#but delirium is a funny thing

[ughgoaway]

Snapshots

a/n; This is kind of half a blurb and half a fic?? Idk, it's just horny thoughts expanded tbh. now, this is NOT sanitary at all. PLEASE do not do this without thoroughly cleaning the shoe first. You are asking for a yeast infection and a UTI otherwise. But this is fiction, so let's all pretend he did a little sterilising beforehand! however, that's not hot to read, so im not gonna write it, but let's play pretend!! Thank you, ily <3

Content warnings; boot grinding, d-word, degradation, jealousy, bratty behaviour, dom matty, spit, swearing, and teasing. But I think thats it?? I'm so sorry if I'm missing some!

word count; 2.1k ish

(shout out to Kirke @nowshesdoingitallthetime for once again causing this. you are my fav little devil on my shoulder encouraging this behaviour...)

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*click* *click* *click*

“Okay and now look to the left!” You hear the photographer shout. matty turns his head exactly as she asks. But apparently, it's not quite right, judging by how she walks over to him and poses his body.

you can feel the jealousy in every fucking nerve when her fingers graze the edge of Matty's jaw, adjusting his head half a centimetre. The move was so small it was completely unnoticeable to anyone else, but what was noticeable was the sly smirk on the photographer's face as her fingers lingered on Matty’s skin.

Your boyfriend remains completely oblivious, as he has been all day. You, however, noticed it as soon as you walked in together. You weren't planning on coming to play jealous girlfriend, you were prepared to be silently supportive.

But when she spent 40 minutes trying different outfits on Matty and showering him with compliments, you knew something was up. 

You studied her every move from then on. The way she “adjusted” Matty’s hair after almost every take, running her fingers through every strand in a way that had Matty practically purring.

You look at the way she pulls at his clothes, untucking and tucking in his shirt multiple times. and you also watch her eyes dart down to his exposed stomach every. fucking. Time. You swear you can almost see the cogs turning in her head when she catches a flash of the rose tattoo on his hip.

Every joke he makes, she laughs just a little too hard. Matty is funny, but making a shitty pun is not worthy of doubling over and acting like you're at a standup show. Yet, every vaguely funny comment he makes has her cackling and wiping tears that are streaming down her cheeks.

So you were fuming. Partially at her, Matty had introduced you as his girlfriend at the start of the session. Which had earned him an unimpressed hum from her and you a petty wave. she didn't seem to take too much notice of that fact, though, judging by the way she's stroking his cheek right now.

But you're also pissed at Matty for playing right into her hand. 

You knew he was egotistical, but the way he was practically turned into a giggling schoolgirl over the shoot drove you insane. His attention whore actions usually make you laugh, probably because they're normally aimed at you. as soon as you start rambling about how much you love him, matty becomes a child star, immediately glowing at the praise.

But it's remarkably less entertaining when he's lapping up the attention of a woman who is practically getting on her knees in front of you.

And maybe you took it too far, walking over to him mid-conversation and grabbing his face, pressing your lips onto his harshly, you take advantage of the gasp that leaves his lips to press your tongue into his mouth, licking inside and moaning excessively loud.

Matty pulls you off once his logical brain overtakes his horny one, but you can still see he's slightly dazed when he goes back to chatting with the photographer. The haze in his eyes and the pink flush on his cheeks take a few minutes to fully fade, especially when your hand slides onto his thigh and grips his skin possessively. 

You hang off his arm for the rest of the break and move closer to the set when they start up again. Every adjustment she suggests you swoop in and make before she can, punctuating each one with a peck on Matty’s lips and a glare her way.

Matty knows what you're doing, and after you lingered a little too long on one kiss, he pulls you in with a hand around the base of your neck.

You feel his breath on your ear before he starts talking, “I know what you're doing. Behave.”

You don't listen to his demands. Why should you when he's been gagging for every piece of attention this stranger gives him? So you play it up even more, determined to beat this woman at her game.

whilst you might win that war, you certainly don't win the one waging with matty judging by his tense shoulders and rolling eyes.

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The ride home is full of tension, Matty's knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel, and the hand that usually lives on your thighs is firmly stuck on the gearstick.

You cant deny that the mix of his palpable anger now and how fucking good he looked at the photo shoot had riled you up. Every tick of his jaw makes your thighs tighten. And you swear you see a smile cross Matty's face as you cross and uncross your legs for the 20th time, desperate to relieve some pressure.

As soon as you get in the door, Matty is barking orders at you. 

“Follow me. And be quiet. You've done enough talking today.”  Any bratty behaviour left simmering inside you was gone. You trailed behind Matty silently, walking into the front room and starting to sit down on the sofa beside him.

“Nope, floor,” Matty says bluntly.

... no, he's joking. Surely.

“What?” you tilt your head at the man in front of you as you speak, assuming this is another one of his unfunny jokes (but you're sure the photographer would be fucking cackling at it.)

“You heard me, Don't play dumb now, baby. Kneel.” You don’t know whether it’s the intensity of his eyes or the assertiveness of his voice, but you do exactly as he asks. Sinking to your knees like you had done for him so many times before.

Your hands start to move to his fly instinctively, assuming you'd be apologising the only way you know how, letting Matty fuck your throat until you cant speak. But his hands smack yours away before you can even touch the denim of his jeans.

“Thats not gonna cut it today, baby. i need a proper apology this time.” Matty's foot slides between your legs, his boot sitting between your thighs as you hover just above it.

“I want you to grind on my boot, sweet girl. Put on a proper show for me, yeah?” Matty nods at you, and you don't even think before immediately nodding back, sinking down on his boot below you. in your mind, you know you should be scoffing at him and rolling your eyes, but your body moves without you telling it to.

You can already feel wetness pooling in your panties, throbbing at the idea of being so powerless under him. You gasp as soon as the cool leather of the boot touches your core, goosebumps blooming over your skin.

Your hips start rutting against the leather, sliding your hands around Matty's calf as you experimentally grind down on his shoe. Matty feels your fingers tighten around his leg as you clit brushes agaisnt the leather, the slight scratch of the boot making your head spin.

You rock your hips dumbly against Matty's shoe, arching your back when it brushes harshly over your bundle of nerves. Your ruby red nails dig into Matty’s leg through his jeans as you cling to him desperately.

One of your hands slides behind you so you can rock your hips even deeper on his boot, laying your palm flat the ground and canting your hips up desperately. Your thighs burn with every rock you make, but the burn in your core is stronger than anything else.

“thats it. now stick your tongue out, fuck. that's it angel,” Matty palms himself over his jeans as he stares down at you, groaning as he watches spit drip from your tongue and fall on the boot below, making every move you make slicker and more dizzying.

Matty looks pretty fucked out for someone who hasn't been touched, a thin sheen of sweat sits on his skin, his dick straining in his jeans as he watches you like a hawk. He studies your every movement like he is watching a cinematic masterpiece, taking in every move you make and committing it to memory. 

His jaw clenches as he fights every urge in his body to grab you by the hair and pull under him. Visions cross his mind of him jackhammering his hips inside you until you're screaming his name, watching the bluge in your stomach as he pumps fucking every inch of himself inside you. But he stays strong, keeping his eyes trained on you with every move you make.

“Thats it, shine my boots with your cunt. Good girl” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Matty drags out his words and pushes his boot up, the pressure against your clit making the world around you fall into a haze. 

A flush covers your cheeks and chest, and Matty smirks at how blissed out you look.

Fucking you dumb is something that will never fail to amaze him, watching a smart girl become a babbling mess because of him does wonders for his ever-growing ego. It's not like he needed the boost, but your brain melted out of your ears as soon as he starts talking to you like he owned you.

You can't help but squirm as you start moving closer towards the edge, the pressure building inside you slowly becoming too much. Whimpers and whines fall from your lips as your hips speed up, pleading with Matty to let you cum without saying it. Luckily, Matty has seen you fall apart under him enough times to know exactly what you're asking.

“You getting close, baby?” Matty smirks as he speaks, “‘course you are. Filthy girl wants to cum all over daddy's boots.” your jaw drops at the nickname, and you nod as best you can, whimpering with every circle of your hips. 

“Beg." he demands

"Tell me you're fucking sorry and beg to cum,” Matty's jaw drops when he sees tears start falling down your face, desperation filling your every nerve. Soon, you're sobbing and begging Matty for mercy, your hips bucking wildly.

“Please. I’m so- fuck- im so sorry, Daddy. Please let me cum, ill be so good, I promise. Just- ah! let me cum. Please.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you fight to hold in your orgasm, but every rut of your hips is making pushing you closer.

“So good for me, such a dirty slut. Okay, angel, cum for me.” As soon as the words leave Matty’s lips, your cumming, the rubber band inside you snapping.

White spots dance across your vision as you push even harder down on Matty’s boot, letting the tough leather push you through your orgasm with every circle of your hips. Your chest heaves, and your jaw shakes as your orgasm drags on, intense pleasure wracking your every nerve.

Your thighs grip tightly around his boot as you reach your peak, but soon enough they're going lax, your hips slowing down until you’re motionless sitting on Matty's shoe, panting wildly and fighting to catch your breath. His fingers move from his lap and grip your chin, forcing you to stare at him as he speaks.

“Don't leave a mess. clean it up for me baby, be a good girl.” Matty nods at his boot, looking at you expectantly with a sick smile covering his face.

You sink further down on the floor below you, ignoring the way the cold concrete scratches your knees as you slide. Dark brown eyes meet yours as you hold eye contact with Matty. staring up at his as you stick your tongue out, and start to lick the leather covered in your slick. An exaggerated moan falls from your lips at the taste, and Matty’s jaw drops as he watches your tongue lap at his shoe.

After a few more seconds of you swiping your tongue over the leather, Matty is dragging you into his lap, gripping your hips harshly as you settle on top of him. He can't help smirking as you hover over him. Your cheeks are pink as you stare at him. The same pretty pink covers your lips. undoubtedly from desperately bitting at them to try and dampen your needy whimpers.

“Don't be so selfish now, princess, give daddy a taste,” you smirk at Matty before gripping his jaw, watching in awe as his mouth drops open and his tongue falls out.

Power skitters up your spine as you lean forward and let a drop of spit fall from your bottom lip, watching it drip and fall onto your boyfriend's tongue. A grin immediately pulls at your lips when you hear the groan that is ripped from his chest. 

As soon as Matty tastes the mix of your slick and spit, he's dragging you deeper into his lap, forcing his tongue in your mouth to desperately lick every trace of your release from the inside of your mouth.

Needy hands grip each other's skin, groping every piece you can get your hands on. Eventually, Matty pulls away from your lips, his eyes dropping to watch a string of spit spread between you. His head falls back against the sofa behind him, staring at you in awe.

“I'm booking another photo shoot with her,” he teases, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in air to his lungs.

“The fuck you are.” You surge forward and capture his lips again, smiling as you feel his lips turn up as soon as your skin touches his. 

[sipsteainanxiety]

ik this has been brought up a lot but the fact that bakugou is so fcking nosey makes me laugh every time LOL

[beheadable]

Took me all the way until dinner to get to Lucas’ section, damn. Fingers kinda hurt I’m not used to this kind of gaming anymore

[zombienarc]

-

[pygmi-cygni]

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you're really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it's only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they're bleeding. stop with the 'i didn't even feel it' yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it's really gushin', other times it's a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it's slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain't that articulate. even if they're mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that's ur trope - or a secret, it's gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they're gonna feel fine. until....bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 106F (40.5C). no 'oh no his fever is 107F!! ahhh!" no his fever is 0F because he's fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it's a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

also - this post was not an invitation to share a bunch of enormously traumatic stories. stop messaging me things like 'related to ur last post' and then it's a really upsetting recount of an assault you experienced. this is a writing blog, not a medical newsletter. I'm muting the notifs because I don't like seeing it pop up in my feed - if you have a genuine writing question, please dm me, i'd love to hear it. thank you.

[lunar-wandering]

okay time to dump the silly "Macaque has chaos magic now" shenanigans instead of the angsty ones

it's just that whole entire "Macaque gets sick and starts accidentally making shadowportals that teleport people/things everywhere" scenario i posted about two years ago, except THIS TIME it's even WORSE cause now there's CHAOS MAGIC INVOLVED. full out like. Discord from MLP type bullshit.

idk why but the idea of Macaque like. accidentally setting off things with chaos magic and then trying to pretend it didn't happen is extremely funny to me.

the fact the staff is infected with chaos magic as well means Macaque is affected by it. okay i have sub-categories for this one; -Macaque cannot get a certain distance away from the staff -alternatively, he can't get CLOSE to the staff -when the staff is close to him it causes some sort of Reaction (jolt/hiccup/accidental magic activation/EXPLOSION) -whenever MK tosses the staff it just constantly directs itself to Macaque. he's getting whacked on the head by it by accident every day.

there's angsty ideas that could come from Macaque getting overloaded by chaos magic but the funny idea is him just getting. so fucking out of it. like amnesia rules Wukong levels of delirium. like- MK: hey, Macaque, are you uh. are you okay?? Macaque, crackling with chaos magic: oh yeah never better MK: are you sure cause uh- Macaque: *(suddenly jolts with chaos magic like he's been shocked)* Macaque, sounding COMPLETELY GENUINE: i'm fine!! anyways has anyone seen my good ol buddy Wukong-

the chaos magic cuts off his access to his shadow powers- meaning he tries to go through a shadow in a wall and just slams into it instead

[buntobeans]

delirious venture after tooth surgery

warnings: blood, venture is like HIGH from anesthetic nothing much else

idk if anyone has written this but it's so cute seeing all those videos with people after surgeries being absolutely ZOOTED and having no idea what planet they're on

also i am NOOTTTT a dentist by any means im just going off of my fanfic delirium.... it's 4am this is a pretty bad work but i GAWT TO BE ON MY VENTURE GRINDSET

sooo we all know how sloan has a chipped tooth, right? not entirely sure what it's from, their chipper highlight intro or them eating a rock- either one is funny as hell

to say you freaked out was an absolute understatement, there was blood everywhere and sloan was just looking at you like:

:D

"amor, look what i found!" they hold up the rock in their hands so proudly like a cat that's brought back a dead mouse

"SLOAN, YOU'RE LITERALLY BLEEDING."

you force them to drop the rock/artifact or leave it with the wayfinders, ensuing in a very pouty sloan

one trip to the emergency room later sloan is ZOOTED

literally space ranger the way they are NOT on earth

you go to pick them up, they're in the waiting room

you're relieved by the fact that they're okay but you're absolutely not prepared for what comes next

the medical staff informs you that they're very out of it, slyly adding along that you must be "the partner with (e/c) eyes that sparkle in the sunlight"

the what

you enter the room to see them having an extremely animated conversation to anyone that will listen, whether it's the doctors or the potted plant on the table next to their seat

as soon as they namedrop you you feel extremely embarrassed

they're describing your exact appearance (like if you have brown hair, none of that brunette shit, they're saying "they have #5C4033 hair")

they describe your first meeting and first date in way too specific detail and the middle-aged lady next to them in the waiting room is just like "uh huh yeah if this mf dont stop talking they're gonna be in the emergency room AAGGAAAIN"

"SLOAN SHUT UP"

your partner takes a GOOD LONG LOOK AT YOU

like 30 seconds of just gaping, you really can see their chipped tooth in its full glory

"sloan, we're going home"

they gulp and stare up at you like their big wet eyes

"i can't go home with you"

"why not"

"my partner will get jealous"

"."

"by the way, my partner has the prettiest smile. i miss them" they're looking so sad as they said that, like you fucking died

YOU'RE RIGHT THERE

"sloan.."

"whoa.. how'd you know my name?"

"i AM your partner"

they blink

it's like they're seeing you for the first time again

their eyes are sparkling and they look like they're falling in love all over again

they give you a crooked smile, kind of slumping back in their seat cause you took their breath away, cheeks hotter than before

"hey there!"

you're exhausted from worrying over them and their tooth but they're looking at you like you're the most radiant being in the world- no- the universe

"oh dios mio.. see i was tryna be loyal but you came in looking really pretty and i thought (for only a second i promise, like, one second!) about cheating.. thank goodness we're together tho"

what

your heart does a few flips in your chest

suddenly you're kinda pissed that they had to get injured in their mouth because you want to sloppily make out with this rock munching idiot

the car ride home is almost abysmal

they're belting out stupid songs, randomly screaming deez nuts jokes even when you don't fall for them then cackling at themselves because it's funny to THEM, mumbling things in spanish you don't understand (you swear you hear a "te amo" in there)

it's stressful as HELL for you because you have to constantly check that their seatbelt is still on because they're excitedly looking out the window like a dog with its tongue out

they're also randomly shouting and pointing out shit outside like they're playing road trip bingo

you're thankful when they quiet down eventually until you hear

"Can we get married? I proooomise I'll take care of you.." They sniffle. "I've got the moneeeyy.. 'n I really think you were made f'me.. I jus' wan' t'be t'gether forever... I loooove youuuu..."

you nearly crash the car

JESUS SLOAN

you tend to them at home and it seems like all their object permanence has vanished

gone from this world

because whenever you leave the room to get them water that THEY REQUESTED, they start crying

"AMOR, WHERE DID YOU GO"

they regain their senses the next day and you realize

it's not REALLY that different

they're still a goober

though with less (full) teeth than before

but they're your goober :)

still, using that little marriage speech against them has them flustered because they've really been thinking about it, it wasn't just a whim from their anesthetic-fueled delirium

[querenciasturniolo]

just a guy ⮕ m.s.

word count: 997

warnings: angst, crying, unrequited love, sad ending

summary: matt’s just a guy, you couldn’t help falling for

a/n: avery lynch is a lyrical genius, and i am an absolute mess

The nights he chose you were the same.

The two of you would stay up into the early hours of the morning, talking about everything and nothing all at once, holding onto one another like the other was going to dissipate into nothing. The both of you laughing harder than you’d ever laughed before, at things that could only be funny with the delirium of the night clouding your minds. He was all you ever wanted, but you weren’t his.

“I love you, Matty. You know that, don’t you?” You’d whisper, hearing his even breathing as his head rested on your chest. He was asleep, he was always asleep when you told him how you felt. You’d stare at the ceiling, tears in your eyes and let every single thought about him out into the open. The next morning, the two of you would get up, and live your lives like you didn’t break your own heart the night before.

He’d look at you, and you could have sworn there was something there. Something swimming in the blue of his eyes, something that made you keep going back when he called. You kept telling yourself, every time he pressed his lips against your temple, that he loved you. Every time his eyes scanned over your face while you spoke, he felt the same way. Every time his name would pop up on your phone, he was thinking about you all day.

With your fingers carding through his hair, your eyes on the ceiling, you let yourself crumble. Sobbing silently, praying to any god that was listening to make the pain go away. The only thing keeping you grounded, was his soft breathing, his warm breath against your skin. He had to love you, you don’t look at someone the way he looks at you if you don’t love them. You’d talk to him tomorrow, you decided. While the two of you were waking up fully in each other’s arms, before you let him kiss the top of your head and say his goodbyes, you’d ask him why.

Why he never held your hand in front of his brothers. Why he never took the time to ask you how your day was. Why he never brought you to parties with his friends. Why he kept you on the shelf for his convenience.

It was hard waking up, bringing yourself to the harsh reality. You knew the routine all too well; dress in silence, let him kiss the top of your head while longing for his lips to press to yours.

“Matty?”

He hummed and blinked his eyes towards you. He was sitting at the end of his bed, only a pair of gray sweatpants adorning his legs, scrolling through his phone.

“I have a question.” You said. He nodded and furrowed his eyebrows, locking his phone and tossing it further up the bed. He was all you wanted, sitting there. Sleep was still clouding his eyes, his lips dry and smooth as his tongue peeked out to wet them.

“You love me, right?”

A confused smile adorned his lips. “Of course I love you, why would you ask me that?”

He looked entirely too comfortable with his answer, and it made your chest ache.

“How do you love me?” You asked, swallowing the knot in your throat as you fought off the little voice in the back of your mind, screaming that you already knew the answer.

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head. “What kind of question is that?”

It’s an important question, you wanted to scream in his face. A question that I’ve been dying to ask you! A question that’s kept me from sleeping for months! A question that You should know how to answer! A question that I know my answer to!

“You feel like home, Matt.”

His smile dropped, more confusion clouding his face. “I don’t understa—”

“You feel like home. Spending time with you, feeling you kiss my forehead, hearing your squeaky laugh at four in the morning, feeling your arms around me, feels like home.” You said, your voice shaky as your eyes never left his. “That’s how I love you; you feel like home.”

It was a few moments before the realization hit him, his mouth opening just slightly and the apples of his cheeks dusting pink.

“Oh.” He whispered, his eyes dropping to the mattress. Your heart sank, a dull, aching pain flowing through your veins as you stood up.

“But that’s okay.” You said, the tears you refused to let fall blurring your vision as you smiled through the gut wrenching grief and shook your head. “I shouldn’t have assumed, right? It’s not like you ever asked me out, you know? I’m gonna head out, okay? Okay.” You said, holding back the pained whine as you sniffled and rushed for the door.

“Wait—”

You didn’t stop, practically sprinting from his room and down the stairs, grabbing your keys off of the table on your way out. You barely acknowledged Chris’ sleeping form on the couch as you descended the stairs, needing to get to your car before the dam broke and you lost any control over this situation you had left. It took ages to get the keys into the ignition, your hand shaking violently as you finally turned over the engine, threw the car in drive, and left.

Tears streamed down your face, a sob wracking your body to the point where you needed to pull over until you calmed down. How could this hurt so much? You already knew he didn’t feel the same, so why were you crying? He never talked about his feelings towards you in any way but platonic, so why did this hurt so badly? He’s just a guy who gave you some attention, so why did you love him?

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @floofparker , @recklesssturniolo

[callsign-rogueone]

under the weather

fourth wing boys* x gn!partner!reader *Aaric, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer, Xaden! y'all seemed to like excuses, excuses, so here’s something in that style because I don’t feel good rn, but I want to write :( and I added Aaric this time too!  words: 645 🏷: no spoilers. just some thoughts on ways our boys would take care of you when you’re sick 🥰 descriptions of sickness (cough, fever, dizziness, etc.) doctors visits, medication. I've been ripping shots of nyquil all day and I’m not all there rn so I really hope these make sense lol 

Aaric lets you rest your head in his lap while he reads to you, either from a textbook (the grind never stops with this one) or whatever fiction novel he’s reading. the words go in one ear and out the other in your soft delirium, but it’s still nice to hear his voice and feel him stroking your hair as he reads. if you fall asleep on him, he won’t move until you wake up, or unless he absolutely has to — but heaven help the person who makes him move.

Bodhi insists on cuddling you back to health, curling up with you and letting you rest your aching body against his while you settle in for a long afternoon nap, because sleep is the best medicine. he completely ignores your protests that you’ll get him sick too (you do, and then it’s your turn to play nurse next week, but he swears it was worth it). 

Brennan spends as much time with you as he can, bringing his paperwork and things to your shared room so that he can be there when you need him, while still tending to his duties as a leader of the revolution. he checks your temperature and pulse etc. every hour, monitoring you carefully, but he’ll make up for it with lots of forehead kisses. 

Dain excuses you from training until you’re better, insisting that you stay in bed and devote all your energy to recovering. he frequently comes to check on you throughout the day, and you better still be in bed when he does, or you’ll be getting a gentle lecture about the importance of your caring for yourself and how much you mean to him — he needs you to be healthy, okay?

Garrick carries you around whenever you need to go somewhere, because he doesn’t want you collapsing after that dizzy spell you had. he doesn’t care if it’s only twenty feet to the showers and back; he’s scooping you up and walking over himself. he also insists on supervising your shower, but no funny business — you’re sick. once you’ve recovered, however…

Liam draws you a warm bath, letting you soothe your aching muscles for a while before washes your hair and your back for you, being incredibly gentle all the while. he’ll dry you off afterward, letting you pick any of his clothes to wear to sleep if you want, and helping you through the steps of your nightly routine — brushing your teeth, etc., before giving you your medicine and letting you fall asleep on his chest.

Ridoc goes with you to the healers, rubbing your back and making soft jokes all the while to distract you from the discomfort — apologizing when your laughs turn into a coughing fit. he also tries to make you feel normal / less gross when you’re stuck in bed, helping you with basic self-care: brushing and braiding your hair, taking your makeup off if you wear it, helping you do your skincare… 

Sawyer does all the things that you can’t do while you’re sick — goes to class and copies an extra set of notes for you, does your laundry, straightens up your room, etc. that way you can focus on recovering, but also, once you’re back on your feet, you won’t have a huge mess to deal with and you won’t be behind on your studies. he’ll help you review what you missed, as well. 

Xaden is protective to a fault, but when you’re sick, it’s a whole new level. he doesn’t leave your side unless absolutely necessary, ignoring any form of protest. follows the healer’s instructions to the letter — antibiotics every four hours? he’s waking you up at two am, glass of water in hand, helping you sit up so you can take them. he’ll also use his shadows to dim the room so you can sleep through the day. 

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1323

Anon asked:

Do you have any prompts for a usually funny and hides insecurity behind humour/a strong character being poisoned/drugged and being forced to be vulnerable around others? Usually they’d always have a joke or a bright idea on their tongue, but now they can’t really form coherent sentences right now as they’re delirious.

I have a few - great concept!

I can imagine that it's deeply unsettling for the caretakers to experience this at the very least. Because it's so out of character for them.

^ As a result of this, maybe the whumpee tries to escape medical/hide away to avoid subjecting the caretakers to this. Despite how upsetting the situation is, the caretakers are more overrun by worry than being put off by the whumpee.

I like the idea of the whumpee becoming frustrated, because their brain is working at a snails pace, they're struggling to be understood, they're uncomfortable and unwell, but it feels like everyone is crowding them. It gets a bit much for them.

"[whumpee]'s quiet." It's two words that have the other caretakers stop in their tracks. Quiet and [whumpee] do not go together.

Maybe in a fit of delirium, they reveal things about themselves/their past that they've kept to themselves all these years.

^ bonus points if it's their insecurities. The caretaker could say something along the lines of "...you're kind and funny...", to which the whumpee responds: "I have to be... if not you'll realise just how useless I am and you'll want me off the team."

[akookminsupporter]

Namjoon gave a good interview to Vogue Spain and in it he said a few things that I thought I'd share with those of you who may not understand Spanish.

This was at the end of the article but I want to write it first:

One thing that needs to be made clear about this album is that, no matter how much the rumour mill is trying to spin it, it is by no means the end of the successful band. "Oh, I'm not leaving BTS. Absolutely not. This is the first time I'm launching a solo project like this, so I'm trying to stand up and take my first steps. But I'm ambitious and I have willpower. So I don't want to miss the opportunity to do both. So I will try my best not to lose control and steer these two ships at the same time. A lot of bands split up and fall apart, but I hope that doesn't happen to BTS. I just love the music, I love my job, I love the band members and I love myself. If I can keep both projects going, I think it can be something legendary in the long run".

Other important parts of the article:

"The k-pop industry hasn't stopped growing since we debuted with BTS [in 2013]. It's become a lot more complex and has brought a lot more people into its structures. I think there are a lot of lights, but also some slippery shadows. Many of us started our careers very early as a group: we slept and lived together as teenagers. We became a real family, which is great, but this culture has also affected me a lot, because sometimes I find it difficult to be treated as an adult who has autonomy in his decisions. I'm perceived as just another cog in the crew, in the context of a mass phenomenon",

Did you ever feel like you were getting completely lost in this delirium of success? "I used to think so, but the funny thing is that I am fully aware that it was my own choice to devote myself to the k-pop industry. Nobody pushed me into it. But yes, I have lost myself at times. Although perhaps saying this is an excess of 'self-empathy'. There is no answer. Except that, if k-pop is about recharging the batteries of a mass audience and I'm responsible for doing that recharging, then I have to keep my feet firmly on the ground. As an adult, as a musician and as a human being. And these ten years of my career have helped me define who I am and learn to love myself. But I'm still in that process, you know? All these internal struggles will be recorded on records and videos," he explains.

"Music is really necessary for the world, but, when it comes to my music, sometimes I feel like I'm producing something unnecessary. If I were to die tonight, I don't think anything would change. It might matter to some people for a while, but a farmer or a street sweeper is more relevant to the functioning of society. When I ask myself about the role of our generation in historical terms, when I look at all the digital platforms and communities out there, I am overcome with confusion. There are a lot of people who don't want to think. They have frenetic lives and turn to music or television to escape, so the last thing they want is someone trying to lecture them from a pedestal. In that context, I wonder how I can make my music matter. I haven't found an answer yet, but I keep trying to bring my own perspective to it.

As to whether he is afraid that the army he has on Instagram (42.4 million followers) might one day turn against him for a silly mistake or a blunder, RM answers bluntly. "Yes, it scares me. It scares me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When I was younger I tried to come across as a cool guy who doesn't give a shit what other people think, but I don't think that's right anymore. I care about the publicity dimension of my career and the influence I can have on others. It stresses me out, yes, but I think I can handle it. That's why I don't retire or do things like go out and drink the night away and then drive drunk. I'm human, I can make mistakes, but I will do everything in my power to be the best version of myself. One of the keys is to treat this job for what it is: a job. I don't think artists have any special rights or status.

Note: if you would like me to translate another part of the interview, let me know.

[sunofpandora]

𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓾s

Part 2.

Spider is 19, Y/n and Lo’ak are 18, Neteyam is 19, Kiri is 19, Tuk is still 7-8.

‘Kxa’ran’ is a random na’vi name I made up. He is 18.

Disclaimers:

Mentions of uncomfortableness, trying to steal neteyams girl, lo’ak and spider being the y/n protector squad once again, Jake giving fatherly advice, Lo’ak swinging (it's called a punch, bitch) Neteyam and Y/n riding off into the sunset 💙👏😫  

Not rlly smut but gets a lil steamy at the end.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

Y/n was a shadow.

She hid herself within the corridors of a raincloud, gentle touches of droplets caressing her skin.

She hides in the whispers, gently singing through the flowers that stitched up the bark of a tree.

Her vision warped into a blur of sounds and colors. I suppose that's why she yearned for nightfall.

On occasion, the sun looms over us like a scolding parent. Fervid gazes and persecuting streaks of heat. A torrid spotlight refusing surrender. 

But oh, how she loved the night…

A veil of sounds, shapes, sporadically neon shaded by the incandescent bioluminescence of Pandora. 

Secrets and stories scattered among a sea of stars. The moon, a searchlight for souls. 

Alluring sirens of the dusk, dragging us to delirium.

If dark, if dreary, if dangerous, if endlessly indefinite, why so amorous?

She spoke to the stars, stole secrets from the sky, and wore moonlight as if a veil.

Sobs and sorrows for the forgotten stories. Requiems for rain clouds and silent storms.

Perhaps that's why she loved the night.

When the world became a shadow, she didn't feel so alone…

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

Gathering in groups was a normality for the omaticaya.

Today, a group of na’vi was sent to forage herbs, pick fruit, wash away the dirt and grime embedded over time in things like bowls and objects for eating.

They left high camp a bit after morning, departing themselves from the clan’s rocky stronghold and descending below to the jungle.

Y/n sat perched under a tree, 

She gently traced her fingertips up the lines of a small white flower, curiosity and soft wonder embedded within the universe of her eyes.

Observation is a powerful thing. Hearing, sensing, seeing things past others grasp of understanding.

It's a binding freedom 

“Y/n?”

Shaken from her fortress of solitude, Y/n is met with another shadow.

This one looms. It stalks over what little light Y/n allowed in her small dwelling of dusk within the shade of the tree.

It's raining, but it's not the kind that nurtures.

Plants fall to their knees under the man’s thunder of a laugh, mercilessly triumphant, yet accompanied by no accomplishment. 

Kxa’ran.

Y/n peers up in recognition.

Kxa’nan earned himself a place in the flock of warriors Jake trained, Neteyam included. Neteyam and him were commoners of the same stability. Both warriors, neck and neck. Where the Golden Child stood, Kxa’nan rising behind him. One compared to the other. The silent rivalry of two warriors. 

Kxa’nan was a shadow. Not a shadow like Y/n. He was a void, it repels vulnerability and authenticity. 

Kxa’nan’s movements were rehearsed, not-so subtly flexing himself for Y/n's uncomfortable gaze.

You hate it when he flirts with you because he flirts with everyone. It's a cruel joke, really. Disguising something as binding as affection, to cradle someone's heart within the palms of your hands, to build it a home out of glass and shatter it.

“Kxa’nan.”

You greet politely.

You didn't like him. But you weren't an asshole.

He laughs.

What was even funny?

“Whatcha doing here all alone, huh? I'd thought you'd be with your little friends?”

You assume he's talking about Spider and Lo’ak.

Y/n shrugs, avoiding eye contact as best as one can. Trying to focus on the intertwining pattern within the sky, the dim golden halo that laid itself on the tree, leaking through the canopy-quilted and stitched with shades of green.

Kxa’nan dips his gaze down to Y/n's hands. Nimble, soft things. Drawing lines of tranquility in their wake.

His touch invades streaks of silent panic through your body when he reaches down to touch your hands, and the flower cradled within.

“Is that a flower? It's very beautiful..where did you find it?”

His voice is 

You felt exposed. 

Choppy, unfinished breaths tumbling from your lips.

His mere presence overbeared you, yet, Kxa'nan was nothing but a hollow shell.

His figure was made of pesky shadows and illusions of whispers that taunted you, like the laugh of a viperwolf.

He was a thief of trust.

He saw something, an interchangeable force the at spread like the roots to each person, tying us to this shape of vulnerability that appeared as a plaything that held no value to him.

Trust, to him, was a game. A continuance of an arousing match of case and capture, where you find yourself caged.

It's like a scythe when it hits, I panic.

Jake calls it anxiety.

Jake dragged his knowledge of it with him when he came to Pandora.

Jake taught you how to breathe. 

Funny enough from the man that once needed a mask. 

Taught you how to count your breaths from 10 to 1. How to count the leaves on a branch and wait for your chest to not feel so instantaneously heavy.

For a moment the stars fall. The shadow that once deemed itself an attendant of comfort is now a shallow pool of a storm. The ground feels cold, heat rushes to your wrists.

The words bombard your brain.

Leave me alone.

Leave me alo-

“Hey! Back off. I thought I told you not to bother her.”

A familiar five fingered hand finds its home onto Kxa’nan’s shoulder, yanking him back and standing in front of you. 

A tall na’vi with the sides of his head shaved and lazily tied off braids barricades you.

“Can you not fucking count? The 8th time this week I've found you bothering her. Don't you have something better to do?”

Lo’am shoved the boy backwards, his voice a low hiss of annoyance.

Lo’ak was an anarchist of his own recklessness. His gaze grazed with fire unapologetically unable to sit still. 

Sometimes the smoke and ash becomes a haze of intangible adrenaline. preservations for one’s safety wither away under the charred sky. Lo’ak’s anger was a shallow thing, much like his mother.

That's where people fail to truly see, Lo’ak

He was just as protective as Neteyam, if not more. Lo’ak and Neteyam were simply two sides of one stick, one sharp, one blunt. One can be applied as a knife, the other in aid as a crutch or to lean on.

Kxa’nan scoffed.

“I can't count? Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Kxa’nan taunted Lo’ak by jabbing at his “demon blood hands”.

A smaller, pale figure appeared next to you, grabbing your arm, pulling me to your feet, 

In the unwelcoming sequence of three na’vi, spider remains unwavering. 

His gaze stern, annoyed.

“Get lost, idiot.”

Spider glares.

Your wrists don't feel so hot. The ground doesn't sink, the shadows aren't so loud.

Always count on Lo’ak and Spider. As stupid as the two can be.

They were your boys. Your brothers. A type of love that was stitched together out of mismatched pieces.

They fit if you place them in the right position.

“Touch her again and i’ll punch your ass so far into the future you’ll meet the next generation.”

Lo’ak stands, fangs bared, chest almost touching.

Kxa’nan laughs. 

It's thin

it's fake

it's forced.

“Y/n, yawne, did you forget to leash your companions before leaving?”

He smirks at you, and you facepalm at the storm approacching

There's a silence. Worth 6 beats.

“The fuck did he just say?”

Lo’am rhetorically asks the jungle air, before turning to spider.

“Spider. What did he just say?”

“I think he called us animals, Lo’ak.”

“Should we let that slide?”

“Me personally? I would never.”

Spider sighs disapprovingly. Like a parent gently urging a child to make the right decision, clean up their act.

That's the beauty of Lo’ak and spider. 

They fail to see the true weight of any situation when the two face it together.

Everything dark and dreary dusts away under a bad joke and some back-and-forth 

“Guys. C’mon.”

You reach for Lo’ak, tugging him by his armband away from this quandary he's planted himself in.

Lo’ak follows reluctantly, sparing a lingering glare at Kxa’nan.

“Try that shit again, I dare you!”

Lo’ak calls over his shoulder. 

“He dares you!”

Spider fans the fire.

You groan, not expecting to be babysitting two idiots today. 

“For the love of Eywa you two-”

Your boys. You loved them anyways.

If you were a shadow, Lo’ak and spider were your clouds. Protecting you from looming notions that threatened to tear the darkness. 

Neteyam watched from afar.

Neteyam wasn't normally a very angry person. 

Inconspicuous glares and silent mumbles. Flicks of his tail subtly revealing his brewing emotions.

Other than that, Neteyam wore a mask. 

Accustomed to pleasantries, never daring to chase beyond the notion of familiarity. Having an audience, the constant need to entertain those even he swore to eywa he couldn't tolerate, was a burdening thing.

Eye contact. Smile. Sit up straight. Don't laugh too loudly. 

Some swore if they turned neteyam over and searched the right corners, you'd find puppet strings.

His mask grew with the years, cracking only in small fragments wear vulnerability leaked through the crevices, small silent outbursts of leashless emotions.

It's a rare sight.

But at this moment, Neteyam swore Lo’aks fire was spreading.

Loneliness came as a luxury for neteyam. It was the only time he allowed himself to truly become hers.

Some nights, all he dreamed of was her.

Her. Her. Her. Her. Her.

Oh, how he longs for her. 

If he kissed her, if he even so much as grazed her skin, he'd fear shed disappear back to the shadows.

Coaxing hesitance was a second-nature concept.

Yet, he's haunted by an insatiable compulsion to protect her.

Ghosts of daydreams, husks of lingering touches and reincarnations of longing gazes. Rain carries ghosts that cherish the fragments of their lives within the darkness of the clouds, because the vexatious luminescent antagonist we claim to be sunlight, provides no sanctuary to a ghost.

Perhaps that's why his daydreams abandon him. 

Perhaps the dissipate to his own negligence.

He was always yours. He didn't want you in the way Kxa’nan did. Your heart wasn't a game or an object to be used, then discarded.

You were a story. He would treat you like one of your flowers unless you wished otherwise. 

He would do anything for you.

He would steal every happy ending for you. 

You preferred small corners in which he couldn't fit. You preferred night to day. 

Neteyam was in sunlight.

You were a shadow.

And sunlight and shadow cannot touch. 

Neteyams attempts to dim himself always became futile. Dreams of touching you became glimpses. It lingers in a flurry of color, his palms longing for your warmth.

Vexation was silent.

It never screamed.

Until this moment.

Kiri, whom was rambling about the river crystals she planned on collecting, thanking neteyam for letting him use his basket as she waded in the shin deep Creek, 

Neteyam’s lne of focus scrutinized the sight a few trees ahead of him.

Kxa’Nan grabbing your hands, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.

He couldn't hear, but neteyam could see your agape mouth, he sensed inaudible shallow breaths.

He was touching you.

He was touching you.

He was touching you.

He was touching you.

Aggression stirred beneath his skin.

How he watched Kxa’nan skip off like nothing happened, after Spider and Lo’ak made their grand entrance and not-so-swift escape.

“Pandora to Neteyam!”

Kiri chucked a yovo fruit at his head.

The man had been staring into space for the last 6 minutes. 

Kiri personally didn’t spare something as precious as brain cells on something as meager as the two unbearable creatures she called her brothers, but the occasional pestering that accompanied their relationship has become a necessity.

Kiri had found some feathers near the river on her hunt for crystals.

She was offering them to neteyam for his knife sheath (she’s been begging him for weeks. His sheath is just ‘too boring’ for her taste.)

  when she found her brother mindlessly wandering his gaze ahead.

“Ow-

What the hell-

Kiri!”

He glared at his sister.

Kiri huffed.

“Sxkwang. You’ve been zoned away for minutes now! Are you loosing your hearing?”

Neteyam rolls his eyes, his mood suddenly deflated.

“No. I’m fine…”

Kiri’s playfulness withers for a moment.

Kiri was a lot of things.

Kiri was modest, compassionate, candid and capable.

She spoke to the forest the same way Y/n spoke to the stars.

Kiri perched herself next to her brother, nudging him with her tail.

“You okay?”

He shook his head.

Something flickers past Neteyam’s features.

It’s soft, light, a thin layer but its presence isn’t going unnoticed. 

Something that can almost be mistaken as regret contorts  his features.  His confidence has fallen. Not completely, only slightly. A somber shade of gray dances past his face.

There’s a few beats of silence.

It’s not uncomfortable. It’s understanding. The two siblings find a common ground between this void of conflict.

“Do you think mom was ever afraid of Dad?”

Kiri stayed quiet for a moment, the question stilling her.

“Mom? Our mom? Neytiri Tskaha Mo’at’ite?? Afraid of our father? 

You humor me, brother.

If anything, dad should be afraid of mom.”

Kiri chuckles, leaning back against the tree.

Neteyam chuckles as well, but it sobers itself in a flash of memory.

When they were small, Neteyam and his siblings would curl around the fire In their families marui, neteyam would sit next to y/n, while Lo’ak laid his head on her shoulder, obnoxiously snoring into like the 6 year old he was.

Kiri sat on the other side, looking up in awe at her father as Jake spoke.

Jake told his children stories of a time that was before the marine learned to see.

He grasped the essence of life: the  immunology of pandora. The power, the secret to growth, a true appreciation for the relative importance of things, order, and balance. 

He told his children of the corpse of a life now forgotten, where the fallen hometree remains but memories rots.

Jake prayed to eywa his memories could rot with it.

He told stories of earth, as well.

Comparing his wife to Cupid, fond of arrows. How she stopped his heart without even grazing it.

Neteyam was an idiot for love stories. Especially as a child.

Particularly his parents’ love story.

How two people, worlds part find themselves together under the sky of pandora. The day they met. The day the stars aligned and two hearts disregarded the burdens of a cruel reality, and found a home within a war. Found intimacy through the most painful of grieving.

If Jake and Neytiri, a former human and a na’vi,

Why not Neteyam and Y/n?

Why not the sun and a shadow?

Kiri stilled for a moment.

“I guess..maybe there was fear of mom’s loyalties being internally tested?

Maybe she thought she would have been betraying her people if she mated with dad.

Remember the Cupid story?”

Neteyam contemplates it for a moment.

“But mom didn’t mate with dad till after his iknimaya? He was already one of the people. He claimed his ikran, and  through dreamhunt.”

Kiri shrugged.

“True. But he kinda got his na’vi card revoked when hometree fell. Don’t you think?

Are you suggesting you want a woman to shoot you with an arrow?”

Kiri chuckled.

Neteyam can’t help but snicker.

A somber stillness comes over him once again, his voice is quiet. Fragile.

“Do you think at one point they thought that..

That maybe they just couldn’t be together because dad was a human?

Because two people are so different, it’s never even a possibility? 

That our insecurities fester into doubt?”

Kiri stares with tints of concern for her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He seemed to be getting a bit too worked up for a light conversation.

There was something about embedded underneath. Hidden.

“What if-“

“They loved eachother.”

Kiri interrupts Neteyam’s maddening anxiety for a moment.

“They loved one another.

It’s almost impossible to neglect when your so deeply in love with someone. Even if you convince yourself  conditional, unbinding. They were in love.

She held him even out of his avatar when he was dying in that shack.

They were always meant to be, Neteyam…what is this really about?”

Neteyam swallows thickly.

His deep, accented voice grazing the edges of a sharp concept, dripping with denial.

“Do you think the sun and a shadow can fall in love?”

Kiri is quiet for a moment.

She’s not confused.

For once, her brother's mask cracks. 

For once; the warrior needs protecting.

There's Something unguarded and raw behind his gaze. There’s something fragile. 

And most protect fragile things.

“This is about Y/n, isn’t it. What happened, Neteyam?”

Neteyam sighed.

“Kxa’nan.”

Kiri’s eyes thinned at the mention of his name.

He once ‘accidentally’ tripped her while she was walking, and refused to come clean when neteyam confronted him.

Jake didn’t even like him.

And Jake was the chief of fucks sake.

“What did he do?”

Kiri suddenly felt her own wall go up.

She thought of Y/n as much as a sister as she would Tuk. Memories of giggling and gossiping after the brothers and tuk were asleep and Jake and neytiri went on dates. Telling eachother stories and braiding each others hair.

You were a shadow, and Kiri was your Venus. 

“He touched her hands. Just like-

Grabbed them.

And then she had one of her-“

Neteyam makes a motion with his hands to indicate erratic breathing but ends up just deeming himself laughable.

“She had an…asthma attack?”

Kiri made her first guess.

“No-

She had like-“

Neteyam struggles to articulate himself.

“You know when her breath gets kinda shallow? And she just-“

Kiri spares him the embarrassment.

And herself a headache.

“Yes yes. I know-“

She freezes.

“Wait. You saw this happen?”

“..yes I thought I made that clear-“

“And you didn’t go and protect her?”

“….”

Kiri smacked neteyam upside the head.

“Ow! Kiri! That’s the second time you’ve hit me!”

“You skxawng! You fool! You dumbass!

You didn’t go to her aid!?

Eywa help us all. You’re right. You suck at this.”

Neteyam’s ears pin back and he winced.

“I was going to-“

“Bullshit!”

“Kiri I swear!”

“She’s afraid of me!”

The two are still at the brusk's confession.

“Neteyam. Y/n may not be…the most comfortable with everyone but she’s not afraid of you-“

“Yes she is.”

Neteyam cuts her off.

His tone is defeated and blank.

Acceptance is an essential part of grief.

“Neteyam….”

“Doesn’t she know I would do anything for her?

I would steal the night sky for her.  I’d make the whole world become a shadow so she doesn’t feel so alone-

It shut myself away so that she has nothing to fear. I’d never draw another breath again if it meant she’d smile.

It’s beyond precious. It’s beyond anything I can describe, sister-“

Kiri’s mind struggled to keep pace with the maddening reality of Neteyam’s violently clashing sentiments.

It hits Kiri.

“You love her.”

“Sister, I worship her.

There must be something wrong with me.

I swear the stars envy her.”

Kiri and him sit for a moment.

“You asked me if the sun and a shadow can fall in love?

Do you remember what norm told us?

Moonlight doesn’t exist. Moonlight is reflected by the sun.

When the world becomes a shadow, the sun provides what little light it can to the darkness so it doesn’t fall pitch black. 

She dwells in the dark? Give to her what you already provide.”

“And what is that?”

“Light.”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

“Should have just let me fuck him up.”

You groan at Lo’ak’s words.

You, Lo’ak, and spider were weaving a chain of leaves and branches for a hunt festival later that night.

Y/n didn’t like large crowds. She fared better with her two idiots, much to the dismay of other na’vi in the clan.

Spider snickers.

“Maybe if your little boyfriend showed up, he could have swept you off your feet and protected you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Neteyam was probably busy helping Kiri. He probably didn’t hear his maiden’s cry for help.”

Lo’ak and Spider both cackle.

“You two think you're funny? I don’t need neteyam to come defend me.

And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Lo’ak gasps dramatically.

Then he chuckles.

“Listen sis. Our existence is the height of hilarity. 

You're just mad that neteyam didn’t come and tell Kxa’nan off.

By the way, Can we get a thank you? 

We saved your ass back there.”

It’s roll your eyes, shoving Lo’ak, with a small mumbled ‘thank you’.

“Y/n? Can I get some help?”

Jake comes into view, tapping you on the shoulder.

You stand, following him back to the family marui.

You find yourself helping Jake repair a human object called a ‘radio’.

It played music and could record things as well.

Jake and Neytiri have a tradition. They’d dance the human way at a festival, out of sight from others.

You found it beautiful, really.

You didn’t have parents of your own to witness a growing relationship between. But watching Jake and Neytiri was far more interesting. 

Jake seemed to notice how quiet you were.

And not as quiet as usual.

To the surprise of many, you cling to Jake more than you did Neytiri as a child.

Not to say neytiri wasn’t able to take care of Y/n.

Neytiri adored Y/n. Considered her a 3rd daughter.

And well, she was the closest thing to a mom y/n would have after her own mothers death.

It was different with Jake.

Y/n has some flashes of memory with her biological mother.

With Tsu’tey? She had none.

Neytiri found herself in a place that once already held a shadow.

Meanwhile, Hake had to make his own shadow.

Reflections and reality, gentle whispers and ruffling her hair, Jake was gentle as he could be.

He considered Y/n and Lo’ak like twins solely because of their separation anxiety as children.

 y/ns shadow and Lo’ak’s fire was a constant contrast in Jake’s life.

Jake would pick her up, rest her in the crook of his elbow; whisper small, gentle things.

Jake was much more protective and diligent over Y/n.

He always thought she saw the world much larger than his other children did.

Jake realized Y/n liked flowers and plants because they were easily satisfied with company. 

They aren’t people. She didn’t have to raise her voice or embed herself in a state of stillness.

Jake heard the whispers.

“Does she even speak?”

“She’s a bit old to be hiding like that.”

“Maybe she’d like to play with my child-“

Rueful pesky whispers. That’s all he heard.

Jake didn’t speak. He didn’t raise his voice or even make a sound.

He places his hand on her shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down her back like that day all those years ago  under the shade.

Jake would always be your shade.

Your sanctuary for your shadow.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*

The festival raged on below.

You were currently a bundle of nerves as it is.

You had lost Spider and Lo’ak in the crowd and retreated to one of the higher hills to search for them.

You'd think plucking them out of a sea of faces would be second nature, but no, your boys fancied the self of one-sided hide-and-go-seek.

Spider and Lo’ak were your clouds. The radical rebellion within a rain storm. And as you tried to dish out a shimmering reflection off of spiders mask that protected him from the unwelcoming atmosphere of the jungle, the sky grew darker and darker. Laughter run through the air, the fire accentuating features of those who danced with the flames and sang with the embers.

You didn’t hate people. That was a common misconception about you. 

You preferred plants to people, because one didn’t talk nearly as much as the other, and the stories within the roots and water, droplets weren’t as near as overbearing as the burdening shrills of overbearing questions. I’m nights like these were the clan gathered in large groups you would sit alone in a tree with  Spider and Lo’ak. You talked about everything you were going to do the secret and stars were going to steal for one another. 

On occasion, you talked to Spider about Neteyam. 

How do you fear this barricaded wall you’ve built around yourself was going to turn into something he could never climb. That may be this archer you dreamed of was simply out of your grasp. You dreamed of him as the sky struck midnight in the colors in the clouds, concealing the world of a shadow you dwelled in. 

Spider and Lo’ak made hesitance and patience deem itself as something worth only for baiting you into good behavior. That he would slip from your grass, that your life with slip away in a blink if you didn’t go and kiss him as the mere second. 

Nights were filled of him.

His eyes, a paradox of the golden hour. His strong figures sculpted like mountains, his words that painted the sky in the sea. 

He wondered if he tasted like sunlight and wind, if his lips were as gently roughed-edged and honed as his voice.

Or if when you touched him, the last salvageable stretches of the sunset would disappear under your lips. And you would return to recycled versions of his lingering touches..  

You loved him. You truly, truly loved him.

And what would the sullys think? His parents? His siblings?

You owed everything to them.

They didn’t have to take you in after your mother passed. 

Lo’ak was your fire. Neteyam was your sun. Kiri was your Venus. Tuk was your star. Jake was your wind. Neytiri was your mountain. Spider was your cloud.

But you? You were a shadow.

Finding your voice became more difficult as a child. 

This shyness, this shadow, this ‘anxiety’ as Jake called it.

This thing. This monster. 

Made out of  shadows and secrets and pesky loud whispers.

It’s tall with limbs like sticks.

It’s chained to your wrist like an unwanted prisoner. 

It sends strokes of dread down your back.

And it haunted you.

When you longed for Neteyam, but this chain around your wrist kept its barricade of darkness.

Even as a child.

You were a little voice who others assumed only cried for help. 

When you tugged on Neytiri’s waistband, gently signaling you were uncomfortable, when you hid behind Jake’s leg from prying eyes.

How a small Lo’ak followed you around, looked at you like you held the universe in your hands, you were his big sister. How you chewed on your lower lip, nervously holding Jake’s hand while Lo’ak clung to your arm.

How his fire and your shadow caused a collision within the Sully family, beautifully inharmonious chaos. 

You loved Lo’ak. But Lo’ak was your brother.

The closest thing you would have to a brother in this lifetime.

You longed for Neteyams sunlight.

You were a shadow.

Shadows didn’t belong in the light.

Much less to fall in love with it.

To lay beneath his soul, to feel the connection. It’ll always be there. Casting a shadow.

A starless night.

Oh how you longed for moonlight.

You peered down below, your gaze tugged away from your mission to find your two idiots.

You're lost in the beauty of the Omaticaya, people danced in their traditional garb, the drums ruminate through the thick air, and you swore it was the heartbeats of your people.

The fire and the night sky was a beautiful collision dancing off of azure skin.

Then. The rain returns.

“Y/n? Whatcha doing here all alone?”

No. No no no no no.

You whip around to see Kxa’nan.

Your breath leaves you in a soft surge of panic.

“You're always alone. I barely ever hear you talk, yawne. Need some company?”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

 Neteyam was helping his dad cook the fish he hunted earlier over the fire, Neytiri and Kiri assisting with the spices and herbs.

Lo’ak was missing from the picture, nowhere to be seen the whole night since the celebration started.

“Where is your brother?

Neytiri asked, letting Tuk perch herself in her former spot next to Jake.

“You haven’t seen him?”

 Neteyams eyebrows raise. 

“Was he with Y/n and spider?”

 Tuk lifts her head over Jake’s shoulder.

Neytiri, more than displeased at the mention of the human boy, but concern for Lo’ak and protectiveness over Y/m arose.

“Was she with the sky boy and Lo’ak earlier? They went with the foraging group today-

Tuktirey. Stop poking at the dead fish.”

“Sorry mama.”

As if on cue, Lo’ak and spider entered the small tent.

“Lo’ak!”

Neytiri placed her hand on her son’s shoulder.

He was out of breath, looked like he just ran around the entire forest.

“Where’s Y/n?”

He asked in a short gasp.

Jake, now concerned stood to his feet.

���Y/n? Where did you come from, Lo’ak?”

“The festival? I dunno-

I can’t find her. And she hates big crowds like these. Spider had to go back to the lab to get a new mask on short notice, there’s no one with her.”

Tuk giggles.

“Lo’ak was probably too busy dancing with a girl…”

Jake’s eyebrows crinkled.

Neteyam stood at his feet as well.

He left the tent and set off to find you.

He searched the celebration, pushed past the embers and smoke, the thick air of peoples dancing and the sounds of laughter.

On a hill, a little ways off. Two shadows come into view.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

“Kxa’nan..I wish to be alone.”

Kxa’nan groaned at your words.

“Your’e always alone, or you’re hanging out with those two freaks.”

Your shadow dissipates for a moment, anger simmered beneath your skin.

“Lo’ak and Spider aren’t freaks-

don’t talk about them like that.”

Kxa’nan scoffs and your left unhooded with no shadow at all for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. You’re the one always having a pissing race with Neteyam.

Maybe if you aimed your arrow  as good as you flexed your non-existent muscles, there’d be nothing to say.”

He hissed at you and grabbed your arm. Being compared to Neteyam was a jab.

A small wince contorted your features, you gasped.

A flash of lights invades both your visions, and a strong arm is wrapped around your waist, a familiar touch, a circle of safety. 

A familiar azure skinned archer appears beside you, a protective shield of a glare at Kxa’nan.

“Don’t touch her. Ever. Again.”

Kxa’nan scoffs, but a fortification of fear embeds itself In his eyes. Clearly intimidated by Neteyam’s presence.

Kxa’nan glares at you, unhappy with your savior and his impeccable timing.

His eyes flare yellow. Not a soft golden hour like Neteyam’s. No, and even in a clan where all your eyes share the same tint. At the moment this is a sickening shade of yellow. It flares so brightly you thin your eyes to look away.  Your breath hitches in your throat and your voice hides behind the threat of thought.

Neteyam takes a step forward and pushes him away, shielding you from his gaze.

His deep voice honed itself as a rougher edge.

“Don’t look at her.

Look at me.

Don’t come near her again. Got it?”

Lo’ak and spider come into view from behind a few trees.

“Hey! Get away from them. Back it up!”

 Spider’s small figure appears much less intimidating then the Sully brothers. But he remains grounded to protect you. 

“What the fuck did I tell you?”

Lo’ak grab’s Kxa’nan by his bicep roughly.

“Don’t bother her. And what did you do?”

Kxa’nan glares at you and your four tyrants.

“Y/n, did you really have to bring this whole freak show family with you?”

He bites.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then, Lo’aks fist collides with Kxa’nan’s jaw, hot, red liquid pools from his mouth.

“It’s called a punch, Bitch! Don’t ever touch my sister again.”

Kxa’nan tackles Lo’ak, and Spider body slams the Na’vi.

Tapping his elbow before placing his other hand on his bicep and flinging himself, jabbing Kxa’nan in the ribs with his elbow.

Jake emerged from a few trees away, groaning and trying to grab his son before shit actually got heavy.

Jake places a lingering touch on your arm to make sure you were safe,

Jake drags Lo’ak up by his arm, grabbing spider by his waist.

Spider explains the predicament, and Jake angrily drags Kxa’nan away to be dealt with.

No one messes with his kids.

Lo’ak wiggles his eyebrows at Neteyam, who’s held you close to him this whole time.

And then.

You’re alone.

Neteyam turns to you, his fingers dragging down your cheeks gently.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you? Talk to me, please..”

Gently cradling your face in the cup of his palms. 

A fire alights beneath your skin.

“I’m fine, Nete…he just made me…uncomfortable..”

There’s silence. 7 beats worth.

“How long has he been bothering you?”

Your voice peaks from behind your barricade.

“Awhile…”

“You never came to me, you never told me. Y/n I will always protect you. Why didn’t you come to me?”

 His voice was a labyrinth of desperation clinging to hope.

“I’m sorry..”

It’s a small fragile whisper.

And most protect fragile things.

Neteyam gently drags his hands down your neck, another hand gently tracing your rib cage.

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to know that I care for you. So deeply, Y/n.”

Is there another universe out there where I can spare you the pain of love?

Longing for someone so desperately you fear they’ll become aflame under your touch.

Does he taste like fire?

Is the plush of your skin sculpted from shadows?

This love was a painting you never had the courage to count the colors, in fear they would flurry away.

In this fortress of his arms, in this circle of sunlight, in this last surviving stretch of a sunset, there’s a flare.

Neteyam gives to others only to deny himself.

You reach for something made of glass only to see it shatter again.

But not here.

Not now.

You whisper hoarsely as his hands cradle your face.

“I don’t like big crowds.”

He smiles and kisses your nose.

“Then neither do I.”

The two of you sit there, under the canopy of the trees, watching the stars. 

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

Your head laid on his chest, the only music you two needed was the sound of your intertwining heartbeats.

You traced the lines on his palms, and he kissed your cheek.

Soft whispers and lingering gazes.

“What’s your favorite star?”

You ask him.

You.

He wants to say, but he holds his tounge. Eyes scanning the sky for the perfect star to satisfy your curiosity.

“That one.”

He points to one, it’s in the midst of a cluster of scattered flurries of white specks.

You leaned into his shoulder, his hand gently cupping the back of your head.

“What would happen if they started falling?”

“I’d catch them for you.”

You chuckled at his answer.

He closes his eyes and basks in the aubade of your laughter.

Your soul, gentle semblances of beauty in the space behind the sun.

Love is a sacrificial abstraction. He sees you in signposts and circles, and parallel lines.

Another beat of silence passes.

“Y/n.”

He breaths your name, dragging his finger along your pulse point.

You hear music in the distance.

Not the drums of the Omaticaya, or the flutes of your people.

You peer down over the hill and see two figures slow dancing to a radio in the family Marui.

Neytiris giggles are gently heard as the silhouette of her and Jake dancing comes into view.

You sighed in contentment. Sometimes, you, Neteyam, Kiri and Lo’ak would spy on them behind the tent flap. Observing them dance, Jake teaching her the way people dance on earth.

Neteyam smiles as well.

“I love it when they do that…”

You lean into his shoulder, and he finds himself lost in your eyes once again.

He wishes he could give you the whole world. A place where you can disregard burdens of reality, be tangled with her pages and plants, gardens made of clouds, and laughter, where you can trace the in patterns of her favorite flower, where you can touch the consolation within isolation. It is not loneliness you desire, you don't want the fixation of the introspection within your shadow.

Neteyam stands you both to your feet, Jake’s music dwells in the night air, the stars seem to twinkle in perfect rhythm.

“Neteyam, what are we doing?”

You laugh.

“Dancing, come yawne.

Put your hands here, and my hand goes-“

He pauses before placing his hand on your lower waist, just like he saw his father do.

“May I?”

You nod.

Before you can blink, he sways you with the music, you laugh and avoid stepping on his toes

For a moment, the shadows disappear. The sun burns out. It’s no longer so bright you are forced to shy away to the dark.

Custom, reason, temptation, it all fades behind the stars.

The moonlight traces his figure as you dance, the stars reminisce in your eyes.

You were composed of stories.

Captivating, euphonious stories. 

The same stories that you cradled in your pals when you held your plants.

Your souls dance but your gazes remain still.

He gently cups your face in his hands, lifting your chin.

“I see you, Y/n. I have never seen anyone but you, beautiful…”

Your breath hitches.

“I see you, Neteyam. I’ve always seen you..”

When you kiss him, the shadows and the sunlight collide, and soft gasps and and tangible emotions are torn. 

There is no barricade.

The distance was only ever created because distance was safe.

But you don’t want distance.

Neither does he.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

He lays you down on the soft bed of grass, he yearns to kiss every inch of you from your hairline to your ankles.

“Y/n, oh my Y/n…my beautiful, beautiful y/n.”

He whispers your name like a mantra, as if you would wither away into the shadows again if he didn’t pray your name.

Your gasps serenaded him.

Your hands tugged on his braids as he kissed your neck,

“What do you wish for me to do, yawne? Speak for me, my good girl..”

Your leg wrapped around his hip. You couldn’t help but buck into him.

Love like this only haunts you with light that once existed behind the shadow, the one that surfaced behind the sun.

Eclipse is near.

He unraveled you like the universe was beneath your top and loincloth, stroking you with gentle drags of his thumb, his strong arm hooked under your thigh.

“Neteyam-

Eywa please…”

You begged for him to soothe the aching heat

“Shhh. It’s okay, my sweet girl. I’m right here…just keep looking up at those pretty stars. The stars are yours, my love,

Fuck-

Everything, the sky, the sun, the oceans, the shadows they’re all yours, my love. So am I.”

He reached around for his braid and you followed suit. 

You both stared into eachothers eyes. The pools of honeyed golden hour beneath the moon.

The sweet nectar dripping down your thighs, your curves traced by his touch,

“Tsaheylu, Neteyam..please.”

Who was he to deny you?

And as you connected the stars fell.

A flurry of colors, a blur of ecstasy, straddled, kissed, caressed, explored.

The drapes of the moonlight bathing you.

Every coherent thought withered into a static of white, 

This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t one body entering another for pleasure. This was a soul finding it’s flame.

He begged the deity to never take his shadow away.

“Do you feel it y/n, it’s always been there..I’ve always been here..don’t hide from me again.”

His rough accent voice honed your ears, his nose dragging along your pulse point, you whined in response. 

The heat faded away, tranquility returned.

He kissed you, your chin, your lips, your hair, thank you’s and praises whispered as his string arms encircled you.

You laid on his chest, and you faintly hear him whisper 

“I think it’s finally eclipse…”

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

-Sunofpandora

2023

“Diaphanous” 

Tag list:

@neteyamsoare

@yeosxxx

@lianna75

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩✧ ೃ༄

Im SCREAMING right now.

Im super insecure in writing smut but i kinda wanted to try it? It's not really smut tbh just like…really intimate?

Idk.

But I struggled with this fr. Writers block ate me up.

So idk how good this is. Sorry 😭

I hope everyone enjoyed. That request box is gonna be open in the next few weeks but I might be a bit busy so there might be a bit of a wait.

I wanted to include some parallels from the movie, and some references to Jake and Neytiri through Neteyam and Y/n, so I hope everyone caught those. 

I hoped you enjoyed “diaphanous” 🌀🪐

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober 02 - Blood loss

John Mactavish x f! reader

The metallic stench of blood filled the air, soaking into your nasal passages and staining your tongue. It’s cold, the dampness of the cement wall you’d propped yourself against soaking into the back of your vest and shirt. Your wheezing breaths the only sound present in the dark hallway you’d stumbled into. The radio attached to you crackles but you already know it won’t work. The spray of bullets you hadn’t managed to avoid having rendered the damn thing inoperable.

Another rattling cough shakes your frame, your torso lighting up in pain as your injuries were forcefully jostled. Throwing your head back against the wall you glared at the ceiling, trying to prevent the tears from overflowing. Tears of pain accumulate as you forcefully press down against the bloody hole in your right collarbone. Gritted teeth prevented you from crying out but it was a close thing. It was becoming harder and harder to retain consciousness but you were stubborn. Someone would come for you, you just had to hold on until then.

At some point, you must have closed your eyes because the next thing you knew there was a frantic voice pulling you awake. Blinking, you're greeted with the furrowed brows and concerned blue eyes of your Scottish teammate.

"Soap?" your confusion is blatantly apparent, eyes squinting as you blink sweat and black spots away.

“Aye lass, there’s my good girl. Keep those beautiful eyes open for me, okay?” As much as he's trying to hide his concern, you aren't so far gone that you don't notice the waver in his voice or his mechanical movements. Any wisecrack you had in reply to his flirtation dies on your tongue as he presses down on your wound. You're unable to stop the pained cry his actions draw from your lips, tears sliding down your cheeks in earnest.

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon.” You know he's trying to reassure you, but you honestly think his words are more to comfort himself.

"It'll be over 'cause I'm dead." You wheezed humorlessly, frantically blinking the sweat from your eyes. Soap seems to find your remark as funny as a funeral as he practically snarls at you.

"You're not dying on me. That's an order, you hear?" Despite the blood that has started to coat the inside of your throat, your mouth runs dry at his sudden ferocity. Too stunned to do anything but let yourself be manhandled into standing, Soap practically holding up your entire weight.

“Order me? We’re the same rank dickhead” you snorted, instantly regretting the motion as pain lit up your nerves like fireworks. Your knees buckled briefly, but Soap was a solid wall of muscle that kept you upright.

It's a slow and rough process, with Soap having to practically drag you from the building towards the extraction point.

Maybe it's the delirium brought on by blood loss, or it's the looming reality of your imminent demise but just before you make it to the medics your mouth slips.

“You know, it's usually a lot more fun in my dreams when we're this close.” His eyes burn holes into the side of your face, jaw slackened in your peripheral vision as his grip slackened slightly and you tipped forward for a few seconds. Laughter burns in your chest, as you lose the last of your strength to look into his pretty eyes one last time, the three words you'd been aching to say for months tumbling forth as your breath slowed.

Eyes shuttering closed and body lurching, you don't notice Soap lunge to catch you. Holding you close against his chest as he swore at you to wake up.

That he'd say it back if you listened.

His hands clutched your face, marring your skin with your own blood as his tears painted your brow. "Please lass, wake up so I can say it back" he begged, burying his face into the skin of your still warm neck.

[f1-stuff]

You mentioned omegaverse in the surreal DC reblog where he’s commenting far too much on Charles’s smell lol and it made me wonder if you’ve ever considered writing omegaverse Charlos? Do you have any interest or not so much your thing?

Love your work <33333

Hello! ❤️ I didn't used to be into omegaverse very much tbh, but something clicked in the last couple years and I started to vibe with it a lot more. I actually did start to write an abo charlos fic, that's also a Victorian-era royalty arranged marriage situation (woo that's a mouthful 😂), but I haven't added much to it in a while...

The funny thing is that I find myself forgetting it's abo while writing bc there's so much else going on, and then I have to throw in a line about someone's scent asghfjlslsdk. But anyway, I'm gonna share a little more of it now just because I feel like it's been a while since I posted a fic or a snippet...

“Charles.”

Impatience has crept into his mother’s voice by the second utterance of his name, and yet Charles still takes the time to finish the page he’s reading before clapping the (dreadfully boring) book shut and looking up at her expectantly. As usual, she doesn’t look particularly amused by his stubbornness.

“Charles, I was thinking that perhaps you and I should stay away from the palace for an additional month or so.”

“What?” he frowns. “Why?”

“To rest,” she suggests. “It’s been a very tough week, and you still don’t look well-”

“Maman,” he sighs, rubbing his temple where a headache is starting to form. Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I feel fine. And I’m ready to go home. We already missed Uncle’s birthday. We are not missing Papa’s.”

His mother doesn’t reply. It’s not the first time she’s brought it up, and it won’t be the last, but Charles isn’t losing this particular argument. Not even if he has to escape back to the palace himself. A week away from his father in his poor condition is already too much to bear, let alone the prospect of more time apart.

Charles and his mother’s retreat to their country residence had been unavoidable. The ‘very tough week’ in question is Charles’ heat, which had been brought on early due to the stress he's been under, caused by his numerous advisors' renewed efforts as of late to convince him to sign the regency order. No doubt they’ll be hoping that now, weakened by five days of fever and delirium, he’ll feel further compelled to relinquish his power to a regent in the event of his father’s death before he’s come of age.

It’s never going to happen, and his mother doesn’t need to try to protect him by hiding him away for a month either. She, along with everyone in that damned palace, treats him delicately enough as it is. Ever since he’d presented around eleven years old, he’s been wrapped in cotton wool. But just because he’s an omega doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly capable of standing up for himself. In fact, he can’t wait to be free of the silly protective measures that were put in place almost seven years ago. The moment he’s crowned, he’s doing away with all of it.

“Really, Charles. I hope you’re not upset we had to come here. You know that it’s for your own safety-”

“Yes, maman, I know,” he interrupts, then sighs and aims a small smile her way to soften his exasperated tone. “I’m not arguing that. But I don’t need any more time to recover. It isn’t as though I do much more than this in the palace, anyway.”

Reading books, painting, playing piano and chess - there isn’t much more that he’s allowed to do. The other activities that his brothers partake in, like horse riding and archery, aren’t permitted for him, nevermind that he performed them just fine before he’d presented. That argument has never worked to convince anyone to grant him allowances because it’s not really about whether he’s capable.

“Well...if you’re certain.”

“I am,” he says, firmly. His mother nods.

Good. That’s settled, then. She speaks again before he has a chance to reopen his book.

“The other thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you - your uncle has invited the Sainz siblings to come and stay at the palace. You met their two eldest when you were very young, but I’m sure you don’t remember.”

“No,” Charles confirms, intrigued. “Who are they?”

“Their father is a Spanish duke, and his son, Prince Carlos, is just a few years older than you. Unlikely that he will ever inherit the throne, but it is a distant possibility.”

Ah. So a marriage prospect, then. Charles bites back a sigh. From one prison to another.

“You should get to know him better,” his mother says, reading his expression.

“Why?” he asks, just to be difficult. He knows very well why.

“Because. Your Uncle Thierry thinks it’s a good idea.”

Well, if his uncle thinks it, then so it shall be.

Charles sinks further into his chair, grabbing the book he’d set aside and reopening it pointedly. His mother takes the hint. (The book may be a dull one, but at least it serves its purpose as a conversation ender superbly.)

****

“Monaco could be a very important chess piece in future conflicts,” Caco explains, leaning against the table to address his young cousin. “It is under the military protection of France, and having the force of France at our disposal could be instrumental in quelling potential unrest.”

Carlos Junior looks up at him from his seat at the desk, notes of skepticism in his expression. He doesn’t make an objection just yet - his cousin would not be telling him this unless it had come from his father directly.

Caco sets down a piece of paper in front of him. It’s a drawing of a young man who can’t be more than eighteen, his boyish features evident even in sketch form. The other thing that is undeniable is his beauty, a sense of mischief and innocence dancing in his eyes that has Carlos wondering if it’s a faithful representation.

“Is he this pretty in person?”

Caco simply gives him a look, not dignifying that with a response. “That is Prince Charles, heir apparent to the Monegasco throne, seventeen years old. In the next few weeks, you will study everything there is to know about him - his favorite novels, plays, composers. You will brush up on your French-”

“Wait, wait, cousin,” Carlos interjects, blinking in confusion. “What does a prince have to do with me?”

“That omega...” Carlos’ gaze shoots up to his cousin, brows raising. “...has everything to do with you.”

Ah. That changes things, indeed.

“As I was saying,” Caco continues, sighing. “In order to keep the prince safe, he’s been kept sheltered from his father’s court for years, ever since he was a boy. Thus, when he does make a rare public appearance, such as at the opera or ballet, his mere presence causes quite a stir.”

Carlos’ eyes return to the paper in front of him, his gaze tracing a path over the prince’s nose and settling at the elegant curve of his lips.

“You must win his favor before anyone else has the chance,” his cousin says. “The first visit in a few weeks’ time will be vital. We can afford no mistakes. But always remember, you are first and foremost a Sainz. Do not forget the reason behind all of this, no matter how ‘pretty’ his face.”

Carlos tries to bite back his smirk, but likely fails from the look his cousin sends him.

“Charm him, Carlos. Make him smile. God knows you are good at that. The rest will be up to fate.”

[smallpwbbles]

Will we ever see a pt.2 on the deserts and delirium fic? Maybe an aftermath of the whole unintentionally beating up sonic and tails thing? I just thought the concept was pretty funny xD

Appreciate it anon! Uhh I dunno I actually agree I could probs continue that chapter, but wouldn’t be too much tho it legit just ended up with Shadow still in a delirious state accidentally destroying a bit of Tails house/workshop and falling asleep in front of it so Tails couldn’t get out of it.

Also Tails and Sonic were fine just a bit of scrapes and bruises (Shadow defo feels immensely guilty about it but literally everyone tells him not to worry except Omega who’s just like “everyone should feel honoured to have such amazing battle scars”)

[false-savior]

funny incorrect quotes

Penny: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Juliana will and will not eat. Nemona: Grass? Yes! Penny: Moss? Yes!! Nemona: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Penny: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Nemona: Worms? Sometimes! Penny: Rocks? Usually nah. Nemona: Twigs? Usually! Penny: Arven's cooking? Inconclusive! Kieran: How did you… test this? Penny: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Kieran: … I don’t know how to feel about this. Arven: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Nemona, about Juliana and Kieran: My god, would you two just get a room already? Kieran: Excuse me, Nemona? Nemona: You both just keep agreeing about horrifying things and relishing everybody else's misery. So seriously, when's the wedding? Juliana: … Penny: I ship it! Arven: CAN YOU NOT?

Penny: Guys… the principal just called— Nemona: It was Juliana! Juliana: It was Arven! Arven: It was Kieran! Kieran: It was me!

Nemona: Hey, let’s mess with Arven, guys! Kieran: Hey, Arven, your momma so fat- Arven: My mom committed multiple war crimes and is now locked in solitary confinement in a Bolivian prison. Juliana: Well, uh- your dad- Arven: My father left when I was two to be captured and consequentially sacrificed by a group of feral ferrets. Kieran: The fuck- Penny: Well then… Nemona: Stop, Penny! Penny: Your grandparents so- Arven: My grandmother floated into the sky like a balloon with too much helium when my grandfather spontaneously combusted. Arven: You cannot best me, mortals.

Kieran: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Nemona: … Your what? Kieran: My friends. Penny: Are they saying “friends”? Arven: I think they're being sarcastic. Juliana: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Kieran! All of your friends are in this room.