I’ll be back. Please watch Francis for me.” She called over her shoulder and ran joltingly across the camp. The trucks taking men back were at the security checkpoint and she ran as quickly as she could across the drying mud to the spot. Mud flew up in dry clunks, hurting her eyes and making more tears swell in between her eyelashes. She could see the small gate and security post as she weaved between the tents. As she stumbled upon the gate, she saw the open-back trucks pull away. 

“Thomas!” She screamed against the wind. “Thomas Shelby!” She screamed again. The men in the trucks leaned over in their rows to look out. She tried to get through the gate but an armed soldier held her back and she was too weak to resist. 

“Shelby!” She screamed against her sobs. 

“They’re gone, nurse.” The soldier tried to calm her. 

“No! He must know that I came to say goodbye! I promised!” She pulled on his jacket’s lapels. “He’ll never forgive me…” 

In the far distance, a man with black hair stood in the truck, a stolen cigarette between his pink lips burned. He watched the scene at the gate with narrowed eyes, anger and disappointment burning inside him. She looked like a nun, her habit dancing widely in the wind, but the large red cross on her chest gave her away. Another man pulled him down and he crashed into the seat with an echoing thud. 

“Who was that?” One man asked him and Thomas sniffed. 

“I don’t know.”

.....................

End of pt. 4 :)

[fairy-writes]

MY JOLLY SAILOR BOLD

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Pirate AU

Notes: This is unintentionally sort of like Pirates of the Caribbean, but we’re rolling with it anyway, lol

__________________________________________________________________________

Your first meeting with pirate William James Moriarty was less than favorable. 

Mainly because one of his crewmates kidnapped you and brought you aboard their ship: “The Nobleman’s Anchor.”

It had been late at night when you were awoken by the sounds of screams from your maid. You bolted from your bed and nearly threw open the door when you heard the sound of a gunshot. Immediately, you backpedal and go to the walk-in closet, flinging it open and stuffing yourself inside just as your doors are quite literally blasted off the hinges by cannon fire. There are men’s shouts of surprise. 

Was it unintentional?

The ammunition creates a splintered hole in the wall, and you flinch, shoving your hand over your mouth to swallow your screams. 

You hid amongst your clothes, backing up until you tripped and smacked your head against the wall. 

The sound was almost deafening in the silence. 

All voices outside the closet quieted, and you heard footsteps stomping their way to the door. The footsteps were heavy, a faint jingling noise coming that signified that there was a coin pouch somewhere on this person’s… well… person.

Your breath came in short quick gasps that you kept quiet by keeping your hand over your mouth. 

Were you going to die here?

The door is torn open, and you come face to face with a very tall man. 

His hair and eyes are dark, and he’s dressed in a shirt that’s unbuttoned a few buttons and shows off his bare chest. The shirt is tucked into a pair of loose trousers, and his boots look to be made of leather. He has a pistol clutched in one hand, a finger hovering over the trigger but not pulling it just yet. 

A head peeks over his shoulder. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a mole on his right cheek.

Another pirate. 

You recoil as the taller man reaches into the closet and yanks you out by your ankle. You shriek, and he winces at the sound, pointing the barrel of his pistol in your face. That shuts you up real quick.

“What do we have here?” He asks. You don’t answer. The blond man puts a hand on the other pirate’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Moran. No need to frighten them.” He says, and “Moran” shrugs his hand off.

“Bugger off. I do what I want.” He snaps and yelps when you bring your foot up swiftly between his legs. He doubles over with a wheeze, and you spring to your feet, dashing toward the door. 

Almost there. 

Just as your fingers brush the edge of the door, you being intent on slamming it shut, a hand catches your wrist, and you are spun around. 

Moran looks furious, his cheeks flushed red, and his teeth bared. 

“You’ll die for that.” He snarls, and again, the blond pulls him away, obviously hiding a laugh.

“Why don’t we take them to William? He can decide what to do with them.” He says, and Moran mulls it over before nodding.

“Fine.”

The Nobleman’s Anchor is grand—with three soaring masts and sails that billow in the nighttime wind. The Jolly Roger flag flaps in the wind, and you shudder at the sight of the skull and crossbones. You can see the cannons and barely have time to count before you are hauled aboard. You spotted at least fifteen or twenty just on one side. 

How big was this ship?

Moran nearly shoves you down the multiple sets of stairs until you are thrown into a jail cell. It slams shut with a resounding ‘boom.’

“You can stay in the brig until the Captain gets back.” He says gruffly, and the blond man shrugs apologetically before waving and trotting back up the stairs. The trap door shuts, and you are plunged into darkness with a single candle lighting the room. 

Normally you’d be terrified, but not now. Not when your life depends on not being killed by pirates. 

So you reach into the pocket of your sleeping trousers and miraculously find a hairpin left by your younger sister. Her hair had always been long, and she commonly used pins to keep it out of her face. But, unfortunately, she also had a terrible habit of leaving them everywhere. 

She might have just saved your life. 

You had never picked a lock before, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it? You had read plenty of books about it in dashing chases and the like. But you found out very quickly that it was quite hard. 

But you weren’t one to give up, so you persevered. 

Eventually, the lock ‘clicked’ and swung open. The hinges squealed, but when no one came running, you crept from the cell and up the stairs. You made it almost entirely through the ship and into the hold before you heard footsteps. 

Ducking behind some barrels of gunpowder, you peeked out between the barrels. You watched as an unfamiliar man made his way down the stairs. 

Golden blond hair, brilliant red eyes, a handsome face. Dressed in a crimson coat with a white shirt tucked into black trousers and boots.

Who was this man?

Was he the captain?

It was almost as if he could sense your staring because just as he was walking by the powder barrels, he abruptly stopped, crouched, and looked you directly in the eye. 

“Well, well, looks like our little prisoner escaped.” He said. His accent was beautiful. The soft British lilt almost making you relax. 

Almost. 

“How did you find me?” You whispered, eyeing the pistol on his belt. It glints in the candlelight that illuminates the hold. The man hums before reaching between the barrels to brush his fingers against your necklace that hung at the hollow of your throat. The silver medallion. It had been a gift from your older brother. You never took it off. 

Just as your sister had saved your life, your brother was your downfall. 

You weren’t taken off the ship. With the crew raising the anchor and setting sail before you had any chance to do anything. You were searched and thrown back in the brig until the man would “find something to do with you.” 

Part of you wondered if they were going to kill you. 

A full day passes before you see anyone again. 

The golden-haired pirate came down to your cell, a tray in hand with bread and a flask of water. It didn’t look like much. But after a day of not eating, you were starving. The pirate didn’t say a word as he slid the tray under the bars, and it slid across the wood until it bumped against your sitting form. 

You don’t touch it.

“Do you surrender?” He asks, leaning against a cane he had previously tucked under his arm. 

“Are you going to kill me if I do?” You say, voice cracking with misuse and dehydration. The man shrugs, 

“No. Now, governor’s child, what do you know about Lord Lucius Aldridge?” 

After you tell the man—who you learned is the famed pirate William James Moriarty—everything you know about Lord Aldridge, you are let out of the cell and allowed to come up on deck.

The open ocean is absolutely stunning. 

Your breath is taken away, and you rush to the ship’s rail and lean over as the wind carries the massive vessel through the waters, the boat's bow cutting through the open sea like a knife. 

“If you are done looking, I’d like to introduce you to the crew.” Came William’s voice, and you whip around, confusion coloring your features. 

“Are you not going to take me home?” 

He shakes his head. 

“You have valuable information on lords and ladies. We need that. And you are going to help us.” He replies, and before you can say a word, Moran butts in.

“What are they doing up here?!” He demands, and you can tell he still hasn’t let your first encounter go. But, of course, you probably wouldn’t either. 

“They are helping us take down Lord Aldridge,” William says simply, and you can see Moran clench his fists. You swallow. 

Should you sleep with a weapon under your pillow? 

Was he the type to kill over a grudge?

Soon, you are introduced to the crew. 

There’s Albert Moriarty, the quartermaster and second in command. He has a kind face, if not a bit stern-looking. He does what William asks without complaint. Which is a common theme amongst the rest of the ship members. His emerald green eyes bore into yours, but his handshake was not unkind. 

Then there’s Louis Moriarty. The boatswain, the man in charge of keeping the ship in tip-top condition. He watches you with scrutiny, his eyes a shade darker than William’s. 

You already knew Sebastian Moran, but you discover he’s the master gunman and in charge of the forty or so cannons aboard the ship. You are quickly introduced to the blond, who you figure out is nicknamed “Bonde.” He doesn’t say his role aboard the ship, but he’s kind nonetheless. 

“The name’s Bonde. James Bonde.” He says with a wink. 

Fred Porlock is the last to be introduced. He’s the navigator and map expert of the ship. He’s quiet and a bit shy. His fingers are littered with papercuts from handling maps and documents. 

“Welcome aboard the Nobleman’s Anchor,” William says with a grin that makes a shiver run down your spine.

Days turn to weeks, to months, until suddenly, you’ve been aboard and part of the Moriarty crew for nearly a year. 

And strangely enough, you don’t regret a moment of it. 

You learn all kinds of things. Moran teaches you Poker and Liar’s Dice. Fred teaches you how to read maps properly. Bonde teaches you how to shoot a gun. Louis and Albert both teach you how to keep up with ship maintenance. 

And then there’s William.

What about him?

Well… you found yourself having a crush on the pirate captain. 

Initially, you denied your feelings. Because, of course, you did. That would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? A captain and a crew member in a relationship.

Hah.

That was laughable. 

Until… it was almost like he loved you back. 

He taught you to steer the boat, his hand at your back and his other pointing to things like shoals, coral reefs, or whales breaching the water’s surface. 

His hand was warm on the small of your back, unexpectedly gentle as he leaned in close to speak in your ear. You always shivered when his lips would brush the rim of your ear. But it wasn’t in an uncomfortable way. And he knew that, his smile turning smug whenever you’d cough and move away. 

It seemed he fully took advantage of that because he started doing it more often. 

When you would sit together for meals, usually after everyone went to bed because you hated people watching you eat—but never minded when it came to him. 

When you would use old glass bottles as target practice, and he would correct your stance, hand always at your back and his head near your shoulder. 

And when it was just the two of you alone one night. You had volunteered to guide the ship through calm waters while everyone else slumbered below deck. Your eyes watched the stars and horizon, occasionally glancing at your compass and maps to make sure you would make it to port safely and on time. 

“Having fun?” Came William’s voice, and you jumped, turning slightly to where he was ascending the stairs toward the helm of the boat. He had shed his crimson coat, leaving him in his trousers and shirt. His boot buckles jangled with every step until he stood at your side and slightly behind. His hand comes up to rest at the small of your back. 

“Of course I am. Nothing like being alone on the open ocean. And in the middle of the night, no less.” You say, and he lets out a quiet laugh. The puff of air causes the telltale shiver to run down your back. You swallow thickly and take a step away. 

At least you try. His grip slips around your waist and pulls you close, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“Why do you move away?” He whispers, ignoring your previous comment, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“It’s inappropriate.” You try, and he chuckles again.

“When have you ever cared about what’s appropriate?” You shrug, jostling his chin, and he straightens, his hand leaving your waist. 

You almost regret making him move.

“Ever since you’re the captain, I’m just a lowly crew member.” You say, almost bitterly. You love him. You had long come to terms with it. You loved him so much it made your heart ache and thunder in your chest. 

Suddenly, William spins you around and looks you in the eyes. They’re dark crimson with an emotion you can’t quite define. 

“You are much more than a crew member.” He says seriously, and you let out a nervous laugh,

“I was just kidding.” You say. He raises an eyebrow, and eventually, you sigh. 

“It’s all I am. Really. I’ve not been much of a pirate. I’ve been on this boat for barely a year.” You continue, and he presses a finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up. 

“It’s enough for me to fall in love with you.”

Your brain stalls. Caput. Poof. 

In love?

William notices your confusion and lets out a deep sigh. 

“Surely you realized?” He says hopefully, and you have to think back on it before nodding.

“I suppose I just didn’t want to believe you’d actually love me.” You say timidly. He tilts his head as if to say, “really?” before leaning his forehead against yours. 

Then, he tilts his head and kisses you. 

He tastes like the vast open sea below you.

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Carve Out Some Time for the Cassowary

Famous for their bright colors and short tempers, cassowaries are a group of flightless birds in the genus Casuarius. There are three species: the Northern Cassowary (C. unappendiculatus) which is found in New Guinea; the Southern Cassowary (C. casuarius), native southern New Guinea and northern Australia; and the Dwarf Cassowary (C. bennetti), endemic to New Guinea and the surrounding islands. All three species prefer tropical forests, though they are known to venture into savannahs, wetlands, and suburban areas in search of food.

Cassowaries are mainly active at dawn and dusk, and spend the time in between in their nests-- large pads of vegetation built on the ground. They opportunistic omnivores; their primary source of food is fruit and fungi, but they will also eat insects, frogs, fish, birds, small mammals, and carrion when available. Much of the fruit they eat is swallowed whole, which makes cassowaries invaluable for spreading seeds throughout their range. Additionally, due to their large size, adult cassowaries have no natural predators, and will aggressively defend their young from predators like snakes, monitor lizards, birds of prey, and wild dogs. When startled this birds can run up to 50 kph (31 mph), or lash out with their powerful legs.

Members of the Casuarius genus are solitary, save for the reproductive season. This season runs from May to September, when fruit is most abundant. Males maintain and defend territories, and call to attract mates. These calls are extremely loud, and at one of the lowest frequencies of any known bird, at about 23 Hertz. When a female approaches, the male crouches and allows the female to inspect him. She may also chase him, typically into water where the two perform a ritualistic fight before she submits. After laying her eggs, the female will move on to another male’s territory.

The eggs are extremely large and bright green, and usually laid in clutches of four. The male alone tends these eggs, incubating them and maintaining the nest for 50-52 days. The chicks that emerge stay with him for an additional 8-9 months until they become independent. Individuals take up to three years to become fully mature, and the average lifespan of wild Casuarius is anywhere from 30 to 50 years.

Southern Cassowaries are the largest of the three species, at up to 1.8 m (5ft 11 in) tall and weighing 58 kg (130 lbs) on average. Females tend to be much larger than males, and the species is considered to be the largest in Asia and the 3rd largest in the world. The Dwarf Cassowary, as the name implies, is significantly smaller at only 1.5m (4ft 11in) tall and 26 kg (57 lbs) at maximum. Northern Cassowaries lie between the two extremes. While all three species have black bodies, the coloration of their heads and necks vary significantly. Both the Northern and Southern Cassowary species have wattles-- pouches of skin that dangle from the neck-- that can be red, gold, purple, or white, which contrasts sharply with their blue necks. The Dwarf Cassowary lacks a wattle, and has a darker blue neck. In addition, it has the smallest head crest, or casque,; the Southern Cassowary’s casque is blade-shaped, and larger than the Dwarf Cassowary’s. The Northern Cassowary’s casque is more flared, and the largest of the three species.

Conservation Status: The Dwarf and Northern Cassowary species are considered Near Threatened and Least Concern respectively by the IUCN, while the Southern Cassowary is classified as endangered. All three are threatened primarily by habitat loss.

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Steve Parish

Kevin Schafer

San Diego Zoo

[teenagecriminalmastermind]

blue blood, chapter 2 (an aemond targaryen x team black daughter fanfiction)

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chapter 1: prologue

chapter 2: the bells.

Daella Targaryen is in King’s Landing when the bells begin to ring. 

She was to depart for Dragonstone the morning after her siblings, the dinner party having caused an acrimonious end to their visit. Yet the following morning, as she makes her way to the Dragonpit, she hears the ringing of the bells, something she never has before but something whose significance she was made aware of. A royal death. More specifically, the passing of a regent. 

Viserys I is dead. 

The Keep seems to be abuzz with orders, nearly falling into chaos, and she hears rushed orders for a coronation. Coronation? Her mother is on Dragonstone. And then the pieces click, and a cold like the waters of the North washes over her, her face blanching. They intend to usurp her. Aegon Targaryen will be crowned King at the Red Keep, and they will usurp her mother. She has to do something. She must do something. She looks around for the Princess Rhaenys, asking staff and servants where the woman could possibly be. 

“In her chambers,” someone tells her, scurrying away before she can get any more information out of them. “They have put her under guard,” a woman tells her warily, looking around before she drops her voice to hushed tones, urgency in her words. “Princess, you must leave. They are keeping the Princess Rhaenys captive in her quarters. They do not want any interference with the coronation. Flee at once, before they find you and do the same.”

She nods, holding the woman’s hands fervently in her own as she thanks her for the warning. Daella pulls up the hood of her cloak, head down as she skulks down the corridors. She has to do something, anything to stop the Greens from stealing her mother’s birthright. Going to the Council chambers will be futile and put her in more danger. She cannot go find her aunt for the same reason. And then she has an idea, so reckless it would make her father proud and make her mother have a conniption.

She quietly makes her way past doors, looking for the one she suspects the King’s body may be in. With the body she surmises will be the crown. And they cannot have a coronation without the crown. At least, not the Crown worn by the last reigning monarch. Several doors are ajar, and no one seems to be in them. She lies in wait for what seems like hours, waiting for the guard to leave what she guesses has to be the antechamber with the body. Sneaking in with the palace distracted helps, and she hastily pulls the crown into the pouch that lies beside the wrapped body, a pang of regret in her heart as she looks at what was the former King. 

It was never supposed to be this way. He was supposed to see her mother be crowned, his daughter the rightful Heir and Queen to the Seven Kingdoms. Instead, chaos and war has fomented in his wake, and she must make haste. 

She has to leave. Leave, before anyone realizes what has happened. 

She makes her way out of the room with slow, quiet measured steps, keeping the pace as she makes her way into a corridor used only by the staff of the castle, taking off running as Daella clutches her hood in one hand and the pouch in another, racing to the Dragonpit. She shoves the crown between her riding leathers and her riding armor as she quickly gets to Baelon, soothingly patting his snout as she gets the dragon to slowly walk out before they take flight. The enormity of her actions are dawning as she hits the sky. 

Daella has just stolen the Crown of Jaehaerys, in the middle of a coup. 

She cannot directly go to Dragonstone, because they will immediately come looking there. No, she has to go and deliver warnings to some of the loyal vassals first. She sends a raven home the moment she arrives at Duskendale, letting them know of her safety and the ongoing usurpation in King’s Landing. She is aware that Duskendale are loyal to the crown, and to the sworn heirs, and well she will be gone before the Greens get word of her presence in the first place.

Once her parents are informed, she quickly goes to the castle’ Great Hall, greeted by Lord and Lady Darklyn. “Princess Daella,” Lady Darklyn greets her. “What brings you here?” She looks around for a royal guard, the absence of whom seems to perturb the older woman. 

“My Lord, My Lady,” she bows in respect to them before quickly turning and looking around. “May I have a word? In private? It is rather urgent.” Lord Darklyn’s brows furrow as he nods, ushering her to a room by the side, guards posted outside the door. 

“What is it, Princess?” Meredith Darklyn says in a tone that seems to be trying to convey calm but she is understandably unsettled, eyes trained on Daella. 

“My Lady, my mother, the Princess Rhaenyra, has been usurped.” She continues, taking a deep breath. “The Greens have ordered that the Late King’s second child Aegon Targaryen be crowned in place of my mother, who is the rightful heir to the Throne. I come here to warn you to be on guard and to have you reaffirm your loyalty to the sworn and rightful Heir.” For a long moment her heart sits in her throat, wondering if she should be worried for her safety, her hand itching towards the hilt of her sword. And then Gunthor Darklyn looks directly at her, hard eyes set, mouth a thin line. 

“Worry not, Princess. We are no oathbreakers,” he tells her. “We shall come to the aid of your mother Princess Rhaenyra. Long live the rightful Queen.”

She nods fervently, thanking them for their loyalty and their continued allegiance to the crown as she quickly departs. She does not have much time. She must get to the Stormlands, to House Baratheon and House Fell if she is to secure the support of the most powerful members of the area. They shall need the Stormlands as an outpost, for it is too close to Dragonstone to be lost as an ally. Baelon flies at a near breakneck pace, his black wings taking her to Storm’s End as fast as he can. She lands the dragon near a craggy outcropping, letting the beast hunt while she makes her way to Castle Felwood.

Lady Fell is understanding, grateful for Daella’s warning and ready to be on guard if the Greens make their way to that part of the Stormlands. 

She waits overnight at Castle Felwood, ensuring Baelon and her are both well-rested before they head to Storm’s End. Borros Baratheon should not be a difficult ally to win. His father Boremund was an ally to the Crown and cousin to Princess Rhaenys, but the rumors of Borros’ fickleness are not ones she can ignore or dispel from her mind. And when she gets to Storm’s End, all the confidence gained from the prior day dissipates with the storm that is brewing overhead as Vhagar’s silhouette looms in the distance. 

Aemond Targaryen is here.

Aemond is incensed at Lucerys’ audacity.

First, the boy had the gall to walk away from his crimes unpunished, and now has the pluck to show up here, message in hand, asking Borros Baratheon to ‘remember his oath’ as if the man is a mere hound to be whistled up for Rhaenyra’s whims. 

Aemond had been trotted out as the prize pony, “to show the lovely Baratheon girls what they shall win for their loyalty”, his drunk brother had proclaimed to his small council. He would do it, if it meant holding the realm together. “If I do as your mother bids... which one of my daughters will you wed... boy?”

Lucerys, to his credit, does not lie or swindle his way through this exchange, openly stating that he is already betrothed to another. Perhaps the boy has some integrity. More than his siblings and his mother, that is certain.

“So you come with empty hands. Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” Aemond is pleased with these words, but there is still one matter that needs attendance. “Wait,” Aemond calls out, “my lord Strong.” The boy turns back, confused. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”

Lucerys seems to be on guard, but still seemingly unaware of where this is exactly headed. Well, he shall find out soon enough. “I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine,” he announces. “One will serve. I will not blind you.” He just wants justice. He is not some sadist, no. Just a man looking for his pound of flesh. 

Lucerys, to none of Aemond’s surprise and all of his anger, denies his rather reasonable request. 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor,” he says coolly. He grabs the dagger, lunging at him with a snarl upon his lips. “Give me your eye or I will take it, bastard!” he roars, being barely restrained by the Baratheon guards. Borros gets to his feet, yelling for this skirmish to be stopped in its tracks, too keen a follower of guest rules. 

“Take Prince Lucerys to his dragon,” he orders, the boy escorted to safety. 

A man rushes over to the Stag, whispering something in his ear as he hands him a piece of parchment, and Aemond is on his way out, his mind set on getting his justice tonight when Baratheon calls out for him, stopping him in his tracks. “This message is for you, Prince Aemond.” His brows furrow, turning around as he slowly walks back. 

“Speak,” he orders the man, staring directly into his eyes. He hands him the paper, which Aemond unfurls as he reads the singular line penned in his mother’s handwriting, his anger slowly breaking through the glacier it has been contained under. The fire of his rage threatens to consume him as he reads it over and over again, hands shaking as he crushes the sheet in his fist. 

Daella stole Jaehaerys’ crown.  

That impertinent girl. That impertinent, audacious bastard thief of a girl. How any of the castle guards even let her out of her room, let alone let that little witch skulk around the castle and get her hands on the crown is beyond his understanding. As if her little innocent facade was something no one else but he was able to see past.

How long would it take for people to learn that Daemon Targaryen’s daughter was just as conniving and underhanded as her blasted father? 

His feet take him to Vhagar at a hurried pace, his body moving of its own accord as the anger threatens to consume him whole. Lucerys and his dragon are gone, but he sees the girl and her black dragon aloft in the sky, making their way away from the island, and his restraint snaps. 

“Vhagar, sōvēs!” He roars as he mounts the dragon, the beast slowly and decidedly taking flight as the dragon swoops ahead, the latter’s shadow looming over Storm’s End like an omen. It does not take long for the beast to catch up to the smaller dragon, wings flapping ominously as it lurches further, her jaws snapping. 

No matter how hard she may try, he will catch up to Daella Targaryen, and he will retrieve what she has stolen. “Come down, my lady,” he tries to keep his voice level as he calls out, “and hand over what you took, else I shall force you down myself.” And he will do it. That girl, in her endless audacity, replies over the storm, her voice carrying through the thunder and the rain. 

“I suppose I shall simply keep going.” 

He shakes his head, knuckles tightening around his saddle as he looks ahead, the weather echoing his increasingly volatile bad mood. “Then you shall suffer the consequences of your choices,” he gives her one final reminder. She only decides to speed up further, and he keeps following, the game of cat and mouse now giving him a different form of exhilaration. “Baelon is a fine beast, my lady, but he is no match for Vhagar.” 

“Vhagar is old,” she responds. 

“And she will still devour Baelon for breakfast,” he responds. “Come down, or be forced down.” The thunder rolls and flashes ominously, neither party getting the upper hand in this weather at the present moment. “You will come down, ” Aemond orders, “or you will face mine and Vhagar’s wrath. Give back what was never yours, and I shall take it back to its rightful home.” 

“The crown was never yours to begin with,” she yells back. Oh, this girl. 

“It was stolen,” he says, his voice losing any patience and kindness it had before. “You are a thief, and you stole from me and the Realm, and now you will suffer your actions!” he roars. 

And then, that impertinent girl turns around and laughs. 

[blueberrypancakesworld]

My side was always by yours

warning : hurt/comfort, fluff, kiss, dysfunctional family, use of weapons, angst

info : Oh another one-shot for a picture that inspired me very much THIS. Be sure to check out the blog @prideprejudce very good stuff and thanks for letting me write something about your work have fun reading and I hope you like it too :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

The torches didn't seem to twitch or dance for a moment. They cast no shadow for the highborn on the side of the royal family. The green ones.

The widow queen's heart hammered in her chest, her fingers clutching the chair at the head of the table, ,,We can't just do the demise of Rhaenyra…we'd be kingslayer" her words of resistance from her true inner Alicent who wanted nothing more than to turn back time before Viserys with her, but it was the words that filled her with fear, fear of her own family.

Her father's dark eyes, his look that always said more than his actions towards her, full of hatred, no disappointment, no his daughter could not disappoint him any more. She had disappointed him the moment she loved Rhaenyras herself, her heart and her whole being.

,,How did you think you could get blood on the throne, daughter?" Otto asked, sitting down and gripping the edge of the table a little tighter, letting her know that his patience was wearing thin with her preferences, her nature, her appearance. She had disappointed him enough.

,,Certainly not me," she heard the murmur of her first son's storm gray blue eyes, the mocking smile on his face, his family and yet the hint of pain. The pain that he had to fight, not for himself, no, Alicent Aegon had given up long after she and her father had ruined him.

No, Aegon was fighting for his own family…his children. She opened her dry lips as if the wine hadn't lit them but her real light Aemond gave her a look that almost made her flinch. It was the same reluctance as with Viserys, with Otto, with Aegon, with Criston, they all rejected the resistance of their queen.

She had power, she should be able to end everything and yet she was powerless in the face of her family who now sat before her. His sapphire flashed and the smirk made him give in to Lary's fearlessness and cruelty for a moment. ,,Mother, it is Aegon's and my birthright since time immemorial through the male bloodline," her own son told her and tradition and laws as if she were a stupid girl reading books she didn't understand.

Apathetically she nodded apathetically she smiled weakly and seemed only to perceive the fire of the torches. Dragons…her dragon…her Rhaenyra. ,,Rhaenyra…I will take care of the Widow Queen…it is my duty to bring the right blood to the throne," she said the words looking around with a confident look Aegon didn't care, Aemond seemed relieved and her father was relieved. But all just for a while.

Her shoes stopped in the corridors again as she hurried to her daughter in the light of the moon after a few hours of discussion. She felt strange, the dagger in her hand familiar and yet strange at the same time.

Hidden in the sleeve of her dress along with the small coin pouch, enough for a ship without questions. But the former queen felt strange. She was no longer a young girl running through the corridors with Rhaenyra and lcte, the steel on her back was not the admiration of Syrax's bridle that her beloved Rhaenyra had shown her.

Her own body no longer the same older with healed wounds and stretch marks from her own children. Only her heart was the same heart that still beat for Rhaenyra. But now this played a role in her heart beating with fear as she opened the door to her daughter.

Scurrying in, she held a hand over her mouth to stifle a startled gasp. Helaeana stood in front of her mother, already dressed, with her two twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera sleeping on the bed.

,,We're going to see my half-sister Rhaenyra, aren't we mother?" the queen asked her lovely daughter, the dreamer of the family and the female image of Viserys, the man Alicent had never forgiven for not helping his daughter in this gift.

The mother touched her Helaena's hand, which she held out just for a moment to know she was there, ,,I am proud of you, my daughter," she murmured, and though there was no smile on the Targayren's lips, the look of approval was all Alicent needed to know.

She had always been on her mother's side, as much as she loved her own children, Aegon would never have been more than likely just a sibling.

Aegon too overwhelmed and Helaena too uninterested in a man who was shaming her, there were a thousand reasons why it wouldn't have worked out and yet here they were. Helaena had always been on the receiving end of the woman, her mother, the person who had touched her first. But the queen, like her mother, wasted no time in letting her tie Jaehaera on her back with cloths and Jaehaerys in front of her chest.

The third child to be born in a few moons was visible through the slightly bulging belly and would be born in the halls of his ancestors if all went well, she hoped. Shifting the small bag of clothes, insects and toys, the two women exchanged a final glance before Alicent clasped her daughter's hand and took her with her through the corridors.

,,We just have to make it through the gates to the castle," the brown-haired woman whispered, wanting to take the stairs to the entrance where there were fewer guards but Helaena paused, she knew how to get out and here it had been months and a few years since their marriage…Aegon had always snuck out through the corridor.

,,I know where to go mother and not to the harbor" the queen replied seeing the fear in her mother's eyes of not coming out and not coming to the seventh she had stood for all those years.

Nodding it was now the queen who led her mother past the guards making noises for distraction and waiting in the shadows all this while her children slept quietly but just like their mother they had become a quiet barely noticeable child.

Sneaking into the room of the first princess of the realm, Helaena went in search of the shadows while the older one swallowed. She hadn't been here for a long time, not with her. Everything looked as it had after her departure, yet empty and soulless.

It must still be here, it flashed through her mind and she began to search while Helaena had found the entrance and was already waiting there. She hugged her mother but hadn't seen similar images in her dreams of decisions of fire and hope it was the right thing to do.

Alicent had a brief look of victory when she found the old page from the historical book in the closet, hidden but easily visible. ,,We can," she said, hurrying to her daughter and following her down the dark stairs through the corridors into pitch darkness that made it easier for them.

,,You know these corridors?" she ventured after a few minutes of darkness and she herself had little idea, only suspicions, but not only the thought that Rhaenyra had passed through here more than ten years ago, but also Ageon, who had sneaked out and was carrying his own wife, made her walk on with disappointment.

,,A little I've always heard Aegon grandfather and others," the queen replied and even though Alicent couldn't see anything she believed her daughter was looking at her trying to encourage her until they stepped out a few minutes later.

The moon shone in the sky and stars lit up the city where the royal family women were. ,,Where to go?" Alicent asked, still confused, not knowing where else to go besides the harbor or a few rivers that crossed the water. ,,The dragon pit, Mother Dreamfyre, is already waiting," Helaena replied with such ease that one might think she had planned the escape, but it made sense, they would be allowed in and there are no guards there, dragons don't need protection, they had themselves.

Alicent hadn't realized that she had smiled at her daughter, that she had almost called her Rhaenyra, that she felt like she had on the nightly flights over the city they had taken together.

Hurrying to the dragon pit it was easy to get in the few guards were hardly active and the guards for the creatures only sounded the alarm when the animals started to roar but they didn't do that.

They smelled the familiarity of the dreamer with her strong connection to Dreamfyre and the familiar former queen. ,,Are you sure child?" she asked anyway as she placed her hand on the warm neck of the dragoness looking at her with the help of her daughter.

She hadn't been this close to a dragon in years, no months, but there was still a slight fear inside her and yet she had to swallow it. ,,Climb up behind me and hold this bag tightly, the egg for Maelor," she only said and she felt the warmth of the bag for the first time but it was clear that the rune-born prince also had a right, ,,What about Morghul and Shrykos?" the widow queen asked and looked into the hollow of the smaller dragon of her grandchildren.

But Helaena just nodded and seemed to get Dreamfyre to move without words and the two younger dragons followed their mother, ,,They will cling to her when they are exhausted," the queen said before Dreamfyre ran faster and spread her wings, Alicent clung to her daughter and clutched the bag before she felt the cool air around her a few moments later and Dreamfyre carried her out into the air towards Dragonstone.

Quietly and quickly they flew over King's Landing towards the sea knowing that they would probably be missed at dawn if they weren't seen now. Please, gods, don't let my sons, soaked by my father's hatred, hunt for us, the queen prayed, clutching the bag tightly and letting her daughter know that they could fly even faster and understand the smaller, younger dragons.

It took a few hours to get to King's Landing, the night would soon be over and they could guess that as soon as the sun rose, King's Landing would wake up and they would be gone. ,,They didn't follow us, thank the gods," she murmured and saw her granddaughter's little wide eyes looking at her and her grandmother stroking her bright hair.

Helaena, who hadn't said a word, stroked her son's and daughter's hair before glancing behind her at her mother, ,,Dreamfyre protects us mother no matter what awaits us… my dreams never came," she confessed and seemed unsure of her intentions.

That her dreams didn't protect her, her dragoness had to do it. But Alicent again suppressed her exclamations of fear and gave her a nod, a sign that it would be all right. It had to be all right, but when the sky darkened and the other two dragons appeared, when their children appeared, Alicent didn't know if they would make it to the ground alive.

But it didn't matter anymore when they saw the big old castle with the dragon decorations a fortress like Dragonstone only existed once and none of them had been here…but no Dreamfyre had been here half a century ago the dragoness knew what to, at least they hoped so. But it was enough to have hope because when Dreamfyre landed on the stone small docking area of the ship the stone became the bridge that led to the castle.

When the dragoness had landed and everyone had dismounted, Helaena also lowered her children and took their small hands in one of hers, ,,The castle of our ancestors," she said, looking with fascination at the old building while her dragoness almost let out a cheerful noise.

But Alicent felt nervous they were here, but just because they were here didn't mean they would be protected, that they would get out alive at all.

Moving first, Helaena beside her and the children behind them, the three dragons either flew slowly above them or made slight dents in the stone with their claws as the lizard-like creatures followed them.

The closer they got the faster her heart beat but even if it was nervousness it was also the feeling of freedom…freedom to make her own decision to do the right thing and follow her love.

But it wasn't another minute before they were halfway across the bridge when a screech rang out, ,,Daemon," she spoke his name with fear as she saw the red dragon coming over the hill and Daemon blocking the bridge with the gold guard, ,,Whore queen and leech dreamer with her deformed children I didn't expect you to die so quickly". Amused at his own words, she saw the smile on his lips and his men behind him seemed to follow his every command.

He was dangerous, dangerous like her Aemond his counterpart and yet she would not underestimate him he had never liked her not since she had the heart of his only love…something only they both seemed to know.

Dreamfyre let out her own scream that was echoed by her child dragons. A warning Caraxes observed he didn't like that there were now three dragons even if the little ones weren't a problem for him…but this bond between Heleana and Dreamfyre seemed to worry him. ,,We didn't come here to fight Daemon, I want to talk to Rhaenyra…I want to talk to the true queen," she countered and stood protectively in front of her family while Dreamfyre spread her wings as Daemon gave the command to draw the swords.

A feeble lie even for you green leeches" he hissed in disgust and she feared that even Dreamfyre could not fend them all off ,,We would have come differently if we wanted war" she tried again but her own hand was up her sleeve clutching the dagger advising her to protect the last thing she still wanted to love.

She could see in the violet eyes of the Prince Consort that he was thinking, but he seemed to suspect a trap, ,,Cunt King, come out with your cripple brother! Show yourselves and I won't have to feed your mother to my dragon!" he shouted, looking around in the sky to the sides, waiting for the cry of a dragon, the horn calling for battle but nothing came. ,,My mother the Dowager Queen speaks the truth, Uncle Daemon," Helaena tried this time, holding her children with her and seeming to defend everything this cruel world had given her.

He laughed, the prince laughed in amusement that his niece spoke, ,,Well said dreamer but you expect me to believe that then your death will be swift after all" he replied pointing his own sword at the small group and Caraxes cried out seeming to rise with a flap of his wings and Dreamfyre shot into the sky to defend her rider.

,,No! Gods darn it I beg you trust me for once!" screamed Alicent pulling the dagger out of her sleeve and pushing Helaena behind her pushing Jaehaery and Jahaera towards her the two young dragons stood in front of Helaena to protect their own riders.

Screams and roars could be heard as the two dragons circled each other in the sky, just waiting for the first strike. It was in vain she has forgotten me she will not come to save me her thoughts whirled around the dagger in her hand cold and ready to serve Dreamfyre ready to fight and Daemon with sword raised ready to kill.

Had she misjudged her love? Had she misjudged everything? Was she perhaps really only to be used as her father's stupid chess piece? Was she ever good enough to be a queen or a mother?

Gold. Gold had become her color. Gold like her dragon, gold like the crown of Jahaery on her silvery head, gold that was reflected in her violet eyes. Gold like the color she used to be before she put on the black and red. It was gold that shot out of the sun with her own dragon and landed between the two people with a scream that brought Dreamyfre and Caraxes to land.

,,What's going on here without my command!" the queen exclaimed, dismounting from Syrax and landing on Daemon's side, who immediately put his sword down and tucked it away with another warning look. ,,We have a visit from your old friend with her leech children and dragons," the prince consort said and ordered his men to retreat a little while Caraxes made his way back up the hill and Dreamfyre came to her at Helaena's command.

,,Queen Helaena, what are you doing here with the Dowager Queen?" Rhaenyra asked and approached the small group, her violet eyes showing caution, knowing that if it was a trap more would have happened long ago.

Alicent sensed the disappointment and sadness that Rhaenyra hadn't spurred her on but she lowered her dagger knowing the hurt she had caused her…a mistake she would never want to make again.

But Helaena shook her head slightly and reached into her pocket to retrieve the item, ,,My mother's and your mother's crown sister Rhaenyra I don't want such a thing…I have my own treasure here" one sister said to another with a gentle smile and looked to her children, her mother and her dragoness before handing the crown to Alicent. Once again, it seemed to be just the two of them.

Alicent with Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra with Alicent. The crown felt wrong in her hands and even though she was actually queen, she wanted to be, maybe once when the hand of Rhaenyra was her queen consort, but now she could only beg for forgiveness, couldn't she?

,,And what are you thinking of doing, showing up here with your daughter and grandchildren's dragons to make an offer?" Rhaenyra asked, but not with judgment like her husband, no, she slowly approached her former lover and placed her hand on the crown, both of them touching the same steel that had and still did distinguish her.

Alicent felt the burning in her chest in her heart as she was so close to her again. It felt good. It was right. It was like she was making a right decision for the first time as she curtseyed and handed over the crown to the true queen, placing her hands on the queen's and holding them.

,,It is forgiveness that I ask for, forgiveness for my use by my father that has contributed to this grievance. I ask for forgiveness that my heart only now truly realizes that I have listened to one side all these years," she began and her dark eyes finally looked back into those violet fleshly eyes of her dragoness once more with a hopeful expectation that she would say the right thing.

,,Which side would that be Alicent?" Rhaenyra asked now, looking at her sister and niece and nephew for a moment before looking at the crown, the discarded dagger and into the dark beauty of her Alicent. ,,My side has always been with you...my beloved Queen Rhaenyra" she finally spoke the words and the clink of metal could be heard as the crown fell to the dagger and the Targayren after decades of emptiness in her heart could finally embrace the woman the former girl she loved knowing that something had been reawakened in both their hearts.

That they finally had each other again, that they had not lost everything, that despite the blood, deaths and tears they had someone who had been with them from the beginning. That they had love.

It was on that day that the Widow Queen Alicent Hightower and her daughter and grandchildren stayed on Dragonstone by the side of the person they had always stood for. As Helaena and her children surrounded themselves with the princes and princesses of the realm, the smiles on their lips were visible and the relief of the young people was noticeable.

It was on that night that Alicent went to Rhaenyra she was called that night when the blood touched her skin as the ceremony was performed just the two of them under the moonlight of the gods and dragons performed the rite of marriage. ,,You are forever bound to the blood in my heart as my wife and my queen consort," Rhaenyra murmured, her fingers gently brushing the blood on the older woman's face as she smiled and yet looked slightly expectantly into the violet eyes.

Before they put their foreheads together they looked at each other smiles of joy reflected as Alicent returned the words, ,,You are forever bound to the blood in my heart as my wife and my queen" when their lips finally met and they finally kissed.

It was a night not only of physical desires, full of emotions, full of tears, full of fear, full of joy, full of anger at the past, it was a night that felt like they were young women again just for a beautiful moment.

It was a night in which Alicent vowed to give herself up with everything she could and help her beloved to end what she was partly to blame for, for which they all had a debt. She had put the red dress on her body barely a day after their union and it was a color she loved, a color she was familiar with, a color that heralded the beginning of the crusade when a black raven came.

A blood red drenched the sky her own tears came and she held Rhaenyra at night when they knew war was coming.

With the death of Lucerys, an innocent boy who, even though he had scarred her Aemond, should not have died, no one should have died. ,,I will stay with you I will not leave you Rhaenyra no matter what happens" she reassured her queen over and over as she held her and helped her as best she could with the birth of Visenya.

She struggled to hold back her own tears as her arms held her wife, leaving kisses on her and praising her. ,,I'll take care of your father, Jace," Alicent sniffled, pressing one last kiss to Rhaenyra's head before walking with Jace to the prince.

The rouge prince was as charged with emotion as she was, as Rhaenyra was, as everyone here on Dragonstone was. But she didn't back away, she had kept her oath to Rhaenyra for the first time. The voices of the two rose through the rooms and hallways as they argued about the queen, the children and the war plan.

She stood behind Rhaenyra's plans, while at the same time she betrayed her own children. His hand became more and more visible on his sword and in the worst case she feared being killed by him here and now over emotions.

Yet Daemon actually withdrew when Jace, Helaena, Joffrey and his own daughters stood by Alicent. A devotion she had never experienced, not from her own children, and never thought she deserved. ,,He's blind with rage, we know you mean well for Mother, Alicent, thank you," the young prince thanked her, and even though she could see how upset he was, not only his cousins helped him, but Heleana and the two little ones did their best as well.

When the dowager queen went back to Rhaenyra the blood on her red dress was not noticeable it didn't matter that red was now her new color and she knew how dejected her beloved seemed to be she would do anything to protect her, herself, the children and everyone.

,,Alicent…I need you I can't take any more," the queen murmured, still holding her dead daughter in her arms as the brown-haired girl sat down with a blanket, ,,I won't leave you it's all right rest I'll stay with you Rhaenyra," she told her, letting Rhaenyra snuggle up to her, stroking her hand gently and singing a lullaby in a slightly broken voice until the queen had fallen asleep in her arms.

No matter what, she knew she had chosen her place, they had all chosen their sides and finally she was in the place she always wanted to be. With Rhaenyra in her heart side by side even through the flames of the cruel war she would not give way. She would stand up for her love until the end of the Dance of the Dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[goosewriting]

“Have we met?” - Part 2

summary: Fives keeps finding himself coming to see reader, so they decide to confront him. 

relationship: Fives x gn!reader

warnings: hmmm angst :^), mentions of characters’ deaths, implied brainwashing?, comfort at the end

word count: 1.7k

A/N: i'll do everything in my power to bring this man back time and time again >:')

prompts used (source): - it hurts me, just how much i ache for you - i feel your absence in everything that i do alone, in every place i go without you

Navigation: Part 1 | Part 2 (you're here!)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

→ PART 2: When you came back to him

Several days go by without you and Fives interacting much. He’s mostly focussing on his missions, and you’re focused on your work as well, trying to distract yourself from the pain of being away from your beloved by taking shift after shift. The nights are long and cold for you, and you can barely sleep. You wonder if he feels the same at all.

One evening, a ship comes back in such a bad state, they call all hands on deck to repair it. So you go down to the hangar to work on turning whatever is salvageable from the wreck back into a working part. After taking one last sip of your caf (it was going to be a long night), you set the cup away and crawl under a panel, looking at the messy wiring. It isn’t long until you hear some steps approaching and stopping beside you.

You climb out from under the ship and see none other than Fives, just standing there, helmet tucked under one of his arms. He looks unsure and kind of tense. You lean onto the ship’s frame.

“Hey, handsome,” you greet him with your usual pet name. 

“Hi,” is all he replies. You rise your brows at him, asking for him to continue, but he doesn’t. For a moment, all you two hear is the sounds of machinery and indistinct chatter of the hangar. 

“So,” you stretch out the word. “What brings you here this fine evening?” 

“I’m… honestly not entirely sure myself,” Fives responds, looking around as if he only now realised where he was without knowing how he got here. Then he heaves a sigh. “I found this in my last mission and had the sudden urge to bring it back for you, for some reason.”

He digs around in one of the pouches on his belt with his free hand and takes out a little rock. Offering it to you, he holds out his open palm, and you almost burst into tears right then and there. Back when you started dating, you had jokingly told Fives that on his next mission he should bring back a souvenir for you. And since then, he’d always do that, bringing you rocks or trinkets he found. Once he actually gave you one of his old armour parts, a shoulder pauldron, that got absolutely obliterated in an explosion because he hadn't had the time to get you anything better. You kept it anyway, because it was a reminder to both of you that even after going out there and risking his life, you were here waiting for him to come back to you.

And he had, every single time. Except that this time, he came back, just not to you.

Seeing that you're just staring at the rock in his hand, Fives clears his throat.

“You know what, nevermind,” he mumbles, about to put the rock back into his pouch. “It was silly anyway.”

“No, wait,” you stop him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to space out. I’ll take the rock.”

You take it into your hand to inspect it, turning it around in your fingers against the light. One half is of a brick red, while the other partially transparent, of a milky blue with specks of green and gold. It looks a bit like a galaxy, and the thought brings a smile to your face. Clutching the rock in your fist, you bring it to your chest and look up at Fives with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you,” you say, tilting your head to the side slightly. “It’s been a while since you brought me one of this colour.”

“Right…”, he says and starts studying your face, but then his hand shoots up to his head as he takes a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Are you okay?” You reach out to him, but he takes a step back.

“I-I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to calm his pained breaths. “Sorry to interrupt you while you’re working. I better get back.”

“See you around, I hope?” you ask, hugging yourself.

He leaves with a nod, but you could have sworn you heard him say “me too” under his breath.

This goes on for a couple of rotations; Fives suddenly appearing at your workstation in the hangar looking like he’s lost, or entering your workshop only to come to a sudden halt, as if he forgot why he’s there right after passing the door. Often he'd have a little trinket for you. Other times he’d just come by to say hi. But every time you try to bring up something from your past together, his head starts hurting and he leaves.

At some point, you decide you've waited long enough. You'd get nowhere by just waiting. After all, he was coming to see you. Even if he didn’t know why himself. So now it’s time to go to him instead. You've wooed him once, surely you can do it again… right?

On a particularly frustrating day at work, after trying to design a new electrical panel for a ship and not being able to make it work after what felt like a hundred tries, you decide you need to get out and move a bit to clear your mind. You’re still grumbling and thinking about the panel, turning it over and over in your mind’s eye, trying to find the problem. All the while, your legs are walking on their own, and it’s not too long before you find yourself at the barracks of the 501st. 

Standing in front of the door, you sigh, thinking back to how many times you had sneaked in and out of here. Officially, clones weren’t allowed to have romantic relationships, but you knew there were actually a handful on this ship. And everyone who was in on it kept the secret. The 501st was well aware of your relationship with Fives, and they had always been supportive, Rex included. You’re sure the Generals also suspected something, but they never said anything, for which you were thankful.

Unsure of what you even wanted to do here in the first place, you’re about to turn around and leave when the door suddenly slides open and you’re met with Fives, sans armour. He’s only wearing his blacks, a bag hanging from his shoulders; he’s going to the gym. 

“Oh, hi there,” he greets you with a small smile. “Were you looking for someone?”

Screw it, you think.

“Actually, yes. You,” you answer and gesture towards his bag. “Leave it, we need to talk.”

— — —

Entering to your room, you sit down on your bed, and Fives sits down on a chair next to it.

“I’ve been wondering for a while now,” you start, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “Do you remember what happened on Ringo Vinda?”

The question takes Fives by surprise, but he makes an effort to try and think back to those events. He tells you what he knows, from the start of the mission to seeing Tup shoot General Tiplar, his memories ending when the Kaminoans put him under for a routine check-up.

“I had this recurring nightmare for several days after I came back,” Fives ends his retelling with a frown. “I kept seeing Tup on Kamino, in the room next to mine. He was dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” 

You reach out to hold his hand, but as his head starts spinning again, he retracts his hand from yours at first. But this time, he reaches back for your hand with a groan, and brings it to his face so you cup his cheek. 

“Every time when I’m with you, it hurts,” Fives speaks in a whisper. “My head is screaming at me to get away from you. And at the same time, it hurts me, just how much I ache for you.”

He tightly closes his eyes to refrain from crying, but the tears are already rolling down his cheeks. You feel incredibly helpless.

“Why can’t I remember who you are?” he asks, his voice breaking, just like your heart. “I don’t remember seeing your face or hearing your voice before, yet I feel your absence in everything that I do alone, in every place I go without you… I find myself looking for you wherever I go.”

By now, you can’t hold it back any more and take both his hands, pulling him to sit beside you on the bed, and hug him. This time he hugs back, and he's shaking. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, Fives, but it’s okay,” you say into his shoulder, gently stroking up and down his back. “You’re back here with me. We’ll be fine.”

By the way he’s shaking, you can tell he’s trying to choke back a sob.

“It’s just you and me, sweetheart, just let it out.”

Fives starts crying properly, holding onto you for dear life, his face buried between your neck and your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Fives,” you say, your own tears staining his blacks. “I wish I knew what to do. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he breathes as he pulls back slightly to look at you, and for the first time since he came back to the Resolute, it feels like he’s finally properly looking at you like he used to; eyes filled with love and a little bit of mischief.

You lean in, your hands at the nape of his neck, and pull him in for a kiss. It's sweet, almost shy, like he's kissing you for the first time. He sighs into it and pulls you even closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Once you break for air, both of you panting, you lie down on the bed, pulling him down with you so he’s on top of you, and you hold his head to your chest. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Fives asks, and you can’t help the light chuckle that escapes you.

“Of course.” 

You spend the next minutes in silence, just basking in each other’s presence.

“Will you tell me about us?” he asks after some time. “How we met, and how I definitely charmed you?”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair.

“Sure thing, I’ll tell you everything.”

~~~~~

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[mickittotheman]

19 for the prompt game

FINALLY had time to write something for this. Hope you enjoy dear anon!

19. ...for luck

“What the fuck is all this shit?”

Ian looks up, meets Mickey’s incredulous expression with a blinding grin. “Mick! You’re home early.”

“No shit.” Mickey cocks his eyebrows higher and kicks his boots off, kicking them haphazardly towards the general direction of the closet. Normally Ian would be nagging him for it, but right now his husband is too preoccupied digging through the overstuffed trash bag of clothes on the bed to even notice. “Packing your bags on me already, Gallagher?”

Ian shoots Mickey a deadpan glare. “Please,” he scoffs, “I would at least pack my shit in a duffle bag, not some flimsy trash bag.”

Mickey lifts a hand to flip him off. Ian reaches out to snag it and drag Mickey closer, reeling him in for a slow, sappy kiss. 

Ian pulls back far too soon. “Debbie is clearing out the attic at the house because Franny wants to build a fort up there.”

“Good fucking luck with that. Pretty sure raccoons already beat her to it.”

A strange look passes over Ian’s face. He shudders before visibly shaking away whatever weird fucking memory he has involving raccoons. Mickey knows better than to ask. “Point is, she’s trying to get rid of some of the shit up there. Look! These are all the old clothes I grew out of,” he rifles through the bag again, occasionally pulling out random tees and flannels to present to Mickey. “Well, clothes Lip and I and Carl grew out of. Liam wasn’t too interested in any of these. You know how he is.”

“Least the kid has a sense of fucking style. Is this a fucking Captian America t-shirt?”

Ian glowers and snatches it out of Mickey’s hand. “Shut up. Comic books are cool,” he grumbles, and his ears just the slightest bit pink but the gleam in his eyes is pure happiness. 

Fucking dork. 

Mickey’s plans to mock him further are derailed when he catches sight of a familiar shade of blue. He reaches out. Picks it up. Shakes it out.

It’s funny, how fucking tiny it looks now, when back then Ian was practically fucking swimming in it.

“Oh, no way!”

Mickey’s breath catches, his cheeks heating up at being caught acting like a major fucking sap, but when his gaze darts up Ian is looking at a shirt that’s a truly offensive shade of green.

“I bet this can still fit,” Ian mutters, already tugging it on. “Yes!”

The seams on the thing look about ready to rip, the fabric straining around Ian’s muscles, around the little bitty belly pouch he’s been building up. 

In any other shirt, he would look hot as fuck. But in this…

“What the fuck is that?”

Ian beams at Mickey, then down at the shirt hugging his pecs, then up at Mickey again. “What? It’s funny!”

Mickey’s face conveys his disagreement far better than any words ever could. 

His gaze flits down to Ian’s chest again. To the garish green and the bold blocky letters spelling out ‘kiss me, i’m irish’. 

“The fuck does that even mean? Why would anyone wanna kiss an Irish person?”

“Ay, fuck you!” Ian laughs. “Besides, it’s supposed to be like, lucky or something. I think.”

Mickey raises a skeptical brow. “You? You’re about the unluckiest fucker I’ve ever met. You and the rest of your siblings.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Ian goes to playfully shove at Mickey. Stops with his hands still on Mickey’s pecs, eyes finally catching sight of the blue flannel Mickey’s got clutched against his chest.

“What’s that?”

“Nothin’.” Mickey scowls, feeling his face flare tomato fucking red. He clenches his fingers around the fabrics even tighter. Ian squints at him suspiciously.

“Mickey,” he goads. “C’mon, babe. What is it?”

Mickey huffs.

Ian shifts his fingers down to twist his nipples through his shirt. It's a concerningly effective interrogation method.

“Fucking ow!” Mickey batts Ian’s hands away. Throws the stupid fucking flannel at him. “Jesus christ! I just fucking remember that one, or whatever.”

“This one?” Ian asks, inspecting the shirt closely, like there’s a mystery woven in the worn threads. “Why? I barely even remember it. I don’t think I wore it more often than any of my other shirts.”

Mickey looks at it again. Feels his lips tug up despite himself. Swipes at his nose. 

What the fuck ever. Not like Ian doesn't already know that Mickey’s a fucking sap.

“It’s uh. It’s the one you were wearing when you barged into my room with a fucking tire iron and a death wish.”

Ian blinks at him. Blinks at the shirt. “You remember that? Down to what I was wearing?”

“‘Course,” Mickey scoffs, like it's nothing. Like it isn’t everything.

Ian melts. Goes all goey and goopy and sticky sweet like maple syrup. “Mickey.” He drops the shirt onto the bed. Cups Mickey’s face in his big hands, pulls him in close, smushes his nose against Mickey’s hair and fucking sniffs. 

Mickey melts a bit too. Just a little. 

“Y’know, for being the unluckiest fucker you’ve ever met, I sure am feeling pretty fucking lucky right about now.”

Mickey flushes again. Rolls his eyes. Shoves him away. “Shut up.”

“What? You saying you don’t feel lucky?”

“Right now? Not even a little bit,” he grumbles, and Ian’s grin stretches infinitely wider. 

“Hmm. Maybe you oughta kiss me. Maybe some of my luck will rub off on ya.”

Mickey snorts. Giving into Ian’s tugging hands, melts into him again, melts into a long, lingering kiss. “Rather have something else rub off on me instead.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips. Yanks them impossibly closer. “Well, look at that,” he murmurs, smearing the words against Mickey’s lips and teeth and tongue. “It’s your lucky day.”

send me a number~