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neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 5

summary ;; What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent? PART 4 | PART 6 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; jake is so depressing here. i also took liberty with his character and the reasonings for his decisions in atwow, sorry in case if thats not how you see him LMAO happy reading 💞 please excuse my mistakes if you see any! ‼ I DONT TAKE TAG REQUESTS ANYMORE ‼

“One chance, Jakesuli. You will only have one chance. Use it well. Our Great Mother favors you, that we know. But this favor hasn’t been granted to you. It has been granted to my granddaughter.”

“I won’t fail.” Not again.

“What does failing mean, I wonder. Would you fail if you take her soul back from her happiest? Or would you fail if you let her have the peace our Great Mother has laid her into?”

“I will get my daughter back. This isn’t her time. If Eywa has given me this chance, then she thinks the same as me.”

“You will take that honor from her, then?” Mo’at was being cryptic, but Jake saw through the exterior of the neutral Tsahik into an exhausted, mourning grandmother. “She was the daughter of Toruk Makto, and he was her last shadow.”

It came back to Jake in a gut-churning realization, it was his shadow that had fallen over you from the light of the torches on the walls as you’d given your last breath. It was his shadow. “No,” he refused, adamantly. “She will get to achieve greater honors of her own than that. I won’t be the one defining her ending.” The last bead of your songcord having his name, Toruk Makto’s name, was supremely wrong to him. He would not accept this fate for you.

“Very well, then.” Secretly, she was pleased with him. With his answer. “Get going. As I said. One chance.”

Jake would never be able to get used to the magnificence that was Vitraya Ramunong, or, the Tree of Souls. To him, Pandora itself was a marvel already too good to be true that he’d fallen in love with, and abandoned his own race for, there was no getting used to the beauty for a human like him who’d only found it once in neon lights, ever. He could reach the end of his natural lifespan in this body and still there would be much left to discover. That’s why Jake was more vulnerable to one of the beating hearts of Eywa in the shape of a giant, glowing willow tree.

No Na’vi was immune to the soul-purifying, all-consuming, yet being-dwarfing peace enveloping one’s very spirit, in a cradling hug as if they were nothing but a newborn in their mother’s arms. In here, only one fact mattered: they were childrens of Eywa, all of them dear, all of them seen, all of them safe and sound, including him, once alien to Eywa the way Earth was related to Pandora. Everything spoke to him here in a language he didn’t understand, but could respond to, again, in a language he didn’t understand, his soul doing the communicating.

Jake was also a child here, Eywa’s chosen child.

And he had come to her door for the most difficult request of his life, feeling like he was asking his mother for money right after he had crashed their car, unable to look her in the eye and expecting the biggest of scoldings for his shamelessness.

This was nothing like asking for her assistance against the sky people, back then, he had agency, power, the clans backing him up, Toruk. If Eywa didn’t hear him, he would fight until the last drop of blood in his body was spent anyway, he was ready.

Now, he had nothing.

Nothing to offer in return, not one concrete reason as to why he should have his daughter back other than being a desperate father with nowhere to return to other than the mercy of the Great Mother. He just wanted his child. Nothing mattered.

Not how and why Quaritch had spawned right under his nose with an avatar body, not how they could even slither in without detection, not the threat of what the sky people could bring upon their heads with that — nothing, not now. Nothing mattered until he saw this through.

Jake had found the will to quite literally tear himself from your side like nail from flesh only when you’d stabilized enough. Stabilized, as in, the faintest rise and fall of your ribcage Neteyam had to stare from where he was sitting like a sentinel for a full minute to spot, a tideless, still ocean only moving with whiffs of wind, his own breathing unnoticeable — to match yours, or to silence the sounds in his own body to hear better, Jake didn’t know.

No sky person was allowed to take over from Mo’at and Kiri. Norm had told Jake none of this made sense, if the bullet had nicked the bowels enough and the dirt leaked into the bloodstream, the possibility of sepsis was eventual, and if it didn’t, you had bled too much anyway, a blood transfusion was necessary, and the internal organs... — Christ, the amount of bad end scenarios Jake had been subjected to was as if they were telling him to open a grave for you anyway. Tsahik had scoffed into their faces. The way of healing was something none of them would see, she had scoffed. Now ally, or not. You can’t fill a cup that’s already full. Jake was in a hopeless need for water into wine kind of miracle, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining.

Leaving High Camp behind to set off on a journey calling for only him was one of the hardest things he’d done yet, the silhouette of you lying motionless, his family scattered around the tent, shadowed in their own mourning, folded into themselves was burned into his mind, glimpses of their pain visible from eclipses of light occasionally falling on their faces. A sight he never wanted to see again in his life if he could help it. It was a frosted, iron-thorned hand squishing his heart into ground meat.

Tuk, ever the stingy monopolizer, had brought her favorite toys to scatter around you because she thought they’d comfort you the way they comforted her, had tried snuggling with your unconscious body and was warned by Kiri only to hold your hand instead. She had taken to playing with your fingers, the depressive gloom of years beyond her age crooked on her. Jake couldn’t stand the sight of the little girl telling you bedtime stories he and Neytiri used to, for a moment only, he could pretend you were just going along with your sister’s whims and smiling with your eyes closed as you listened.

Kiri, buzzing around to change the bandage-leaves that soaked up some sort of sickly black colored puss every couple hours, had explained to him the salve they used on you was getting the infection and the splinters of the bullet they couldn’t get out of your body, which had turned the color of your blood into that — but the thing was, given the dwelling of the woodsprite in your mouth, they couldn’t feed you the porridge-like mix to speed up the process of blood production in the bone marrow, and she was exerting herself looking for some other way.

Before he’d left the tent for good, she had handed him the bullet— or, the biggest piece of it they’d taken out of your body, it was a mere pursed and shriveled, tiny metal. The exhausted girl had stammered when explaining that whatever they’d hit you with, had broken into shards inside you upon impact, creating severe lacerations and lethal hemorrhage that they’d worked tirelessly to pick out.

Jake had stared hollowly at it for the longest time. This small thing. It was such a small thing that took you from him.

The sentence that sent you away was also as small, and damning as this bullet. ‘Go.’

Kiri had seen it sink in his face, closing her five-fingered hand on his palm, on the bullet. “You should get going, dad,” she’d said. “We’re okay here.”

Jake had taken one last look. At Neytiri wiping your body to clean all the congealed blood. At Tuk holding your hand. At Kiri trying to fill in shoes bigger than her feet. At you lying down with trinkets surrounding you like funeral flowers. And forced his body to keep moving when all he wanted to do was stay.

He’d then heard Lo’ak complaining to his older brother outside the tent, “How can he be so cold?” The heaviness was getting to the boy, agitated and misapprehending. But he was always this way, if something was out of his control, the inability to act to change it manifested as frustration, blind anger. “Why is he so… unresponsive? Emotionless?”

Jake would have let it slide had it been about something else, but his children running their mouths not knowing he was a hair's breadth away from going clinically insane had gotten to him. He was burning alive.

“You think I don’t care, boy?” He emerged from the tent like some last boss, initially not caring he’d scared the brothers. “You think I don’t feel at all? My own child dying in the same arms I used to hold her as a baby — you think that doesn’t faze me?”

Neteyam, the mediator, or rather, the blame-taker, ran to his little brother’s rescue, the latter too flabbergasted to form any words yet. “Dad, he doesn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what he means.” When the anger subsided, Jake sighed with the weariness of an ancient man. The flames had died before they could climb, he was too exhausted for it. Honesty and trust, as Neytiri had said.

Having lost everything, having nothing to lose, and having a lot to lose were somehow simultaneously the same thing to Jake in the predicament he’d found himself in. “I know how you see me. You only know me as the person I want to show you.”

Lo’ak’s go-to answer was presented to Jake on a silver platter. “Sorry, sir.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at all. Jake wasn’t trying to get Lo’ak to bow his head. “Don’t apologize—” He cut himself short, licking his chapped lips, and after rubbing his face, he’d put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Lo’ak. Son. I feel this, alright? Of course I do. I��m your father.” He shook him gently, feeling the words weren’t reaching him, who was just staring at something on the ground off to the side. “There’s no greater pain a parent can go through in life than losing his child. You can’t understand what this means right now—what it’s doing to me. You will only know when you become a father yourself.” He gently tapped Lo’ak on the chin so he would raise his head and look at him in the eye already. And when he did, Jake said what he said slowly, hoarsely. “But know this. Know I will lose myself if I lose you, or any of your siblings.” He turned to Neteyam as well, who was watching in full alert mode. “I’m fighting not to lose my sanity as we speak.”

Lo’ak swallowed, unsure and weirded out to hear something like this for the first time in his life. Jake didn’t blame him. He was never emotionally upfront or honest before, not even used to it, more awkward with it than his boys were. But none of that mattered. Not anymore, after what happened to you because of his shortcomings. “You just look so composed—“

“I have to be.” Jake shook his head, eyelids hanging heavy, his whole head was heavy. “I just can’t crumble under it, do you understand? I have to be strong. I can’t lose myself in it. Your sister needs me. You need me. To be strong.” He took his hands off the boy’s shoulders, putting a palm on his cheek and patting a few, fatherly times before backing off altogether. “Never say that I don’t care. Never. I might not show it—and it’s a father’s duty not to show it, so my family will have a stable anchor. Get what I’m saying?”

Lo’ak looked reassured, lighter. So that’s what Neytiri had meant. “How… how can I help?”

His youngest son’s inclination to get to the root of the problem and pump out solutions was in consanguineous with his inability to stop and wait, uncomfortable in his skin when he couldn’t do anything to improve the situation and was confronted with the intimacy of having to feel, always wanting to act. Lo’ak was like Jake in that way. Awkward when it came to communication. Dishonest with themselves.

“Stay here.” Jake said, right from his heart. “Stay safe. I don’t wish for anything else in this world.”

Lo’ak’s eyes softened, and as the father, Jake felt the renewal of the bond between them, saw the understanding in his youngest son, saw something else than the guilt and regret over being caught after mischief, for once. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Don’t apologize.” He shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey, again, his apology wasn’t what he wanted. Yet, his sons were defaulted to saying sorry half the time they spoke to him nowadays. Jake was understanding the severity of it, too much too late. Lo’ak nodded, ears tipped down slightly.

Then he turned to the eldest. “Neteyam—”

But he opened his mouth before Jake could say anything else. Ready. Always on his feet. “Yes, I will—”

Jake clicked his tongue. “Rest.”

Neteyam was about to say yes to whatever he was told to do, as always, but stopped right in the middle of it, voice catching in his throat, eyes blinking in confusion. “What?”

“Rest.”

“But—”

“Rest, Neteyam, I won’t tell you again.”

God knows he needed it. Neteyam looked like he’d been having night terrors for days, accumulated anxiety making him jumpy. “Sorry, sir.”

“Stop—“ Jake caught himself before he could raise his voice. “Why are you apologizing?”

Neteyam didn’t talk for a while. But when he did, he was looking up at him underneath his lashes, unable to keep eye contact for more than two seconds. “It’s my fault.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak said, a pitiful objection.

Jake knew where this was going. “What is?”

“I should have been there.” He pressed his mouth into a thin line before furrowing his brow, closing his eyes. Jake knew what he was seeing, repeated over and over again in his mind. “I should have known right away when I couldn’t catch up to her. I could have prevented it. It’s my responsibility.” One tear slipped by as he hung his head. “My fault.”

There it is.

Jake had told him before. “You’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” — even though you and him were more like affable twins than older brother and younger sister that he never had to explicitly be a guardian to you like he was to Lo’ak, he had to be thinking this was his biggest failure. Neteyam was just reflecting what he’d been taught, the standards his father was holding him up to. Of course the boy had been overthinking it to the point where he was the catalyst to the event by not predicting your fakeout.

“No,” Jake rasped, after a beat. “This is on me first, and the sky people who got to her second. And that’s the end of the story.”

Neteyam, up until this point, had to bear half the blame, if not the rest of it, for the consequences of his siblings’ actions. Upon receiving this kind of answer, he startled with an incredulous gasp and full stare at Jake. “But I—”

“It’s not about you, Neteyam,” Jake explained, although the words were harsh, he had done his best to soften the impact. “I did this. Blame me, okay?”

‘How could I?’ was written in neon letters over the boy’s head even if he didn’t say anything. Too good-natured. He idolized Jake a lot more than the man deserved. “Mother was… she was… She is grieving, she doesn’t mean it.”

“You gotta stop making excuses for people, boy. Especially when they’re in the right.” A smile pulled on his lips, but died as it was born. “I pushed and pushed until we reached the edge, thinking there was never an edge at all. I should have known better. I should have been better. This is between me and your sister, and that’s why it is me who has to go to the Tree of Souls.”

And he’d left, but not before pulling his boys into his chest, cradling the back of their heads against himself, the smell of home repulsing instead of comforting. Prickles on his skin was the comfort he got from being able to hug his children when you were absent. It didn’t feel right.

He missed you dearly, an aching, gaping hole in his very being that only grew larger as he saw what you left behind half-completed or messy like you’d stood up and gone off for a minute to come back to it later —

The unmade pallet from the night of your Iknimaya argument that Jake had shed tears on when he’d seen the state of it, having the signs of someone getting up from it like you would be returning to go back to sleep any second.

The unfinished bark plate you had set aside to eat later and fought Lo’ak not to touch it. a squabble Jake had to break before you started wasting food by throwing it at each other.

The stack of fruits you’d gathered that you never shared except for Neytiri sometimes.

The half-carved cup you were working on because the regular cups weren’t big enough for your water needs and you didn’t like to refill it about three times until you were satisfied.

The incomplete anklet you were making out of rainbow beads for Tuk that was confidential to everyone but Jake, who knew from observing you, of course — you were missing a couple colors that you just couldn’t seem to find, nagging his head off to just let you roam around farther and there was no danger as the sky people couldn’t get in the vortex.

The little animal doodles you scratched at your side of the tent when you couldn’t sleep at nights, waking Jake up in the process every single time to listen until your breathing evened out as sleep retook you in its arms again, because he was bodily programmed to startle awake at one single rustle in his living quarters from his Marine days and fell into old habits after the return of the sky people, he knew you had developed insomnia from being uncomfortable at High Camp, longing for your hammock cocooned in the safety and comfort of the forest.

And the dumb romance novels you had taken from the humans that you, Kiri and Tuk giggled about at girl’s nights reading out loud, Spider invited as an honorary guest at times, just so you could tease Kiri about him and annoy your brothers that they weren’t allowed in, but the human boy was.

All of them had no owner now. Neither of your family members could look at them, your ghost would appear in precious memories beside your belongings if they looked too much. He didn't need to concentrate for a phantom of you to appear, you were everywhere he looked, and even now, as the gently pulsating lavender humming, a song from Eywa herself, right underneath the veinlike, labyrinthine roots was the cool summer rain on Jake’s sizzling skin, all he could see was your first communion with Eywa in his arms while Neytiri formed the tsaheylu, the clan spread all around them in celebration.

“You’ve called, and I’ve answered,” he greeted in positivity. “I think this is the most direct you’ve been with me in a long while.”

He didn’t know if it was Eywa or you he was saying this to. He genuinely didn’t know.

Kneeling, and putting his arms on the mossy, thick root, he looked up to see the woodsprites swaying and floating in the air. He reached for his braid, letting the squirming nerve-endings coil around the white-cored lavender thread closest to him, taking in the presence of Eywa, all around yet nowhere at all, but listening. No sign of you. Was he supposed to talk like this? Just like this? Was he not allowed to see you?

Jake had to admit he had been harboring the tiniest expectation of meeting you somehow, or hearing your voice through the connection like he did with a Tree of Voices when Mo’at had cryptically informed him of his chance. But this was it?

If he failed, this would be it.

“I guess this isn’t all that different,” he said out loud, instead of thinking inwards where the confusion flew. “It’s been like this for a while now, you and I. You talk, I don’t hear you. I talk, you don’t hear me. We throw the same ball at each other only for it to bounce back. Monologuing to a tree is the same thing, except it doesn’t talk back like you do.”

He looked up and around, there was nothing else to do. The air was the same as it always was in here. Always accommodating to what each Na’vi found comforting. “The last time I came here like this was to ask for Eywa’s help in the last stand against sky people. I told her I would fight either way, I knew that’s why she’d chosen me. All my life, all I’ve done was fight. Even when I wasn’t able to, I was fighting lesser battles with the excuse of not having anything to fight for. It’s all I’ve known. All I’ve ever done. It’s what I was best at.” His brow twitched, and Jake tried to keep his composure, not because he didn’t want anybody to see, no, it was to keep his shit together so he didn’t fuck this up. He had to be honest. His pride was the last thing he needed in his way at the moment.

“You were born to a different man. To a changed man. To a father who could let go because he thought his family was safe. You got to meet the man I used to be when my reason for fighting came back from my star. I know you don’t like that person — you can’t — couldn’t get used to him. I know.”

From the discomfort, his fingers dug into the moss first, and found the bark of the root, his fist curling on it next. “But I had to keep fighting.” He softly brought his fist back on the root. “The strong prey on the weak, that’s just how things are. That’s how I had it on my star. And my kids — you, you are weak, and it’s not an insult — it’s not me criticizing, Jesus, you are just children, and there’s a war on your damn heads. That’s what I mean. That’s what I’ve always meant. It’s natural that you are weak, Eywa was kind enough to let you be soft. Not Earth, though, never Earth.”

Jake had to clench his teeth and bite the anger into the inside of his mouth to not be boiled alive — not to let it reach to your side. He let out a soundless snarl. “You would never be ready for the cruelty of Earth, I would never wish that upon any of you. But it was brought to you. Right at your doorstep. I couldn’t protect you from it by hugs and kisses. You wouldn’t be safe from a gun extended to you by extending a branch in return. No.”

He reached and caressed the glowing thread, brows furrowed. “I did what I thought was right to prepare you. Every single one of you. I was making you tough. I had to. To protect you. And of course there would be clashing along the way, it’s what happens between parent and child. We fight. We fight like cats and dogs for dominance. You try me to show strength. I stand my ground to let you know you gotta do better.”

He had fired those sentences with incoherent speed, and when he got to the end of it, Jake got choked up. Stopped for a moment, took a breath. Blinking several times, his tone became vulnerable, he didn’t have anyone in front of him, but he tore away his gaze anyway. “Somewhere along the way, things just… Without me noticing, everything…” He sighed through his nose, his voice nothing but a whisper. “I fought more battles than I fought for my family. I thought I was doing my job as a father when I didn’t even know shit about being a father.”

A couple seconds floated by, and his gaze was stolen by a lone woodsprite descending down until it staggered on the fist he had against the root. The shine of it reflected from the mistiness of his eyes. His lower lip slightly trembled at the thought of it being you. This little woodsprite. You?

“The thing is, I’m lost, sweetheart,” he admitted quietly, small, shaky, not taking his eyes off the woodsprite. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I sit here, I look back, and think why I keep fighting. We could have migrated. Looked for a new Hometree. Another forest. Left the humans alone. Or made peace. A treaty. Something. None of your lives had to be sullied by war. Yet I chose this. I chose to fight, as I ‘ve always done, because now I had something to fight for. And the fighting wasn’t limited to them, I fought Neteyam, I fought Lo’ak, I fought you, my own kids, and I didn’t even know.”

He reached for it with his other hand, tentatively, scared that it would fly away with the slightest contact. But he was able to touch the top of the woodsprite ever so slightly, the little zap making all the hair on his body stand up. Jake swallowed thickly, his whole head on fire. “I don’t know what to do. I just miss you. I miss you so much, sweet girl. I wish you would scream at me. Say you hate me for all I care. Anything. Hate me until the day you die, but do it with all of your family surrounding you in old age, in peace. I would be content knowing you are under the same sky as me. But I’m forgetting your voice already, and I—” He held back a violent sob, hissed to not let it out, and groaned, getting angry at himself for the emotions. He shut his eyes tightly, willing away the tears. “I wish I could say these to your face. I wish I could see you one last time, smiling at me.”

Having everything to lose. Having lost everything. Having nothing to lose. Three different meanings had coiled around each other like snakes to become one singular outcome in linear relation of cause-and-effect through you. It wasn’t a cycle.

Having something to fight for. Having nothing left to fight for. Having nothing to fight for. You were everything. Everything. What could Jake do? How was he supposed to fight when he had no concrete opponent?

“I see you.”

The voice — your voice, albeit much, much younger, almost made him jump. When his eyes shot open, Jake was in a different location. He knew this place. The creek away from the village he and his family often frequented.

The twilight penumbra of the eclipse dimmed the shadows embracing the forest, but the ethereally glowing lights of all colors illuminated and got reflected from the water as if it was a mirror. Above and all around him were lazily dancing fireflies — or, rather, bioluminescent bugs he didn’t know the names of, tiny stars floating in the air like glitter. It was magical.

Jake realized with aching melancholy that this was the first time he’d taken you out on an eclipse to show you the beauty of the forest on a special father-daughter date. The exact memory.

The breath that left him was shaky as he felt the presence sitting right beside him, in the corner of his vision, he saw the ripples on the shining water made by swinging legs.

Jake froze for a second. Unmoving. Not looking at all — because if this was a dream, or a hallucination, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. His breathing got louder, more labored, the log underneath his hands was so realistically textured and damp. If he looked. If he looked, you would disappear. That’s how he felt.

He was supposed to talk. But now, his ribcage was holding the words hostage, burning with the strain of the pile-up.

“But I’m sad you don’t see me,” you said, and he was shaken by hearing your voice yet again, remembering the moment he found himself here, how he’d heard — ‘I see you’. “You don’t even want to look at me.”

So much hurt and vulnerability in that sentence that it left him breathless.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Him launched into his own turmoil racking his brain about how Quaritch was back as an avatar, ignoring to look at you to protect his composure and just trying to think, think — think, of a plan, of a how, of what to do. You calling after him once Neytiri, you and he arrived at High Camp after dodging Quaritch’s men. Him purposefully walking away because he needed to cool off and not to explode on you right there and there.

That whole time, Jake hadn’t looked at you. If he did, he would have seen you needed help.

He shattered, all of his walls crumbling down, stripped down to bare despair.

“Oh sweetheart.” Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around you in a crushing hug, basically snatching you off from where you were sitting and on his lap, and your warmth, your pulse, your tangible existence wrenched a shiver out of him — and he buried his face to the little crook of your neck, taking your scent in, hiding his trembling face and the quiver of his arms by holding you tight. You were here. As your younger self, no older than eight, but he had you. Not bloody and battered in his arms, but alive, so alive. “Oh sweet girl, my sweet girl… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed the side of your head, felt the real tickle of your hair against his face, blessed with the soothe of his child’s smell. “I see you. Of course I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

The snowflake-frail snivel followed by your sobbing sniffle broke his heart into pieces. “You’re a liar.” He shook his head, hugging you tighter. “You’re mean to me. You’re so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could say. All he could do with his thrashing soul smoldering at the wetness of your tears on his shoulder. “I am mean. I’m sorry… You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“It hurt so much.” You wailed. “It hurt a lot.”

Jake began to caress your head with an awkward, clumsy, panicked hand, disturbed as to if you meant the moment of your death — at him pressing on the wound with all he had to stop the bleeding, or he and your strained relationship in general. “I know, sweetheart,” he said anyway, a stone clogging his throat. He didn’t try to explain, or tell you why, didn’t argue that it wasn’t what he meant to do. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He had you in his arms. “I know. I know.”

You wouldn’t get to be younger than this. And maybe, he would never get to see you be older, either. The thought crumpled his face like some piece of paper. Jake just wanted to hold you. And when you wrapped your little arms around him too, freely crying in his arms, a couple tears escaped his eyes as well, he didn’t know what kind of face he was making, perhaps it was better that you didn’t see him crumble.

In the middle of it somewhere, he realized that you were younger because it was your inner child that needed this, she was more honest — more open with Jake. It caused him to sway with you back and forth, ribcage hurting with each breath. And you let it all out, clinging to him.

“I love you, always,” he whispered, watching the bioluminescent bugs, when you were calmer and had fallen silent on his chest, not wanting to let him go and just listening to his heartbeat. “Even if I don’t show it — especially when I don’t show it. You are loved, my sweet girl, more than you know. More than you’ll ever know. More than I can show.” He looked down at the top of your head, agonized. “But I want to try. I want to show you more, moving forward.”

Knowing what he was insinuating, “But it’s nice here,” you said, voice thick and coarse from crying. You still didn’t pull back to look at him. Both of you, from the start of this, never looked at one another. Not once. Embarrassed and shameful to be honest, Jake thought. That pride you two shared. “You’re not mean to me here.”

But he needed to see you. You needed to be seen. So, as gently as he could, he unwrapped your arms around him, and took your baby cheeks in his hands, and looked you in the eyes. Another tear slipped from him. “You been listenin’ to me, right sweetheart? From the start?” You nodded adorably. You wouldn’t have said oel ngati kameie and accepted to let him see you if you hadn’t felt his true intentions and heart through him pouring it all out at the Tree of Souls. “I’m hiding a lot of things. But I want to be open with you. You wanna know the secret why I’m… mean?” You nodded again, more reluctant this time. “It’s because I’m scared.”

You gasped, genuinely lost and shocked, and he tried not to smile at the purity, the innocence. “You? You’re scared?”

“All the damn time,” he whispered, landing a kiss on your temple, his opposite thumb tracing a loving line on your other temple. “Every day. Every night.”

“But you’re Toruk Makto. You’re never scared.”

“I’m also a dad,” he said sorrowfully, as if he was giving out a secret. “And it’s precisely why I’m scared. I’m scared for you. For your siblings. Of losing you. It turns into anger. Anger turns into irreparable damage. Things I can’t take back.”

In the blink of an eye, you were back to your real age. For some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, you had shed the exterior of your childhood. But he didn’t mind, didn’t let you off his lap.

“Don’t be scared, I’m here,” you said, putting your own small palm on his cheek, upset by the fact that he was feeling like that in the first place rather than whatever explanation he had. Your response was also childish, but he leaned into your touch anyway, comforted regardless, even if you were already gone — for this moment, he could ignore that no, you weren’t here at all. “If you told us, we would have been more careful not to make you sad.”

Ah, he was being lectured on communication by his kid. It had a certain flavor of humbleness to it. Jake adored it nonetheless. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t be mean anymore.”

“That’s a lie.”

Jake couldn’t stop the laugh, though it was tottering. “Yeah, it is. But I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

“That’s a lie too. Wasn’t it you who said not to make promises you can’t keep?”

“Alright, smartypants, let me rephrase it then,” the little glimpses of your brash self made him happy. “I will never intentionally hurt you, and if I end up doing so, unknowingly, I will always make it up to you. No exceptions.”

You were acting uninterested, but stole intrigued glances at him. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

“I’ll let you choose, how does that sound?” Jake tapped your nose. “In return, if I don’t know and haven’t taken the first step, you’ll have to tell me outright what I did.”

You deadpanned. “But I always do.”

“No, you don’t.” He raised one of his eyebrows. “You become passive-aggressive when you’re annoyed and pick fights with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Sweetheart.”

“Okay, fine.” You huffed. The normalcy had made him forget just what he was doing here. “But you get angry.”

“What I get angry at is—” He cut himself off with a tongue click. “Not important. I do get angry. But at sincere honesty, us just talking it out, I could never get angry at that. Is the difference clear?”

“I think it is.” You were apprehensive about something, your fingers on his neck flexing as if you wanted to pull them back and break the hug. “But you have to promise.”

“I promise.” And then, Jake remembered, a new fire hardening his face, not in anger, but determination. “And speaking of which. I would never. Ever. Not in a million years would get angry or blame you for getting hurt to that degree — for others, humans, avatars, whoever and whatever the hell they are, hurting you, I could never get mad at you for it. Do you understand me? Your safety is the most important to me. I could never hate you for it.” His voice dropped down to a softer, gentler tone just above a whisper. “There is nothing in this world that’ll make me hate you. Nothing. I will love you through the most heinous crimes and in inexcusable deeds, you will find forgiveness in me even if there’s nobody left, that’s a father’s heart. Forever and always, I am with you.” He touched his forehead, and then yours. “I see you.”

You avoided eye contact.

Ah, yes, the famous emotional awkwardness. He was sort of aware his feelings had reached you, you just didn’t know what to say. Jake hadn’t been like this with you for the longest time. So, he decided to make you more comfortable. “Yes I will get mad at you for breaking curfew, and yes, we might stop talking for a while and beef about the dumbest things if the fight is too intense — but always, always come to me when something is wrong. I will drop everything without hesitation.” He leaned in a bit to catch your wayward stare. “Got it?”

You murmured. “Okay.”

“Are we clear?”

You murmured once more. “Yeah.”

“Repeat it, then.”

There was something between cringing and unwillingness on your face, but at his pointed look, you sighed, giving in. “Always come to you if something’s wrong even if we’re fighting.”

“That’s right,” he affirmed, encouraging to let you know this wasn’t embarrassing. “What else?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Dad will always love you.” He nudged you, noting the flick of your ears in happiness when he’d said it. “Come on, say it.”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but your voice was light. “Dad will always love me…”

“Dad will never hate you.”

Sheepishness took over, making Jake smile. “Dad will never hate me.”

“And. Come talk to me about it if I’ve ever hurt you without noticing so I can make it up to you.”

“Always go to you if I’m hurt and you’re unaware of it.”

“That’s right,” in this form as well, he gave your temple another kiss, heart soaring at your beautiful smile he had been dying to see. “Good girl.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power.”

“Nothing my mighty hunter can’t handle.”

The smile on your face died down. It came to Jake right away what had gone wrong. “Sweetheart—” “I didn’t mean that. You know—” But you didn’t know. Jake had to stop trying to make it easier on himself. “I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you. About everything. About the ikran, I’m so goddamn proud. I said it, and I can’t take that back, I was angry and I was trying reverse psychology — you know what, it doesn’t matter. But you are my mighty hunter. Will always be.”

You got confident a bit, but were still testing the waters. “Well I proved I am.”

“Yes, you did,” he rejoiced, no rejection or doubt whatsoever. “Message received, Lima Charlie.”

You giggled freely, joyfully at the recognition, and Jake ached again remembering how much he’d missed that carefree, precious thing, he swore pixie dust was in it. You slipped from his lap to sit crossed-legged beside him, and he instantly missed being able to hold you close. “Wish you were there to see me.”

“Me too, sweet girl.” Your Iknimaya was a disaster. A long-passed, sacred tradition broken wasn’t as important to him as it was to Neytiri — but he knew she longed to see you complete it, by your side, as eagerly as he did. And you had been alone in your pride, when he knew from a very young age, you had been the most excited for it. Everything had been ruined and there was nothing he could do to undo it. “Will you tell me about it?”

The phantom of pensiveness on his face hadn’t quite registered with you yet, getting excited to tell him all about it like nothing had happened the moment you knew Jake wanted to know. As if you weren’t dead. As if nothing was wrong. “Well first of all, I broke Neteyam’s record.”

A mournful smile tugged on his lips. “Did you now?”

“Hell yeah!” You started gesturing with your arms. “It took, like, two minutes? One minute? Too easy.”

“You know easy means the ikran didn’t give you much of a fight, right?”

“Or, or.” One finger was raised up at him to raise another option. “I was too skilled.”

“The ikran might have been meh about you.” Jake teased. “You sure it chose you? Or did you just chase it down and it was stuck with you?”

“That’s so wrong!” He threw his head back to laugh at your outburst. “He was watching me get there the whole time! Like, from the start. His eye was on me, I just know it. You’re just jealous you didn’t get Bob like I got Jack. I was badass.”

That made him pause. “Jack?”

“Yeah, his name’s Jack.”

He couldn’t imagine Neytiri’s reaction to the blandest name imaginable, oh god. “Why?”

“Named him after you.” You tipped your head at him, raising your brows. “It’s healing, you know. He listens to me without questioning. He’s also very sweet. Unlike a certain someone.”

“Oh you little shit—”

“I didn’t say anything.” Raising your hands in defense first, you crossed your arms on your chest next. “Certain someone can mean anyone. It can mean Lo’jack—”

“Lo’jack, really? Really?” Jake half-snorted, half-scoffed. “This a new one after Lovak?”

“Jackiri—”

“Jackiri is pretty sweet, c’mon now,” he gave a blank stare. “Hope you’re not gonna say Jackeyam.”

“Jacktirey?” You asked, undecided. “She’s an anklebiter.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Could be Jack the Ripper, Bojack Horseman, Jack-in-a-box. Jack-o-lantern.”

“All people, of course.”

“Yeah, all people.” You snapped your fingers in mock-remembrance. “Hit the road Jack.”

“Oh wow, even him?” Jake lowered his voice, leaning towards you, mocking astonishment. “Legendary figure, that guy.”

“Jack of All Trades.”

“Well, that ikran really seems to be one to me.”

“I know, right?” You stopped, and he saw that thought process, and before he could open his mouth, you blurted it out. “Unlike a certain someone I know.”

“You punk.” Jake pushed you lightly by your shoulder. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You smiled with all your teeth at him, with hands on your calves, leaning down to act cute, and Jake could pretend this was normal. That he’d fixed everything. And all was right in the world now that you were laughing with him — he’d made you smile. .

But suddenly you looked scared, looking at something over his shoulder, shrunken pupils focusing on him and whatever it was rapidly. It kicked him awake from his delusion. He tensed, tail jumping upwards, straight as a rod. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched, and the next thing he knew, you had pushed him away, and he was falling towards the water. The last thing he saw was only a blur of you — the bioluminescent bugs became shooting stars with a thread of glow left behind them, the whole world tilted, but he didn’t hit the water, instead, he rolled down the small slope he had to climb to reach the tree.

Disoriented, he saw the root was almost split in half — bullet marks, a cloud of splinters and debris was flying around where he used to be sitting.

A lone avatar just ahead. Having made it all the way to the Tree of Souls. He didn’t know where this man had come from.

Heart picking up and roaring in his ears, all Jake could think about was, One chance.

He hadn’t even spoken to you properly yet, hadn’t said all the things he wanted to, hadn't even gotten your word, and this man — this son of a bitch — humans had taken you once again.

Once again.

You will only have one chance.

“Lucky asshole,” the man looked at him behind the barrel of the long assault rifle. “Gonna make you pay for what you pulled yesterday.”

Your ethereal smile going up in smokes at the back of his head, Jake saw red.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 days ago

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Writing Notes: Mushrooms

The edible parts of fungi are the fruiting bodies that are produced very dramatically by huge spreading masses of mycelia, which draw their nutrients as parasites from roots and decaying vegetation.

BAY BOLETUS (Boletus badius)

Usually found in woodlands, this fungus is pale to brown in colour.

Has light yellow pores on the underside and these stain blue if damaged.

The flesh also stains a bluish colour when cut and smells very mushroomy.

The stalk has no frills but is smooth from base to cap.

Can be stored by slicing and drying or flash freezing.

They taste fine raw when sliced and make great soup.

SHAGGY INK CAP (Coprinus comatus)

Very common but distinctive mushroom.

Easy to identify with its egg-shaped shaggy cap.

Often grows on newly disturbed ground in large clusters.

The cap is covered with beautiful white scales and there is no veil on the stem when the cap opens to a bell shape with a dark black underside.

Need to be young and fresh to make good eating.

Shaggy ink caps make a wonderful mushroom soup.

These mushrooms do not store well, so they are best used fresh.

GIANT PUFFBALL (Langermannia gigantea)

Can grow to 80 cm diameter.

The huge white ball of a giant puffball is not hard to identify.

Must be used young before the spores have time to develop and the insects have time to take their share.

Slice them up like rump steak to cook them.

By themselves they have little flavour, but fried quickly with a little bacon they are delicious.

HORSE MUSHROOM (Agaricus arvensis)

Can be found on old pastures that has been grazed by horses or cattle.

Has a slight aniseed smell and does not shrivel up when cooked.

Just beware you don’t over-indulge if you are lucky enough in these times of chemical farming to find a crop of these.

The cap of the horse mushroom may be yellowy in colour, but be careful not to confuse it with the “yellow stainer” fungus, which will make you ill.

CHANTERELLE (Cantharellus cibarius)

May be found in woodland clearings.

Seasoned mushroom hunters will keep their locations a close secret as they tend to grow in the same places each year.

Are fairly small – up to 4 inches (10 cm) across but usually smaller – with a distinctive yellow colour and a slight smell of apricots.

The caps become like small, fluted trumpets as they age and the gills are heavy, irregular and run down the stems.

Best stored in good olive oil or in spiced alcohol.

PARASOL (Macrolepiota procera)

Usually found in open fields and has large brown scales in a symmetrical pattern around a pronounced central bump.

The cap can grow up to 10 inches (25 cm) across and the gills are white.

The stem is long and tough with a large ring around it.

Will dry well for storage.

Make a delicious dish by dipping pieces of the parasol in batter and deep frying.

PENNY BUN (Boletus edulis)

Also known as the “cep” mushroom and is a great prize for the mushroom hunter, as it has an unusual nutty flavour.

Found in woodland or sometimes in heather with dwarf willows, the “cep” can grow quite large – over 2 pounds (1 kg) in weight.

When picking, cut the cap in half to check for maggots. These work their way up through the stems.

Its cap looks just like freshly baked bread.

The colour darkens as the mushroom ages.

The underside will have yellow pores, not gills.

The stem is bulbous and solid white with brown stripey flecks.

Stores well if dried in thin slices.

HONEY FUNGUS (Armillaria mellea)

This yellowy-brown fungus is a tree-killer – but highly edible for humans.

The active part of the fungus is a black cord-like rhizomorph that covers huge areas under the soil and seeks out trees, which it destroys.

Normally grows straight out from trees and stumps, usually in large clumps.

The flesh is white and smells strong and sweet.

The gills vary from off-white to brown and the stalks are tough, often fused together at the base and with a white, cotton-like ring below the cap.

The caps become tough if you dry them so it’s best to freeze.

ORANGE PEEL (Aleuria aurantia)

An extraordinary, brightly coloured and very striking fungus.

Found commonly in large clumps in grassland on bare earth from autumn to early winter. The caps soon become wavy and are of fairly robust texture.

Quite small – up to 2 inches (5 cm) across – the fungus is bright orange on top and a lighter shade on the velvety underside.

These store well if dried.

WOOD MUSHROOM (Agaricus silvicola)

Only found in woodland.

A more delicate version of its close relative, the horse mushroom.

Does not grow out of a volval bag like the death cap and its gills are pink to brown in colour, not white.

The flesh does not discolour when cut and the smell is of a slight aniseed.

The cap is a creamy-yellow colour that darkens as it ages and is smaller than the horse mushroom, growing to only 4 inches (10 cm).

THE PRINCE (Agaricus augustus)

Resembles a stocky version of the parasol.

Grows up to 10 inches (25 cm) wide and is found in woodland.

The top is flecked with brownish scales.

The gills are off-white when young, turning dark brown with age.

The flesh is strong white and smells of mushroom.

The stem is very strong and often scaly with a large floppy ring under the cap – it is too tough to make good eating unless cooked in stews.

It has a strong flavour and can be frozen or dried for excellent winter meals.

FIELD MUSHROOM (Agaricus campestris)

Undoubtedly the best known of all mushrooms, before the days of chemical farming whole fields would be covered by the prolific field mushroom.

Get up early after a hot summer spell has been followed by rain to pick.

The silky white caps grow up to 4–5 inches (10–12 cm), the gills are pink, and the smell mushroomy.

The ring around the stems is very fragile and often missing.

Maggots can be a problem – check older specimens by cutting through the stems.

Can be stored by flash freezing or drying.

WHERE TO LOOK

You will always harvest your best specimens early in the morning. Fungi grow in a wide variety of places, but they will not tolerate chemical fertilizers or sprays.

They say it will take 20 years for the horse mushroom to appear in grassland after the use of chemicals has been stopped.

In fact, the majority of edible fungi grow in the proximity of woodland and many have close symbiotic relationships with particular tree roots.

But wild grassland does always produce an excellent crop of fungi every autumn and you will find each season’s crop in similar places to the previous year’s.

WHAT TO AVOID

There is probably no need to warn you of the fly agaric, as this bright red and white spotted fungus is so well known.

The most dangerous of all fungi is the death cap (Amanita phalloides).

A single death cap contains enough toxins to kill several people:

Usually it grows in woodland, particularly with oak trees. It can vary in colour, being similar in size to a field mushroom, but its characteristic features are white gills on the underside and a “volval” bag at the base. Any fungi growing from a “volval” bag are best left well alone for many are poisonous.

A death cap has white spores, not brown like most edible mushrooms.

Another mushroom to avoid is the “yellow stainer”, easily confused with field or horse mushrooms:

It has the distinctive feature of turning bright yellow when bruised or cut. It also smells rather like disinfectant.

NOTE. There is no easy way to determine whether a fungus is toxic just by looking at it. You should never ingest any unknown fungi. Fungal fruiting bodies can be picked out of the planter pot and thrown in the trash if there is a concern that pets or young children could ingest them.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ Food History

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random-imagines-blog · 4 months ago

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A Different Canvas {Aragorn x POC!Reader}

Requested by: @dracomalfoystan100 Wordcount: 4557 Summary: You already have a hard time in Middle Earth, standing out because of your skin tone. Aragorn, the hero, the legend, fell in love with you quickly, but not everyone that you were with had felt that way, and sometimes, the past can haunt. Notes: Mentions emotional and physical abuse, consensual sex.

Sometimes you felt like an old tree. Didn’t matter what kind of tree, nothing specific like a birch or a weeping willow. Just ... a tree. You were often looked at only for a couple of seconds, eyes not staying on you often. Everything to do with your coloring, which was a lot like that of a sturdy tree trunk. You were proud of it, the rich and earthy color of your skin. How it glistened in the sunlight, how it kept you shadowed and safe during the night. How it made you stand apart from most of the other people in Middle Earth. Your family, one of the few in Middle Earth with your natural skin tone, were few and far between, spread around. It was almost as if you were all trying to remind this land that you do exist. That you are here. That you’re not planning on going anywhere. Much like the Ents.

Though most people didn’t like to see it that way.

People didn’t like others who were different. It felt like being a human among dwarves. A dwarf around elves. An elf around humans. There usually wasn’t any outright hostility but your every move was being watched. Waiting for you to slip up, to do something, so that the people around you could nod to themselves, like yeah, this proved they were right about you. They automatically assumed that because you were of dark skin, you would be dark of personality. That you were violent, and evil, something that just came out of Mordor. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

You were not a warrior. You were not this fierce killer who could put anybody to the sword. You barely even knew how to swing a sword! You were a lover, not a fighter, as your mother used to say. You were put on this earth to spread joy, and love, and happiness, which was one of the hardest jobs of all. It was easier to spread strife than it was peace.

So, you had come to Minas Tirith. You had gone to the capital to find your life, to find your place. You found a job as a gardener, working with the healing gardens, tending to the herbs, and that was how you had found love. Twice, you had found it, and once it had nearly killed you. And now it was healing you.

You had spent enough time languishing over your first love, that abusive guard, it was time to bask in the radiance of the second. Aragorn - the most handsome man in Gondor, and that wasn’t just your opinion, but that of several people. Several women, in fact. He was from the line of Kings, and could have taken up that mantle himself, but he had decided that ruling was not what he had wanted to do. He was a simpler man than that. Although he was a natural leader, he found that he himself was happier just consulting. After being strider for so long, after the drawn-out and exhausting war, he was ready to settle down. To be happy.

And luckily, since meeting him, he wanted it to be with you.

You were humming to yourself as you were going to Aragorn’s dwelling after you finished all of the weeding at the Healing Gardens. You had a basket beneath one arm, filled with vegetables that they allowed you to take home. You planned on surprising your man with a roasted feast tonight, knowing that he had a meeting up with the Council of Gondor. Oh, how you loved that man. How your heart felt so light when you thought of him. Even your steps seemed to be lighter. He made you feel as if you were walking on air. For reasons that you could never understand, he chose you, when he could have any woman on the map. From Eowyn in Rohan, to Arwen in Rivendell.

Something about those women with w in their name. They were beautiful, they were powerful, and they both helped in different ways during the war against Sauron. You really could not fathom why you were chosen over them.

You were used to the glances that you got from the city folk. The lingering side-eyes. The whispers that accompanied them. There were always critiques. That neutral colors didn’t go well with your skin tone, that you should cover up more, maybe a head dress to cover that strange head of hair. Children were always wanting to touch your hair, but you could forgive them because they didn’t understand.

You turned a corner and found yourself suddenly with gauntlets upon your elbows, holding you steady. You looked up to see that you had run into one of the guards - recognizing the tree on the armor. “My apologies, I wasn’t looking where-”

Your eyes went up higher and it felt as if you were hit by an arrow right in your lungs, all breath escaping your body in one movement. The face - the face of your first love, looking down at you, his sharp eagle-like eyes burning as they stared down at you. “Clearly,” He snarled.

You took a step back, feeling his single word the same way that you had used to feel his fist against your body. Yellow. Green. Purple. Black. The colors of all of the bruises that had decorated your skin over time. Fenred had thought that because your skin was already dark, they wouldn’t show. But they had. You had memorized the outlines, could trace them with your fingers despite being well healed.

“S-sorry,” you said, purely out of instinct, putting your head down, shrinking yourself, becoming the small person that he had made you be.

He scoffed down at you, and then pushed past, his armor scraping against your skin, as cold as his heart. You were frozen in place, watching him until he was out of sight. Your heart was beating so fast that it hurt you, boom, ba-boom, boom, ba-boom.

“Are you alright, dear?” An older woman asked, her hand resting on your arm. And the touch, the sound, it was like you were suddenly hit with your breath, taking one so deep that you started to choke on it, coughing into your hand.

“Yes - yes, I’m alright,” You lied to her. “Thank you.”

She didn’t look as if she was sure about this but then continued on her way down the road, back to minding her business, just like most people in the city. But that quick moment of kindness had brought you back to reality, and reminded you of how far you had come. Aragorn. You just needed Aragorn.

Your feet moved quickly, your footwear slapping against the stone streets as you rose in elevation. Heading up staircases, ramps, the maze of spirals that was Minas Tirith, until you were at the front doors of the palace. The guard on duty knew you, of course, so you were let inside and searched out the man who had changed your life. He was outside, standing by the White Tree of Gondor, admiring the white flowers that it had sprouted. White. Everything in this city was such a pure white shade.

Aragorn turned around, his hands clasped behind his back, a smile showing on his features. “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?” You asked, stepping forward. It wasn’t just a question out of curiosity, but out of insecurity, but he had not realized that yet. His face was still bright, and it was enough to cause you to smile too. He was some damn dastardly handsome. “Are you hungry?” You asked, holding up the basket of vegetables.

“Yes,” Aragorn chuckled, walking up closer to you. More of his handsome visage became visible as he came near. The little flecks of gray hair in his beard starting to appear. The smile lines. The crow’s feet. “Starving, in fact.”

While your ex, Fenred, had made you feel frozen, Aragorn made you feel heat throughout your body. Just the way that he had looked at you while he said that, his eyes tracing your figure. He wasn’t just hungry for vegetables. He was hungry for something else.

“How could -” you said, your bottom lip starting to quiver. His expression fell in concern, stepping closer to you, taking the basket from your hands and setting it down on the ground. “How could you love someone like me?”

Aragorn went through a little face journey. He looked confused as he heard what you had said - and then seemed to question whether that was what he had really heard. And then he just didn’t understand the question, going back to the original concern. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that right, what did you ask?” He asked apologetically.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, feeling all of these emotions well up in the warmth that he made you feel. It’s like - you were happy that he looked at you like that. But you couldn’t understand why. You were holding your breath, waiting for it to all fall down.

“How could you love me?” You asked again, your voice in a hushed whisper, barely even wanting him to hear it. He put his hand onto your cheek, as if he could rescind your question, put it right back between your lips. He smiled ever so slightly, the left side of his mouth going up a little higher than his right in that charming way.

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, pressing his lips against yours. Your heart was beating so quickly then, as everything else seemed to go limp, surrendering to his touch. He had a way of making all thoughts fly from your brain, right out into the air, floating like petals in the breeze. How could he love you - he had so many ways. And he planned on showing you all of them.

He picked you up in his arms, those strong arms that held the most important blade in all of Middle Earth History, the arms that had fought off mountains of orcs, the arms that had taken off the crown of Gondor, and carried you inside towards your shared chambers. Normally, such a thing would not be approved of, since you were not married. But no one went against what Aragorn commanded. He wanted you by his side, and so you would be.

You tried wiggling out of his grasp, playfully of course. There was nowhere else that you would have rather been. Only a touch of your insecurities had been left within you, though you almost couldn’t remember why.

“You keep wiggling your butt like that, I’m going to spank it,” Aragorn said, his breath hot against your ear, causing you to laugh. He chuckled as he set you down gently onto the bed, his hands now on your hips, rolling you over on the fur blanket. His hands were squeezing at your ass, enjoying the feeling of it beneath his hands. You moaned slightly at the contact, enjoying it. Just - enjoying his love. Enjoying how this great man was worshiping you. And then thwack - his hand came down onto your left cheek. It wasn’t hard, and your gown had taken most of the blow but it was still enough to cause you to gasp with pleasure. Thwack - he wasn’t leaving the other cheek untouched either.

And then his hands went up your back to where the dress was laced up, and he started to undo the little knots that kept it form-fitting until it fell loose around you. You rose yourself up so that he could pull it off your body, leaving you bare on his bed. It had been a warm day; you hadn’t bothered with all of the under-garments. Not when you knew you were going to be seeing him anyway.

“You -” Aragorn said softly, looming over your body. You had rolled back onto your stomach, enjoying the scent of him amongst the furs, the soft feeling of it tickling against your skin. But that wasn’t the only thing, as you could now feel the hairs of his beard brushing against the back of your thighs, causing a shiver to go down your spine. And then his lips against your bottom, tongue teasing the crevice. “- are the most beautiful person that I have ever seen. I could be happily stranded forever on this bed if you were here to keep me company.”

You arched your back as his tongue found a new target, right in between your folds. His hands kept your thighs steady as he tasted you, his tongue flicking up at the tip to tease you further. You moaned into the pillow, feeling cherished, feeling - better than yourself. “Aragorn,” you said, your hands clenching onto the pillow.

“My love-” he said, raising his head from you for just a moment. “You ask me how I could love you. Let me show you the ways.”

You rolled over beneath him, facing him and you nodded, your eyes pleading for more. He moved up towards your lips and kissed you, and you could just taste yourself on his tongue. It wasn’t unpleasant in the least. The passion over-rode any disgust that you might have felt. Your hand got wrapped up in his brown hair, the soft tendrils seeming to wrap themselves around your fingers, pulling him in closer. He then moved to your neck, while his hands wandered around your body, admiring each curve, appreciating every pore. You mumbled his name again as he showed his devotion, stimulating your nipples with his hands before slipping down between your legs and growled slightly against your skin as he felt your wetness. Your arousal already strong. “That’s my girl,” he said, making you feel even more turned on. He possessed your heart, he knew that, you knew that, and any reminder of that was completely welcome. He’d been the one to repair it, put it back together, put YOU back together.

You untangled yourself from his hair to help him, undoing his trousers, the firm leather doing nothing to hide the fact that he was hard. They looked uncomfortably tight and you were eager to set him free.

He came out, hitting your thighs with a gentle moan. He was already rock hard. As you stroked him, you could feel a few drops of precum holding onto the tip of his cock. You wiped it with your thumb, spreading it around the head. He was a vocal man, much like he was in battle, letting out little grunts and groans, his mouth suckling on your dark skin, his fingers pinching your nipples. Your thighs were together, wrapped around his hand to keep him there. You weren’t going to let him go. Certainly not after he had found that sensitive nub again, and started to rub it with his index and middle fingers. You were so sensitive, it was like you could feel every swirl of his fingerprint, your head thrown back against the pillow, hand moving automatically to bring him pleasure too. You were on the bridge of overstimulation, but haven’t quite crossed it yet.

Due to your previous relationship, you always had these insecurities, which also gave you this need to be worthy. You had to please him just as much as he was pleasing you, so that he wouldn’t realize how much better he could have it with any other woman. Your thumb pressed underneath the head of his cock at every stroke up - and then with every stroke down, twisted, causing sweat to erupt around his brow, on the back of his neck. You started to move faster, until he suddenly pushed your hand away with a growl.

“I don’t want to cum that easily, my love,” he whispered into your chest. And then the feeling of his index finger penetrating inside you, stretching you out slowly. Your body adjusted as you groaned, pleading with him under your breath for more. He acquiesced. He added in his middle finger, and then slowly, prodding, his ring finger. He took his time, going slow, his erection between your thighs, shuddering as he felt your plush skin surrounding him. He spoke something in Elvish - something that he always said to you, something that you had only ever had to ask him to translate once and remembered since then.

‘You are perfect.’

Or perhaps he had used the word immaculate, and had to tell you what it meant, since you hadn’t come across that word before. Something along those lines. A shiver went up your spine as those beautiful sounding syllables.

“I need you, Aragorn,” You panted, your breath growing heavier as you could feel yourself getting close. His fingers could get you off anytime, but the most powerful orgasms you had were when he was inside of you. When you knew that you were able to get him off too.

He groaned again, and then kissed his way up to your lips, taking them heatedly. He was so damn warm, like you were kissing flames. His fingers left, causing you to whimper as a feeling of emptiness took you over. But only for a moment, before he eased himself into you, filling you perfectly.

Immaculately.

You whimpered again as his thrusts started to be slow, passionate, tender. And then they started to pick up as he couldn’t hold back much longer. Each movement of his hips brought you closer to your peak, every grunt from his perfectly shaped lips, every time that his balls hit against your ass, you were rising to heaven. He was releasing all of his pent-up desire onto you.

You reached your peak, closing your eyes, seeing white as your body shuttered. His hands on your hips were gentle, thumbs circling the bones as he slowed his motions to prolong your orgasm, only picking up afterwards, close to his own. He was ever a gentleman, refusing to be the first to cum. Ladies first, he insisted.

He pulled out at the last moment, his hardness grinding between your folds, the head against your clit as he spilled out upon your pelvis. You hadn’t had the talk about having children yet, and he was careful to make sure you didn’t get pregnant until he was sure that it was something you wanted. You hummed sweetly, your hand going through his hair as you attempted to recover.

“I love you,” You whispered to him, as his head rested against your shoulder. You weren’t the only one who had to catch your breath.

“I love you,” He replied back, kissing your skin gently, never letting up in his affections behind closed doors.

Despite the amazing time that you two had, the insecurities always returned. Especially when you were walking among the city, getting looks, and the risk of running into your ex was much higher. Every time you passed a guard, your eyes would flicker up to the face, anticipating the worst-case scenario. And of course it happened. Of course, your good luck was sure to run out again sooner or later.

You were walking with Aragorn, arm and arm through the spiral streets. You had been in a good mood. You were laughing as he told you a tale that you had heard before, about when he had found Merry and Pippin in the remains of Isengard, eating like kings and smoking some of the best pipe weed known to Middle Earth. But your laugh got cut off when you felt a heavy pair of eyes on you. You knew them well. And you could feel the anger, the hatred, the pure violence that the mind behind them held for you.

You let your arm fall from Aragorn’s. You just missed the look of concern that he gave to you, your eyes focused on your ex, who was standing near one of the shops, supposedly guarding it. Heart beating fast, but not in the way that Aragorn set it off. This was you going into fight or flight mode. And you chose flight every time.

“I’m going to go this way,” You murmured, just loud enough for Aragorn to hear and made a turn to go up a staircase in another direction. You hurried, moving so quickly, your shoes hardly made a sound against the stone.

Aragorn was left bewildered. He watched your back as you left, and then turned his head to see the direction that you had been looking before you sprinted off. A guard stood there, his mouth curled up into a snarl, also watching you leave. The grey eyes of the man who could have been King regarded him carefully, memorizing what he looked like, before turning to follow you.

He didn’t call after you, didn’t call more attention towards you, knowing you better than to do that. You weren’t a big gesture in public kind of person, as much as he had no problem with displaying his love for you. No, he reached you easily, and took your hand in his, pulling you into his chest, and kissed your forehead as you turned into him. His eyes looked straight into yours intensely, not with questions but with determination.

“What did he do to you?” He asked quietly, his hair moving in the light breeze. His hand tightened against yours, not enough to hurt but tight enough not to let you go. “Tell me.”

You felt all your strength leave you at his question, at his urging, and leaned against his shoulder, head nuzzling into his neck. “He-” You started, but your resolve to talk about it was leaving too. It was so difficult. So humiliating. His arm went around your waist, holding you close. His breathing sounding ragged - angry.

He kissed the side of your head, lips pressing against your hair. He was so completely patient despite his own ire.

“He was my former ... flame,” you said, not wanting to use the word lover since there had been no love from him. He had made sure that you didn’t feel an ounce of it, no matter how much you wanted it, strained for it. “And he made me feel so hated, Aragorn, he still does. Nothing I did was good enough for him. I had to constantly justify my existence to him, until I found myself doing it to myself. And he made me feel so ugly. The way that he would treat my skin. I used to think he loved me, or that he would grow to if I was just good enough. It took me way too long to realize that was never going to happen.”

Aragorn stood tensely as he took all of this in. Your words were in his ear. He wasn’t mishearing you, misconstruing you at all. He thought that this man was worse than all of the Uruk-Hai that he had ever taken down. He didn’t want a man like that in the city’s employ.

He pulled back to take your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing under your chin. “You’re beautiful,” he told you, squarely. “You’re the most beautiful person that I have ever seen in my life. You have the strength of a dwarf, never giving up, stubborn to the core. You have the elegance of an elf. The sweetness of a hobbit -” Each one of his comparisons was reminding you of what you loved about your friends, about the fellowship. Stubborn Gimli, never letting his smaller stature keep him from being helpful during the war. Legolas, serene and strong. And the hobbits - dear Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry. “I’ve never met anyone more worthy of love than you, my immaculate one. And I’m going to make sure that you get it.”

He didn’t keep you standing there to be a spectacle to the city. After he gave his small speech to you, his compliments, he walked with you, arm around your waist protectively, calloused fingers fiddling with your dress, and walked you right to the Captain of the Guard - Faramir. The knight stood at attention seeing Aragorn coming, acting professional despite the fact that they were good friends. Almost like brothers now.

“Aragorn,” he said, nodding his head in a bowing gesture. “Y/N.”

You managed a smile to him. He had become a friend to you as well. His wife Eowyn had become a good friend to you as well, and you four often dined together. As long as Eowyn didn’t cook. Aragorn had warned you against that.

“There is a guard in this city who doesn’t deserve to be one,” Aragorn said, his tone showing that this wasn’t the friendliest visit. He looked down to you, expecting you to chime in with his name.

“We don’t have to go this far -” you said, weakly, but he shook his head.

“Give me his name,” Faramir said, kindly. “I’ll make sure that he’s taken care of.”

The immediate trust was a surprise to you. Fenred argued against you at every turn. When you tried to go for help, tried to tell a guard about what he had been doing to you, you got the cold shoulder. They all stuck together like a brotherhood. But Faramir didn’t need an explanation at all.

“Fenred,” You muttered, your voice barely audible but it seemed to catch both of their ears.

“I want him out of the city. Today,” Aragorn insisted. “Before the day turns into dusk, if possible.”

“I know the name,” Faramir said, stroking his facial hair. “I think I’ve heard a complaint about him before.” And then he nodded towards you and to Aragorn. “He’ll be beyond the barrier before the stars come out. I’ll make sure of it myself.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said, putting an appreciative hand on his shoulder. “We both appreciate it."

While walking away, you wrapped both of your arms around one of his, holding it close to you. “You didn’t have to do that,” You mumbled. “I could have just kept on avoiding him...”

“No,” Aragorn said, his voice gruff, heavy. “You’re not going to walk on eggshells in my city. He deserved what he got, and now -” He breathed in deeply through his nose, and then out through his mouth. He was blaming himself for not picking up on these anxieties earlier. His mind reminisced through every time that you had come to him feeling insecure, unsettled, your hands shaking. He hadn’t put together the pieces that it was a guard making you feel that way. That it was an ex. “- now you aren’t ever going to have to worry about him again.”

You looked around briefly and then pressed a tender kiss onto his cheek, pressing hard enough that he would be able to feel it through his beard. “I love you. Thank you, for always taking care of me.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, in that honorable and noble way that he always did. He truly believed he didn’t need the praise for doing what any man should do for their love. He paused his walk and turned down towards you, his nose brushing lovingly against yours. “And I love you too.”

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