#its just half assed explanation but its still long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable.

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock.

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact.

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade.

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now.

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand.

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada.

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada.

So dada started making you little trinkets.

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating.

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task.

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.”

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.”

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!”

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected.

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers.

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on.

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper.

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much.

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that.

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing.

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face.

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!”

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock.

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement.

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted.

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that.

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face.

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one.

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes.

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions.

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him.

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter.

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray.

A rustle from above.

“Attack him!”

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes.

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing?

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word.

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ.��

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.”

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!”

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it.

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood.

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake.

She did.

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic.

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul.

But she was wrong.

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language.

Losing. It was all about losing.

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love.

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together.

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses.

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.)

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen.

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…”

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip.

You had gone slack in his arms.

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple.

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day.

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other.

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back.

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time.

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap.

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort.

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface.

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass.

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there.

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action.

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again.

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you.

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right.

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough.

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision.

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing?

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family.

You had died in his arms.

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind.

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless.

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?”

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood.

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out.

His daughter’s blood, on his hands.

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!”

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides.

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake. “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!”

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings.

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name.

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…”

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!”

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister.

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively.

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate.

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty.

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy.

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart.

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake.

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do.

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails.

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon.

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still.

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng.

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once.

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well. “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children.

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful.

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed.

It would never fly again.

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.”

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be.

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one.

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain.

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman.

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

@thotd-f1 @httpjiikook @nipoxe @fussel9913 @gloryekaterina @nxptury @thesheelfsworld @heyyitsmaiaa @anyasullyyy @rey26 @in-luvais @em-100 @n7cje @kpopslur @holysaladapricothero @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @maviee @grxcisxhy-wp @me-marilm @n39ro-chann

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

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spaloonbabooguuscooties · 1 year ago

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You could drink your whole life away and still never get that taste out of your mouth.

half commission for @salempie half completely self indulgent dreck pieced together from our insane conversations abt franke and elka. told myself id finally write a big explanation for all of the dum shit between these two for context so Thats Under The Cut.

so I already wrote some stuff about elka and franke's relationship back in whispering rock so feel free to look at that too . it goes over elkas blindness/‘seeing’ with clairvoyance and how her and franke started talking & all that good stuff

SO FOR STARTERS. a lot of thsi wont make sense without a big breakdown of elka herself. because elkas potential as a character is like insane to me. like just the idea of her in the long run of her life reads as something so potentially tragic; a young girl whos plagued with visions of doom and destined to be an outcast even in her own home for things she cant control and clings to the One vision of her wedding that she thinks is 'happy' even despite the fact she doesnt really love the person in it. im choosing to take the li-po doc as canon here because its funny shes the only one with backstory-

but my fucking god even the smallest look into what her parents are like is soo fucked up to me. and i do think elka especially gets a lot of influence from her mother; its funny how easily you can fit mabel doom into a box just from what elka says about her. knees deep in an avon-esque pyramid scheme and leaning into her daughters depressing ass visions & taking her to therapy at age 11 (which would be good if not for the kind of person you can already assume she is & so i doubt the therapist she has really does her any good. i think they share one). she reads as a very I Am My Daughters Best Friend type of mom to me and i can see elka being a centerpiece of the conversation when she has her Amway Girls over for drinks. wine-mom that lets her kid sip from the glass so she can feel like a big girl type deal.

and you can tell that elka is trying to hard to be too mature for her age even in her campster posts. how she writes letters to nils' mom and exchanges baking recipes with her and that feels like she really only interacts with middle aged women and not really many people her own age outside of camp (like her moms friends). which makes sense shed feel the need to ‘grow up’ early when shes probably had to process so many hard things at a young age bc of her visions.

theres a lot of filling the blanks here of course.

elka obsesses over nils to an overbearing degree even despite the fact he treats her like shit ('you promised no talking' and so on) and she treats him bad right back. she leans onto stereotypical heterosexual ideals like taking care of him and overblowing how Manly and Protective JT is and she admires romance stories like pride and prejudice and it feels like she Projects Soooooooo much of what she wants onto boys she barely feels anything for without knowing what its actually supposed to feel like. and clearly she WANTS that ideal future, a happy marriage, an actual romance- but according to nils even when they were dating she ignored him most of the time, which just seems Very Telling

like shes filling a role, overcompensating for emotions and lacktherof she cant digest quite yet, and it only makes more sense when you know shes had visions of their future together. how could that be bad for her? shouldnt it be like the books and movies? but she doesnt really connect the fact that her visions are only for Doomed futures, and if she does she certainly doesnt show it. Doomed relationships. it's been a part of her family for generations and she isn't turning out much different, is she? i dont think she even realizes thats all she ever sees yet, just that its Going to happen. that it's Her future, and it always will be

and like, her only reference for a real marriage so far has been her own parents, and she already Knows they have an affair, and theyre doomed to split, (and i actually like to think they were in rough waters anyway and elka was a child meant to mend a crumbling marriage but thats a whole other thing) and so without a framework for what an actual healthy relationship is supposed to be like she cant really grasp that her relationship with nils Isnt that and isnt ever going to be. she can only cling to this one happy idea of the future, and thats why she keeps chasing him, self fulfilling the actuality of her situation and creating and fostering the unhappy life they will inevitably live together.

and that bleeds into everything else in her life, of course, because as the years go on, as the visions grow in number it just makes sense for her to fall into the predictability of her life. she always knows whats going to happen, her visions are Never wrong- so why try to change things? shes had time to process tragedies days, weeks, months, years before they happen, shes had time to settle into every crack of her life. her parents divorce, her various break ups, her future with the psychonauts.

“and she's already seen so much of a future with [nils] she feels trapped almost. Like she has to be happy in it or else it just means her life is miserable. And it's a mixture of pride and fear of the unknown that keeps her clinging to the One thing she knows. BUT LIKE!!! She knows what's gonna happen! It's easier to grieve when she's been grieving for years... She wants so badly to be happy, But to do that she has to step into the unfamiliar. And that's more terrifying than staying the same miserable person she's always been.”

and thats where franke comes in— and yeah you Do have to take a lot of liberties for frankes character since it’s basically, like, all the info for her is just that shes a Supreme Baby Dyke but thats enough for me. i think she has protective butch itch in her . on campster shes defensive over other women evidenced in the way she keeps watch over the girls cabins for lili when elton is pursuing her . but shes also eager to please and constantly trying to make kitty laugh and also Very naive. but she tries! and i think it only solidifies more as she gets Older and really gets a hold of her feelings & her powers. this is incredibly franke to me

and i think as they grow older together— because i think franke and elka Do stay friends, both because elka is just pathetic and needs that positive connection even if she doesnt realize it and because i think franke is a very Loyal person & annoyingly persistent if you let her be . and i am also a kitty/franke truther. because kittys also important in this web we weave

because i think franke and kitty stay together after camp, to a point— theres a falling out facilitated on kittys end and they break up, but reconnect, and franke kind of... saves kitty from herself a little, from her strict military father whos love only extends thru finances , from her own stifling future , she drives all the way to bakersville in her shitty van handmedowned from her dad and they move in together eventually . they get jobs at the motherlobe , because it’s a pipeline to a decent job, because it’s whats easy, because franke doesn’t really have a future, because she’s never really been good at much, because shes never had much sense, because franke doesnt really care as long as she can live and help, sometimes, if she can, and because kitty’s there, and because elka’s there, and shes so used to being elkas eyes now and shes good at it. shes good at being the muscle of the missions when her colleagues lack it, when hypnosis and predictions arent enough. she likes it that way.

and elka appreciates frankes company. she listens, shes sweet, she does little things for her that no ones ever really put the effort for before; she likes her. franke is strong and bold and makes her laugh and shes always there but god elka cant let go of that future, of that box shes put herself in, that her mothers put her in, of being a Good Wife to a Loving Husband, of getting married normally and falling into unfailing familiarity. thats all shes ever wanted and shes not going to jeopardize that . not for franke, who may not be a boy but is handsome like one, whos always held her after every break up with nils and the men that filled empty days inbetween.

and elka is too stubborn to recognize those feelings anyway. too prideful to accept a way out. too set in her cycle no matter how much she hates it, her little self fulfilling tragedy of her own making, wallowing in her own doom. she struggles for control of her own life when she feels like every choice has been made for her anyway, she puts up her walls and carefully constructs what people see. but franke was always harder to trick, because while empathy isnt a particularly useful psychic power it’s certainly an inconvenient one. all franke has to do is get too close and all those carefully crafted walls fall apart, and elkas control is gone, and thats all she really has. and she tries to distance herself, really she does, but franke is also too persistent. and elka wears gloves, keeps contact that would make her walls crumble from happening as best as she can, but she cant really keep herself from the brief moments where she feels like someone actually fucking cares about her.

and that slightest lack of control, the need to wrestle it back is why she proposes to nils the next time theres a falling out— she knows how it happens, she plans every detail. and he accepts, despite everything. gets her a cheap ring and it feels like lead on her finger and its nothing at all like how shed thought it to be when she was a kid, theres no feather light feeling in her chest, only that dreadful reality that she cant turn this back. BUT WHAT CAN U DO LMAO

elka doesnt tell franke about this engagement until later, on their way back from a mission. late at night when neither of them can sleep, and franke invites elka to smoke in her van, because its been so long since theyve been alone like that, because elkas been so strangely absent lately. and because of everything, because frankes always so damn nice, because elka hates the feel of the ring on her finger, because she let herself get high alone with franke fucking athens whos always been so good at pulling her apart— the truth of it all spills out and its messy and emotional and she hates it, she hates the life shes made for herself, but franke makes it easier to bare and now shes here and shes so close and god she wishes she could see her smile again, she wishes she could see franke, thats all she needs right now and she cant but she can touch her and she can hold her and for tonight, she can be known, she can let those walls crumble, she can be something else just for once here with franke . she can kiss her here in this van, touch that happiness for just a moment, and forget the future that waits for her outside of it. franke begs her to forget the wedding, to just let herself be happy— and god, she wants to, but it means turning her back on everything shes known and everything shes saw to be inevitable, and franke has never been in her future, so if it were supposed to work out why hadnt she seen it and she cant, she cant take that risk but she can have this, even if its temporary, she can have it.

and just as soon as she gets a taste of it, its gone. after that night, after the missions over and theyre back at the motherlobe and have to pretend like nothing happened (franke doesnt, of course she tells kitty about it, she tells kitty about everything.) but that brief moment together haunts elka every time she sees franke, sees herself through frankes eyes, sees herself in her wedding dress because god its all franke can think about! of course it is! she knows how much elkas destroying herself she knows how much misery shes wallowing in that kiss in the van felt like an emotional punch to the teeth and she hasnt ever forgotten it and all she can do is sit and watch while elka throws herself into a loveless marriage. she can come to her wedding and see the way the bride and groom kiss with the emotional weight of a wet towel no matter how hard elka tries to hide it under a pretty dress and bouquets of flowers and meticulous planning.

and elka resents nils but she cant really hate him, its not his fault, not really. he feels trapped just like she does and his feelings of misery only cycle back into hers . they fight and gnash and wear away at each other and its a relationship thats crashed and burned a million times before elka even said i do. and its inevitable that she falls into her mothers habits, a sip of wine here and there to loosen up, until it turns to a glass, until it falls into a bottle on nights when whatever work nils does runs late.

but franke’s still there. shes always been there, hasn’t she? always trying to play knight, always trying to save her, dragging her home when shes stumbling over herself because god who else is going to do it but her? who else is left to care? certainly not nils. never nils. because franke knows her. because franke pities her. shes always pitied her. shes always known. and elka hates it, she resents it, but god in the same breath she’s desperate for it, she envies it to her very bones. elka is a mess but after frankes done with her she has someone to go back to that loves her. and god what elka wouldnt do to have that. to take it and keep it for herself because shes never ever got to have that movie romance shes always wanted.

so now comes this.

because elkas particularly miserable and particularly spiteful and she needs to get franke to understand, just for a moment, drink with her and get on her level and she needs her there with her no matter how her pity makes her feel. no matter how much it makes her shake with anger and envy and desperation, but god the way franke looks at her, the way she still tries to salvage what they have, the soft, slurred way she tells her that it’s okay but its not okay, none of this is okay, it never has been and she just wants franke to shut up and see that, and if she cant then she’ll show her, she’ll show her all the raw angry desperation, with too much teeth and hands that claw and grab and she’ll know why everyones always said she’s too much.

and she knows this puts her on nils’ level too. that this makes her a cheater, that shes no better than he is now. no better than her father and his affair. but god, she wants to be selfish. she wants to be in control. just for once. she wants to feel right and she wants to feel happy and she wants to feel loved. thats all shes ever wanted. and franke will let her have that, just for a little while, at the very least.

anyway. sorry. sorry for being crazy . this isnt even getting into the shit after the comic takes place . elkas stupid brainworld thag she has to overcome in order to finally be allowed in the polycule and live happily ever as worlds first lesbian divorceman

sorry for all the shit i make up instead of caring about actual characters with screentime . bye !

#ive spent months on thsi stupid lesbian toxic yuri slow burn relationship so you all better clap or im blowing this building up #psychonauts #elka doom #franke athens #ill paint the town red

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chocodile · 8 days ago

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Some new OCs with cars to complete the set I made in 2019!

Explanations under the cut.

Young Hyden - 1975 Lamborghini Countach

He would want some sort of luxury sports car. I mean, he'd have to have one. What else could he possibly drive but something loud, flashy, expensive, and oozing with ego and sex appeal?

He couldn't decide between "Cocaine Binge" orange or "Satanic Panic" black so he bought one of each. He alternates between them while the other is in the shop due to either the consequences of his own bad driving or general luxury car malaise.

Unfortunately, the Countach is three and a half feet tall while Hyden is just over seven feet tall. Even with custom seats to accommodate his height, it's not a comfortable driving experience. Luckily for him, the choice to give up his stupid sports cars to spare his aching knees is made for him when he totals one of them in a particularly bad accident and gets his license suspended.

Old Hyden - 1994 Bentley Dominator

It's now the mid 90s and Hyden is older, fatter, and more arthritic. Pickings are pretty slim for a rich man who simply does not fit in a small vehicle. I mean, there are options, but not a lot among the luxury brands, which means those options might as well not exist at all. The SUV boom was still in its infancy and the Bentley Bentayga and Rolls-Royce Cullinan, two other cars I considered for him, would not exist for another decade or a few.

In 1994, in the real world, Bentley made six huge gas-guzzling bricks for the Sultan of Brunei. These luxury car-slabs cost £3,000,000 a pop. In my fictional OC world, Hyden has #7. Or at least would have a similar custom luxury SUV with a similar price tag.

He no longer drives, citing his growing list of illnesses as the reason (No mention of his suspended license). Other drivers on the road breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, that's what chauffeurs are for.

Alternate car: This funny little bunny car toy I bought. Isn't it great?

Alex & Ridge - 1996 Ural Tourist

Instead of a car, Alex gets a motorcycle to symbolize her death wish… and also for other reasons, but that's the main reason.

A practical old thing. It's broken down a million times but she and Ridge always manage to revive it. She appreciates its ability to determinedly haul ass through rugged terrain and the fact that she can carry stuff using the sidecar. Ridge appreciates that sometimes he is the thing that gets carried around in the side car. He is also responsible for the shark face on it. :o)

…He drives it too, of course. He's a perfectly good, reasonable driver. Alex is just kind of a control freak about it. She is one of those people who grits her teeth and presses her foot into the passenger seat floor any time she's riding shotgun. It's easier to just let her be the driver.

They bought it together and drive it all over Europe doing whatever odd shady jobs they do in a modern setting. Alex craves one of those snazzy hyper-durable Japanese motorcycles, but cannot afford one. Maybe someday… Ridge isn't so sure about that kind of change. The bike still works as long as you fix it constantly, so what’s the problem? Plus, he'd be sad to see the shark face go.

#cars #cartoon art #oc art #my ocs #young hyden #hyden #alex #ridge #human #again these are for fun/practice and heavy reffed from photos #I do not know if anyone cares about that in 2024 but the part of me that was raised in the aughts feels the need to mention that

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beelsfav · 2 months ago

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minors and ageless blogs, do not interact. 1.6k words. (whb) fem! beelzebub/afab! reader. footplay near end.

Beelzebub loved to claim that she was fantastic at sex. Between her clones, skillful mouth, and willingness to try anything, what was there to want?

Truthfully, you'd love for her to put more effort into your trysts after she gets home from spending months traveling.

A part of you knows that she does it to bully you. She loved to see you pout and whine whenever you were so desperately chasing your high, laying back in her perfectly fluffed pillows to watch you sob while riding her.

Today it was a long string of nudes, videos, and audios while you were out. Half of them was her begging and pleading for you to ditch Amon to join her while the rest were just messy videos of her getting off with a pair of your underwear pressed to her nose and mouth.

(You'll ignore how your shared laundry basket was now toppled and scattered across the room.)

The toy she brought home today was new but not entirely lost on you. The many times you had the funds to look through whatever shop called to you that week, you clicked over it curiously before ultimately moving on to the next.

Maybe you forgot to close a tab on your browser. It'd be the most likely explanation for how Beelzebub knew to buy the double-ended dildo, giving you a view of half the toy snuggly tucked inside her sex as her hand lazily rubbed circles on her clit.

"You're not going to make me do all the work, are you?"

She has the audacity to look offended, leaning onto her elbows with twitching fingers. "I would never!" Gesturing for you to join her on the bed, Beelzebub tilts her head to the side and rolls her hips to entice you. "Besides, when have I ever made you do all the work?"

In the few months you've been staying in Abyssos you'd need three hands to list every time. It'd undoubtedly leave you with trouble functioning, a missing Beel, and needing another hand, but that was a battle for another day.

Instead, you kneel on the bed and begin to strip. She watches you while her hand saws the toy in and out, pants and moans heaving out of her mouth as she clenches around the toy. The hand not working the dildo finds itself tweaking one of her pierced nipples and you can't shove your shorts off fast enough.

Beel yanks your arm and shoves you into the mattress once you're free. She ruts the curved end of the dildo into your folds while her hands anchor themselves on your hips, thumbs spreading your ass and leaning back so she can better savor the view. "D'you want my fingers first, or d'ya wanna skip to the fun?"

Your hips rock into hers when she stills, back arching to try and get the shaft of the toy to slide against your bundle of nerves. "I don't care," you sigh into your arms, holes fluttering when she breaches your ass with her thumb, "just hurry up."

Even if you can't see her, the smile on her face is loud as she pulls away and catches the tip on your opening. "Didn't anyone teach you patience?" Her hands leave your body before swatting at the backs of your thighs, massaging the skin while she makes her way down to your calves.

Beel lowers herself until she's sitting, forcing your legs to straighten out so you're laying flat on your stomach. She guides the tip of the dildo until it pushes its way inside your walls, pulling you by her hold on your legs and sighing when your sexes are flush against each other. You both let out garbled moans when she hooks a thigh over one of yours while the other fixes itself under your other.

Nails dig harshly into your thighs, no doubt drawing blood. "Fuuuck," she cries, rutting her bushy mound against yours. The curls and texture of her unruly hair winding around until it's brushing against your clit, your sighs and keens growing in volume.

The muscles in Beel's thighs tense as she pulls away ever-so-slightly, taking the toy with her. The grip her calves keep on your legs is near bone-crushing, using the leverage they offer to push and pull until the dildo is halfway out of your cunt, pulsing and clenching until—

"Hand me that, babe!"

It's an effort to dig your head out of your arms and stop teeth grazing against the skin. When you're successful, you cock your head to better look at Beel, brows furrowed and slowly losing the heat coursing through your blood.

"What?"

"The remote— the small one— hand it over."

Following her finger pointed at the nightstand, you reach out for the item before looking it over. "If I give you this," you start, holding the remote out of her reach, thumb rubbing over the smooth rubber of its buttons, "will you be normal about it?"

"Normal," she parrots with a snort, ignoring the glare you give her. Her fingers flex expectantly, smirk painting her lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Curling the leg under hers, you shake your head and try to pull her (and the dildo) back to you. "Then don't worry about it. I'll hold this."

Beel sucks her teeth and drops herself from her elbows, dragging you back until your flush against each other again. She lets out a heaving sigh when her clit presses itself between the globes of your ass, hands squeezing until it hurts as she ruts and bucks before pulling back.

She sets herself into a rhythm before long. Clench, pull, slam forward, clench, pull, slam, clench, pull—

"SHIIIT!"

Her yowl in the air is louder than the throaty noise you release into your arms. Beel's hips dropping onto the bed stabs the shuddering toy into the walls of your cunt, the shaft of it pressing against the most sensitive part in your walls while the head presses dangerously close to your cervix.

While starting off at the highest setting wasn't your intent, you can't say you hated it. Your nails claw into the sheets while your moans muffle themselves with the pillow, thighs trying to jolt and twitch from where they're now trapped around Beel's.

When she gains sense enough to pick herself up, Beelzebub takes a steadying breath before yanking you against her again. She's mindlessly babbling about how good it feels while throwing her leg across your stomach, hands now clutching at your thighs to keep herself grounded as she rolls her hips against yours.

You reciprocate the action as best you can as your sensitivity grows. "Beel, Beel," you gasp, bundle of nerves getting itched and scratched by her bush and the coil in your stomach grew tighter and tighter. "I can't— mm— fuck!"

"Y'feel that? Y'wanna co— hmm!— Y'almost there?" Her back arches and the tip of the dildo jumps against that spot in your walls again. Forcing you to straighten your legs, Beel curls her stomach so she can press her lips to the bottom of your foot, tongue darting out to lick the sweat sliding out it before she goes back to speaking. "You'll let me taste ya' after, yeah? Wanna keep the party goin' a little longer?"

God, if you didn't want that. The pressure in your sex was getting more and more noticeable, the squelching of your combined wetness against your clits and the toy ringing in your ears seems to be the only thing you can hear. It feels like tears are trying to slip from behind your lids, your throat burning from the gasps and hiccups she manages to pull from you.

When your high washes over you and oversensitivity is jolting you like shocks of lightning, Beel seems no closer than she was before. Another press of another button through your haze gets you both twitching, her mouth mindlessly drawing your toe inside so her tongue can begin laving at it.

You flinch when her teeth run over the sensitive skin, sobbing when she begins to grind with a new fervor.

"Fuck— ugh— me! Shit!— mm!— God damn it!—" Beel curses and curses, claws digging into your thighs until you're sure she drew blood. She manages to pull you into her more, moaning at the way your teeth sink into her calf.

She keens when she finally comes and you can't help but follow after when her rutting becomes more focused on hitting your clit again.

You're quick to shut the toy off and collapse as though you're boneless. Beel's panting with a smirk when she gets over her high, clenching around the toy and dragging herself up and off the toy. "Atta' girl," she rasps, rising to her knees so she's straddling you. Her hand grips the dildo and pumps it in and out of your cunt before pulling it out. "That felt a lot better than what I've ever given you, didn't it?"

A weak moan leaves your throat as she manhandles you onto your back. "Mhm." Short and curt because, quite frankly, you don't think you could manage anything else. It was nothing like when she brought her clones in, but it was still something. "Was good."

When you pry your eyes open and force yourself to look at where she hovered above you. Most of the dildo is pressed down her throat, a finger and a thumb keeping it from sliding down to her pit of a stomach as her throat bulges around it. She's slow to pull it out, letting the taste of your mixed wetness linger on her tongue before tossing the toy across the room.

Beel leans until you're pressed chest-to-chest, the chill of her nipple piercings transferring into yours. She sniffs and tongues around your neck, smile growing as her hands find purchase on your hips before beginning to wander.

"You can take some more then, can't you?"

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb x reader #what in hell is bad x reader #whb beelzebub #what in hell is bad beelzebub #that foot part wrote itself. 'what other weird gluttony stuff could beel do to take up words?' that; apparently.

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writtenjewels · 1 month ago

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Voice part 1

[My only explanation for this one is that I'm a big fan of The Twilight Zone]

It was going to be another restless and lonely night. Salim considered going out, but always stopped himself. A part of him knew he should try—Zain was certainly saying so often enough—but Salim was in a strange limbo of fearing to get close to anyone again, and wanting the closeness. It was like an itch that he could ignore most of the time, but was in need of scratching.

He went into a healthy living store hoping for something to ease the rising tension inside him. Salim grabbed a few teas, then found himself wandering into the meditation section. Anything would be welcome, at this point. There were several books on the subject, and a few guided recordings. Salim spotted something shoved in with the recordings. He grabbed it and pulled it out. It didn't have a label. The mystery of it intrigued him and he bought it.

Later that day, he put the recording in his player and started the tape.

“Hey, darlin'. You look like you've had a long day.” Salim stared at his player, taken by surprise by the voice. Not that this voice couldn't have been soothing, but he was too distracted by the accent. It was distinctly American—specifically from the South, like in those cowboy movies Salim liked to watch. He supposed there was something charming about that twang. He pressed play.

“You work too fuckin' hard, ya know that? Sit your ass down.” Salim had to stop the tape again to laugh. The cursing should have been vulgar, but it sounded so genuine and natural. Without realizing it, Salim found himself relaxing. He started the tape again. “You got so much tension in your shoulders. Let me work out those kinks for ya.”

Salim rolled his shoulders. A massage sounded nice. Almost as if it heard him, the voice began to describe a shoulder rub in great detail. He could imagine strong fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders, working in gentle circles to loosen him. Salim closed his eyes, leaning forward and letting his body go slack. The voice kept talking and the imaginary hands went lower to the middle of Salim's back. They pressed into his flesh, working out every kink. Salim was nearly slumped over in his chair.

“You doze off on me, darlin'?”

“I did,” Salim admitted, blinking his eyes lazily open. If a real massage felt half as good, he might just go find a parlor. He stretched out his back and found he really did feel more loose.

“You work too goddamn hard, ya know that?” The voice on the recording sounded almost playful, even as it scolded him. Salin found himself smiling. Between these little comments and the way the voice described the massage, he was feeling much better. He stopped the tape again and took it out of his player.

It was a shame the label had worn off. He would have liked looking into the company that made this tape. At least he was lucky enough to find it in the store. He put the tape back in its casing and went about the rest of his day.

Salim went through his usual evening routine and climbed into bed. He spent five minutes tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. His thoughts drifted to the tape. Listening to that description of the massage nearly put him to sleep earlier. Maybe it could help him again. Salim got up, taking his player and the tape into his room. He plugged in the player, inserted the tape, and hit play before getting back into bed.

“It's awfully late for you to still be awake, darlin'.” Salim was confused by the words. Why didn't the recording start from the beginning? “It's okay, I couldn't sleep either,” the voice continued. “I'm a night owl myself.”

“This is strange,” Salim frowned, sitting up.

“I think I know somethin' that might help you relax,” the voice told him. “How 'bout a massage?”

“Oh.” This was familiar territory again. “Yes, please,” Salim agreed, stretching out on his bed again. He closed his eyes and listened as the recording described the massage to him. Except it went a little differently this time.

Every so often the voice would pause to ask, “How's this?” Or “Do you want me to keep going?” Or “Does this muscle hurt?” And so on. Salim found himself answering, and he would swear that the description was actually responding to him, giving him attention where he said he needed it most. Of course that was ridiculous, but it gave the recording an interactive feel he enjoyed.

“You feelin' better now?” the voice asked him.

“Mhm,” Salim answered drowsily.

“Goodnight then, darlin'.”

“Goodnight,” he responded, dropping off to sleep.

#house of ashes #salim othman #jason kolchek #jason/salim #jalim #jason x salim #jason kolchek x salim othman

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pattywagon2go · 4 months ago

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FixTF2: What Happened, Why Did Valve Step In, And What Comes Next?

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with neither Valve nor the people who run the FixTF2 petition. Do not treat anything I say here as any official announcement of any future plans for the movement. All my thoughts and opinions are mine and mine alone.

As of the making of this post, the save.tf has officially closed down to new signatures, racking up a generous 343,711 total signatures. I've made my thoughts on FixTF2 clear in the past, where I said that I didn't have much hope that Valve would actually do something, but to my surprise, Valve seemed to have finally stepped in and done something about the bot issue plaguing the game for 5 straight years beyond the usual half-assed band-aid fix. In light of Valve surprising me, I want to talk about what's happened, some speculation as to why Valve is potentially doing this, and what I think comes next from all of this.

So, let's clear some stuff up: Is Casual really bot-free?

From what I've seen and heard, yes!

Starting around June 25th, multiple sources reported a massive drop in the active player count for Team Fortress 2 from Steam Charts, being around 15,000-16,000 users vanishing overnight. Many people suspect this to be a large-scale ban wave Valve enacted, and there is a large amount of evidence to support this. (More info from this video by shounic here) Since then, up until the day this post is being written (July 1st 2024), people have reported that Casual servers across all regions have been fairly bot-free, with only the occasional one popping up, a far cry from a month ago, where servers were flooded with them no matter where you went. I myself even hopped on a few games and to my surprise, there were no bots to be found whatsoever. Its honestly been super refreshing to see the game be this clean, as now its actually fun to play once again. I haven't touched the game in months, but since the bots have been kicked out for a little bit, it feels good to play once more. If you haven't played the game for a while cause of the bots, now's your chance to hop in and enjoy the game. Its actually fun to play now that the bots have been squashed. On top of that, (as of the time this post is being written), Valve appears to still be actively curbing cheaters and bots from the game, even setting up a dedicated Steam support page for anyone who gets a game ban here.

So, why's Valve doing any of this?

This is where I'm going to step into speculation territory, as Valve being Valve means there's barely any information they will share with the public, but I'll do my best to come up with some logical explanations. I would say that Valve doing a ban wave has both a short-term goal and a long-term goal. The short-term goal was Valve was always intending to do a ban wave, it just took a while to do. What I think happened was Valve took a while to collect a database of known bot accounts and (presumably) their hosters, and from there, once Valve felt they were comfortable with the amount they had collected, they pulled the trigger and proceeded to wipe them out. They obviously couldn't just outright say "Hey, we're gonna do a wipe of the bots soon" because that would have given the hosters plenty of time to set up proactive measures to make Valve's job harder. The only evidence I really have for this is the dropoff of players on Steam Charts, which shows around 15k-16k players mysteriously disappeared from the game, which seems to point to Valve issuing a game ban toward said accounts/deleting them entirely. Alternatively, Valve could have banned a limited amount of accounts, much lower than the 15-16k shown by Steam Charts, but it sent a scare to hosters who deactivated their bots and took them off the game once they knew Valve was watching them, but this explanation I don't have much evidence to prove beyond scattered Discord screenshots of supposed hosters telling people to change their bot configurations due to Valve clamping down on them. The long-term goal of this, though far-fetched and lacking evidence to support, could have to do with Deadlock, their next game, as a proactive measure to prevent these same malicious actors from flooding the game on Day 1, something many people have pointed out and what's happened to CS2 not even a year into its launch.

(UPDATE: Ok I might as well address this cause it did come up while I was writing the post, but a Team Fortress 2 DLC for an upcoming Funko Pop game called Funko Fusion was announced, and people have said that the only reason why Valve squashed the bots was because Valve wanted the game to look good in time for the crossover.

Now I am by no means a fan of Funko Pop, I think they look a bit ugly and there's a myriad of other things people take issue with, but that's all outside the scope of this post. I personally don't care that this is happening to begin with, as Funko Pops are something I routinely forget about, so as far as the DLC existing, I don't care that much. That being said, if it is true that Valve only squashed bots due to this collab happening to begin with, then that is pretty sad and disappointing to see, with how Valve wasn't motivated to fix the issue until a different company came knocking and asked them to do something cause they didn't want the DLC to look bad. But since there's no confirmation this is the case, Valve does have some level of plausible deniability here, and ultimately, something good did come from this, at a (to me, cause I couldn't give a shit about Funko) nonexistant cost so I won't complain)

So now time to return to the last part of the question in the title: What comes next?

Well for one thing, the war has not been won yet.

A big mistake with SaveTF2 was once Valve tweeted that they apparently "heard" us and were working to improve things, people largely declared victory and chose to stop there. Yet things didn't substantially improve since then, only cascading into a far worse situation. This time around, we cannot give up as quickly as last time. We are on the cusp of victory, but we need to keep the pressure on Valve. Keep holding them accountable for the bot issue. Put pressure on them to get rid of the bots for good. Don't let them off the hook and give them a slap on the wrist for only repelling the bots for a little bit, because believe me, as soon as Valve stops doing anything and slinks back into the shadows, the bots will return, and they will be far worse than anything we've seen thus far. It happened two years ago, it will happen again if we just declare victory now and go home. What Valve is doing is a great change of pace and they do deserve some praise for what they're doing, but we must make sure they stay committed to fixing the issue at hand. The best time for Valve to fix the issue was 5 years ago. The second best time is here and now. For now, hop on a few games and enjoy the (relatively) clean servers. We've earned a small break after our victory, but once you're done, make sure to grab your best bot-stomping boots, because our job is far from over.

#fixtf2 #savetf2 #team fortress 2 #valve

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voxofthevoid · 2 months ago

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Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #4—the teased rimming scene this time. I'm halfway into the next chapter, but that one is currently a bunch of conversations that won't work all that well as a standalone snippet, due to contents or length.

The fic overall is over 35k, and I still don't have a final chapter count. Under 20, at an estimate, but I really can't tell 🤔

“That’s not your mother’s teat, boy.”

Yuuji frowns, still suckling.

That’s pretty rude. He doesn’t even remember his mother.

“Take the hint,” Sukuna says, his voice more gravely than before. “Brat.”

Yuuji pries his eyes open, blinking lids that feel like lead. Everything’s dark for a long moment, and then he realizes he’s mostly seeing the robes rucked up against Sukuna’s hips, bits of light spilling around the fabric.

He’d need to pull off to see Sukuna’s face properly, and he’s not going to do that.

Yuuji hums around the cock in his mouth, frowning more when he realizes it’s still soft. He sucks in his cheeks, slurping wetly. All he gets for the trouble is a throatful of his own spit.

Sukuna’s hand tears free of his hold, so sudden that Yuuji doesn’t even get the time to tighten his grip, and then it’s in his hair, grabbing a merciless fistful and yanking his head back. Yuuji protests as his mouth is torn off that cock, the sudden emptiness leaving him cold all over.

There’s a ripple of movement, and then his face is being pushed into warm, musky flesh.

Yuuji makes a confused noise; it trembles in the air trapped between his face and the skin pressed to it.

Sukuna’s fingers tighten in his hair, and a heavy weight lands on Yuuji’s shoulder, the shape of it confusing until what can only be the heel of a boot digs into his back, grinding in like it wants to bruise muscle and bone.

“Hey,” Yuuji gasps into a faceful of flesh, “that hurts.”

“Good,” Sukuna says with vicious satisfaction.

“What’re you doing?”

Sukuna answers by tilting his hips, pushing his ass into Yuuji’s face and shoving him forward with the fist and the heel, and then there’s no dying where exactly his face is buried, what exactly is brushing his lips.

He breathes in, half curious and half helpless, and is drenched inside and out in a scent that’s not as damp or nasty as he was expecting but still skewers his lungs with a deep, dark musk that’s like nothing he’s ever scented, even when he had his nose buried in Sukuna’s crotch.

“That’s…gross,” Yuuji rasps, shuddering all over. His heart feels like it’s spread all through his body and is now throbbing violently under his skin. It’s hot.

“Liar,” Sukuna says, with an edge to his voice that’s a little too raw to be amusement. “I can still smell your hunger. You should thank me for indulging it, even after all your presumption.”

Yuuji would rather rip his tongue out than thank this guy, and this is no indulgence anyway, except his mouth still answers, nuzzling further into that heavy heat before Yuuji can do the sane thing. It’s there waiting for him, the hips raised off the altar and the cheeks a little spread, all without Yuuji doing anything at all. There’s the fleeting thought that it’s at least a better explanation for the boot digging into his back, and then Yuuji’s mouth finds flesh and thoughts all die.

Sweat bites into his tongue, its flavor sharper here, and Yuuji chases it along the skin, putting off the inevitable for a moment. Sukuna’s soft here. The delicate skin of his taint, the plump flesh of his cheeks. Yuuji curls his hand over the thigh settled on his shoulder just to feel where he’s hard and familiar—someone he could hurt.

It’s not hurt that Yuuji licks against that tight furl of flesh or digs into the yielding heat at their center, but Sukuna makes a tight little noise anyway.

It’s dark and ripe and almost sweet, cut through with slivers of sweat. It sinks right into his gut, scorching his spine on the way. He pulls his tongue out and licks around the opening, straying here and there to taste softer, blander flesh, and he’s imagined this, kind of, just with a different hole, and it’s not the same, he knows that, the taste and the shape and the feel must all be different, but it’s not like he knows what it’s like to be face-first in a cunt, and it’s not all that hard to wrench those heat-soaked fantasies into the solid reality he can put his tongue on.

And Sukuna’s been quiet after that first, low noise, but the leg draped over Yuuji is trying to crush him to the floor, its heel sure to leave a bruise that’ll last days, and that’s telling enough.

Yuuji sucks in a breath that sears him all the way to his lungs and licks in.

Something bursts open in his chest, loud and violent enough to tear free of his throat and shudder into the flesh he’s buried in, and it feels like Sukuna splits open around it, his hole twitching looser—or maybe that’s just Yuuji’s tongue, cleaving through the tight clench.

Sukuna’s so hot and hungry there, sucking him in and shuddering around him. It’s darker and riper than even his cock, soaking into Yuuji’s tongue.

It should be gross and weird, but maybe Sukuna was right when he called Yuuji a liar because he can’t get enough of it, the taste and the heat and the way it all melts around his tongue, and that’s hunger, as pure and as vicious as what had him chasing down Sukuna’s cock until he was pushed away.

Sukuna’s not pushing him away now; he’s keeping himself spread wide and open, right there for Yuuji to eat.

Yuuji eats.

His face grows wet with his own spit, the stench of it mixing with the scent of Sukuna’s body to become something thick and heady, heating his lungs more and more with every inhale, and it’s pure noise he breathes back out, sounds he didn’t even know he could make writhing and dying against Sukuna’s body. It earns him nails raking his scalp and flesh suffocating him; Sukuna’s always in motion, clawing at Yuuji’s hair and rolling his hips. He’s still quiet, not even his breathing penetrating the throbbing silence in Yuuji’s ears, but his body’s loud, from the pressure bearing down on Yuuji to the muscles rippling around his tongue, and it makes him hungrier, greedier, every breath and every second of silent motion dripping heat into his bloodstream.

His cock pulses hotly between his legs. The awareness of it fluctuates, louder than a scream one moment and drowning in borrowed flesh the next. Yuuji doesn’t have the hand to spare anyway. His fingers feel like they’ve been welded to Sukuna’s wrist and thigh, the throb of blood there echoed in his fingertips. The hard platform is digging into his knees through the jeans, but the ache is nothing compared to the sheer need howling inside him.

All that moves is his mouth—his tongue digging into hot flesh, his lips worshipping damp skin, his throat clenching around ripe heat.

His jaw starts to hurt, the kind of pain that’s all exhaustion, but the hunger burns through that too.

A different kind of pain dances all over his scalp, and for a long few seconds, Yuuji doesn’t even realize what’s happening, only that there’s tears dripping down to join the wetness covering his lower jaw, and then the pain flares, blinding until it’s not, and when Yuuji forces his eyes open, they’re seared back shut by too much light.

But he’s breathing easier; the air is cleaner—less damp, less thick.

And there’s something warm and solid pressed all against his front.

Sukuna—

A hand cups Yuuji’s cock through his jeans, squeezing meanly.

Yuuji groans, bucking into that touch. It grips even tighter, like it’s planning to pull his cock out through the denim, and Yuuji flinches away, except he can’t get anywhere and doesn’t really want to, pressing back into that vicious hand the next moment. Heat claws up his cock, spreading and spearing through the rest of his muscles.

“Disgusting,” a voice breathes into his ear, low and throaty. It sinks right into Yuuji’s gut, dripping even lower. “You’re a mess, brat.”

Yuuji feels it. There’s sweat everywhere he can feel, soaking into his clothes. But it’s the sticky heat drying on his face and even his throat that makes him flash hot all over, except the way it burns is too sweet to be embarrassment.

He opens his eyes a slit, blinking till they adjust to the dull mix of moon beams and candle flames. Sight makes it easier to make sense of his position. He’s draped over Sukuna like a ragdoll, kept up by a hand in his hair and another at his crotch. The leg that was on his shoulder is curled loosely around his hip, holding him fast to the obscenely broad body seated on the altar.

Yuuji untucks his face from the vicinity of Sukuna’s neck, earning himself a too-close view of red, red eyes.

He braces himself on Sukuna’s shoulders and draws back, just enough that he can look at his face without feeling bloodstained. And Sukuna’s sneering, of course he is, but his face is flushed and gleaming with sweat, and his nostrils flare wide with every inhale.

Yuuji swallows wetly. The taste in his mouth is unchanging.

“Your fault,” he tells Sukuna. “You put me there.”

Sukuna’s sneer widens. “And you’re no better than a dog.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

#sukuita #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #divider credit: saradika-graphics #fic: mouth of the wolf

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reading-archived · 3 months ago

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woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man

#am x reader #ihnmaims x reader #am #hm. been so long since i posted my writing on tumblr i forget how to tag it.#ihnmaims am x reader #sorry for bringing the mood down by talking abt real life death but i actually dont know how to cope w this other than writing #(not like its working too well anyway but thats beside the point)#also not only is author a masochist but author has also been suicidal for... idk. 12 years?#it runs in the family sadly. but that just means YOU get a unique fic premise!#no im not at risk yes i have a good support net so dont worry im just sad all the time lately #ok also im a good writer all the repetition is intentional i know how to vary my sentences #not a very good writer. but good enough to spin a yarn #get this guy on virtual mood stabilizers stat like omfg

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phantom088 · 7 months ago

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Just a light hearted rant

In other words, things in Danny Phantom that make absolutely no sense.

First off is the on button to the portal being on the inside the portal.

Who's idea was that?Jack, Maddie, I'm looking at you.

Like seriously, Jack and Maddie gave up because the portal didn't work when they plugged it in. In reality they just didn't hit the on button, which was inside the damn portal! How does that even work?

In order to turn that thing on, someone would have to sacrifice their life to push the button...and would you look at that, Danny walked right into that and now he's half dead. Skill issue I guess, but still.

At least it seems Jack and Maddie fixed the issue as in later episodes its shown that there's a on and off button on the outside of the portal, either that or they built 2 sets of buttons in the first place which then makes me wonder why they didn't hit the on button they had on the outside when they plugged the portal in.

The next thing is questioning how Danny got the thermos working.

Yeah, it seems like he transferred some ghostly energy into it as pictured here:

But the show doesn't actually conform that or tell us how Danny got the thermos working. He basically asked the thermos to work and it went "No worries fam, I got you." And it worked.

No explanation, just a "it works now...yay!" Kind of vibe.

My third thing skips quite a few episodes, even a full season and that is the existence of Danielle or Dani.

Here are the questions that come to mind.

How is Dani a female when she is supposed to be a clone of a male? Yes I've heard the trans theory, or maybe to make her stable Vlad had to mess with the XY chromosomes, or even Vlad added some female DNA into her for some reason (probably to make her stable). But non of those ideas completely follow up.

Why is she 12? In cloning cases, the clone doesn't end up a set age, when someone is cloned, their clone starts as a fetus/baby. It should have taken Dani 12 years to you know, become a 12 year old kid. So unless Vlad decided to start cloning Danny when he was 2, I don't see why Dani is 12.

How is she even stable in the first place? Yes, the other clones Vlad made weren't very stable, but it still makes no sense that Dani is stable because cloning is a very delicate process. Usually a clone of someone doesn't end up healthy like Dani, there always has to be some birth defect, and in real life most clones don't even live that long, and that's 2024 talking. Mind you, Danny Phantom was made in the early 2000s, cloning technology probably wasn't as advance then, meaning Dani isn't even supposed to be alive.

Fourth and final thing, and that's the asteroid.

Just the fact that the asteroid is made of a material called ecto-ranium says it all. This material was never mentioned before Phantom Planet, meaning it was made up on the spot, rushed per-se just like how the final episode was rushed!

Even worse is the fact Vlad managed to send the fucking thing hurtling at earth, and the best idea that wveryone could come up with was send two middle aged man to space in a rocket ship, one being half ghost and the other being a inconfidant ghost hunter, both dumped on bad terms, and hoping for the best.

Who would have saw Vlad not being able to make the asteroid intangible coming? Who would have thought his plan failed, and Jack ended up leaving him out in space. What a shocker.

Then instead of building a laser or something that would destroy the asteroid everyone decided to put their trust on a teenage ghost to fix everything. Sure he was successful, making it so the asteroid could phase through the whole ass planet even though it's made of a material ghosts can't manipulate (meaning it should be obvious a ghost can't phase through the asteroid or get objects such as a whole planet to phase through it as well but to each your own).

Let's just hope the moon or sun or any other planet weren't in it's path when it passed through earth.

And don't even get me started on the crappy relationship we all know Danny and Sam are gonna have. It was rushed, and frankly knowing Sam is someone who wants things to go her way, and Danny is someone who's too stubborn to follow that, the relationship isn't going to last.

Also, why were Sam and Tucker being such assholes to Danny through the whole episode until he restored his powers. Like bro, he got rid of his powers to specifically protect you two, why be asses to him?

And that ends my rant lol.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Humor #Rant #Light Hearted #Nickelodeon #Don't Take This Seriously #Nicktoons #Funny

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gabessquishytum · 10 months ago

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Okay okay so i know i JUST sent that pervy hob creeping on waiter dream ask but i came up w more bc im not well.

Dream doesnt want anyone but his supervisor Lucienne to know hes Morpheus Endless bc hes 19 and everything is a catastrophic level of embarrassment at the age of 19 also hes afraid he might get picked on or hazed or something. Hes shy and most of the summer employees are his age but everyone is either nice or neutral but not mean. He gets invited to a few staff bonfires and kinda sits at the edge and keeps to himself bc hes never done this or been allowed to have friends before but its pleasant and sometimes someone will come over and make small talk to help him feel included. The Corinthian is a poolboy, he makes jokes about it constantly saying how hes trying to have as much gay sex as possible and being poolboy seemed the best bet. Hes charming and isnt weird about dream being sorta gender neutral/fluid and dream Likes him. The Corinthian saw hob slap dreams ass that first time and matthew told dream he had to physically hold the Corinthian back so he didn't go beat a guest up. Dream sits with the Corinthian on the dock and thanks him for his gallantry and the Corinthian is shy being alone w him all like "well,, i didnt do it for anything other than selfish reasons im hoping to get some nepo points when you go back home" and dream is all shook and worried now but the Corinthian laughs like "yeah you should've chose a different nickname if you didnt want to be associated with the god of SLEEP" but he doesn't tell anyone and even catches on to dreams vague rambling explanations of being Into hob which he only teases him a LITLLE for which is very generous in his opinion. Things get hot and heavy in both directions and its a proper YA summer romance love triangle. The Corinthian is kinda worried when dream texts him to come to hobs suite but hes kinda looking to get into it w this asshole anyway but when he shows up its hob who answers and dream is a blushy blissed out mess in the sheets and hob explains how dream was going to go to the Corinthian first and now hob wants to see what the Corinthian would have done to his darling now that his virginity is already taken now:) they have a really hot really psychosexual threesome and dream gets to take both of them in one night and go to bed pressed up between them❤️

-🔪

AHH yeah here's a link to the last resort au we talked about.

I always love the idea of Hob and Cori competing over Dream, and this is a really nice way for it happen. The love triangle is so tense and sexy.

Hob is still giving all his attention to Dream - flirting, touching, teasing him all day long. But there are moments when Dream actually has to do his job for half a moment instead of just being a toy for Hob to enjoy. When Dream is off folding towels or helping in the dining room, Hob takes the opportunity to pounce on Cori.

And Cori doesn't just accept it like Dream does. He calls Hob a dirty old man, threatens to report him, even holds the knife he was using to slice fruit to Hob’s throat at one point. Mostly its because he doesn't want to steal Dream’s man when he knows there's feelings there. But also, he's really enjoying the thrill of the chase.

So when he's invited to Hob’s suite, it's fair to say that the sexual tension is heavy. Cori pretends to be all focused on Dream (and he is!! Absolutely thrilled to get between Dream’s legs finally) but he's glancing at Hob the whole time, daring him to do something. Hob is only too happy to oblige.

Cori finally gets to fuck Dream (having Hob’s sloppy seconds is more of turn on than he'll ever admit). All while Hob tongue-fucks Cori's hole. Cori has never been rimmed like that before and he has to admit that Hob is talented. He barely lasts any time before coming inside Dream, but he can't even begin to care. This is the gay sex he was hoping for.

Cori is definitely getting those nepo points for making Dream cum. And don't tell anyone, but he totally sucked Hob’s dick. He had to do something to make sure that he's invited back for more!!

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #hobrinthian #hobrintheus #nsft #cw age gap

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icedragonlizard · 7 months ago

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Are the "deaths" of older Kirby characters unserious?

For all the Kirby characters that are believed to have "died", I wonder if the ones in earlier periods of the series are not actually seriously dead.

The newer, Kumazaki era Kirby characters that have died are much more legitimate. Sectonia is absolutely 100% dead without a doubt. Same for Max Haltmann and Star Dream, as well as Void Termina. I also believe Fecto Elfilis to be dead, since the Forgo half is gone and Chaos Elfilis absorbed into Elfilin. I'm sure that Elfilin will be all that's left of Fecto Elfilis, meaning the original unsplit creature is a goner.

But what about the pre-Kumazaki Kirby characters that are believed to have "died"? It appears they're much less certain. It's ambiguous.

Marx looks like he died at the end of Milky Way Wishes. That impact onto Nova absolutely looks more than enough to kill Marx. How could he have survived that? He also doesn't appear for a very long time after Super Star and its remake. He's been absent in a lot of Kirby games, which can also lead to the belief that he died after MWW.

Although he does appear in Mass Attack... but I have doubts on its canonicity.

... And then he comes back in Star Allies! Seemingly out of nowhere. It's kind of funny that the lore never explains how the hell Marx survived his encounter with Kirby and just randomly comes back, now deciding he wants to team up with Kirby to stop Void Termina.

I get the sense that HAL didn't really think much of Marx's "death" like they thought of Sectonia's death. Marx came from an era where lore wasn't really a thing, so it's harder to take his death seriously.

It's still funny to think how the hell he survived the Nova impact, though. I guess he was just really durable? And I mean, Kirby does survive big impacts, such as Star Dream's explosion after destroying it, so I guess if Kirby could survive them, Marx probably could as well.

I can, of course, bring up my headcanon that Marx was barely durable enough to survive the Nova impact, but he was gravely injured. The only reason he survived is because Magolor and the Lor Starcutter showed up at the right time to save him.

Also, didn't it look like that Dark Meta Knight died at the end of Amazing Mirror when the mirror got shattered? It kinda did. But just like Marx, he also comes back out of nowhere for Star Allies with no explanation as to how he survived and got to the point of helping out.

I'm aware he also appears in Triple Deluxe's Dededetour, but I've always been incredibly loose about considering side modes as canon. Or I guess it's extra proof that older character "deaths" are unserious.

What does this mean for other pre-Kumazaki Kirby characters that may have "died"? Such as Nightmare, the many leaders of Dark Matter (Blade, Zero, Zero-Two) and Drawcia? Are they still alive?

If Marx was thought to have "died" but then survived and is still around, who's to say that couldn't also be the case for Nightmare?

Nightmare has not appeared for a long time after Kirby's Adventure and its remake, Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land. In fact I'm pretty sure the only other appearance he's made in the series is... a parallel version of him in Super Kirby Clash, and I think that's basically it.

But Marx was similar! He didn't show up for a bunch of games after Super Star. And then he just randomly shows up in Star Allies lmao.

Maybe Nightmare is still out there, recuperating for a long time after Kirby kicked his ass. Perhaps he could be planning his next attack as he tries to become much, much, much stronger than he was before.

And maybe Dark Matter could make a return. Maybe one of the Dark Matter leaders in the DMT games could be recuperating and planning a new attack, or a brand new Dark Matter leader could exist.

I think it'd be awesome of Nightmare or Dark Matter were to come back as villains in future Kirby games. There's huge amounts of potential for how powerful they could be in the Kumazaki era. They could easily expand on these villains' powers and motivations.

Imagine if Nightmare grew stronger and, instead of making only Dream Landers have nightmares, what if he was able to make multiple planets or even the whole universe have nightmares? They didn't really push his potential far enough, in my opinion. And Dark Matter could be a lot more ferocious and scary in the Kumazaki era.

HAL didn't really seem to confirm Nightmare's or Dark Matter's deaths the same way they did for Sectonia and Haltmann. Maybe they could still be out there. And maybe they could attack again?

Just a cool thought, in my opinion.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

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bodybeyondstories · 3 months ago

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dicks keep growing around me - 6 (Ty)

Ty's generally unbothered by the unreal dick now swinging between their knees, yet still has to navigate everyone else's issues with it. They run into a fan at the park, have some workplace mishaps at the gym, and come up with a potentially irresponsible, definitely chaotic idea when learning more about how Myron's ability works.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (Previous) | 7 (Next)

maleTF // growth // dick growth // self suck // nsfw

4284 words

Note: I was inspired to write like half of this chapter by this ask a few months ago (hope you like it!), then muddled through writer's block until it all slowly came together. Feels like somewhat of a transition / build toward something, but I have no idea what lol.

---

Those two really are meant for each other.

I strolled away from the happy couple in search of a bathroom, trying to not make the heinous bulge peeking from the leg of my shorts even more obvious to the public. I was enjoying the delicate combination of summer heat transitioning from welcome embrace to oppressive weight, interspersed with rivulets of cool breeze wicking away the humidity at just the right time. A reminder that I could still get away with pretending that my exposed midriff was a fashion choice and not the result of this growth spurt cropping all of my tops for me. I was no longer in denial, but summer dragging on made it easier to hold off on having to figure out a new wardrobe.

I had high hopes for the dick management system for that outing, opting for some cutoffs that sometimes gave the illusion that I had an ass, not that anyone was fooled. Myron had gifted me underwear from some brand that specializes in “unique proportions,” which I took to mean ridiculously huge pouches supported by a latticework of elastic. I was thankful that there was a customer base out there of what I assume is mostly pumpers and saline enthusiasts, making it possible for me to once again wear cute, quality briefs that weren't a ticking time bomb. There was no longer much hope of concealing the freak of nature extending from my groin, but the pouch managed to at least hold everything together, especially when shoved into my shorts and braced against the rolled up hem. Not that that would last long.

As the day wore on, the mixture of heat and sweat loosened things up, shifting the balance of flesh and fabric to make it near impossible to walk more than a few dozen steps without feeling those cool breezes brush against the exposed tip of my overstuffed pouch, nodding playfully out the bottom of my shorts.

Oh well, I thought. At this point it was long enough that people would likely make up any number of explanations other than the unreal monster dick weighing me down. I was less and less concerned about being too careful about the strangeness of my body.

The bathroom was an eco-friendly partially outdoor situation, all earth tones, natural airflow, and compost toilet. Public restrooms had become an ordeal to say the least and I was grateful to see the gender neutral single stall with an inviting green semicircle above the deadbolt. I didn’t have to risk scaring the crowd as I hauled the python out of my briefs and let it hang in the air above the in-ground urinal, a pendulum swinging between my legs before being stabilized by its own weight. I locked my fingers behind my head, reveling in the moment of peeing freely, feeling the cool breeze wrap around my dick from behind, preceding the sound of the door closing and a muttered apology.

Shit, forgot to lock it, I thought, hoping whoever it was didn’t catch a glimpse of the meat swinging between my knees, clearly visible from behind. I reluctantly stuffed myself back into the pouch, relenting as it slid plainly into view below the hem of my shorts, and deciding to simply pretend not to notice it as I caught myself in the mirror.

I ducked back out the doorway, holding it open for the guy who had accidentally barged in, who instead looked up at me with an expression of deep indecision.

“Um,” they started. “Sorry if this is inappropriate, and totally feel free to ignore this, but are you MutantMenace97?”

I took a beat, caught off guard by the fact that my dick was recognized in public before my face was. “Right, my stage name,” I said with a nervous laugh. Someone clocking me from my cam sessions was rare, but not unheard of.

“Sorry if this seems rude or anything, but I just–my friends and I are huge fans. The whole growth story arc over the past several months has been so cool.”

“Ah, dope! Glad you like it.” The thing about your dick being an online presence is that your mysterious growth spurt ends up being surprisingly well documented, and after a while I could no longer deny or downplay the changes. So I leaned into it, providing updates, comparison pics, teasing captions about when or if the growth will stop. Once I started posting in the new underwear, the brand even put out feelers for a sponsorship deal. I had somehow become an influencer.

“You’re even taller than I thought you’d be,” he said, his eyes gliding up and down my figure, then resuming furtive glances at the heavy bulge distending my shorts, the tip of the pouch peeking out of the bottom. “I just…can’t believe it’s real.”

“A blessing and a curse,” I blushed. “And tricks of the light.”

“Will you be on tonight?”

“Yup,” I smiled. “Maybe I’ll see you there” I added with a wink before turning to head back to my friends. “Hit me up if you want some private content. Big discount!” He was cute. I was flattered.

As I walked back to Myron and Miguel, the massive bulge out of the bottom of my shorts was jostled further into view, bobbing along in the air with each stride. I was too tired of dealing with it to care. I accepted that these shorts may have to be retired as I accepted the dumbfounded stares of passersby, folding into a cross-legged sit with my friends, my fabric encased dick spilling out in the warm sun.

“You look like you had fun,” teased Myron.

“I met a fan,” I shrugged.

—

“You guys have been liking these briefs,” I said into my webcam, leaning back in my gamer chair, itself a gift from a generous fan. “30% off with discount code MM97, check the link in my bio.” My eyes lowered to my crotch, my hand caressing the fabric-clad mass nestled between my legs, eliciting periodic pulses of enthusiasm as my dick stirred to life. “Honestly, these are feeling kinda tight already.” I gave a mock grimace to the camera, reaching up to stretch and lifting my furry belly and overstuffed pouch more solidly in the field of view. “Might have to re-up soon, huh?”

MutantMenace97 was indeed on that evening. I wondered which of the usernames trickling into the chat room was the person I met in the park earlier. I should’ve asked, but still appreciate the mystery of it all. Maybe he does, too. They get to be no one and I get to be the main character, unencumbered by the perpetual work of worrying about, failing to control, or desperately trying to hide my dick. When it’s all out, standing proud from my groin, purple head leaving globs of precum on my lips, I’m free, unencumbered from the idea that my member was ever an encumbrance in the first place.

I greet people as they roll in, making sure to shout out my regulars, one hand continuing to pet my prodigious bulge, then sliding under the fabric and moving along my shaft. My face scrunched in discomfort as I tried to make space in the overfilled pouch, eventually relenting and beginning to peel the underwear down, revealing inch after inch after inch of cock. The comments picked up. This was always a moment of truth for the new users who had seen my pics bouncing around the internet and didn’t believe they were real, realizing they were mistaken with awestruck reactions.

Taking my sweet time, I slide them all the way off, curling up to give a peak at my taint before flicking them off my big feet. My dick bobbed in the air, growing longer and thicker as an erection eased into being. I settled into the lightheadedness as my body adjusted to the sudden transfer of resources to my giant prick, and made a show of moving both hands along the shaft, one covering the base and the other up near the glans, inches of space always visible between them even though my dick approached full size. It was impossible to cover the entirety of my monster cock with just one pair of hands, sizeable as mine were. They always got a kick out of that.

“Send me some love if you want me to suck it,” I smiled into the camera, nuzzling against my engorged glans. The comments, hearts, and most importantly, tips rolled in. I went to work.

The look of tension between concentration and ecstasy on my face as my lips parted to make way for my massive cockhead was always real. The now familiar but still gorgeous sensation still managed to feel new every time. The performance of it had taken some practice, but now I felt good enough to not look like I was wrestling a sequoia, working my head and neck up and down in an awkward attempt to deep throat a penis that had long ago passed that possibility.

Periodically I’d give myself a break and pull my swollen lips from my cockhead, hands continuing to meander up and down the shaft as I checked the chat box.

[So hot 🍆]

[it looks even bigger 😍]

[Nah, there hasn’t been any growth content for a couple weeks, right?]

[Yeah, i think they plateaued]

[Finally lol, it’s massive]

I tried not to dwell on this unfolding conversation in the chat, opting instead to return to self sucking and focus on the task at hand. I leaned back as my balls pulled up, preparing for the grand finale and making sure the camera angle was just right. I gave my slit one final indulgent lick, lapping up a glob of precum as my angry head glistened in front of my face. I worked the shaft in overdrive with my hands, my hips bucking in tandem as I brought myself to climax, shooting jet after jet of thick, ropey cum a few feet into the air. My head lolled back as I let myself fall into another seemingly unending orgasm, enjoying the few seconds of anticipation before my own jizz rained back down, covering my face and torso with the deluge erupting from my engorged penis.

I slowly came back down to earth, giving a blissed out, cum-covered smile to the webcam as I prepared to bid everyone adieu, catching the last scraps of commentary in the chat.

[Ughhhh what if they grew again 😩]

[could you imagine?? 🤣]

Over the weeks and months living with Myron, I had built up somewhat of a following in fantasy growth content, not that I had much choice. They clocked the extra inches I was adding before I did. So I leaned into it, doing comparison shots with rulers and lotion bottles, surreptitious bulge pics out and about, casual shots of my dick falling out of my underwear as I struck a relaxing pose in my chair. I had been roping them in with a tale of unexplainable, unwieldy growth hitting me below the belt, and they loved it.

And now, without my magical roommate, the engagement seemed to be evening out along with the growth. Not that I minded all that much, I had kind of just wanted this to be for fun in the first place. But the money from extra subs had been good, and the sponsorship deal from the underwear brand had made it possible for me to even get my own place.

As I closed out of the cam session, I was met with my email inbox and a message from the underwear rep that I’d been trying to ignore. They were offering a not insignificant amount of money in exchange for a series of posts in which I outgrew and eventually ripped the pouch, even more if I could do it live. I hadn’t yet figured out how to explain that I’d have to turn it down because I no longer had a roommate with strange dick expanding powers. To be too much and somehow not enough.

—

I was too groggy to dwell on the situation at work the next morning. I curved my back into a full body yawn, indulging in the cracks of a few pesky joints as even more of my midriff was exposed behind a gym counter that wasn’t even high enough to hide the bulge distending my track pants. I risked taking my stretch further and pushing my waist just a few more precious inches before being interrupted by something small and plastic bouncing off my dick.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” I said to a bleary-eyed member attempting to swipe in before their flabber was unceremoniously gasted, catching the scanner reflexively while somehow keeping their eyes glued to my crotch for as long as possibly might count as a polite indulgence. They speed-walked to the locker room with far more liveliness than they had shown walking in, shaking their head in mild confusion.

“Do you mind?” quipped Dana, my coworker hanging with me behind the front counter to handle the morning rush. She set the scanner back in place with one fluid motion, shooting me a mocking death stare.

“What?” I shrugged. “Space is cramped, things happen. I’m not even wearing shorts anymore,” I added, eyebrows lifted in emphasis of the deep sacrifice I made in relenting to wearing solid black track pants so as not to create another morning spectacle.

“Yeah cuz you almost took someone’s eye out.” She shot her eyebrows right back then swung around to grab the top most crate from a stack behind the counter. “Now take this and restock the fridge, we need to clear out our inventory of these. We got ‘em cheap on surplus so keep pushing ‘em until we run out.”

“GluteMax?” I read off the side. Didn’t they stop production on that?” I asked. “Some weird health issue?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t recalled, so we’re keeping them stocked until we sell out,” Dana said with a shrug. “They’ll probably rebrand in six months as a wellness supplement or something.”

“Hmm none of this sounds legal,” I said.

“But it does get gains. Which you could definitely benefit from.” She sucked her teeth and flicked her clipboard against my unimpressive backside.

“You leave my ass alone, it’s too early for this! And besides, I know a guy,” I said, winking at Myron as he strolled up to the front desk so Dana could pretend to swipe him in.

“I don’t know how you managed to cohabitate with this one,” she said to Myron with a shake of her head. “I can barely get through a shift.”

“Oh so he can stop traffic in some booty shorts but I can’t?” I asked, gesturing at the gym shorts painted onto Myron’s backside, already drawing the attention of the other gym goers.

“It’s different. And besides, it’s good for business.” Dana winked at Myron as if inviting him to continue on to the locker room before he also had to deal with the morning’s nonsense. “Can I interest you in a complementary supplement for your trouble?” she asked, pulling a bottle of GluteMax from the crate. “Rare formula, technically not recalled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I snapped. “He’d become too powerful!”

“I think I’m good,” Myron laughed nervously. “And besides, I know a guy.”

“Is it the same guy?” asked Dana. “Can we hire them as a trainer? I’m not kidding.”

—

It was a slow morning, and before long I wandered away from the front desk to start making the rounds, cleaning machines, wrestling free weights back to their correct spots, cosplaying someone with a working knowledge of fitness. Dana, having gotten to work on time, got to control the playlist blasting out of the speakers that morning. I had my earbuds in in protest, just loud enough to ignore the sounds of grunting and the rhythmic clang of barbells against metal from some overzealous lifter who had settled into some sort of equilibrium with gravity, arms straining to hold the weight perfectly still in the air above their torso.

Seems weird, but not my business, I guess, I thought. I kept it moving until their look of over-exertion turned to clear panic.

“Um…help??” they exclaimed, finally catching my attention. The barbell had gradually lowered through the air to press down on their chest. This wasn’t some kind of tension workout but actually a losing battle against gravity.

I planted my feet on either side of the bench, not knowing what to do beyond an alert in my brain saying Get Weight Off. I was barely aware of how much I could lift in a pinch, but it definitely didn’t amount to the mass of plates on either side of the bar. The more I thought about my inability to lift, the more likely this person’s inability to breathe, and there was no one else to grab for help. It would have to be me.

With a rush of adrenaline I managed to lug the bar a few inches higher, my face contorting so suddenly that one of my earbuds wriggled its way out and fell through the air. People do this for fun? I thought in disbelief, frozen in a wide stance with only seconds before my upper half gave up. The rack, it needs to fall back onto the rack, I concluded, managing to not so much carry but guide the weight at the right downward angle back onto the rails, my arms screaming in complaint.

I rested against the bar and took a beat to catch my breath and let the rush fade, noticing the slight tremor in my hands still white knuckle gripping the metal. Legs still straddling the lifter whose life I like to think I had just saved, I leaned over and peered upside down through my thighs to make sure they were still breathing.

“Are you okay??” I asked, with a little too much volume in overcompensation from off balance music pumping out of the earbud that decided to stay put.

Their chest heaved up and down as they kept gulping air with less and less urgency, eventually managing to lift their head and string some words together.

“Shit. Thanks, I think I…” they trailed off as our eyes locked in recognition.

“You!” I exclaimed. “The guy from the park.” The angle was much different, but I’d know that cute face anywhere, even if it was actively recovering from a near death experience.

“Uh, yeah,” he smiled. “We gotta stop meeting like this,” his eyes flitting pointedly to the pipe running down my inner thigh, just inches from his face, still taking advantage of the adrenaline flooding my system to stretch out with excitement.

“Ah, sorry!” I blushed, whipping one leg over the bench and holding out a hand to help him up. He gladly took it.

“No, it’s cool,” he said. “You know I’m a fan.”

Butterflies. “I, uh,” I stammered through the heat filling my face, trying and failing to come up with something clever to say. “Fair enough.”

“Great show last night, by the way,” he said, his hands resting on his thighs and his eyes resting on mine. “Sorry if that’s not cool to say.”

“No, I appreciate the feedback,” I smiled, resting my hands on my hips in some semblance of confidence in the face of this adorable man, hinging my butt slightly to downplay the bulge that was showing no sign of going down.

“I’m Kai, by the way,” he offered.

“Ty,” I reciprocated. “Also known as MutantMenace97,” I added, rolling my eyes.

“Ty’s cool. And it rhymes,” he intoned, smiling to himself. “Also, I think you dropped this,” he said, holding out my earbud.

“Nice catch,” I joked, letting my fingers linger as I plucked it gingerly from his hand, my eyes catching his once again, searching for something to say.

“Well, uh, thanks again for the save. I guess I’ll see you…” he trailed off, eyes widening as he looked into the distance.

I followed his gaze to the squat rack, where the mid-morning sun was casting two planets in stark relief. Dear Myron was in the middle of a set of deadlifts, hips hinged all the way back, pants split wide open.

“I…let me go deal with that,” I sighed, reluctantly abandoning my meet-cute to deal with the latest crisis.

—

“They split on my second to last set, I thought I might as well finish,” said Myron, strolling ahead of me into the locker room, his bountiful buns swishing back and forth in the wreckage of his gym shorts. “It’s not like it’s the first time this has happened.”

“And Dana thinks I’m the one to cause a scene,” I said, rolling my eyes. “At least the underwear held up.”

Myron stripped off his tattered shorts to reveal the same brand of specialty briefs he had gifted me, cut for significantly different proportions and resembling more of a bikini brief. “Glad I tried out a pair of these for myself, they have yet to let me down.”

I snatched the briefs off the bench where Myron had left them as he rummaged through his bag for his shower supplies, the globes of his bubble butt hovering in the air, a safety hazard for any unsuspecting passers by. “These are pretty resilient,” I said, stretching them between my hands.

“Feels like they’re the only things I can rely on,” he agreed. “I’ve blown through just about every good pair of workout pants at this point. I wonder if they have any in stock…”

I tuned out of Myron’s recounting of the struggles of having too perfect and juicy of an ass, instead fixating on the underwear before me, unconsciously bringing them closer as I picked up on the magnetic musk entering my nostrils. It felt familiar in a way I couldn’t describe. I furtively breathed deep, indulging in the aura of my friend’s recently used gym fit, my heart rate quickening as the very specific scent of his sweat unfurled in my brain into the memory of that night in…

“The car…” I muttered.

“Hm?” asked Myron, turning back towards me and holding his hand out in mild annoyance for me to return his dirty underwear.

“I, uh…” I muttered, my breath becoming short as my lower abs clenched, an all too familiar pressure building in my groin. “Not again.” I rested my hand along the top of the lockers, trying to maintain balance as Myron approached with worry on his face.

“Is it, you know?” he asked, eyes gesturing pointedly to my crotch and the trouser snake making its way down towards my knee. I towered over him but he rested one hand along my ribs in support, while the other held up the towel wrapped taut around his hips. “Let’s find an empty stall.”

“No, wait,” I managed to eke out as, with a shiver up and down my spine, my dick felt like it was unfurling, eagerly taking up more space, the friction against the fabric of my pouch eliciting a spurt of precum and teasing me with an approach toward semi-hardness, the point of no return quickly approaching until it just…didn’t. “I…think I’m good,” I said. “False alarm.”

I handed Myron’s briefs back to him, the look of concern refusing to leave his face. When he finally walked off to the showers, his round cheeks fighting for space beneath that skimpy towel, I finally breathed out, tentatively running my hand along the bulge in my pants. I could feel the increased mass, noticeably bigger than it was just a few minutes ago, but was surprised to find it totally soft. My fingers tingled with the phantom sensation of the fabric of Myron’s underwear, the aura of his sweat and musk lingering in the air. The gears turned in my head.

—

I didn’t do any cam work that night. I was tired and still a little freaked out by the incident in the locker room. Not that that wasn’t the first time that exact thing had happened. Upon further inspection of my definitely longer, definitely girthier, definitely more sensitive cock, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing it hard. Not that I could even dream of lasting past the following morning before being reintroduced to a schlong that likely extended just past my head. I didn’t even mind at this point, not really. My dick seemed to be a problem for everyone else more than it was for me. But I wanted to get used to it before revealing it to the fans.

I got some takeout, played some Kart, took it easy, ignoring the growing pressure in my crotch which before long would make itself known by force. Through the rest of my shift, it had been straining desperately against the pouch, to the point where I feared catastrophic failure before I could get home and let it hang free. It would definitely have made for some good content if it had rendered my jock strap inadequate in the middle of my day job. I fixated again on that email sitting in my inbox, thinking about the intense effect of Myron’s sweaty underwear, my own pair managing to stay intact around the beast that constantly threatened to rip through. But with the right encouragement, and an apparent catalyst…An idea coalesced in my brain. I took out my phone and pulled up the text thread with Myron.

[Me: Hey, can I borrow your underwear? The new ones]

[Me: It’s exactly what you think]

[Me: Online sex stuff, obvi 😌]

Let’s give the people what they want.

#male tf #DKGAM

13 notes · View notes

inkameswetrust · 6 days ago

Text

The Window Sill (Pt. 7)

Pairing: James Diamond x Kendall Knight

Characters: Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Logan Hortense Mitchell, Carlos Garcia, Simone Miller (OC), (The Mention Of) Brooke Diamond

Content Warnings: Fluff, BL, SFW, Slight Angst(?), Suspicions of Infidelity

Word Count: 2,954

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kendall trembled with a red plastic lunch tray fumbling in his hands. He grimaced at the slice of pizza lying atop a flat paper plate, mocking him with its hardened sheet of crust at the bottom and cruel lack of tomato sauce. The blonde loosely gripped the miniature carton of one-percent low-fat milk in the right-hand corner of the tray and narrowed his eyes at the expiry date. One day more, and it'd be unwise to consume. He scoffed and trudged through a swarm of students until he found an available table to sit at.

Kendall plopped his tray down and leaned his left elbow onto the table. He rested his chin in his palm and gnawed at the tip of his pizza slice while recalling what he said to James the evening prior. What was he thinking by keeping James' mother's threat a secret and covering it up with a half-assed lie? Kendall's stomach began to churn, and his head drummed with a stinging pain. He dropped his slice of pizza to its plate and kneaded his fingertips into his forehead.

"Hey, Kendall," Logan chimed with a casual nod as he sat across from Kendall with a packed lunch. The blonde had barely noticed anyone had joined him. He sat there sulking at his plate and tracing the outlines of his lunch tray with his index finger.

"Uh, Kendall?" Logan continued as he waved his hand in Kendall's direction. "Hello?"

Kendall yelped with the rise of his shoulders and the rapid blink of his eyes. He raised his head from his palm and glanced at Logan bemusedly.

"Oh, hey, Logan," Kendall breathed nervously.

Logan's lips curved awkwardly, his frown asymmetrical with concern. Kendall was evidently still tense from yesterday's events, and the explanation for his abrupt departure was long overdue. Logan was worried for his friend but felt it'd be best to rip off the band-aid and start the conversation.

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday, or will you just sulk over your pizza the whole time?" Logan questioned as he zipped open his lunchbox and bit into his perfectly symmetrical peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Kendall's gaze stiffened, his pupils becoming barely visible as both pairs of eyelids came together like the closing of a drawbridge. He found it difficult to look Logan in the eye, or anyone for that matter

. His moral quandary had triggered so much distress and restlessness.

"Are you really not gonna tell me?" Logan implored, his gaze becoming more earnest and sincere as the tension began setting in.

As Kendall silently shook his head in protest, a familiar hockey-helmeted boy came tumbling over to the end of the table with a corndog crammed in his fist. He sat beside Logan with a victorious cheer on the tip of his tongue as he savored the first bite.

"I just fought three seniors and a sophomore for the last cafeteria corndog!" Carlos exclaimed, "Can you believe they aren't making more of these?"

A passing sophomore shot daggers at Carlos as he walked with a pitifully light lunch tray in his frail hands. Carlos stuck his tongue out with a playful grin and responded by saying, "You snooze, you lose, bro!"

The tension was now severe enough for Carlos to notice. His grin was wiped off his face like debris against a windshield wiper. "What's up with him?" Carlos queried as he gestured at Kendall with the tilt of his head.

Kendall sewed his lips shut, the testament to his wrongdoings bubbling inside him and starting to boil. He stiffened his joints and lowered his head. An explosion of confession was brewing inside him like a storm.

"Well?" Logan added.

"Mrs. Diamond saw me kissing James yesterday and threatened to break us up!" Kendall blurted out quickly, clenching nervous fists at either side of his lunch tray and scrunching his eyes shut, "Then I went home and lied to James about it, saying people at school saw us holding hands!!"

As Kendall snapped his eyes open and swatted over his mouth with both hands, Carlos and Logan shared an immensely shocked glance. They couldn't raise their brows any higher if they tried.

"Please don't tell James!" Kendall peeped through the cracks between his fingers, "He can never know about this."

"Kendall, we can't just sit on this. This is huge!" Logan remarked worriedly.

"Yeah! Besides, James has a right to know. This is his mom we're talking about." Carlos added.

"Are you forgetting that his mom is Brooke Diamond?" Kendall retorted with open palms, "As in the part powerful, part beautiful, and all evil business tycoon Brooke Diamond?"

Carlos and Logan shared a defeated shrug. They understood Kendall's reasoning to a certain extent but still ultimately disagreed with his decision. They couldn't support this kind of lie.

"No one can say no to her. Especially not James." Kendall sighed as he took another puny bite of his cardboard-like slice of pizza.

"That's still messed up, though..." Carlos mutters.

"So what are you suggesting I do? Tell James what happened and risk him breaking up with me 'cause he'd choose his mom over me?" Kendall snapped, "We just started dating a week ago!"

"All we're saying is either you tell him," Logan began.

"Or we will," Carlos finished.

"Tell who what?" James queried as he took a sip of his Coca-Cola can.

Kendall snapped his head back and whimpered in James' presence. His muscles tightened and tensed, triggering a sour face and lack of enthusiasm. Carlos and Logan awaited Kendall's next move, their gazes never leaving him or his nervous mannerisms.

"Uh... tell you just how much I've missed you! Haha..." Kendall stammered awkwardly as Carlos and Logan brought their palms to their foreheads with moderate thuds.

"Aww, Kendall," James cooed as he sat beside him. "I get it. I'm irresistible. I mean, who wouldn't miss this, right?"

Each boy rolled their eyes, all for seemingly different reasons. While James was none the wiser, Kendall went back and forth with Carlos and Logan, shooting mean looks of argument. They feigned innocence for James' benefit, but their earlier conversation was far from over.

As the boys silently ate their lunches and shared a myriad of awkward glares, a shrill shriek pierced the ears of all who inhabited the cafeteria. Everyone snapped their heads in the direction of that ghastly, high-pitched, nasally screech. A girl had angrily curled her fingers from her favorite v-neck cropped cardigan being stained by the careless spill of chocolate milk. Not even her bountiful hickory brown curls could shield anyone from the wrath in her gaze.

"No way... Simone Miller," Carlos breathed.

"She's going to eat that poor guy alive," Logan sighed.

"Has she... gotten prettier?" James commented, leaning his elbow onto the table and resting his chin in his palm.

"Wait, what do you mean by prettier?" Kendall panicked, narrowing his eyes on James to ensure he wasn't exchanging glances with Simone somehow.

"My amaranth pink cardi...," Simone began, clenching her fists but careful to not damage her almond-shaped acrylic nails. "You ruined it!"

The underclassman before her cowered in fear, clutching his textbook for dear life as he whimpered out the words, "I'm s-so sorry! I-It was an accident, really!"

"Do you have any idea how much this costs?!" Simone barked, slowly and menacingly sauntering toward the nameless underclassman who dared to sully her favorite 'cardi' as she so eloquently put it, "Not even your parents' pitiful mortgage could cover the cost of a replacement!"

Defeated and afraid, the underclassman scampered out of the cafeteria like a scared little pup and left the entire student body dramatizing his departure with the unsavory chorus of mocking laughter. Everyone laughed, but the four hockey players quietly contemplated Simone's actions from the distance of their lunch table.

"That poor kid," Logan commented, "He had no idea what was coming for him."

"Is it me, or has Simone gotten meaner?" Carlos added, "Like meaner than usual. I'm talking supervillain levels of mean."

"Well, word around school is she's planning a super huge party," Logan remarked, "You know how she gets when she prepares for parties. She becomes double the queen bee she normally is."

"A party? Really??" James cried as he hurriedly shifted his focus back to his friends with a frantic grin.

"Woah, woah, woah," Kendall began as he raised a wall with his palms. "Why do you care so much that Simone Miller's throwing a party? We probably won't even be invited."

"Why wouldn't I care?" James retorted with a theatric cock of his brow, "This is Simone Miller, aka the hottest girl in our entire school!"

"Ah, a twelfth-grade girl and an eleventh-grade boy," Carlos sighed as he lost himself in the bliss of wishful thinking. "D'ya think that could ever work out?"

"In your dreams, maybe," Logan teased with crossed arms, "You can't be talking like that when you're way too out of her league."

"You're out of her league!" Carlos refuted.

"No, you are!" Logan retaliated.

"No, you!" Carlos continued.

The two bickering boys went back and forth at each other until they rose from their seats and grabbed each other by the collars of their shirts. They scowled and sneered at one another, their imaginary competition for Simone's affections fueling the fire of their fury.

"Everybody, chill!" Kendall squawked as he raised his hands before Carlos or Logan could raise theirs. The two argumentative boys loosened their grips on one another and returned to their seats with childish pouts and folded arms that even a crowbar couldn't pry open. While Kendall deescalated the situation, James occupied himself by gazing at Simone. He couldn't help watching as she struggled to relinquish the stain on her cardigan with a particularly thin yet coarse napkin.

"James!" Kendall hissed in protest.

"Hm, yes? What?"

"Why are you staring at Simone??"

"I'm not staring."

"Yes, you are." Logan and Carlos replied simultaneously in an equally monotone and disapproving tone.

"Guys, I got this, "Kendall assured, quickly glancing at them before returning to James with a frenzied glare. "Yes, you were!"

"Relax, it's not what it looks like."

"Really? Because it looks like you were gawking at another girl right in front of me."

With his hands firmly atop his hips and his eyes narrowing like a one-way street, Kendall resembles his mother in how he cuts James down to size with a hostile glare.

"You don't still like her, do you?"

"What? No!"

"You better not 'cause she's coming this way."

Simone's pink pointed-toe heel pumps, her shoes of choice despite Minnesota's constant inclement weather in the fall, clacked against the floor like the ticking of a metronome as he strode in the hockey players' direction. She continued struggling with the stain sullying her cardigan, rustling the faulty brown napkin against the fabric to no avail. Simone groaned out of frustration and crumpled up the napkin as she nearly passed by the boys' table.

As she balled the napkin into her beautifully manicured fist, Simone looked up from her cardigan and saw James awkwardly attempting to play it cool in her presence. She cocked her brow, intrigued to see him and wanting to approach him.

"Hey, I know you!" Simone chimed. "Don't we have P.E. together or something? You're, like, insanely fast during warmups."

"Uh, yes, we do."

"Oh-em-gee, awesome!" Simone squeaked in her annoyingly nasally voice. "What's your name again?"

"James. James Diamond."

"Wait, as in Brooke Diamond?" Simone gasped, the possibility of Brooke being James' mom exciting her beyond belief. "Is she, like, your mom?"

"Yep, the one and only!"

"I love her! Daddy buys me Brooke Diamond's revitalizing eye cream all the time!" Simone remarked excitedly.

"The burning means it's working," James added with a pair of finger guns to punctuate his reference.

He and Simone giggled to themselves, enjoying their pleasant conversation and the unexpected benevolence they found in each other's company. From an outside perspective, their encounter was nothing but friendly. But to Kendall, it was sickening, maddening, nauseating. He couldn't bear to watch James chum it up with Simone, even if he claimed his feelings for her were long gone.

"Hey, I'm having this party Friday night. Daddy bought me a pink Corvette for my birthday, and I thought it'd be nice to celebrate," Simone suggested, twirling one of her bouncy curls around her finger. "Would you maybe wanna come?"

"Yeah, su—!" James trailed off, Kendall swatting over his mouth with his palm as he feigned a look of innocence that contradicted the venom in his tone of voice.

"Sorry, Simone, but he won't be attending your party," Kendall hissed, "Right, James?"

"Oh my gosh. What are you, like, his girlfriend or something?" Simone sneered.

James pried Kendall's palm off of his mouth with a gentle tug, letting him grumble his frustrations into oblivion as he replied, "Don't mind him. I'd love to go."

Simone clasped her hands together excitedly. At least one good thing came from her rocky start to a lunch period. Kendall brought the back of his hand to James' shoulder in a disapproving smack. This is not how he wanted things to turn out, especially not with jealousy like his. As eager as James was to attend, he acknowledged that he was on thin ice with Kendall and didn't want to lose his trust. He sighed, bitterness in Kendall's gaze conveying an entire conversation's worth of words.

"But only if you invite my buddy Kendall," James added. "We're a package deal, so it's both of us or none of me."

"Yeah!" Kendall chimed, pleasantly surprised with how James segued the conversation.

"Fine, if that's what it takes, I guess I can invite your little girlfriend, too." Simone surrendered.

"Hey!" Kendall hissed.

"Can we come too?" Carlos suggested, gesturing to himself and Logan and hoping to be graced by Simone's unexpected generosity.

Simone gave Carlos and Logan one quick glance, her face souring as she looked them up and down. It was bad enough that she had to invite some bushy-eyebrowed nobody to get James to attend. She couldn't possibly afford to invite any more nameless faces. The livelihood of her party depended on popular names and gorgeous faces.

"Uh... no," Simone muttered.

Carlos sunk into his seat, his head hanging low in defeat as his short-lived dream was crushed in a matter of seconds. Logan shrugged it off, not expecting any handouts or generous gestures. He was fine with not having to attend the party as it wasn't his sort of thing anyway.

"See you around, James!" Simone purred as she twiddled her fingers in a winsome wave goodbye. James gestured back with a simple wave and a beaming smile. Things couldn't possibly get better than this.

"Okay, what was that?" Kendall said flatly.

"Uh, I just got us invited to the party of the year, is what that was!" James cheered, giving himself a proverbial pat on the back as he proudly celebrated this momentous victory.

"Yeah, I still don't like this," Kendall argued, "I mean, you called Simone the hottest girl in our entire school, and you kept staring at her."

"Kendall, you've got nothing to worry about," James assured, "This is just a party. I'm not trying to go out with her or anything."

"I don't know..."

"Okay, well, think of it this way. You said you wanted to go on a date yesterday, right?" James began, "This party could be that. Think about it!"

"Well, when you put it like that, it actually sounds kinda nice," Kendall sighed, starting to agree with James' point of view.

"Exactly! This can be good for us," James continued, reaching for Kendall's hand and giving it that familiar squeeze of assurance he was accustomed to. "We are going to have so much fun."

Kendall eased into James' touch and let his second thoughts drift away like balloons dancing in the wind. As skeptical as he initially was, perhaps James was right. It'd be important to take risks and care less about wandering eyes or idle chatter if they were to have a meaningful relationship.

"You're right," Kendall smiled warmly. "This is gonna be great."

With a quick returning grin, James retracted his hand and began leaving the table in the opposite direction. The lack of contact left Kendall unsatisfied and worried. What reason could James possibly have for fleeing the very moment he reassures him?

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To get Simone's number."

"What? Why??"

"Uh, to get her address for the party?" James responded point-blankly as if the answer wasn't painfully obvious. "By the way, do you think I should ask her about a dress code?"

Any optimism James instilled in Kendall was immediately replaced with his initial skepticism and jealousy. Although nothing could possess him to voice his concerns, Kendall's face reddened with fury. He couldn't believe he allowed James to talk him into agreeing to this party only for his apprehension to return the very moment it disappeared. James scuttled away, a giddy, child-like grin dipping into the corners of his face as he met with Simone once more. Kendall despised how overly chummy they were with one another. They'd never speak again if it were up to him.

"Still think I should tell him?" Kendall grumbled, glancing at Carlos and Logan as he gritted his teeth to mock their previous efforts to convince him otherwise.

"Honestly, I'm just bummed we weren't invited," Carlos replied, sulking into the pit of his hockey helmet. Kendall and Logan smacked their hands against their foreheads, unable to face the harsh reality of having to brace themselves for an ungodly measure of conflict and drama.

#btr #big time rush #btrtv #btr fanfic #big time rush fanfic #kames #kames fanfic #kendall knight #james diamond #logan mitchell #carlos garcia #simone miller #brooke diamond #the window sill #the window sill pt. 7

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