#not beta'd

[jester089]

Gotta say, massive fan of the work you’ve pumped out, especially for TADC (it came out two weeks or so ago and there’s this much already what?!)

That said, could you write for the gang (separately, I’m sorry l know it’s a lot) who’s s/o resisted abstraction? Like, they were halfway through but turned back through sheer will? *Insert John Wick reference* This has been ping ponging in my head for a while. Thanks for listening! XO

Glitchy pain

I've written for something like this before. And I wasn't sure if you wanted angst or fluff. But since what I wrote before was angst I'm gonna just donna do my ideas on this one. Also to anyone else who feels like requesting don't be afraid to ask for a lot of characters. My max is like 10 and only because Tumblr doesn't like super long posts. I honestly don't think I would have a max if not for that. But really from like 7 pm to 4 am I got a lot of free time and the want to write. So ask to your hearts content. TADC crew x (kind of) abstracted reader

Caine

Caine was floating around when he heard what sounded like a pained and glitchy scream? He quickly floats over to where he heard it from only to find you clutching your head crumpled up into a ball on the floor. He was about to float down and ask you what happened before he noticed the random glitches, black spiky flesh, and randomly colored eye balls all appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. So he backed off, a little sad over the fact you were abstracting but life goes on. Until you let out another pained scream, it was almost like the abstraction reacted as the second you screamed it reverted a bit and slowed down. It continues like that for who knows how long. You in a mental and physical battle with abstraction. Caine just staring completely taken back by what he was witnessing. After enough time you vomit a nasty and seemingly living blob of black goo onto the floor and pass out. Caine stares at your motionless body for a few seconds before snapping out of it. He puts the weird goo blob into the cellar and takes you back to your room. He doesn't even know how to react, so he sits there at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Once you do he is relived to find it's still you, speaking in full sentences and everything. Sure your voice and body have the occasional glitch but overall you're ok. So he leaves you be, mostly. He still needs to study your code for how you did that. But past that and him being a bit more "walking on egg shells" around you, but nothing really changes. And not wanting the others to think your a threat, you and Caine don't tell anyone.

Gangle

Gangle was wandering around looking for you. Her comedy mask broke again and you were the only one who knew how to fix it properly. She could patch it up sure but it never lasted long. Much like Caine she heard you scream out, only difference being she recognized your voice. She quickly changed from casual and aimless stroll to sprint with reason finding you leaned against a wall holding your stomach looking like your about to throw up. She runs up to you and places a hand(?) on each side of your head staring into your eyes. She in a panicked voice asks "Are you ok?! What happened?!" You half shove her away a garbled and messy version of your voice half screaming out that it isn't safe. You quickly regret taking the energy to speak and move as a giant surge of pain jolts up your digital spine forcing you onto your knees. You let out another pained groan/scream as black goo starts oozing out of your mouth. It's only then that Gangle realizes your glitching! She panics and tells you to stay calm while she gets Caine. Gangle sprints off with a mission luckily finding Caine rather quickly. She especially screams at him to help her/follow her. He listens and follows her. When she gets back to where she left you, your passed out. But you aren't glitching anymore. And your not fully abstracted. She carefully walks over to you and sets a gentle hand (ribbon) on your face feeling a whole lot of relief when you half swat at her hand in your sleep. She'll watch you while you sleep making sure you aren't disturbed but when you're awake and she's sure you're ok you are going to be getting a whole lot of cuddles from her. Her comedy mask can wait.

Zooble

Zooble was missing a leg and was hobbling/jumping her way towards your room to ask if you'd seen it. She knocked on your door only to receive no response. She knocks again. Nothing. So she unlocks it with the spare key you gave her. She is stunned by what she sees. Obsessive scribbles covering your walls. Wall paper torn and dirtied. She takes a few cautious steps before finally hearing you say in a horrible sounding voice "P̵̛̣̤̪̑̈́̄͆̚p̴̹͇̆̑̐͠ṕ̷͔̼͙̅̀͐̿͋͜͝P̵̢͚̩̱̮̭̉͜͠l̵͔̟̰̘̼̹̼̯͉͆ḛ̴̣͈̖͛̈́̏̏͌̕͜a̴̢͇̣̮̠͕̮͆̾s̸̡͉̣̺̯͚̾̈́͋̃̑͊͘s̵̼͛̃͛̄̏̊̊͜͠ͅs̷̨̯̬̯͊e̵̢̪̜̗͙̞͈̠͌̔͠s̸̢͔̝̳̞͈̭̲͂͆̇̄͛́́͗ͅͅ ̴̗̻̳̗̜̙̹̘͒̒̑̅̂̎̚͘w̴̰̘͂͊̌̒͘w̸̢̦̑̍̈́͊W̷̨̄̑̌̂̚͝W̵̦̙͇̝̲̪̝̫̜̰̄͑̚w̶̮͐̏̀͊͠h̴̬̤̠̩̰͋͗̾̓̈́̍̅ó̴͍̭͇̯͚̮͔̽̓̔̈́ ̶̥̑͋͒̿̀Ê̶̼͎͇͍̳̯͌͋͐̓̋v̸̢͓̩͗͜͝v̴͇͇̮̻͖̪͕̰̹̫̔̌̎̇̑́ë̷̪̤̫̪͌͂̓̕͘e̵̢̨̱̘̗͙̘̱̱̩̎̾̀v̸͍̄͠ë̶̡̙̠̣̰̠́͜r̸͇̰͖̍͑͌̆̌ ̷̯̼͕͍̭̭̲͙̰̽̈́͝y̷̪͉͓͗̿̀̐̈̃̆õ̷̢̜̮̬͒̈́͒̿̀̽̈́͂̈́ǘ̸̡̟̭̩̠̜̬͙̃ṵ̴̭̮̹̯̺̜̤̈͂̽u̸̬̠͉̺͍̰͉̦͌̋́̃͌̊͘͜ ̵̲͖̩̹̲̊̐͂͝͝a̵̰̩̻̗͕͎̮͈̥̫͂̂̌̆̆̎̑a̴͒͐͝��̭̎́́à̶̛̘̮͍̟̻͕̰̽̍͛̽̈́̃͛͝r̴͎͚͇̻̞̬͑̂̅̿͋̅̂͊̔ą̴̛̱̱̗̔̈́̈́̔͒̆̌͘͠r̵̺̰̬̹̮̬̘̜̈́̊͗͛̅̌͌͘͜ę̸̛̺̞͚̹̘̱̥̲̒̍̏̔͛̌̚ȇ̴̩.̶̛̖̙̦̝̹̰͔̉͂̆̉̐̾̐͠͝ ̵̘̙͎̼̻̩̬͖͌̉̾̂̄͜J̵͐̏̇̈́̑̃͜͝͝j̶̛̠̬̟̓͗͗͆̆̀̈́̿̂͜j̴̢͍̦͉̯͑̍̓J̷̨̧̢̳̟̠̯͖͖͚̐̈̏̓̈͐̎̐͝j̶̫̞̬͖̯̯̹̺̩͆̾̽́̈́̄ͅJ̵͖̘̫̓u̷̡̧͔̥͇͕͔̞̠̇͛̈́̎͂̌͂͘̕ş̶͕̫̎ṫ̷͈͖̲̩͉͌̅̍̈́́̿ ̷̠͕͕̖̜̻̯̻̖̃̏̀͂͑́l̷̳̣̼̓̈́̊̈́̈̎̀́̋̚͜L̶̡̜̣͔͔̼̠̗̎̇̈́̕Ļ̴̞̟̱̹͓̹̪͖͚̂̐͐̑̂͆̐̓̚͠ḽ̶̢̧̙̺̯͖̰͓͐͗̽̈́̃̔̀̾̕l̴̢̢̳̜̣̦̎́́̔̕̚e̷͔̫͉̘͉̓̓͋͊̀̿̄̕͝ͅã̷̡̢̝̮͔̮̰̱͒͌̈͊̾͂͠ͅͅv̷̗̼͎̠̝̋̓͒͛̂͐͜͜è̶̪̟̲̘̃̓ ̴̺̊̉͑̉̽̅́̕̕m̸̧̦͔̙͍̘̭̲̄͂m̸̧̫͎͌̀̃͜ͅM̴͍͍̫͚̺͚̪̺̿́̒͋̂͐̿͗̚͘m̴̛̘̼͔͑̿̏̅͌̊̾̕e̴̩̟͈̙͑̏͐̆̓͆̏̚͠͝ ̵̳̤͉͉͙̬̥̉̓́̀̓̃̀̌̊͜ͅḁ̶̧̗͈͍͍̉͂̀͆͗̾̆́̚͜͝l̴̜͓͈̄͌̓̈́̉͊͊̍͝a̵̲͒̋̂͐́̊̕̚͝â̶̢͕̫̘̮͈̻͕͙̩͑̂ḹ̵̨̮̓̓̊̍̕̚͝o̵͖͔̥̳̊̐̀͠n̵̺̥̲͔͔̿͋̊ë̶̯̤̻́̌̎̎́̾͋̄̄̋.̵̪̑͆̀̎" (Please whoever you are. Just leave me alone.) She cautiously walks over to your bed and peaks over it. Your laying there curled up into a ball torn and broken items surrounding you. Y-your abstracting?! B-but... Zooble doesn't even really register the fact. She's in shock from seeing you like this. (I mean I would be too) You let out an ear piercing scream and claw at your own face with enough force to tear the skin, if you weren't digital at least. The glitching gets much much worse for a few seconds before just, stopping. No rhyme or reason that she can see. But you can bet your a&$ that after like 5 seconds pass and you stop showing signs of abstraction she's going to huddle near your spitting out so many questions. Mainly ones like "ARE YOU OK!?!" and "Your still with me right?! RIGHT!?!"

Kinger

Kinger would more likely then not be there when your first started glitching. And that might make him officially lose it. Your the second person in this hell (Queener) who he felt close too. And he outlived you too. Still you aren't abstracted yet. Maybe their's still a chance! So he sprints off screaming out for Caine in a voice that is loud enough to make you go deaf if you were too close to him. When he finds Caine. And he will find Caine he grabs him by the shoulders and sprints towards where he last saw you. He basically throws Caine at your glitching form and yells at him to fix you! In that second you stop glitching Caine did nothing and Kinger will basically tackle you. He'll pick you up and hold you over his head like a spear and sprint towards your rooms. Once there he will set up the comfiest coziest pillow fort possible then get you all comfy inside. Once he's sure your at least mostly safe and he's at least mostly calmed down he'll ask you about what happened. (Despite him being pretty crazy I really do feel like out of everyone he would be the best at communication in a friend or relationship. I mean he's that crazy and yet he still has manners and knowledge about a lot. Tbh he might become my fav. Idk it's possible.)

Ragatha

You were helping out Ragatha with a surprise she was making for everyone to lighten their moods when you said that you feel kind of sick so you were going to call it a night. She nods thanks you for the help you gave then gives you a quick peck to the lips as a send off. Not to much to her surprise you choose to lay in her bed instead of yours. Just something you do when you don't wanna be alone. She shrugs it off and keeps working actually quite grateful that you decided to not leave, not fully at least. She keeps working but stops when she hears some very concerning noises coming from your sleeping body. She turns around to see you tossing and turning an abnormal amount in your sleep, as well as making a lot of noises that sound like when someone is choking on their own blood. Concerned she carefully walks over to check on you only to recoil when she notices the glitching. She trips over her own foot and falls over onto her back. She quickly but clumsily gets up and gets back to you. She shakes you a bit trying to wake you up, but you don't only concerning her more. She yells calls out for Pomni who pokes her head through Ragatha's door a second later. Ragatha nearly screams at her to go get Caine. Pomni startled by Ragatha's tone turns heel and runs off to look for Caine while Ragatha stays with you. She keeps whispering things like "You're gonna be ok" and "Pomni's getting Caine just hang in there". Always keeping a hand on you not caring when it starts glitching out too. When Pomni returns with Caine, Ragatha full on yells at him to help you. He looks at you, then back at her, then with a apologetic tone says their isn't anything he can do as abstraction is one of those things he doesn't have control over. Ragatha breaks into tears. So she's gonna lose you, she was even there. BUT SHE CAN'T F@%#&$* HELP?! She holds onto you like you're her last tether to reality. And you seem to get better. Your at the very least don't seem to be in pain anymore! So she squeezes you, really f&$%@#* hard happier then should be possible that your improving.

Jax

Jax found you in his room voice glitching you huddled over in pain. At first he thought it was a revenge prank and acted accordingly. "Haha, very funny Y/N. Now get out of my room I need to do something." That is until you vomited up a ton of pitch black goo. Then he started taking it more seriously. He quickly crouches down and wraps an arm around you to try and provide some support. He freaks out and quickly pulls his arm back when you vomit up more goo and starts visibly glitching. He panics and quickly looks around his room locking onto a like 3 day old unopened water bottle. He opens it and hands it to you as well as a thing to squeeze that half yells to just hang in there he'll be right back. He sprints around not even knowing who to get. He sees Ragatha and half tackles her. He shouts directly into her face that you need help and that you in his room. He tosses her in the direction of his room then continues sprinting around not long after finding Caine. He grabs Caine ignoring his protests and runs back to his room where he fins Ragatha sitting next to his bed you tucked in. Your not vomiting anything and you aren't glitching. You're just shivering. He hears you mumble his name and literally kicks Ragatha and Caine out quickly getting to your side. After he feels he wont get hurt he quickly gets into bed holding you close "If you ever do that again I'm going to take back my vow to not tease you." He falls asleep with his chin resting on your head.

Pomni

At first when you started glitching Pomni didn't really know it was abstraction. She's never seen someone abstract after all, only seeing the finished product. But when you keep getting worse and worse she realizes that something is wrong. So she leaves you with a quick kiss then runs off to the communication thing Caine made after the whole Kaufmo incident. She calls him and when he picks up she screams into the phone that your glitching out. When Caine appears next to her she runs back over to where you are not even checking if Caine is following. When she gets back to you, you're still in really bad shape. She turns back to Caine and yells at him to help you. When he tells her that he can't she starts hyperventilating, then she sees him pick you up and the cellar hole open?! OH F&#$ NO! She basically punches Caine then clings to you protectively, ready to throw hands with Caine if she has to. Caine tries and pull her off when she starts glitching but she has the grip of a professional rock climber. So Caine has to keep curing her glitches at they appear. Cause in his mind your beyond help but she isn't. Then you start to improve. No more coughing and the glitching has slowed down! Pomni glares at Caine then turns back to you with a scared and tired smile on her face. Once your ok enough to talk you are going to get an earful. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER YOU WERE FEELING BAG ENOUGH TO ABSTRACT?!?!?! (Sorry this was so long. I got a little carried away. And surprisingly I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[syrupgirl]

Sorry if you have done this before but maybe you could do a neteyam x reader and he is introducing you to his family ?

Love ur work btw

a/n: I did change this a lil so I hope it’s still ok, so reader knows the Sully’s vaguely and has only been known as a friend to Neteyam but now he is introducing reader as his potential mate. Also thank you for your compliments :p <3

(sum more notes at the end <3)

reader uses she/her prns and her body stays un-described

Mate material -Neteyam

“Is this really necessary, Neteyam,” You whined, sulking behind him. “They already know who I am, I feel like I’m meeting them again.”

He smiled and continued to wade his way toward the shore.

“Well, you are in a way. They will be seeing you in a different light now.” This man. He has some cheek.

Water whipped around your ankles as you ran after him. Taking Neteyam’s hand in yours, you spun him around and tugged on his arm repeatedly.

“Do we have to tell them? Why can’t they…Just figure it out on their own?.” You felt like child now, complaining over something so simple, but that’s how being with Neteyam made you feel; all fuzzy and floaty on the inside. Things were simple and easy when you were with him.

He finally stopped waking and took his arm out of your hand, replacing it with his hand.

“I understand if you are nervous, they can be,” he paused as if to take a moment to find the words. “intimidating when they want to be.” It came out as a laugh.

You snorted, “Your mother in particular.”

“She loves you!”

“She likes me as your friend, she might not as a mate!”

Neteyam sighed and pulled you closer; he could tell this was really bothering you.

“It’s not like there has been some, huge, drastic change. We’re still us, just…A more together version of us.”

A reluctant smile bloomed on your lips. “You sound stupid.”

“Ah.” You giggled as he pushed you away in mock offence.

“I take back what I said, you should be terrified.”

“Neteyam!”

-

Eclipse had come and the Sully family were gathered in their Marui, happily feasting on their dinner.

All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and chewing of food, until Lo’ak took it upon himself to break that silence.

“So, big bro, what happened with yn today?”

Suddenly, all eyes were on the eldest Sully. A small smirk jumped onto Kiri’s lips and she quickly went to cover it with her hand and Tuk looked genuinely worried for your health. Lo’ak had a shit eating grin on his face; he knew what he was doing.

Neteyam gulped, disguising it was swallowing a mouthful of his dinner. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw you two getting awfully close in the water.” Neytiri looked as if she had finally checked into the conversation, putting down her meal and looking to her sons.

“I just thought maybe, she might have been hurt?”

Like a hunter watches their prey, his family set their gaze on him, silently hungering for more information.

In an effort to appear cool headed, Neteyam shrugged. “She was fine, not hurt.” He looked to his brother and shot him a look, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no, just curious.” It looked like Lo’ak would leave it now and Neteyam internally sighed in relief.

“How is yn, Neteyam? Haven’t seen her in a while.” Jake asked. Oh well, the questioning wasn’t over.

-

“I think they are onto us.”

You let those words sit in the air they were spoken into.

Neteyam’s arm tightened around you and you turned more into his chest. The pool of water around you wrinkled gently with your movements.

The two of you had stashed yourselves away in a lone terrace, not unlike the ones that bordered the lagoon outside the village, but this one was a secret place for you both. Where you could be with each other without worrying about prying eyes or annoying brothers.

Finally, you answered him, “What makes you say that?”

Neteyam sat up more, causing you to be partially shoved off of him.

“Lo’ak started asking me these annoying questions while we were eating dinner last night!” He looked like he was a getting really upset; brows furrowed, arms waving wildly, voice raising.

You frowned and caught one of his flailing hands. “What kind of questions?”

“Just stupid ones! Like, why we are spending so much time together and why we were getting so close to each other yesterday in the wate-”

“Be calm, Neteyam. Slow down.” You brought his hand to your chest. “Breath, deep breaths.”

Neteyam stopped his ranting and sighed out a long breath. As best as he could, he copied your breathing.

“Now, explain to me why this bothers you so much?”

He is still for a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “He’s putting his nose where it doesn’t belong, it is just not his business.”

You snort at that, “Are we not about to announce our relationship to your family? Honestly, it’s not a surprise that one of them found out before.”

Neteyam sighed again. He turned to face you and gently took your face into his hands, looking between your eyes.

“I want it to be on our terms, not because of Lo’ak’s prying.”

“I understand that,” you hummed. Your hand covered one of Neteyam’s on your face and you leaned into it. “Sounds like we need to act on our plans a little faster.”

A kiss was planted on your forehead and you smiled giddily.

“I don’t want to push you, I know you are a bit nervous.” He mumbled into your hairline.

Your free hand found his face and brought him back to where you could look him in the eyes. Your thumb glided back and forth along his cheekbone and his eyes drifted closed.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

-

It really felt like you could not handle it.

The sun was high in the sky, beating down onto your skin. On a day like this, you would usually be bobbing up and down in the waves, happily soaking up the rays, but on this occasion all it was doing to you was elevating your already rapidly growing panic.

You and Neteyam sat on the woven walkways not to far from his marui. Today was the day where you would finally announce your relationship to his family. A monumental occasion really; the eldest son of Toruk Makto and former leader of the Omatikaya, had found himself a partner, a mate, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You had met the Sully family many times before, you regularly spent time with Lo’ak and Kiri, even spending time with little Tuk. But now, you were seeing them on such different circumstances, they might as well have been strangers.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Neteyam had offered, an effort to quell your growing nerves, unfortunately this just spurred into motion all the thoughts of things that could happen; ranging from awkward silences to Jake and Neytiri chasing you out of their marui for trying to take their firstborn away from them. Extremely unlikely and just downright stupid, but you were just grasping at straws for anything that could go wrong.

“Why can’t- why can’t you just tell them while I am far, far away?” Neteyam laughed heartily at that but you were deadly serious.

“Oh yes, I can see it now,” Neteyam gasped between giggles, “hey mom, hey dad, you know yn? yeah I want her to be my mate. Where is she? Anywhere you aren’t.” His laughed picked up at his own joke and you groaned, hitting his chest with your balled fist.

“I love your family, Neteyam. I really, really want this to go well!”

“And it will! We’ve had this same conversation over and over, i don’t know how else I can reassure you.” He reached his arm around your waist and dragged you closer to him. “Would you like me to tell you in english? I know a little.”

Neteyam said something you didn’t understand. The language sounded so silly you couldn’t help but cover your mouth to hide your giggles.

“Should we get going? They should all be home now.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

“Neteya- oh, and yn?” Jake paused. “How are you, yn?”

The entire Sully clan, excluding Neteyam, were all seated around the cooking fire inside the marui. Jake and Neytiri parked up close to each other: Jake prepping fish for cooking and Neytiri wrapped then placed it above the fire in front of them.

Kiri and Tuk sat next to their mother. The older girl attempted to teach the youngest how to repair a torn Ilu saddle.

Lo’ak lay next to his father, apparently completely uninterested in whatever was happening around him, until the two of you entered together, after which he sat up looking infinitely intrigued.

Tucking your arms behind your back, you squeezed your hands together and mustered up a smile.

“I am well, thank you, Toruk Makto.”

Jake continued to de-bone the creature he was holding before speaking to you again, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

You glanced to Neteyam, the nervousness you had buried starting to resurface again. He took a deep breath and reached behind you, taking your hand tightly in his.

Neytiri, who hadn’t looked entirely phased by your presence, suddenly perked up. Her eyes fell onto your intertwined fingers and then back to your face. It felt as if your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Actually, sir, there’s…something I want to tell you.” Neteyam’s voice had an uncharacteristic nervousness to it and you could feel the smallest shake in the hand that held yours.

The whole family froze, each with sightly different looks on their faces. Lo’ak looked like he was on the verge of hysterical laughter, Kiri had her own little smile while Tuk was ready to hang off of your every word.

“What is it, Neteyam?” Neytiri asked. She stood and Jake followed suit.

The grip on your hand tightened before Neteyam spoke, “Yn and I, we wish to be mated. Before Eywa.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the family before you reacted. Lo’ak, who had been quietly munching on his dinner, suddenly started to choke and thumped his fist against his chest in attempts to dislodge the obstruction.

Tuk and Kiri had the same reaction, shouting “What?!” at the same time. Tuk visibly more excited about the news, while Kiri looked like this was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

“My son, you are not yet a man.” Neytiri urged, slowly pacing towards her eldest.

“I have passed two of the three rites of passage of our clan! And now that we live amongst the reef people, I can complete the three by passing one of theirs!” The two of you had anticipated these concerns and had done your research on the matter. Since the Sully’s no longer lived among their own, the three tasks Neteyam had to complete to be welcomed into the Omaticaya as a man were no longer possible. It seemed only fitting that he finish of these tasks by overcoming the Metkayina’s last rite of passage that their men had to accomplish.

“Taking a mate is a serious thing, son.” Jake was now face to face with Neteyam. He had a stony look on his face. “I know you’re friends with yn, evidently a bit more than that, but this will be the person you spend the rest of your life with.”

Coming up beside her son, Neytiri put a hand on his shoulder. “Your father is right, Neteyam. These decisions cannot be rushed.”

By Eywa, you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Neteyam noticed your embarrassment and doubled down. “I know that, we know that! We have been talking about this for a long time and we’ve thought of everything.”

His father narrowed his eyes, he still didn’t look convinced, so you decided oh well, you already ready feel like you were in over your head, what’s a little more?

“If I may,” All eyes turned to you, “your son is the most caring, most passionate, and most mature man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He is infinitely understanding and loves with all he has. I cannot speak on his behalf, but I trust in the decision I have made to have Neteyam as my mate.” Your words continued to get smaller and smaller as your felt their stares bore into you.

Silence filled the space, broken up by the soft sound of crashing waves and the chittering of stray Ilu.

Neytiri spoke first.

“This is truly what you want, my son?” The mother laced her hands with the sons free one.

“More than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life.”

A look was shared between Jake and Neytiri and their children stared on.

“Neteyam,” Jake sighed, “I give you my blessing to pursue your remaining rites of passage by the Metkayina.” His hand reached up and latched onto the back of Neteyam’s head, bringing it closer to his own.

“My son, I see you.”

Your partner’s lip quivers and his brows told upward, it is clear he is using everything in him not to cry.

“And you, yn.” Jake turned to you, bringing his hand up to his brow and then back down again. “I see you.”

You repeated his gesture and sniffed, emotions running very high. “I see you, Toruk Makto.”

Jake smiled. “No need for the formalities, not now that we’re family.”

The rest of that night was filled with light and laughter. With songs and delicious food. You couldn’t think of a better way to be welcomed into this beautiful family.

Your heart had never felt so full.

a/n: so we only know 2 of the Omaticaya’s rites of passage and judging from how Neteyam has a banshee, it’s safe to assume he had begun the process of becoming a man in the clan. I don’t know if he had done his dream hunt so i just said he had🤷‍♀️yeah this took so long because I did a chunk of words every few days💀 anyways until next time, bye :p

[ena-113]

A human crewmate, Mia, held a long thin box. It seemed to have paper and plastic peices inside, based on the sound. A puzzle perhaps? A few other crewmates trailed behind them.

"Hey Bob! Wanna join us? We're playing Clue, it's a board game from earth."

Bob nodded and joined the others trailing after Mia. He had no idea what a 'board game' was, but it seemed fun. They eventually all gathered around a table in the cafeteria.

"Okay, so it's a murder mystery and we have to figure out who killed Mr. Body. We're all possible suspe-" Mia started to set up the board and explain, but was cut off by Jli'yan.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but why do humans have a game centered on murder and distrust?"

"Cause it's fun, thrilling. Good for poker face practice." Kaya answered, shuffling cards. They then nodded towards Mia to continue explaining.

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prev

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[salchica]

honey + hazelnut

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. “No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God, Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine.

--

When Eddie was little he made up an imaginary boyfriend. And then he meets Steve in real life.

Published: 02/08/24 | Words:5,174 | Rating: Teen & Up | Link x

Originally for the Steddie Valentine's Day Exchange.

honey + hazelnut

“Hey Eddie, what can I get for you?” 

Eddie looks up from his phone and immediately bluescreens. The barista’s  fucking beautiful is the thing; all lean muscle and swoopy brown hair, moles dotting his face and neck, a pink mouth that Eddie just wanted to--  

He quickly reminds himself that he’s public, specifically at a coffee shop with like, normal non-depraved people around. It’s called First Sip , and the vibes are chill, if a little gentrification-chic. First Sip is hipster adjacent, the outside painted a nice forest green with plenty of bookshelves and squishy couches. Cozy . 

Eddie’s only job right now is to grab coffee and book it back to Chrissy’s apartment. Apparently  eviscerating his latest draft is a very taxing job and requires copious amounts of caffeine, but when Chrissy mentioned the ‘cute little café that just opened around the corner ’, she failed to mention the fucking Adonis that worked there. If Eddie’s brain was online, now would be the time he’d turn on the good old Munson smarm. It’s a patented technique passed from parent-to-child up and down the Munson family tree; a peacock-esque display of finger guns, waggling eyebrows and bad pick-up lines. It’s a little pathetic and honestly best taken in from a distance, but four times out of ten it ends with a laugh and a number in Eddie’s pocket. Fuck it, Eddie thinks. 

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He  looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. 

“No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God , Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine. 

Eddie is literally a writer goddammit; the fantasy series Chrissy is currently editing is full of words that Eddie himself had put in painstaking order. He wants to scream. Not even the cheesy one-liners he’s used in the past have been this bad. The Munson ancestors have failed him. They’re probably all face-palming in hell. 

“Eddie?” Hot Barista says. Eddie can’t tell if he sounds amused or concerned. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you ready to order?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He knows a critical failure when he sees it. Eddie looks up at the menu hanging up on the back wall, the letters written in delicate, looping calligraphy against the black chalkboard. “Two black coffees, please.”  

“Great choice, black coffee is a classic,” Hot Barista says. His eyes are all shiny, like he’s holding back a laugh. Or maybe he wants to scream but can’t because he’s on the clock. He probably gets hit on all the time by poor unsuspecting people who aren’t prepared to be faced with that much cuteness before their morning coffee. Oh no, Eddie thinks, am I a creep? When did I become someone who hits on people at their literal job? 

His face feels like it’s on fire as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slides the money over the counter. Eddie mentally plots to buy Chrissy a Keurig or something so he never has to step foot in this café ever, ever again. As he moves off to the side to wait for his order, the woman behind him huffs a finally  under her breath. Eddie’s shoulders bunch up around his ears. Like sure, yeah, he’d held up the line, but he’s paid for it enough out of sheer mortification. 

I’m gonna fucking kill myself. He texts Chrissy. 

After a minute, she texts back: Did you get my latte? All business, that one. She’s too used to his dramatics. Eddie should ramp it up a notch and threaten to quit writing. Fuck the New York Times bestseller list; Eddie’s going to retire and move to Siberia. 

Here lies Eddie Munson, time of death 10:30 am. He hits send. 

“Teddy?” The second barista says. She’s pretty, with a sharp face full of freckles and the gayest shag Eddie’s ever seen. Eddie looks around. As far as he knows, he’s the only person waiting for their order right now, but Lesbian Barista had clearly called out Teddy… which is Eddie’s name, technically, if only among family and very close friends. Eddie makes eye contact with her and points at himself. She rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, you. Teddy, Eddie, whatever-- here’s your coffee,” She says. She shoves two cups across the counter. Eddie can see the steam rising from the little drinking-hole. 

“How did you know my--” 

“I refuse to get involved in this more than I already am,” She says, walking back to the espresso machine. Eddie picks up the cups and notices writing scribbled on the side: 

Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date? Text me (xxx)xxx-xxxx! -Steve.  

Eddie looks up at the counter, where Hot Barista -- Steve -- is still taking people’s orders. The line is longer than it was when Eddie first walked in, and Steve is hard at work, toned arms fighting for their lives in his tight polo. “...Holy shit ,” Eddie says. 

So. The thing is, until now Eddie hadn’t taken in Hot Barista in his entirety. 

He’s noticed parts of him of course, like the aforementioned hair, moles, and mouth-- but it’s like Eddie’s subconscious had wanted to spare him this realization by only letting him perceive Hot Barista as a bunch of separate but equally hot parts. It might have taken Eddie three tries to graduate high school, but he’s always been good at putting puzzles together… even if the obvious answer to the puzzle doesn’t make sense.  His mind is buzzing as he puts two and two together-- 

Today was the first time he’d ever stepped foot into First Sip, yet somehow Steve had greeted him by name. He presumably told Lesbian Barista to call Eddie “Teddy”,  a family nickname that only Wayne calls him, now. Instead of throwing coffee in Eddie’s face, this “Steve” had responded with his own equally bad pick-up line. 

Steve is the very picture of an All-American Midwestern boy, all gee whiz and yes ma’am and aw shucks. Eddie had thought he’d looked familiar, but only in the way that most people look familiar when they share traits with the type of people you’ve seen your entire life. But as Eddie stares, his mind superimposes a younger version of Steve over this current one. He looks like… Well, he looks like Stevie, Eddie’s “childhood friend” when he was like ten. He hasn’t thought about Stevie in years, which makes sense because Stevie was imaginary.  

He wasn’t supposed to exist.  

So, to explain: 

Eddie has always been like, really fucking gay. It’s something people tend to know just by looking at him, even when he was younger and didn’t even know it himself just yet. When he went to live with Wayne after everything that happened with his parents, the entirety of Hawkins seemingly clocked him as soon as he stepped a foot within city limits. So even though itwas like 2011 and gay rights were steadily gaining traction, people still avoided Eddie like queerness was contagious . In Indianapolis it hadn’t really been a problem, but Hawkins had never quite managed to shake off its Evangelical roots.

So the first two years Eddie was in Hawkins, he was lonely . He was the new kid with a shaved head and clothes that didn’t fit, and he doodled in class instead of listening to anything an authority figure had to say. People gave him a wide berth, and his only saving grace had been the woods behind Wayne’s trailer. He’d go there for hours after school, acting out scenes from the book he was reading at the time and even things from his own head. 

It went on like that for months, until one day he’d found a boy .  

He’d been perched in the biggest tree Eddie had ever seen, almost like he was hiding in the leaves. But since Eddie had a lifetime of observation skills - thank you, trauma -, he’d noticed the boy right away.

“Hi,” Eddie had said.

“Hello,” The boy said. He pushed his face out, and Eddie swears to this day his heart skipped a beat-- the boy was just so cute. He jumped down from the tree in a controlled fall, almost like he was floating. The first thing Eddie had noticed were the small wings on his back, delicate and see-through like a butterflies. “You have wings!” Eddie couldn’t help but state the obvious. “Is it like a costume or something?” 

“Yeah. It’s a costume,” The boy said. Eddie shrugged-- he didn’t want to ask too many questions in case the boy was scared away, but he had so many. What materials did he use, was there a YouTube tutorial, how did he get them to move independently from his body-- 

Instead, Eddie went with a tried and true, “What’s your name?” Biting back every single question he had. 

“My name is Steve, but you can call me Stevie,” The boy said. “What is your name?” 

“Eddie, but my Uncle Wayne calls me Teddy. It makes me sound like a stuffed bear or something.” Eddie complained. He’d wanted to be cool, like it didn’t fill him with warm fuzzies the way Wayne said his name with such tenderness. Steve had grinned, like he’d understood even without Eddie having to spell it out. “Want to play with me?” Stevie said, and that was that. 

This went on for months; Eddie rushing into the woods after school to play with Stevie until the sun went down. It had gotten to the point where Wayne started asking Eddie to bring Steve by sometime so he could meet his new friend. But every time Eddie had suggested it, Stevie had made a constipated face, so Eddie eventually stopped. He didn’t need to know everything about Stevie to know that he has Eddie’s best friend. 

But one day when Eddie had gone to their spot, instead of the branches Stevie was sitting at the foot of the tree, crying. It was especially weird because it was like the tree was reflecting Stevie’s mood; it was droopier than usual, and even the little mushrooms at the base of its trunk were dull and shrunken. Stevie’s wings were folded against his back, and they weren’t even their regular violet-blue… they were gray and brown, so drained of color that they almost blended in with the bark of the tree. Stevie told Eddie that his mom was moving them, that there was something about a court or custody split and Stevie had to go away.  

“Will you make me a promise?” Stevie asked. And not one to deny Stevie anything, Eddie of course said yes. “Promise you’ll never forget me, okay? Even when we’re old and big and you have friends you can see all the time and not only in the woods.” 

“I’ll never, ever forget you Stevie,” Eddie said solemnly. The moment had felt charged, even if Eddie didn't know exactly why . He’d figured it out pretty fast once Stevie leaned in and quickly pecked Eddie on the lips. 

“Now it’s sealed,” Stevie’d said.They’d shared a small smile-- it was Eddie’s first kiss, and he felt giddy with it, little bubbles of excitement popping in his stomach. 

Sadly, Eddie never saw him again. Stevie didn’t have social media, or an email; in fact no one in Hawkins seemed to have known him at all. Eddie had asked everyone if they’d known Stevie, maybe from a church camp or boy scouts or some other secret thing that wasn’t hosted at the one middle school in Hawkins, but no one knew what Eddie was talking about. He never mentioned Stevie’s wings, just in case the wrong person overhead.  

When Eddie finally hit high school and figured out he was gay, he’d just begun to accept the truth. Stevie had to have been a made up dream by a lonely kid with a vivid imagination. That was the reason he’d had wings and  been Eddie catnip, because Eddie had made him up-- a cute boy with swoopy brown hair, a little shorter than Eddie so he was the perfect height for hugging, and fucking majestic wings. Looking back, little Eddie was fucking pure. All he wanted was a cute boy to hold hands with, sometimes. 

All to say that yeah, Eddie’s queer as shit because what’s gayer than making up his first boyfriend? He’d imagined a lot… Except apparently he hadn’t . Stevie was Steve , and he wanted Eddie to call him.  He was a real, flesh and blood human being, apparently living around the corner from Eddie’s best friend. The wings were nowhere in sight, but still… 

Holy shittttttt.  

Eddie wants to text Steve, he really, truly does. It’s just he doesn't know how to start. 

‘ Hey, when you were  11 did you ever mysteriously disappear from Hawkins?’  It didn’t really have a good ring to it. 

Neither did ‘ Will you marry me and help raise my children’, so… It’s safe to say that Eddie was stumped. 

As soon as Eddie had read the number on his cup, Steve had turned around and given him a cheeky little wink. Eddie had nodded first to himself, then to Lesbian Barista, then to the harried mom with a baby on her hip sipping something that looked like a marshmallow on steroids. He’d then spun on his heel and beat it  out of First Sip and out into the frosty Indianapolis winter. 

Chrissy hadn’t even said anything when he’d pushed open her door, just grabbed her coffee and thrown it back like a shot. And now it was hours later and Eddie still hasn’t managed to text Steve. When he’d first told Chrissy about all of it, tree floating and wings included,  she’d just quirked an eyebrow. 

“Are you on drugs? Do you have a fever or something?” She’d put her hand over Eddie’s forehead, her face the picture of mock concern. “ Fuck you, man. I’m trying to be vulnerable here,” Eddie said. 

“By telling me about your imaginary boyfriend. A boyfriend with wings. Okay, sure.” She was still skeptical, which was fair in all honesty. Now Eddie’s been rotting on her couch for hours, visibly flip-flopping back and forth on whether or not he should take the risk and send Steve a message.

“Chris,” Eddie groans. He draws out the ‘s’, hoping to annoy her enough that she has to pay attention to him. He kicks his legs up on her couch. Chrissy kind of hated it when he spread out all over it, but Eddie thinks it’s completely fair with the amount of back-breaking labor he did getting the damned thing up the stairs and through Chrissy’s front door. 

“Babe, just text him,” Chrissy says. “Would you like to go out with me? It’s scary, but it’s not that hard.” 

“It’s not that simple!” Eddie objects.  

“It really, really is,” Chrissy rolls her eyes, setting down Eddie’s manuscript where she’s currently going over it in red pen. Eddie revels in the dull thump it makes when it hits the coffee table. ‘The Warded Wind’ had taken him a full year to finish, and as the third book in his trilogy it needed to be perfect. 

Eddie’s favorite thing about Chrissy is that she insists on doing proofreads without a computer to fully focus and cut out any distractions. 

“He literally disappeared off of the face of the Earth.”

“Wow, it’s so hard to hide from an eleven year old,” Chrissy deadpans. 

“Okay but if he managed to do that at 11, imagine what he could do now?” Eddie says. 

Chrissy pulls her hair back into a tight braid at the base of her skill, the strawberry blonde strands twisting against her fingers as she sighs. “Eds, can I be real with you for a second?” 

“Please.” 

“You’re gonna to text him. He’s your first kiss, your childhood friend and you said he was a total babe.” 

“All of this is true,” Eddie says. “But I just… I don’t know, there’s part of me that’s like, he knew me as a kid. What if he doesn't even like me now? 

“Eddie, you’re forgetting one very important detail,” Chrissy says. She ties her braid with a scrunchie and scoots over to the couch. Eddie flops his head to the side to look her in the eye. 

“What’s that?” 

“If you don’t text Steve, you’ll never get to kiss him again.” She sounds smug… she really does know him way too well. 

‘Hey it’s Eddie. Wanna get coffee?’  He hits send. 

The response comes almost immediately: ‘what time? u already know the place (; ‘  

Eddie pulls one of Chrissy’s throw pillows over his face and screams.  

They schedule their date for a week out, so Eddie has time to do some research. He’s literally shifted his whole perspective of his life in a matter of hours; he’d thought Stevie had been a fake boy made up by a lonely little Eddie and now he thinks that Stevie might have been real, but the wings and the frankly weird attunement to the woods behind the trailer park was just his overactive imagination filling in the details. So, research. 

Chrissy’s extremely helpful in Eddie’s light internet stalking, showing him how to go to First Sip’s Instagram and look through the tagged photos since he still doesn't have Steve’s last name. He finds out that Steve isn’t just a barista, he’s the owner. There’s a lot of pictures of him with Lesbian Barista, whose name is apparently Robin. Constantly tagged is a bunch of fifteen year olds, and in every picture with them Steve gives off caring big brother energy. Eddie can’t help but find it hot. 

But… 

Part of him, probably the part that liked to write fantasy and held a little bit of hope that there was magic out there somewhere-- that part needed to be prepared. What if Steve was a fairy? Did Eddie accidentally sell his soul to him? How does he make sure this date with Steve goes well? Can he even eat the food in the café or will that make him stuck in First Sip forever? 

So, Eddie does what any young person with access to the Internet does. He turns to Reddit. 

-- What do fairies like? Shiny things. Old Buttons. Charms. Paperclips.Flowers. Berries. Honey.  Luckily, Eddie was something of a hoarder; he loved trinkets and didn’t mind pushing them off on his friends. As for the food stuff, they literally were meeting in a café, so there was no need for Eddie to go buy all new stuff. Actually, he might grab some honey candies at the Quiktrip on the corner before going to First Sip.. 

-- What do fairies hate? Iron. Eddie’s rings are all so cheap, but there is one… It’s a dragon that wraps around his thumb that he found out at an estate sale when he first moved to Indianapolis, with little divots in its eye-holes where he assumes stones used to sit.He makes a mental note to put it in his pocket before the date. Actually, maybe he should scrub his hands while he’s at it.

-- Is it fairy or fae?  All of the answers were supremely unhelpful, but Eddie decided it didn’t really matter. It’s not like he was going to ask Steve about it, and he decides to just go with the flow and let Stevie bring it up if it ever came down to that. Eddie wasn’t going to reveal that he had a weird delusion as a kid and that’s why he stopped looking for Steve over the years. 

So like, Eddie knows he’s a creep. If Tommy Hagan or Jason Carver could see him now, they’d probably point and laugh, telling everyone how they’d ‘always known’ that Eddie would wind up in jail for something. But technically, Eddie’s supposed to be here-- one, First Sip is a public space and two, he’s not being weird. He’s just… really, really early. 

It’s been a harsh Indianapolis winter, snow and the after snow-sludge making the trek to First Sip go from ten minutes to thirty, so like any sane, reasonable person he left an hour and a half before the actual date with Steve was due to start. He’d stood outside of the double glass doors, deciding on whether or not to actually bite the bullet and go inside, eventually giving up when Steve spots him with a slightly confused wave. 

“Eddie! You’re--”  Steve checks his watch. Eddie knows what it says, but it’s too late to backtrack now. “You’re really early.” 

“I know, I was just… really excited to see you,” Eddie says. Honesty is the best policy, right?  

Steve beams. 

Eddie knows he probably looks insane, with his beanie shoved over tangled curls and his nose red from the negative temperatures outside. Hawkins wasn’t that far from Indy, and it was cold, sure, but something about the city magnifies it; like all the tall buildings trap the miserable weather and keep it all concentrated over a ten-block radius. Anyway-- all of that, the cold, the biting wind, the way he can’t feel his toes-- all of that’s worth it for the giggle Stevie aims his way. 

Eddie wonders how he didn’t notice it earlier; Steve’s laugh is just like Stevie’s, ethereal, almost like tiny bells falling against each other. He wonders if that can be counted as proof that Steve is more than human; there’s no way a normal human throat can make that sound. He wishes he still played with the Corroded Coffin guys; he wants to make an album off of that sound alone. No lyrics, just an acoustic guitar and Stevie’s bell laugh and-- 

Damn , he’s being weird again. He clears his throat, ignoring the way a group of kids at a table near the counter are staring him down. They look oddly familiar-- Eddie tries not to let it show on his face when he recognizes them from First Sip’s tagged photos. 

“We’re short staffed today, otherwise I’d say we could just have our date right now,” Steve says. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He unwinds his scarf from around his neck. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely at the seating area. First Sip is actually fairly busy and Eddie doesn’t see any empty chairs. Even the bench by the window is full of people clacking away on their laptops. “Actually, I’ll probably come back later?” 

There’s a tap on Eddie’s elbow, and he looks down to see a curly-headed kid in a baseball cap smiling up at him. He’s one of Steve’s, Eddie’s pretty sure, but then again he sometimes finds it hard to tell kids apart. “You can sit with us, Eddie.” The kid says. He points over at his friends who don’t even pretend that they’re not watching the interaction. They all give Eddie cheeky waves when he spares them a glance.

“Dustin, no,” Steve warns. Eddie looks around again-- all of the chairs and couches are still completely full and people don’t look like they’re moving.  This isn’t the kind of thing that Eddie had in mind when he’d left his apartment, but if the kids were important to Steve he figures he can tough it out. “It’s alright Steve, I can sit with… Dustin, right?” The kid nods, holding out a hand to shake.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Party, come on,” He says, pulling Eddie by his coat’s elbow. Eddie looks back at Steve and gives him a small smile-- I’ll be okay. Steve’s return look could only be interpreted as-- Be safe. Don't show weakness.  

Weird. 

Eddie sits down on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a groan as Dustin goes around the circle, quickly introducing everyone. Eddie feels pinned to his cushion; something about these kids stares makes his heartbeat kick it up a notch, and not in a good way. 

“Party, like D&D?” Eddie asks. 

“You know D&D? Point in your favor,” Dustin says. Eddie gets the very real sense that Dustin has a mental point tally running in his head. “Nerd shit is negative seven, Dusty-Buns,” The redheaded girl says. Dustin rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Dustin says. “What are your intentions with my older brother?” Eddie didn’t know it was possible for a fifteen-year old to give a shovel talk and actually look like they were going to go through with it, but the murder in the eyes of every child surrounding him gave him actual pause. He clears his throat. 

“Hi, my name is Eddie. I’m in my 20s, I write books for a living, and I play guitar in my spare time.” Eddie says. "Those are answers to questions you're supposed to ask, when you meet someone for the first time."  

“Okay, so? We didn't ask.” The kid named Mike says. His features are weirdly sharp and shark-like, getting worse as he twists his face into a scowl. 

“I really, really like your older brother, so my intention is probably just to date him.” Eddie says. 

“Hmm…” Dustin says. He tugs in two other kids-- one with a bowl  cut, Will, and a little Black girl that looked a little younger than the others, Erica. They put their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at Eddie. The other kids don’t say anything, just keep Eddie pinned with their unwavering stares. 

Unbidden, Eddie is thrown back back to his time in Hawkins, when he was a freshman in high school. He’d read somewhere, maybe on tumblr or something, that high school was the time you were supposed to reinvent yourself. And after not fitting in in middle school, he’d had a moment of weakness and just wanted to try.  

He’d walked to the only Goodwill in town, running his fingers along the racks idly until he’d seen it . The most butt-ugly, high-collared polo ever created. He didn’t even think it over, not really, he just shoved it inside his jacket and walked casually to the fitting room. He’d always known how to be a freak; how to be big and paint a target on his back. At that point he’d worn it like armor, impenetrable and permanent, his valiant attempt at hiding his soft and gooey center. He’d just wanted to see what it would be like to be the type of person everyone loved. To have everything come easy . 

“One more time... what are your intentions with our babysitter?” Lucas says. 

Eddie is almost  tempted to dilute himself to make sure these kids like him, pull on a mask and just have their approval. But something told him not to underestimate them; he doubts it will be that easy. For some reason Eddie feels like  one wrong word could get him kicked out onto the street to fend for himself. 

“I’m gonna have his babies,” Eddie says firmly. There’s a chorus of ' ew gross!', but the ice is broken. Somehow, things go alright after that. 

When Steve finally slides onto the couch next to Eddie, First Sip is pretty much empty and all of the kids have gone home. Dustin had left with a warning to ‘not mess this up’, which Eddie figures is pretty much a seal of approval. He hopes he wasn’t that intense as a kid. Maybe he should send Wayne an apology letter. 

“So,” Steve says. He’s shy about it, thick lashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“So,” Eddie says back. He gives into his impulse and covers Steve’s hand with his where it sits on the middle cushion of the couch, lacing their fingers together. “Are you really my Stevie?” Steve positively shines, his smile making his nose crinkle adorably. 

“You remember me!” Steve says. 

“I mean I didn’t at first, but to be honest no one besides you and Wayne ever called me Teddy,” Eddie says.

“You can blame Robin for that. I was sad at first, thinking that I didn't keep your promise, until she told me I was being dumb and that I needed to jog your memory.” 

“Well, it worked sweetheart,” Eddie says. Steve blushes all the way up to his hair at the pet name, and Eddie makes a vow right there to keep that look on Steve’s face forever. 

The two of them sit on the couch long after First Sip  is closed, talking about everything and nothing. It’s perfect.  

Weeks later sees Steve squirming in Eddie’s lap, panting as Eddie is hard at work marking up his neck.  Steve suddenly sits upright, pushing his hands against Eddie’s chest. “There’s something you should know,” Steve says. Eddie tightens his grip on Steve’s hips, mind fuzzily trying to work through what Steve’s saying. His inner monologue is just a loop of Stevestevesteve, so he’s a little slow on the uptake. 

“What?” Eddie asks. 

“I’m a fairy.” Steve says. 

Eddie pauses for a second, tucking hair behind Steve’s ear. “I mean… I hope so? We’re literally making out?” Eddie was all for reclaiming slurs, but there was usually a time and a place. Stevie huffs a laugh, leaning in to nuzzle Eddie’s nose with his. 

“No, watch,” and he closes his eyes for a moment, sitting back on Eddie’s thighs. 

Eddie can’t help but look at Steve’s face, trying his best to memorize every part of him. He’s so transfixed that until they start glowing he doesn’t even notice the giant fucking wings that have appeared on Steve’s back until they flutter in his periphery. 

“What,” Eddie says. There’s a little jolt in his chest, like a muted surprise. But he’d always known, hadn’t he? Steve was different, but he’d always been this beautiful, wild thing. On some level Eddie had always known it. 

His eyes trace over Stevie’s wings-- they’re just like he remembers, gossamer and violet-purple, outlined prettily by the sunset. He reaches out a hand to touch, then hesitates. 

“Go ahead, Teddy,” Stevie smiles. The wings warm underneath his hands. “Beautiful,” Eddie breathes. “I love you so fucking much, baby.” There’s a beat-- Eddie knows it’s a risk, he knows it’s too early, but it’s the truth. He doesn't want to take it back. 

“Promise?” Steve says. His eyes twinkle with mischief,  like he doesn’t know that Eddie could spend all day looking at him and not get tired.  Like Eddie’s eyes focus on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Like Eddie hasn’t been absolutely gone on him since he was eleven and lonely, and Stevie was the only thing keeping him  together. “I promise,” Eddie says. 

He pulls his very real, very not imaginary boyfriend in, and seals the promise with a kiss. 

THE END.

Notes:

Later, Steve will introduce himself as Prince Steven of the Spring Court. He’ll say that he was curious why Eddie was playing by himself when his games looked so fun. Eddie will also meet the Party as their pixie selves! Thanks for reading (:

Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

[cas-backwards-tie]

Under The Moonlight

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

Summary: You think the Commander hates your taste in music. Why is he so judgmental about what you listen to in your free time? Turns out... maybe you were caught up on the wrong thing.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: (Vlad should probably be a warning in of itself), Passive-Aggressiveness? , Spying, Grabbing,

A/N: Ugh... I love (and hate) this song bc it gets stuck in my head so easily and it gives me such fantasy vibes. I can't help but imagine wedding vibes and him with this song every listen. btw put two diff versions in links bc those are 2/3 that I have and listen to.

"You know Arabic?" He'd asked. The first time he'd stumbled upon you listening to the song, more than curious when you'd also been singing along. With a shake of your head and a slight smile of embarrassment simultaneously dusting your cheeks with blush, this only makes his eyebrows furrow. "Then how do you know the words?"

The laugh that tumbles past your lips does nothing but further turn up the heat on the already boiling frustration and inconsequential meltdown that will no doubt later take place. "By listening to it," you answer, an inkling of a smile returning in spite of his fury, "over, and over... and over again."

With an annoyed puff of breath you know he's done with you, about to make his leave. "Why?" You ask. For once, you've swapped places as your curious eyes seek out his form.

"Because it would be useful information to know." Ever the cryptic, of course that's all he leaves you with before turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest as he exits the room.

The second time he hears the song, he's in between meetings. It's one of those rare days where he has a little free time, not that he knows how to spend that sort of thing anymore. Having entered the library, he can hear the radio playing the Arabic song once more. Your voice joins it, again, and Vladimir finds himself subtly eyeing his surroundings as the corners of his lips twitch, tugging at a smile.

He schools himself, able to keep himself in line. While the bookshelves keep him out of view and no one's in the vicinity, he quietly strolls through the stacks, hand grazing the many novels. It seems that now you've been here longer, you're starting to get more comfortable. Even if your voice isn't the loudest, the quiet nature of a library certainly doesn't help as it carries your voice, he's sure, outdoors to the nearby stationed guards.

Once he's around the nearest bookshelf, he peeks far enough just to see your visage. From this, alone, can he paint a picture. Hand still on the page, he imagines you'd been reading, the radio on quietly as background noise, no doubt something you've continued to use since you've yet to get used to the quietness his climate provides. Thus, the radios around the Compound offer solace. He's noticed you around them often. In your focus amidst the book, you'd been distracted by the song, a familiar tune on the radio beckoning your attention. Of course, not being one to resist temptation, you couldn't resist turning it up and singing along.

He can't deny you're awful. Otherwise, he'd probably have to shoot you. It'd grow to be a nuisance, really... and dangerous, a warning signal no doubt. Yet, there's an innocence about you when you sing. Mocha-colored eyes roam your features as he watches, mesmerized, your eyes closed, as your upper body moves to the music from your chair. The smile that graces your lips is one to remember, and it's one that has him equally awed, and yet... in amusement.

"You really don't understand?" With a swift turn, Vladimir reveals himself from the bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back casually. The gasp and jump that he'd elicited from you does nothing more than garner a chuckle from him.

"Why do you care?" You ask, hand still resting on your heart as you attempt to catch your breath. Staring at him with wild eyes, it boggles you, the way you feel like he's asked you this before. It takes a moment, as it's been at least a month or so, but you remember that he has. He's asking again. "It's not like you know," you tease, poking him back. If there's anything you'd learned early on, and he'd learned about you... it's that you love to play with Vladimir by matching fire with fire. And, equally, he too, loves to do so.

"Actually, I do, любимая," he quips. With slow and calculated steps he begins approaching the table, eyes raking over you once and then twice. "and I don't! I can assure you. I only find it amusing how you seem more than content to sing something which could mean anything... according to you."

While he stops to close the book atop your hand, inspecting the spine and choice of leisure, you suspect. You place your hand atop his, afraid he's going to take the book. It's only when he meets your gaze briefly, long enough to narrow eyes at you before immediately departing for the door a few feet behind you. "Wait!" You call after him. Turning in your seat, a hand comes up to rest against the bulbous ear of the chair; thudding boots abruptly come to a halt as the Commander stops, albeit he doesn't turn around. "What does it mean, then?" You ask, words getting quieter as you start to lose confidence the further the moment continues.

"I'm sure you'd love to know." That's all he leaves you with. Dissatisfied and annoyed with the pettiness and childlike behavior the Commander can sometimes exhibit, you ignore him whenever you can. After all, while he may have originally intrigued you, whatever curiosity you had is not worth whatever outcome you receive in the aftermath of one of his moods.

When you finally find out what the song means, it's at a moment you were completely unexpecting it. After a successful mission, you'd all celebrated by building a big bonfire at camp, sitting around after dinner, sharing stories, and drink. It's not every day you get to let loose, and while normally there's a fairly tight schedule to work around, you know better to take advantage of a free day when you can. With this in mind, you drink to your heart's content. After all, it's on the Commander, right? Listening to the stories, your head leans back against the wooden makeshift benches as your eyes find the bright stars above.

It may be an effortless attempt to map them out, or mentally draw out the constellations you know, but as you listen to the jokes, the stories, songs, and laugh along, it isn't until there's a momentary silence that you finally raise your head again. Scanning around the fire, you notice that everyone's gone to bed, it seems. And sure, while it's been a long day and it'd been getting late, you didn't think everyone would've left so soon. Yet, your eyes are drawn to the only other pair you see, staring at you from a few feet to your right. The last person left at the fire.

"You're not tired?" He asks, and it's weird. It's like there's no mask up this time. You're not sure if it's the alcohol playing tricks on you right now, or if you're really hearing him correctly, but he almost sounds... genuine.

Head leant back against the wood once again, you let it loll to the right, finally able to meet his gaze. The flames make his eyes shine brightly, his features illuminated in a fiery glow. His hair is slightly amess, some strands not falling in the same direction as the wind has blown them around. Nose and jaw sharply outlined by the shadows of the night, you can't help but feel warmth, and not because you're both sitting right in front of the fire. Eyes having roamed his features, they finally meet his again as he turns his gaze from the fire once more to you, clearly anticipating an answer.

With a shake of your head, you do nothing to stop the way your lashes slowly flutter, the mere thought and mention of sleep threatening. As you lift the bottle in your hands to your lips again, wanting to finish the last little fifth or sixth of drink left in it, you're met with a disgruntled hum. "I think you've had enough."

The words should be a warning to you. A loud and clear signal as to what was about to happen, and yet you hadn't put two and two together in your intoxicated state of mind. "Mm-mm. 'Slmost finished," you manage to slur out. Lifting the bottle again, Vladimir is quick to stand, closing the space between you as he snatches it out of your hand and tosses it into the fire. The glass breaks, flames fanning higher momentarily as he reaches under your armpits and lifts you up. There isn't much of a struggle considering you can't put up much of a fight in your state.

"It's time you get some sleep," he states, wrapping an arm around your back as he attempts to guide you to a tent. He guides you outside of the fire circle until you don't move. And while he's a strong man, perhaps it's the drink, or he doesn't know what, but you're being as stubborn as a rock.

"What's it mean?" You ask. This takes him aback; the Commander knows you're not ignorant, and while you may be drunk, there's certainly no way that vodka, or any sort of liquor no matter the quantity is capable of erasing such a simple fact as the meaning of sleep. While he takes a step back, eyes beginning to search for signs of injury, it isn't until he follows your gaze that he understands.

Albeit the distant snoring, the wind, the roaring fire, and crunching of both your boots, he hadn't realized. It was quiet, the radio on the other side of the firepit. The device had been left on, and while the two of you had stayed awake he hadn't paid too much mind to it, yet now he can't help but smile. Of course, of course of all moments this song would play. Right now.

"You really want to know?" Vladimir asks, not backing away as he towers over you, eyes meeting your face in the darkness as he waits for your attention to find him again. After all, perhaps with the way he's been the one to hear you all these little times, maybe... just maybe it could be a sign.

Ridiculous, of course. That's what he told himself for months now, too good to be true. He knows what he's done... what he's had to do. What he will do and must, not just for himself but for his people, for the planet, in order to not only survive, but bring the world to a state that will be beneficial for all. Nevertheless, they always say there's a price one must pay for such deeds. He knows this true... and while he might have dreamt at times of other lives and wanted for other things, those boy's dreams were crushed long ago.

That was... until the radio started playing that song only moments ago. As he scans your face, eager and almost impatient for you to turn your eyes on him, when you do, it's not what he expects. The scoff that meets him leaves him taken aback. Met with an eye roll, and an attempt to walk past him. He knows. He knows he can be rough, and while it might be harsh he grabs your arm and keeps you from walking any further away. Whatever prize he thinks he's found, whatever omen, sign, or soul tie... he's not letting this go. He's not letting you go.

"I know you're just gonna trick me again, okay?" While other times he might be delighted to hear that you think he'd play games with you, nothing but stoicism sits on his features.

Bringing you in close, he searches your eyes as he whispers. "The love words of his eyes are sweeter than songs." Vladimir cautiously places a hand on your waist, the one holding your arm releasing its grip as it slides up to rest on your shoulder. "From a couple of words, from a greeting, I become someone else. When he sways, my heart sways with him. I may sacrifice my eyes and whole life for him, and it's too little." He repeats the words, the two of you gently swaying in the moonlit camp as the music quietly accompanies him in the background through the aged radio.

"My night, oh, night, my night." It feels as if with each passing moment his voice somehow gets quieter and quieter if that was even possible, yet you're already so impossibly close. "Oh night, my night, his love makes the night longer. The love of years between him and I. Just one more step, my heart, it's not a fantasy." Your noses just barely brush against each other, breath mingling in the space between you.

"My soul just go with him and get lost in his beauty. His covets the magic of life, his charm extraordinary. The one whose eyes the moon envied. The smile is the shining sun." There's no denying the heat between you, the tension thick in the minimal space between you, both of your eyes closed as you revel in this moment. Yet, he knows he shouldn't. You wish he would. As the song comes to an end on the radio, he's the first to open his eyes, eager to watch your open yours. As you do, it's the same happiness and adoration that he's seen you with on your expression even when you had no idea what the song had meant.

You might not have known what it meant... but something about the vocals and the expression of the song had just given you the sense that it had been about exactly everything Vladimir had just described to you. "Thank you," you whisper, not quite ready to leave this moment. Not ready to leave his arms.

Zziiippp!!!

The sound of a tent opening nearby causes both of you to distance yourselves, something within each of you sobering up instantly. While, sure, he's the Commander and can have anything he wants... you both know things are better this way.

____________

translations:

любимая = loved one / darling / lovely

forever taglist: @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo ,@ohdamnadam

[33max]

for @f1-obsessed333 who in response to this post said how would maxy react if this was a kangaroo stealing his stuffie?

It is as he’s sprinting full pelt after a kangaroo that Daniel realises he would do absolutely anything for Max.

The dust from the dry Australian ground kicks up in small clouds as his feet hit the floor, one after the other, leaving a dust trail behind him. It probably looks like he is running much faster than he actually is, but Daniel only does endurance running in his fitness plan, not short sprints. Nobody could have anticipated he would have to chase a kangaroo across his farm.

He had turned his back on Max for less than a minute while he tried to barbecue them some lunch, and as he threw a couple of juicy burgers onto the grill Max started wailing from where he was sat on the deck. Really wailing, as if something awful had happened. A high-pitched screaming wail.

Daniel had rushed over, thinking the worst, that Max was hurt. But Max didn’t look hurt. He just continued wailing and pointing off to his right at the large expanse of grassland.

“He’s got Thoup!” Max choked out. Thoup is Max’s dinosaur, its actual name is Soup, but that isn’t something that Max can pronounce when he’s this little.

When Daniel looks in the direction that Max is pointing he realises that he is a short grey kangaroo. And he has stolen and hopped off at pace with one of Max’s favourite plushies.

So that’s how Daniel ends up here, running as fast as he can to retrieve Max’s plushie, Soup the Brontosaurs.

“Come back here you bouncing fucker!”

It’s not a conscious decision to tackle the kangaroo, more of a panicked last-ditch attempt to retrieve Soup for Max before the kangaroo outpaced him. But before Daniel knows it he’s jumping, wrapping his arms around the roo, and knocking it to the floor.

The roo, probably not too happy with being tackled, drops the dinosaur plushie and begins kicking its legs and tail at Daniel to get away.

That’s fair, Daniel thinks as he dodges the limbs.

“Okay,” Daniel says, tucking Soup under one arm and then holding both hands up to the kangaroo in surrender. “That’s it, that’s all I wanted, we’re good now.”

Daniel doesn’t turn his back on the kangaroo, he’s not a complete idiot – he waits for the kangaroo to bounce off to a safe distance before he turns to run back to Max.

The look on Max’s face is one Daniel has never seen before. Pure shock. Enthralment. Admiration.

“Here you go, baby,” Daniel says, handing the slightly dusty plushie back to Max.

Max just gapes at him. Mouth wide open. His binkie is long gone, it must have dropped to the floor in the chaos.

“Daddy,” Max says, very slowly. “You got Soup back.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let a kangaroo have him!”

That’s what does it. That’s what dissolves Maxy into giggles.

“Oh fuck, my burgers!” Daniel shouts, remembering what he was doing before the interruption, they’re probably burnt now.

That just makes Maxy giggle harder. Burying his face into Soup’s fat tummy.

[seeleycollins]

Just something I had floating around in my head and was actually able to put it to writing.

Tags: Bayverse!Leo x reader, angst

Warnings: language, slight nsfw in one small part

“Leo?”

shitshitshit-

He looks up, your eyes meet, and fuck-

FUCK

It’s him. It’s really fucking him and Jesus.

You knew coming back to New York was a bad idea, but it was your cousin’s wedding and what were the chances-

What were the fucking chances you’d see him again?

Your heart is pounding, you’re breathing too fast, and fuck, you realize you’re making a scene. Your cousin and his new wife are staring, though she’s turned her attention to him, concern marring her perfect features while your cousin’s confused gaze stays on you.

“Bro?”

Your eyes dart to the speaker. Another like him, clad in accents of orange. Then two more move in- one purple, one red- their movement slow, expressions as confused as the rest.

You need to go, you realize. Get some air, collect yourself, steel your emotions so that you don’t ruin your cousin’s wedding. You’d never forgive yourself.

You could do this. Just make an excuse, go hide in the bathroom, get your emotions under control, put your big girl pants on, then come back and power through the rest of the night. It was just one night, you could do this, you just needed to reset, realign-

“Excuse me, just a moment.”

Yes, that sounded good. Normal. You could totally do this. You could absolutely pretend that seeing him again hadn’t nearly shattered your heart anew. That you weren’t running away, heels hitting the concrete sounding too loud as you tried and failed to regulate your pace.

Where was the damn bathroom?

You tried to remember, but damn it, this outdoor venue was confusing. Were there three or four tiers and which one were the restrooms on? You remembered seeing the beautifully lit brick building, but couldn’t focus enough to retrace your steps- not when all your thoughts were being pulled back to seeing his beautiful blue eyes again and how incredible he looked in a suit. God, you were not ready to see him like that. Not ready to see him at all.

The lights started to blur, your eyes burned, and you took a deep breath. No. No, absolutely not. You were not crying. You were not. Another deep breath. You started flapping your hand at your face- what that was even supposed to do, you didn’t know, but that’s what people did to stop from crying, right? Did it work? Was it working? Oh, god, someone was approaching you.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

It’s just the waitstaff, no reason to be embarrassed. Just lie. People cried at weddings all the time.

“I’m just so happy for my cousin and his new wife,” you said, breathless. “We grew up together and he’s come such a long way… I’m trying not to make a mess of myself and embarrass him. Could you point me to the restrooms, please?”

It worked. Pretending you were overwhelmed with happiness helped you arrive more or less in one piece to the bathroom where you beelined it to a stall and with shaking hands, slammed the lock home.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you lost the battle against your tears. Why, oh why was this happening? Why was he here? After so many years how could this even be real? He was always so paranoid about being seen, so secretive. How did he know your cousin? Or was it his wife? Neither seemed shocked to be in the company of not one, but four giant turtle men.

Four.

They must be his brothers, you reasoned. The ones whose existence you only knew by accident when he’d let it slip in one of the rare moments he ever let his guard down with you. You could practically feel his fingers slowly combing through your hair as you sat beside him, watching the sunrise from the roof of your apartment.

“Stay,” you’d whispered, grabbing his free hand and bringing it to your mouth for a feather-light kiss. “Please?”

His fingers in your hair stilled, but he intertwined the other with yours, bringing both your hands to his mouth and mimicking the kiss you’d just given.

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” he sighed, lifting your hand higher so that your wrist rested against his lips and you felt the flick of his tongue on your skin, followed by another kiss and a little nip full of intent.

That was all it took. In the next moment you were climbing on top to straddle him, hands on either side of his face as you pulled him to you, grinding down on his lap, a little surprised to feel him already hard beneath you.

“...shiiiiit,” he moaned and grabbed your ass with both hands, pulling you back down against his length.

“Stay,” you insisted, all but rubbing yourself off on him now, his breath coming out in hot puffs on your face.

“-can’t,” he said between clenched teeth while lifting his hips and grinding up into you. “My brothers-”

“-fuck your brothers-”

An auto response given, but then, after a beat you froze.

Wait. What?

“Brothers?”

You hadn’t realized it at the time, but this revelation acted as the loose thread that would completely unravel your relationship. You tried to be understanding at first, about his need for secrecy, about the real threat to his safety should his existence be exposed to the wrong people.

But it hurt. It bothered you that he would hold so much of himself back from you. That it only ever felt like you had a part of him at any time. That by his own admission, it was unlikely to ever change.

“I love you, Leo. Do you really think I’d ever betray you like that?”

“Not on purpose! But all it would take it is one slip up, one innocuous comment to the wrong person and-”

You leaned back against the stall door, your head bumping against the hard plastic as all those feelings from back then came rushing back. Being helpless to do anything as your heart was slowly breaking in two. The fighting was almost constant. You cried more back then than you had ever before or since. He began to distance himself, slipping away, and you had no idea how to stop it until one day he was just…

Gone.

Any trace of your time together had been scrubbed from your apartment. Admittedly, there wasn’t much- he was too careful for that. Even your phone had somehow been wiped. In the end there was nothing. As if he’d only ever been a figment of your imagination.

And now here he was, of all places. A specter of your past you’d left the state to forget.

Part II ⬇️

https://www.tumblr.com/seeleycollins/760553851721039872/the-uncommon-room

[sauron-kraut]

Summary: Ar-Pharazôn comes to visit at night and finds Mairon in a vulnerable position.

Woke up in the mood for some more Mairon/Ar-Pharazôn, and in this one Mairon is once again not having a great time. After posting some pieces in which he has more agency I needed him miserable again, apparently.

Pairing: Mairon x Ar-Pharazôn

Words: 733

Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual touching

As always: If you like this little piece, comments on AO3 are appreciated! 🖤

Not beta read!

Find it here under the cut.

on granting things

On his bare feet, Ar-Pharazôn traverses the dark corridor. His steps are taking him to Zigûr’s quarters. Giddy anticipation holds his body in a tight embrace.  When he comes closer to his advisor’s chambers, Ar-Pharazôn finds the door to his private quarters ajar; he can see it from a distance; a narrow ray of flickering light shyly licking at the cold black tiles. Ar-Pharazôn slows his steps, approaches cautiously, quietly. A small strangled sound from Zigûr’s room. Ar-Pharazôn’s eyes widen and curiosity takes hold of him. Is the Maia in pain?

Ar-Pharazôn reaches the door. It has opened just wide enough for him to peek inside. Occasional carelessness. He allows Zigûr no locks. When he leans against the wall and casts up his eyes, Ar-Pharazôn has to hold back a gasp. On the soft bed the Maia lies, the bed that Ar-Pharazôn has granted him, a soft bed for soft skin and soft hair, and arches his back. A goblet with red wine sits on his nightstand. Zigûr lies sprawled across the sheets and pillows, his luscious red locks in slight disarray framing him like a broken halo. A pink hue has formed on his cheeks, his eyes are closed, his elegant brows knit and lips parted, just a bit, revealing slightly too sharp canines. The black lounging robe the Maia is wearing, adorned with colourful embroidery, has fallen half-open, exposing his pale-golden chest. One of his hands clutches a green blanket, the other moves in a steady rhythm between his legs. It makes his golden bracelets tinkle.

Hopeless hunger surges through Ar-Pharazôn. Jealousy.

A sigh tumbles from Zigûr’s lips like a promise. Ar-Pharazôn watches his chest rise and fall, transfixed with one nipple. Why does he breathe? Why does his red heart beat? He’s a creature; Ar-Pharazôn reminds himself of it, a beast cloaked in divinity, and yet, the Maia lies there, and does what all men do. Ar-Pharazôn cups his own hardness through his breeches. Zigûr has lifted an elegant hand to his mouth, lets some spit dribble onto his palm, before he resumes the now more frantic motions between his thighs. No, this is not right, his pleasure is Ar-Pharazôn’s to offer him. 

Ar-Pharazôn opens the door and steps inside.

The Maia on the bed jerks violently at the sudden noise, golden eyes fly open and betray confusion. He scrambles back against the headboard, fumbles with his robe.  Ar-Pharazôn sits beside him and smiles. “There is no need to cover yourself. I know what you look like,” he says. Zigûr sits unmoved, still only breathing heavily, leaning against the headboard and a pile of pillows, half upright, half-lying on his side, a certain feline grace in his posture even now. Ar-Pharazôn shifts closer and grasps both of the Maia’s wrists. To soothe him. He smells of arousal and saliva. A hint of sandalwood. Ar-Pharazôn studies his noble features. Zigûr’s lower lip is trembling. Beneath thick lashes, his eyes with the slit pupils and their fiery iris glisten with faint wetness. They swim with wrath. Fascinating. A wounded deer, a lion cornered.

Ar-Pharazôn lets go of his wrists, cups his cheek, rubs it, squeezes it, traces that lip, so soft beneath his thumb. Zigûr swallows, then speaks: “What brought you here at this late hour, king?” Wine on his breath. “Nothing but you,” Ar-Pharazôn says, then adds “You are so beautiful, Mairon, do you know?” He continues to stroke his cheek. A faint smile forms on Zigûr’s lips. “I am aware.” He takes Ar-Pharazôn’s hand in his, removes it from his cheek and gently places it in his lap, his own still clasped over his fingers. 

Ar-Pharazôn moves to lean in, moves behind Zigûr, thigh to thigh, hand firmly on his upper arm, then gliding down his side.  “Tell me, who do you think of when you pleasure yourself? What do you imagine when you do it?” Ar-Pharazôn whispers. He receives no answer. “Let me help you find your release. You were close, I can tell,” Ar-Pharazôn murmurs in his ear, and the heat spreading in his lower body and the Maia’s beauty, that damned beauty that is all angel and all whore, makes it impossible not to press himself up against him. 

The wretched thing shakes his golden head, a small, quiet gesture in Ar-Pharazôn’s arms. Helpless rage wells up in him.

Ar-Pharazôn wrenches the hem of Zigûr’s robe aside.

[misdeliria]

The Same Coin (1.4k)

Following the Racoon City incident, Leon met you in his drill squad. You gave him the cold shoulder from day 1.

"I know your history, Kennedy," you sneer, leaning back on your hip. You're both still in your gear, caked in mud and reeking of sweat, but Leon can't get through his drills when you're not communicating with him.

It took less than a week for him to call you on your pettiness.

"You got real lucky once, and they considered you qualified. Some fucking bullshit." Taking long strides towards him, you shove your helmet into his chest. "You're gonna get yourself, and the rest of my team killed."

You must've felt bad after you shoved past and left him holding your helmet (or you were caught and reprimanded) because your communication skills notably worked for him the following day. You were stern and unforgiving in tone whenever you gave orders, but Leon performed well and kept quiet about your standoffish personality.

A few squad members tried to vouch for your character once the tension became noticeable, but Leon didn't experience any changes until his first assignment.

It all went to shit, but it had nothing to do with your team and everything to do with misinformation about the situation. The original directive was abandoned almost immediately as your squad members got picked off by the hoard of undead monsters.

Leon took a moment to respect your quick adaption and headshot precision once realization settled in through his adrenaline. You looked as familiar as he felt, and within hours of your deployment, only three of you were left. You, him, and Sergeant Hendy.

"Fuck!" You spit angrily, covering your flank as the sergeant was briefly overwhelmed. "Pick it up, Sarge!"

Leon felt the urge to grab the soldier's collar and drag his ass back, but you bark 'Negative, Kennedy." You even go as far as dropping your gun to run for it with Leon in tow – effectively using the sergeant's death to your advantage.

"We could've saved him," he murmured bitterly once the danger was gone and you were waiting for exfil. You had been silent since abandoning Sergeant Hendy, communicating only when necessary and relaying information from the radio.

"He was compromised," you respond, void of emotion and attachment. "It was him or us."

"He wasn't bit-" Leon started to snap back, but you silenced him with a look. An expression mixed with anguish and fear that you tried to cover up with a steely gaze, and Leon could see right through it.

"You can blame me all you want, but I made a call." You turned your head away from him, and he couldn't see your face, but he could hear the lump in your throat. "And I'll have to live with it, but- It could've gone a lot worse if we did anything different."

He earns time off after that mission, accepting a luxurious apartment stationed in D.C. for the time being until his skills are required again.

It's nearing midnight when Leon gets a phone call from an unknown number. He's cautious when he answers. Who would be calling him this late?

"Kennedy. Want to grab a drink?" Leon almost drops his phone when your voice echoes in the receiver.

"You realize how late it is?" He runs his free hand over his face as he glances at the digital clock at his bedside. He could hear your environment in the background and deduced you were already a few drinks in, stretching his legs over the edge of the bed until his feet met cold hardwood.

"Did I wake you up?" You didn't sound apologetic or even curious, like you knew the answer. Leon kept quiet, hoping to move past the question as he threw on jeans and a clean shirt, but he heard you hum in drunken amusement. "Thought so. At a bar on West Marshall. I'll let you know when you get here."

You don't, but it's a pretty dead area, and there's only one bar at the end of the street. It doesn't take Leon much effort to locate you by yourself in the corner, fiddling with a shot glass and a half-empty bottle of rum.

"Kennedy, let me pour you a shot." You're quick to serve a hefty amount, but Leon carefully declines.

"I'll take a whiskey," he tells the bartender while sliding into the seat next to you. He's tempted to stop you when you shrug and toss back the shot like water, but your actions are smooth, and you don't look very drunk. "What's the occasion?" Because there has to be a reason you're getting shitfaced by yourself and randomly calling him up, but Leon's smart enough to keep that insight to himself.

"We're celebrating," you drawl, voice cracking as you shake while pouring your next shot. Leon notes how unfocused your eyes are and the beads of sweat forming along your hairline. "As of today, I am officially a Federal Agent."

You roughly knock your shot against his glass before downing it without flinching. Leon takes his sip, but his eyes never leave your face. He can't read anything.

"This is all I've wanted for ten years." Your voice is wavering, and your eyes are suddenly glossy. A scoff makes your shoulders bounce, and you're a little too loose when you fall forward, but you catch yourself. "All it took was my whole fucking squad."

You tilt the bottle back and take large swigs of rum, and Leon decides to stop you there. His arm reaches out to take your wrist, but your other hand smacks him away.

"I could be blacked out and still kick your ass, Kennedy." You end your statement with a hiccup, followed by giddy-drunk laughter, and Leon chuckles gently at your mood swing.

You're drunk, he confirms to himself, watching you pat your pockets until you locate a worn-out box of cigarettes. You pluck one out before hesitating, warily glancing at Leon. You hold the box out to him in a silent question.

Leon shakes his head.

"Not for me."

"Good for you," he hears you murmur against the stick between your lips. Leon's not sure if you meant for him to hear, but he'll take your verbal hazing over the awkward silence. "Where is my- Fuck, there it is." You pull a lighter out next, and Leon imagines you smoke a lot off-duty.

You take a long drag, looking over the table before dragging an ashtray closer by your fingers.

"I owe you an apology," you say after an apparent moment of hesitation. You tap your cigarette against the tray, interested in watching the ash crumble away. "I've been an asshole."

Leon fails to stifle his laugh, earning a sour side-eye from you. "An understatement."

"I just- I hated you. I worked my ass off my whole career to even be considered for a task force. And the second I get it, they assign a rookie cop with almost no field experience to me."

"Yeah, I wasn't too thrilled about it myself," Leon agrees, taking a swig for solidarity.

"I thought I was getting set up to fail when they assigned you to me," you tell him, suddenly serious. "But I don't think I would've made it out alive if you weren't there. So, thank you. And I'm sorry."

You turn in your chair and hold your hand out to him, and Leon wonders if you're aware of your actions now. He smiles when he takes your hand, and you shake it for good measure.

A spark of interest flickers over your face before you pull away and hold your bottle to him to toast with.

Leon laughs as he satisfies you, bumping the bottom of his glass against yours and taking another sip. He eyes you the whole time, gulping down the last of the bottle with a pained sigh once it's finished.

"There, you drank on it," you point out, and Leon looks at you curiously. "We're settled. Shook on it, then drank."

"That's a thing?" Leon frowns as you bob your head up and down. "No, it's not."

"No, it is," you insist, gently drumming your hands against the counter. "It settles disputes better than knocking the other person's teeth in."

"Oh, really? Who the hell told you that?"

"My grandma."

Leon nodded, grateful he decided to take you up on your offer for a drink. "She sounds like a smart woman."

"Yeah," you hum with a dopey smile, reaching for your pockets and signaling the bartender to pay. "She would have liked to meet you."

[jester089]

I feel I need to balance this angst out, do this AFTER you’ve done the others and given yourself time to chill…I’ve got my eyes on you…

Anyhow, how’s about the TADC gang all seperate with an s/o who’s just the definition of ‘chill’. They are the best comfort partner (just behind Kinger ofc), they comfort, share and engage in hobbies, show small signs of affection like soft side hugs and gentle butterfly kisses to the cheeks or neck, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Will also 100% piggyback/bridal carry their significant other if asked or for fun. Just a pure wholesome fuzzy mess.

Lazy days

This is just going to be what I think their hobbies and all are. As it's a fluffy request I'm going to do softer not cannon versions of everyone. TADC crew x Chill/Relaxed Reader

Caine

Caine can be an incredibly busy man/AI so try and make him take breaks. He gets to caught up in work because he's so worried that if he doesn't have fun things to do then people will start abstracting. So when you walk into his office gently pick him up and sit down in his chair with him now sitting on your lap it helps him snap out of it. He isn't going to stop still. But he really appreciates you being there. You being there and every now and again giving him an idea you had makes the work take longer, but makes it much more enjoyable. You'll honestly probably end up falling asleep on him, arms wrapped around him head on his shoulder. Sadly he doesn't have a neck, or any real exposed skin. So kisses will be a little rough but that isn't gonna stop you. It is a little weird kissing a giant set of teeth though. And second he finished up, or at least reaches a point where he can stop you pick him up and take him to your bed. Sometimes he'll tunnel vision to much on something and you'll have to do that anyways. It's like holding an angry cat when that happens, minus the claws.

Gangle

Gangle loves affection but isn't amazing at giving nor receiving it. Any time you do anything she can and will blush. And if you protect her from Jax. Putty Gangle has arrived. How relaxed you are despite everything happening helps her out a lot. I headcannon that she loves working with clay, like making pottery and all. But sadly with her ribbon hands she can't do it anymore. Or rather couldn't, cause you help her out. You two will sit in front of a potters wheel. You have her place her hands on the outside of yours and you just let her lead. (I have made plenty of pottery in my time and I can safely say it is incredibly hard to do.) Sadly unless your helping her with something she doesn't let you in her pottery station anymore. You tried to make a mug for her without her and it didn't go well. You didn't know the first thing about pottery when she wasn't guiding you so it ended up blowing up in the kiln. You felt really bad. Cuddles with Gangle are a little strange. She doesn't have any real body weight so it really does feel like your cuddling a piece of ribbon (for good reason). So you two came up with something. You got a body pillow that's around her height and when you two are cuddling she'll wrap around it so she has more mass. When she needs some comfort you'll know. Whenever she's in a really bad mood and wants you touch but doesn't really want to say it she'll exist really close to you and start gently wrapping one of her arms around yours. Overall 10/10, she's a giant sweetheart and your lucky you got her. So treat her well yeah?

Zooble

I recommend bringing some kind of hoodie or blanket with you. Her edges can be a little harsh on the body. Out of everyone Zooble is the highest chance of most cuddles. She never gets involved in adventures and avoids the others when she can. Which basically just means more alone time with her. Zooble has a lot of insecurities concerning her new body and the circus. You're the only one she trust enough with that kind of thing so don't downplay her thoughts and emotions. The main way she shows affection is just spending time with you, she isn't big on touch and she doesn't exactly have the resources for gifts. And that worries her, she knows that she can be rude and unpleasant to be around but she doesn't have anything else to offer you. She's not great at communication so you really just need to keep patient and keep loving her. She has a jagged and rough exterior, but it like everything can be broken. It'll just take time.

Kinger

You two make a great bunch. The others never would have thought but if someone is having an especially bad day they go to you two. Kinger is amazing at calming and encouraging words, and your amazing at calming acts and setting up an atmosphere. You've saved a lot from abstraction because of that. Hugs are amazing from him. That royal medieval robe he's wearing is really nice to the touch. Sadly he doesn't have a mouth but he'll try and make up for that with head bonks (Head bonk: To gently place your head against someone you care about to show affection. Usually used when that person isn't comfortable with kisses.) One time you two built an actual castle out of pillows. It took you like a day but it had a working drawbridge and everything! Sadly it was broken during an adventure but it was really fun to build with Kinger. He can get a little... Unstable... When that happens a tight hug and a kiss can usually snap him out of it. But if that doesn't work bring him back to your room. The atmosphere you have set up and the fact that it smells like you will help him out a lot.

Ragatha

Once again you two make a good combo. She holds people off from breaking down. But if she can't stop it then she sends em to you. So once again you two help with abstraction a lot. But poor baby is stressed and you help provide some needed relief. I see her as the type of if she was expecting a kiss or a hug she'll hug/kiss back and thank you. If she wasn't she turns into a blushing mess with a big ol dopey smile on her face. Something she appreciates a lot is more childish things. Like if you start up a pillow fight with her she will be ecstatic. But be warned her pillows hit like a truck. Not cause their different just because she's really good at pillow fights. Her fav cuddle type is the honeymoon hug (look it up). She gets to be close to you and give you smooches if she wants. And she gets to feel like she's protecting you. She is the mom friend and you annoy her by saying over the top things like. "Ok MOM" when she asks you to stop doing something. First few times she hated it but now she goes along with it sayng things like "Hey! Don't talk back to me. Give me your phone you're grounded." She never means it though.

Jax

I think Jax is the most stable person in the circus. I'm saying he's mentally ok I'm just saying that he is by far at the least risk for abstraction. Whenever Jax plays a joke on someone and you go to help calm them down he gets a little jealous. He knows you love him but he doesn't really like you talking to others. So don't be surprised if you're in the middle of comforting someone and he just picks you up and walks away. He can be a little mean so for your own sake try and not take his words to heart. He just by second nature starts pointing things out that he dislikes, and often he starts pointing out things on/to do with you before he realizes. He also won't apologize so just try and ignore it. He sorta makes up for it with affection though. Cause he's pretty affectionate. Most of it is teasing yes, like he's come out of no where kiss your cheek and use a pet name that flusters you then just leave like he didn't do anything. But he's surprisingly gentle when it comes to that kind of thing. I see him being the type where you two fall asleep in the same bed and you wake up with him having his arms and legs around you probably drooling on your forehead. Or he's one of those that take up the whole bed so you often wake up on the floor. Many say that opposites attract. And you two are very different. But that isn't a bad thing.

Pomni

You two are opposites in a lot of ways. She is anxious and constantly in a state of panic/worry. And you never are. So you help her a lot. I see her being kind of like a cat towards you. Constantly around you and or begging for attention. I have an idea that I came up with a few years ago. It's a hoodie with a giant pocket inside. Like one of those baby carriers but minus the straps and inside the hoodie so who/whatever you keep in there share warmth. And she loves it. You two can be relaxing in your room and she'll realize something and spring off the bed you two were on. She and will turn the entire place upside down looking for it (https://www.tiktok.com/@louiencoco/video/7214862848042831110) so if you don't wanna have to clean up later just show her where it is. On a more serious note though you two were a match made in heaven and with enough time you could make a genuine improvement in her mental health. The main reason she's so fragile mentally is cause she never gets/got a break. So her favorite activity with you is probably just relaxing in one of your rooms away from the others.

(Tumblr deleted this like 3 times while I was writing it. And it turned out kind of bad because of that. Sorry but don't blame me. Blame tumblr.)

xoxo, Jester

[syrupgirl]

Sully men and the language they love in

+incl Neteyam, Lo’ak and Jake <3

NETEYAM

Quality time & acts of service

๑༄ ‧₊˚ This guy just wants to be helpful and be able to be with you whenever he has spare the time. I think being so close to his siblings made him love spending quality time with people he loves so that definitely translates into his relationship with you

⤷“Neteyam, where are you going?” Neytiri questioned, placing down the basket she attempted to weave.

“yn is going to help me with my free diving, maybe even teach me how to hunt.” He sounded giddy and was clearly ready to go. His mother smiled and looked down at her lap.

“Alright, do not get into any trouble.” Neteyam nodded frantically and without another second he took off towards the shore.

-

“Surely it cannot be that different than what Tsireya has been teaching us.”

The two of you bobbed up and down in the water, letting the waves gently jostle you while you taught Neteyam.

“You are right, not too different. But hunting under the water asks you to be able to move your breath around your body in a different way that just free diving.” You explained.

The distance between you closed and you placed a hand on Neteyam’s chest.

“Imagine the breath you take flowing all throughout your body.” His chest slowly expanded and deflated under your palm. “Like…Rain trickling from leaf to leaf, like wind weaving itself through the trees.”

Neteyam’s snorted and you whined, “Come one, you almost had it!”

He continued to laugh and brought a hand up to his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It’s just…The way you explained it. I could tell you were really trying to explain it in a way that you thought I would get.”

Heat crept up to your face and you looked away, a little embarrassed.

“I thought it might help you..,”

Neteyam’s laughing died down and he took your hand in his under the water, feeling a little bad.

“It did, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I think it is adorable you are trying to…customise your teachings for me.” He brought your hand up to his chest again and took a deep breath.

“Now, tell me what to do again.”

LO’AK

Gift giving & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ I don’t know about you, but I can totally imagine Lo’ak bringing you things he finds pretty or things he thinks you will find pretty. It might just be me over exaggerating that lone wolf, not-like-other-guys quality about him but in my head, he’s quirky like that

⤷”Lo’ak? Lo’ak!” You called. He was just next to you…Where could he have wondered off to? Leaping over a small creek, you continued to scan the foliage around you maybe to catch a glimpse of him.

The ground was moist beneath you noticed as you sat down, opting to wait for Lo’ak to turn up again like he always did. Your eyes drifted shut and you let yourself away with the gently breeze that combed and wove itself through the tall trees and colourful bushes. So caught up in the environment around you, you didn’t notice the sneaking footsteps behind you.

Lo’ak crept up behind you, a colourful flower in between his fingers. While sneaking through the thicket, he had noticed it and was immediately entranced by it’s delicate petals and long stamen. After sayings a quick prayer to Eywa in exchange for this beautiful gift, he plucked it and made his way back to you.

Now right behind you, he gently picked up the long braid that protected your tsaheylu and wove the stem through the intricately woven hair. You gasped and turned around suddenly, your hair slapping Lo’ak right across the face and he sputtered.

“Oh, Lo’ak! You scared me!” You gasped and punched him pathetically in the arm. He laughed and came to sit next to you.

“There was a flower, a pretty one. I thought you might like it.” He gently picked up the large plait and showed where he had woven the flower through. A smile settled across your lips.

“Thank you, Lo’ak, it’s beautiful.”

Lo’ak said nothing just smiled bashfully and shuffled a bit closer to you, threading his fingers through yours.

JAKE

Words of affirmation & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ Over the years, the world has worn on Jake. He’s a father and he will stop at nothing to protect his family. He worries, worries, worries CONSTANTLY, so the days where he can let the weight slip from his shoulders and just gather you in his embrace and shower you in gooey loving words feel all the more sweet to him.

⤷“Whose kids are those?” Jake sighed as he fell down next to you. “Not mine, that’s for sure. I was never that hyper as a kid.”

A laugh bubbles up from your stomach as you adjusted Tuk on your chest.

“Are you sure? Maybe they don’t mirror your childhood, but they do remind me of when you first arrived here. All clumsy and eager in your new body.” He laughed at that and wrapped his arm around you.

The sound of the boys in the river playing not far away washes over the two of you both. After a while, you remove Tuktirey from your breast and up to your shoulder to clear her airway of bubbles.

Jake’s eyes lingered on you and his youngest and smiled. He brought a hand up to gently pat her back and Tuk responded with a gurgle. He took her from your arms and lay the baby across his chest, then pulled you closer by the arm around your shoulders.

You nestled yourself into his side and lifted a finger up to stroke your baby’s cheek. She cooed and you both smiled.

“I don’t say it enough but,” you turned your head up to look at your mate, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For them-” he looked to the direction of his other children who were still occupied in the stream “-for her-” now looking at Tuk “-Everything. I don’t know where I would be today without you.”

No words were needed after that. As a tear rolled down your cheek, you closed your eyes and rest.

[aibazuos]

My Brazilian ass is thinking way too much about a One Piece Brazilian military dictatorship AU and I need to put it out there or I will explode

Honestly, the only reason that's something I have such strong opinions about is bc Luffy is Brazilian and there's just so little Brazilian characters in media in general (There's more in Japanese media than in other places but I don't have the time to explain it, if you want to learn more about that you can watch this video).

I don't know how ethical it is to find parallels between a fictional work and very real events that caused the suffering and death of a lot of people. But I think that this is a way to share more of this very important moment in Brazilian history.

So, let's start with a bit of actual history before jumping into my strange attempt at mixing a media that I love and the history of my country.

(Tw: discussions of torture, death, abuse of power by the government, gun use, armed revolution, censorship and anything you can think about that has to do with a military dictatorship. I won't go into detail, but if that's something that triggers you be mindful of that)

Oh, not a TW but something you should know, there's a lot, and I mean a lot, of communism, socialism and anarchism, just so you know

The coup d'état

In 31th of March, 1964 the Brazilian President João Goulart was overthrown by the army. The coup would later be described as a "revolution" by Castelo Branco, one of the Presidents during de dictatorship. It was said to be revolution bc of the "threat of communism" that had been taking over Brazil.

I need to make this very clear, Brazil had at the time some communist and socialist party's, but there was no actual threat from them, since they weren't popular enough with the general population.

This anti-communism reasoning had been used before to instal dictatorships is Brazil, such as the Getulio Vargas government. And it's still being used to this day by far-right politicians to manipulate the public (no, I'll not be arguing about this, if you truly think Brazil has an actual communist threat you can go and find another blog for you, mine isn't the place. block me if you feel the need)

The coup, and the whole dictatorship, was funded by the US

The Institutional Acts

The Institutional Acts were extra-legal decrees that were issued. There were 17 of them and more than a 100 complementary acts.

The Institutional Act number 5 is considered the more violent one, it allowed: the revocation of mandate of any elected politician, the president to interfear in government of states and county's and it made possible for a citizen to lose their constitutional rights. This Act was the one that basically legalized the torture that was already happening.

The Torture and Assassinations

Again, not going into detail, but there was a lot of people who disappeared after being arrested. The most infamous case is of Vladimir Herzog who was found in his cell after "self deleting" with his tie. The photo of his body was sent to the news by the army, but it was questioned by the public, bc he used his tie, but his his legs could touch the floor, so not the most efficient way. I do not recommend looking for his name online unless you want to see the fake self deleting photo, there's no blood or gore, but it is a dead body.

You could be arrest for subversive behavior, basically anything that the government deemed to be against it. A lot of students and teachers were arrested, journalists, actual revolutionaries and people that they would call "communists" even if a lot of them weren't communists.

The Censorship

A lot of art was censored during the dictatorship. Some musicians, such as Chico Buarque , found ways to still criticize the government in their songs but in a more subtle way that wouldn't get them caught. But even then Chico Buarque had to flee the country at some point. (Construção, Cálice and A Banda are very good songs that he wrote during the dictatorship and that are seen a symbol of resistance, really recommend them)

Carlos Marighella

Carlos Marighella was at one point considered enemy number one by the government and was classified as a terrorist. He participated in the armed fight against the dictatorship and founded the Ação Libertadora Nacional (National Liberation Action)

Before the coup he was already part of the Communist Party and an atheist, getting arrested even before the coup bc of an offensive poem he wrote about the administration of Bahia.

The ALN was involved in the kidnapping of an American ambassador in 69, along side the MR-8, another revolutionary movement.

Later that year Marighella was killed in the back of a car after being shot multiple times by the police. The photo of his body would be sent to papers, and through that way his son, fifteen at the time, discovered about his father’s death.

His death would get the urban guerrilla slowed down, but the rural guerrillas still happen and it got more support.

In 1996 the Ministry of Justice would recognize Marighella’s death as the estate’s responsibility. In 2007 it was decided that his wife, Clara Charf was to have a lifetime pension from the government (she is still alive at 99 years old). And, in 2012, after investigations, the Ministry of Justice declared his amnesty post mortem.

(Again, be careful when searching about him, the pictures of his body are not hard to find, and it’s a very bloody image. He was shot multiple times)

The end

The dictatorship ended in 1985. At that point the military was having difficulties keeping itself in power, since the direct elections for governor in 1982 had already elected 10 governors that were in opposition to the dictatorship.

Along side that, during 1983 and 1984 there was a civil movement called “Diretas Já” that wanted the direct elections for the president back, since those stopped happening after the dictatorship took place. That movement was taken down, but even then in the indirect elections of 1985 the non-military candidate, Tancredo Neves, won the election, officially ending the dictatorship.

The end of the dictatorship had already been expected by the military. So in 1979 the president João Batista Figueiredo signed the amnesty for anyone who had committed political crimes, including the torturers. Dilma Rousseff, the first woman to be president of Brazil, elected in 2012, was one of the many people to be tortured by the military and one of the few that survived it. And the current president, Luís Inácio "Lula" da Silva, was part of the syndicalist movement during the dictatorship (not saying I like them, but they are very important figures today and I think it puts into perspective that this events weren't that long ago)

About 400 people were confirmed dead after the end of the dictatorship, but more than 20,000 were missing. It's very hard to find the information about the missing people, since even if files were made about them they are either hidden somewhere or they have been destroyed. To this day new information about this period is being discovered.

In 1988 the new constitution had been written and put into place. It still is the constitution that is being used to this day and is called the citizen constitution, since it was made for the new democratic government. It also made the presidential elections direct again.

WTF AM I DOING??? (AKA: the actual One Piece part)

(honestly there's still a lot of history during this part, I'm terrible at this)

The Marighella question

I just needed to work someone based on Marighella into this, he is such an important figure in all of this. I had two main ideas, either Gol D. Roger and Monkey D. Dragon could fulfill this role of a number one enemy but bc the main character is obviously Luffy i kinda want to make it Dragon.

I think I have some ideas abt their father-son relationship, or lack of it, that would make it interesting.

What I'm writing here is basically a pre-story and the very beginning of it, bc of it some characters are going to be left out (also I haven't watched all of one piece)

Monkey D. Garp

Born in 1904 in the city of Rio de Janeiro

Joined the military in 1922 at 18

Had Dragon in 1929 at 25

Fought in WWII as part of the cobras fumantes (smoking snakes)

Had a difficult time being there for Dragon when he was growing up since he at the time was to rising up the ranks

Tried to get Dragon to join the military

In 1951 when the Getúlio Vargas got into power again Dragon had been affiliated to the communist party for 5 years and Garp stated to hide their connection so that he wouldn't have to report his son.

Luffy is born in 1952 and Dragon takes care of him until 1955. Garp tries to take care of him for a few months, but bc he's a this point a Brigadier General he doesn't have the time to take care of a kid, so Luffy is sent to live with Dadan in Salvador.

When the coup happens Garp burns every file that has Dragon's full name

When Dragon is expelled from the communist party, in 1967, Garp thinks that he's going to calm down and stop, but a few months later more violent revolutionary actions start happening and Garp just knows that it is his son

Garp tries to disturb the investigations that are slowly getting closer to Dragon, but when the U.S starts putting more and more funds into finding and killing Dragon he is forced to stop or he'll be under suspicion of treason

When Dragon dies in 1969 Garp goes to Salvador to tell Luffy face to face abt his father's death

He again tries to get Luffy to join the military, trying to get his grandson to be safe, maybe that way he can resign

Luffy refuses and Garp knows that if he resigns he won't be able to protect Luffy, so he doesn't resign

When his colleagues start talking about this new traveling artists that are making subversive plays in the more rural areas Garp promises himself that no one will kill his grandson

Monkey D. Dragon

Born in 1929 in Salvador, Bahia

He remembers the fear that he felt every time a soldier came bearing news of his father's situation. Would this be the time they tell him he died while fighting the nazis?

The first time he learned about communism was by chance. Some activists had ran scared after the police arrived and left behind some copies of the communist manifesto. He was 14 and that was the first book he read through that wasn't for school

When WWII ended in 1945 Dragon was relieved to have his father back, but that didn't last long. Soon Garp was back to work

They moved to Rio de Janeiro after Garp came back

Since Rio was, at the time, the capital and Gétulio Vargas had just been deposed it wasn't particularly difficult for Dragon to start going to communist meetings

In 1946, when Dragon is 17, he officially joins de communist party

After he graduated high school in the end of that same year he officially moves out and start living in a college commune

He goes to the Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ - Federal University of Rio de Janeiro) to get a sociology degree

He graduates in 1950

When Vargas becomes a President again in 1951 Dragon is arrested for subversion for the first time

He's in prison for a few months

When he sees Garp after that they both know that no one can know about their connection. Vargas is in power again and an active member of the communist party that is also the son of an important figure from the military has the biggest target in his back

They wouldn't see each other for years. Both still living in Rio de Janeiro, but no attempts at contact would be made

In 1952 Luffy is born, Dragon is his sole caretake

For his son he tries to lay low, he knows what is like to have an absent father, he doesn't want his son to have the same. He does more office work, publishing unsigned papers in various communist papers and that works

For 3 years that works, but then he's arrested in a violent way. He is shot in the stomach and 2 cops press him to side of the car while putting handcuff on him

Luffy sees everything

When he gets his one call he calls one of his friends and asks them to take Luffy to Garp's house in as many codes as he can use, trying to make sure that the cops didn't know he had a son.

This time his arrest lasts 2 years, he thinks that it would've lasted more if Vargas hadn't ended his own government by killing himself

He goes to visit Garp, to visit Luffy

But Luffy isn't there and Garp won't tell him where Luffy is

He's angry, furious, but at the same time he knows that Luffy is going to be safer away from him

He never sees Luffy again

Juscelino Kubitschek (JK) is elected President in 1955 and the construction of Brasília, the new capital, starts

Things calm down for a few years between JK's government, Jânio Quadros resignation from office and than João Goulart

But the coup happens

Everyone in the party knows that if things had been hard when Vargas was president they are about to get worse now

The younger members of the party, the ones that hadn't been there when Vargas was president, either get even more radicalized or leave the party

Dragon feels like they aren't doing enough, people are getting tortured and killed and they are writing articles that are never going to be published

He's expelled from the party, his colleagues see him as being way to violent, but he takes some people with them and makes his own revolutionary group

They finally get some world out there, but the military makes sure that none of it gets to the papers, censoring everything

The military gets more vicious in their search for Dragon, so Dragon gets more violent

Civillians are never to be killed, even if they are sometimes caught in the crossfire

They throw a grenade in an U.S building and things get harder, now the U.S wants Dragon's head too

He knows that he's going to die, that the police has found his colleagues, his friends. He knows that he is one of the few left and, maybe, if he dies first, the ones that are still alive can get away, maybe live normal lives

He writes letter and records messages in tapes, most os them are for Luffy

When he gets shot the first time he knows that this it, that he's going to die there in the backseat of a car

Quickly the other shots follow

Monkey D. Luffy

Born in 1952 in the city of Rio de Janeiro

His gramps sent him to live in Salvador when he was very young

For some reason he doesn't have many memories from before he went to live with Dadan... but he remembers someone being shot

He's 5 when he meets his brothers. He loves them

School is boring

Gramps wants him to join the army when he grows up

One day, when Luffy is 7 a band of traveling artists appear in town, the cops hate them but Luffy is immediately interested

Shanks is just so cool and so strong

Luffy wants to be like him when he grows up

They get into a fight with some low grade soldiers and Luffy tries to defend them

He fails

Shanks has to protect him and gets shot in his shoulder, he loses movement of his arm

Luffy promises himself that he would get strong enough to not let anyone he cares about get hurt

Shanks continues to tell him that it wasn't his fault, the cop should't have pointed at gun at a child

Just as sudden as they came the leave, Shanks gives Luffy his straw hat

Things go back to how they were before, except now Luffy knows he will never be part of the military

Gramps is angry when he hears that

When he's twelve his teachers start talking about how the military is now in power, they say it's a good thing "We'll finally get ride of the commies, there will be order in the country"

Luffy feels something sick in him

A month later Sabo dies

Luffy and Ace didn't go to school for a week

Ace graduated and left. He said he wanted to do something good, make their childhood dreams of changing the world into reality

Luffy wants to go with him but Ace refused

Luffy is now alone

School is still boring and now his teachers continue to praise the military in everything they do. Some of them seem scared of the military though

He's 15 when he hears whispers of this “commie bastard” that is been causing havoc in Rio de Janeiro

He's 16 when the papers now have the face and name of the commie bastard, a guy with a face tattoo, " THE TERRORIST DRAGON"

He's 17 when his gramps shows up in town, with a paper in hands that declared that Dragon was dead

"Your dad Luffy, he died"

Gramps begs him to join the military, to keep himself safe

Luffy can't agree to that, not after having see the military hurt so many people and stop them from being free

All Luffy wants is to be free

That is the first time he sees his Gramps cry

His gramps said that his dad left him tapes and letters

Luffy hears and reads all of them that night

When Dadan and gramps go to wake him up next day they find an empty bed

Okay, this post is already way to long and characters like Ace and Sabo are more interesting if I talk abt them at a later point

Honestly I really recommend taking pieces of the history of your country and characters you love and smash them. It doesn't need to be something so traumatic as my choice was, you can just use something that you think is interesting.

My choice was the dictatorship bc I think One Piece deals a lot with themes like these with the marines that it was the most obvious choice. Also communist Dragon, honestly that was a big part of it too

Less important, but like, I really do need to change the names of the IRL presidents and stuff like that. bc even the idea of "Monkey D. Dragon" and "Getúlio Vargas" being two people alive at the same time is weird

I don't know if this post will get attention, but I do plan on writing more of whatever this is

Also, this shit wasn't beta'd I just needed to get this out there as soon as possible

[suraemoon]

It Couldn’t Be Better

Elvis x Reader - snippets of Elvis’ first Christmas with your family

Warnings: None really, just fluff and flirting

WC: 3.8k (was supposed to a blurb idk what happened)

A/N: Look, I’m aware that this isn’t good and is all over the place. I’d spend a few more days on it if I could but today is Christmas (yay!) and it would make no sense to post it any other day. I put in my masterlist that this would hopefully be out by the 25th and here it is. It’s based on the prompts “It could be worse” and something along the lines of “a character’s parent makes them tacky christmas sweaters” Merry Christmas y’all!!!!! I LOVE YOU.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It could be worse.” Your voice radiates fake optimism as your manicured nails pick a piece of lint from the homemade, bright red knitted sweater on your upper half.

You look up from your quick maintenance to be met with Elvis’ scrunched nose and concentrated eyes as his hand pulls on his sweater's borderline turtleneck collar, a bright “Christmas tree” green to complement yours festively.

The sweaters were beautifully knit with white stripes going back in forth in turn with the chosen festive color. Glued on the knit were an array of tinseled pompoms and ironed on were different designs of patches. Smiles, hearts, stars, animals, santa’s, snowflakes, etc; they all looked like they’d be better suited on a girl’s poodle skirt. “Eh..I guess.”

Your mama had sent you two up to your bedroom to get ready in time for Christmas dinner with your whole extended family.

From her spot next to the stove in the kitchen, one that seemed permanent for her during the holiday season, Mama was cooking up her signature feast and the scent of food filled the air teasingly. The smell enveloped everyone and only built up anticipation for later in the day.

Earlier in the day, when the cold wind flowed in anticipation and the white snowflakes made themselves home, you and your boyfriend had been tasked with cleaning the whole house from top to bottom.

One of the most famous men in the country having his first Christmas at your house? Mama was quick to put a broom in his hand for she had the elder generational quality to not spend her time focusing on pop culture and society but instead what needed to be done in order to keep her home running smoothly, especially during the holidays.

“You need to wash my windows, clean my counters, sweep and mop the floors…”

You couldn’t stop a huff from leaving your lips at the housekeeping task for this was the first year that you desired to be in the kitchen, observant to her methods and helping when you can.

Your mother was easily the best cook you knew, she knew the kitchen like the back of her hand, and with your growing relationship with Elvis starting to become more and more serious, you started thinking about your own cooking skills…well the lack of.

One day you will be handed the baton of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals and there’s no harm in trying to learn the ins and outs of it now.

“You need to give the dog a bath, make sure every bedroom in the house looks neat…”

The urge to be a housewife never striked upon your young ambitious mind until you met Mr. Elvis Presley. He unknowingly had the ability to cooking, cleaning, and raising children seemed so much more desirable. A life centered around being his subservient, supportive wife seemed delicious when his hand was intertwined in yours. A few years ago, a younger and singler you would’ve called yourself crazy. Nowadays you just call yourself in love.

“You got it, ma’am.”

Elvis met this list of chores as long as Santa Claus’ list with a smile for he was a restless person always looking for something to do, always searching for an excuse to move, and you knew deep down that he missed his own mama telling him to do stuff.

Now, a few hours later, that genuine go-with-the-flow grin was replaced with the tug of his lip genuinely trying its best to exude politeness as his hand tugged on the collar of his christmas sweater again, the top of his pale collarbone teasing you in the process.

The sun was now lower in the sky but the clouds did not tire from dropping snowflakes anywhere they could. The warm light of your lamp illuminated your freshly tidied room.

It fit the comfort of the holiday spirit better than the sunshine of the early day where brightness flowed through every window as you cleaned them with a rag, the circular motion of your hand mirrored the making of a snowball. Now the view out of the window was a grayish storm of flurries, weather in which a warm sweater would come in handy.

To make light of an awkward situation, you decide to embrace it and do a quick spin in front of him, showing off your full festive outfit. The cranberry red of your oversized sweater is paired with a black leather mini skirt and black leather boots to match.

It’s an outfit that you wouldn’t usually ever wear for a family event like this. But your boyfriend's overwhelming presence: fingers that you knew would always intertwine with yours as if meant to be, an arm that would never fail to wrap around your waist, feet that would always gravitate towards being around you, it all filled you with an indescribable sense of confidence.

The pure sex appeal Elvis exuded 24/7, seemingly effortless as if the attraction comes with his nature, always inclined you to put your all into matching it’s magnetic energy. The spin stops and your feet go to tippy toes to reach up and kiss his sugar plum lips. “What do ya think?”

Elvis wets his lips as if your lipstick had a flavor and his eyes look you over your figure fully as he takes your hand to give you a quick little twirl. Instead of a full 360 it was more of two 180’s since he stopped a second to take a quick look at your back side.

A low whistle was the background music to the rest of your orbit and his cheeky little smile seemed to glow when in the presence of your maroon red lipstick. “I think I gotta see what’s under it. Gonna let me do a little inspection? Wanna make sure everything’s sitting right…working the way it’s sposed ta.”

“Elvis! It’s Christmas…gotta be family friendly.”

He chuckles as a response comes too quickly to brain, “I wanna get real friendly with you, honey.”

You hit his shoulder playfully, “Stop that.”

“Hey! It’s Christmas, honey. Thought we had to be family friendly and that hitting ain’t very holly jolly of ya. I’m surprised Santa didn’t give ya coal this year.”

“Oh please. I don’t think Santa would mind me putting ya in line for naughty thoughts.”

“I don’t think Santa would mind me bending ya over my knee for a smart mouth but…” He shrugs, putting his sleeves in his pants pockets.

You stick out your tongue at him and he laughs his beautiful laugh. Gliding as if on ice back to the mirror of your vanity, you apply some more blush to your cheeks. Getting a little too warm and secretly having the cheeky desire to show more skin, you subconsciously fold the ribbed collar of your sweater down a little bit.

When met with the black and purple of a hickey on the side of your neck, immediately the collar is put back in its original place, the fabric willing to revert back to how it was supposed to be worn and mocking you in the process as if saying “told you so”.

A whisper escapes your lip, “Jesus…”

Elvis perks up from the seat he has taken on your bed in response, for he loves an opportunity to talk to (and tease) his favorite girl, “Lord’s name in vain on his birthday?”

Your eyes, framed by black liner and an eyeshadowed lid, meet his through the mirror of the vanity, “Elvis what’d ya do to my neck? It ain’t ever been this much before.”

“Hmm…” His arms are at his sides, stabilizing himself against the plush of the comforter, and he looks simply adorable with his false pout as if thinking of a smart remark to respond with.

“Hm indeed.”

He chuckles, “Today about love ain’t it? You don’t wanna put ya collar down and show everyone how much I love ya?”

“Elvis…”

As if automatic, your eyes roll playfully and he decides to continue, “Not gonna show off that pretty little neck, huh? You always look pretty but you look even prettier when you’re all marked up…all claimed.”

“You’re too much.” You shake your head, trying to cool off the influx of red that has awoken on your cheeks.

“People wanna know which one’s E.P.’s girl? Oh, they’ll know. She got the love marks to prove it. She’s the only girl I wanna love on.”

Your soft hands go up to cover your face but they make sure to keep a safe distance in order to not mess up the canvas of progress you have made at the vanity. “Shoo…you’re too distracting. I gotta finish my makeup.”

“So…?”

“So…they’re staying covered.”

A few minutes later, he speaks again from a spot on your bed as you apply the finishing touches of your makeup. “No offense to your mama, honey, but…I don't think homemade holiday sweaters are really in trend. Not these ones at least.”

His slight frown gives way to a bright laugh, a sound prettier than the jingle bells adorning the sleeves of his sweeter.

“Everyone’s gonna be wearing one so we’re all gonna be weird together.”

“Mm.”

“Last year was polka dots…polka dots. So count yourself lucky you weren’t around for that.”

Your mother’s homemade knitted wool Christmas sweaters have been a longstanding tradition in your family since….forever. When asked, it was your great-great grandmother that started it years ago. Or was it your great-great-great grandma? No one would be surprised if the family’s Christmas sweater fascination started way back in the simple days of the cavemen when your neanderthal ancestors were in need of warmth and for some odd reason in addition to fire and sharpened sticks, they had the supplies to create tacky garments of clothing.

You and Elvis started dating in January, so this year was full of firsts with this cold December wrapping it up lovingly in a snug little bow.

When dinner was served at Elvis’ first Thanksgiving with your family, the unusual but warmly content silence around the large, wooden dinner table was interrupted abruptly by your mother’s sudden thought. A soft gasp called for hungry heads to look up from their plates.

You would think there was a lightbulb above her head or that an epiphany to solve world hunger was in her thoughts. Your mama looked at Elvis with a gleeful smile, “I’ve gotta ‘nother Christmas sweater to make this year!” You remember the way Elvis’ smile was apprehension coating in politeness, wondering what the hell she was talking about. Your mama made clothes? How has that never come up?

His blue eyes widened for a full second about two weeks later when he was sat quickly by your mother on the couch with a gift box practically shoved in his hands. “Sit, sit ,sit!” Your mama said as if a little kid again.

The same eagerness did not translate to when you sat down, as by now you knew the routine by heart. You got practically the same gift two weeks before Christmas every single year. Just different designs, patterns, and decor but in its essence the same gift filled with the same love. This was always around the time when mama gave everyone there sweaters either in person or by mail.

Now that you think about it…this giftbox looks suspiciously similar to the same one you opened last year. Is that why your mama made sure you were careful not to break it?

The ornaments on the tree, a brand new one from last year right next to one you crafted out of popsicle sticks and cardboard in kindergarten. The nostalgia and newness blended seamlessly on the forest green branches.

The opening of boxes takes attention away from the tree, a happy presence willing to blend into the background the best it can. Your perfectly wrapped and ribboned rectangle has not even been touched but you watch intently as Elvis tries to carefully peel the tape off the side of the box. Your mother wouldn’t have minded if he tore it to shreds. She would’ve told you off if you had dared, but with Elvis it would’ve been alright.

“Y-you really didn’t hafta get me anything, ma’am. It’s real kind of you.”

Your mother replies matter of factly, “Are you kidding? It’s Christmas! Of course I had to give my son-in-law something.” You and Elvis weren’t married. Not yet. But the law of the heart doesn’t care about physical papers. In the minds of your welcoming family, new people were accepted with open arms and once their hearts got on Elvis they never want him to go.

Elvis brings his attention to you for the first time in a while, lifting your chin up gently with his hands as he admires your face. “You already blessed me with your beautiful daughter. She’s better than any gift, no doubt.” A shade of pink flushes over your face as Elvis gives you a quick, soft kiss.

“Awww. My two little turtle doves. Well, I’m allowed to give ya more than one gift so go ‘head.”

When the top of the box is lifted off, a tiny sweet sounding gasp escapes Elvis’ lips as his eyes fall on the christmas sweater. “O-oh…wow, ma’am. It’s, it’s really somethin’.”

Mama watches intently, “Do ya like it?”

He could pass for a deer in headlights. “More than like it. I can’t wait to wear it for um..Christmas.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the false enthusiasm and at this noise mom’s attention turns straight to you and the box on your lap, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “Are you too cool in front of your boyfriend to open yours?”

Shaking your head, the faint sound of Christmas radio sings in your ears as you open your first gift of Christmas. It’s red to go with Elvis’ green. Youthful to contrast with a growing daughter, homey and nostalgic to compete with a fast, changing lifestyle.

Your smile is genuine as you reply, “Thanks mama. It’s really nice.”

All three of you share the most comfortable of silences. It wasn’t silent really, music flowed through the room and firewood crackled; the background ambience that makes any December day anymore special.

The memories of your mother and her cute interactions with your boyfriend (all of which showing she approved of him greatly) was interrupted by the voice of the man himself. All of sudden you were brought back where you were: in your room getting ready with the person you love the most on the 25th of December.

“You ready to go down, honey? I think I heard some people walk in.”

“Oh..yeah! Let’s go.” Taking his hand, you walk over to the door.

“Wait a second…” Your mind immediately goes to the lamp you left on but his mind is somewhere else completely. He leans down to kiss you, long and hard. The unexpected passion takes you back but your heels stay steady on the ground, all of your attention on kissing him back with the same fervidity. His calloused hand is on your soft cheek and your fingers flow through his black hair. You want the moment to never end but like all things in life it inevitably does.

“Now we can go.” His smirk is teasing and playful. He knows the effect he has on you. He knows by your red cheeks and wide eyes how weak he can make you.

“I-” Practically speechless you just nod and take his hand, walking shakily out of the door. He laughs at the sudden urgency, slapping your behind playfully as you walk in front of him.

When your face, your whole body for that matter, started to become less warm and all of the many happy greetings to family and friends were finished, the evening was going splendidly. Laughs and cheer filled the space and joy at being back together radiated off of everyone in the room.

This year, you started to become more aware of not only yourself but your surroundings. What would this look like to a fly on the wall? What would it look like to a man attending his first Christmas with the loved ones that you have grown up being accustomed to? The Christmas tree shined brightly, decorated with a mismatched array of ornaments that went together perfectly. Every seat had a person and the garlands that Elvis hung up on the walls looked down at everyone adoringly.

From your spot standing in the open arched doorway connecting the dining room and living room you are a true wall flower for a moment. You notice how the group of younger teenage cousins brought their friends over for dinner for the first time ever and it just so happened to be the year where Elvis Presley started to attend the gathering. Giggles and whispers came from the corners of the living room, juveniles no longer embarrassed by matching tacky sweaters.

Looking away, your knowing smirk turns into a wide, adoring smile as you turn your attention to Elvis playing with your littlest cousins on the fluffy rug.

Unlike their older counterparts, their innocent smiles are refreshing for they are oblivious to the fact that it is the Elvis Presley playing with them.

To the little ones, he’s just Mr. Elvis, a friend to play with. He’s cradling the youngest baby gently in his arms while sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. A toddler in two pigtails and a bright pink knit sweater plays in his gelled hair as if on an oblivious mission to mess it up.

Little Jane managed to get her hand on a brush and was trying to play make-believe hair salon with your boyfriend. “Sit still, Mr. Elvis!”

“Oops.” Elvis winces as the hard brush hits him on the side of the head. “I’m trying, honey, I really am. Hard when you’re trying ta pull my hair out.”

“I’m tryna make ya look pretty! If you wanna look a mess just say it.”

“Maybe sometimes I wanna look a mess.”

She groans, “You hardly got a lotta hair anyway. It’s all shiny and too hard ta make ponies.” And just like that, with an attention span the size of her tiny legs, she abandons both Elvis and the brush to go play with a group of older kids about older elementary age.

Elvis chuckles lightly and focuses on the small baby still in his lap, trying to grab at him with chubby hands. His plush lashes flutter gently as he looks down and gives the little cherub all of his pretty attention and you swear right then and there, your heart was about to escape from your chest.

“Ain’t you the cutest? You’re the cutest, ain’t ya?” The baby giggles an infectious giggle and Elvis’ smirk is just as adorable.

“I gotta get myself one of ya. A cute little baby. A littlun just like you.”

“I gotta get myself one of ya.” He’s talking to a baby, and you’re his girlfriend, the only one who can help him with that wish. Stuck in place, your legs feel weak as you lean on the wall next to you for support and your stomach can be easily compared to a snow globe filled with a flurry of snowflakes. If hearts can do somersaults, yours has many times since you’ve met Elvis.

His hand envelops one of the baby’s white socks gently. “Tiny little sooties too.”

The baby’s gummy grin gets wider as he kicks his feet, fascinated with Elvis’ hand like a new toy. Your boyfriend moves up from the itty bitty feet to tickle the tiny belly lying in front of him, then his palm relaxes, moving up and down in a soothing motion over the little one’s soft sweater. By the way Elvis’ pink lips move you can tell he has started to sing a song. It’s a quiet melody just between him and the baby he's holding. The most beautiful, adorable secrets.

When you remember that you are an actual person in the room and your legs feel less like jello, in your head you decide to walk over to the spot on the rug where Elvis is sitting but before your heels could move a second step, the ringing of a bell fills the room.

“Dinner everyone!” The voice of your mother is a saving grace to every hungry soul in the house.

Elvis stands up, holding the baby securely as if he has been a professional at holding infants his whole life. The mother, your eldest cousin, walks over shyly with a blush on her face as she carefully takes the baby from Elvis’ arms so he could go eat.

“You’ve got a really cute daughter, honey…well her mama’s cute so I know where she got it from.”

Flustered, her mouth parts a little as she adjusts the smiley baby on her hip. “O-oh. Um..thank you. Thank you very much.”

He had a way of speaking, a beautiful charm, that could make any woman he comes across blush. No matter how long the sparkly wedding ring has been on their ring finger. By the way she looked at Elvis, you wouldn’t know that the young mother has been married to her actual husband for two years. You’d think the baby in her hands was Elvis’.

Elvis smirked his “I know what I’m doing” cheeky grin and kissed the baby’s cheek before walking away.

Suddenly, You and Elvis start to walk to each other simultaneously as if all that time apart wore you out and you needed another dose, attracting like the opposite sides of the strongest magnet, the two of you meet in the middle of the room.

You’re the next to get your cheek kissed and he whispers to you, “Remember when ya said earlier that things could be worse when I was grumbling ‘bout the sweater.”

“Oh, I remember.”

He holds your hand and begins to lead you to the kitchen as he finishes his thought. “I’ll tell ya. Today couldn’t get better, honey. It really couldn’t.”

As you walk, the voices of tiny children ring out suddenly, “Mistletoe! Mistletoe!” It took Elvis tapping your shoulder and pointing up to notice that the audience was addressing you and him. Through long lashes you look up and indeed a piece of green hangs above in the archway that you and Elvis stand in. To any on-looker the image of you two could’ve been a painting. You indeed felt frozen in time.

“It’s the mistletoe! That’s your boyfriend, you gotta kiss!” The tiny voices continued their protesting.

Elvis smiles at you, “Well, I guess it could get a little better. It’s bad luck to ignore the mistletoe. Need to feel ya on me…been too long.”

“Merry Christmas, Elvis.” Just like that, you reach up and kiss him, your thumb moving back and forth on his cheek as you tilt your head to the side. He starts kissing you back immediately and an eruption of tiny cheers fills the room.

[wrencatte]

mini fic 10! Fallen Order - Pre Dathomir - Cal & Greez Greez decides Cal needs to learn how to cook. Cal POV - 1.1k ao3 minific link - chapter 9 (hearing)

Awake earlier than he rightly should be considering the bantha shit he dealt with yesterday, Cal shuffles out of the engine room still drowsy, hair sticking up to really show how not ready he is for the day. BD-1 nearly trips him on his wobbly way to the caf maker, the droid pattering over to Cere to tell her about something or other. Cal’s not really listening, focused solely on the near future that has sweet hot caf in his system. He’s thwarted not even halfway there by Greez shoving his hand in front of him. Cal screeches to a halt and stares at the object in the latero’s palm.

“That’s an egg,” Cal says slowly.

Uncooked he knows because it’s speckly blue now, but the shell turns grey-ish when boiled. Why Greez is showing him an uncooked qiqirn egg, he has no idea, and he doesn’t really care because it’s not caf. Please, sweet caffeine, you are needed.

Greez rolls his eyes. “Take it, longbean. You’re helping with breakfast.”

“I am?” Cal looks longingly at the caf maker. It’s mostly filled which means it’s fresh and hot and he doesn’t have to wait. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Too bad.”

Greez lets go of the egg without as much as a by your leave, causing Cal to scramble before it gets scrambled – and he’ll have to be the one who cleans it up. He cradles it carefully, still thoroughly confused as to how he ended up in this situation. He doesn’t remember ever hinting that he wanted to learn. And he knows for a fact Greez never brought up the idea before now.

Cere sips her own caf nonchalantly, focused on her datapad and whatever research she’s deep diving into this time with BD leaning over her arm to read along. Cal narrows his eyes. She looks pretty absorbed so that focus could be real, sure. Cal almost believes it. Almost. There’s a hum in the Force, one of amusement, that gives her up too quickly. The fact he notices it means she’s not trying very hard.

Case in point – Cere’s eyes flicker up to meet his, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Cere should help too,” Cal decides. Her grin widens.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m only allowed to touch the caf maker,” she says.

“I had to replace my counter tops because of her. She is in no way allowed to help in my galley. Forget it.”

Cere raises her mug in acknowledgement.

“Maybe she should learn?” Cal tries.

Greez sighs – unnecessarily loud in Cal’s opinion. “Get over here.”

He throws one last longing glance at the caf maker before shuffling over. “I know how to cook,” he mumbles as he tries to hand the egg over. At Greez’s doubting expression he slumps, face growing warm, and clumsily cracks the egg into a little bowl. “I can boil water. That’s the first step, right?”

“Sure, yeah. And I bet it served you well in the hellhole that is Bracca, plenty of fresh water that’s not gonna destroy your sensitive human stomach, right?” Cal grimaces. “I thought so. Boiling can only get you so far. You’re gonna learn how to cook and I’m gonna teach ya.”

The eggshell, including the bits he may or may not have accidentally added to the bowl, get traded for a knife and a cutting board of greens. Cal angles the knife, at least chopping is something he can do. Greez clears his throat. He angles it another way. Greez lightly knocks his wrist to bump it to the right spot. Ah, okay, he remembers seeing him cut them this way before. Cal gets to chopping. The echo on the knife prickles pleasantly under his palm. A savory sort of happiness that he feels on a lot of Greez’s cooking equipment. He lets it guide him into cutting Thavnaririan onions and Shaaloani peppers.

He doesn’t rely on them though. If Greez wants to teach him how to cook, he’ll let Greez teach him how to cook.

Cal can’t help but wonder. Without looking, he asks, “Why do I need to learn when I have you?”

They’ve only been a crew for a few months, sure. He’s still relearning how to be a person who trusts, who is a Jedi, who may actually be worth something. But Cal can’t imagine not heaving Greez’s food waiting for him when he wakes up, when he comes back after a hard day of feeling like he’s made zero progress on their quest for the holocron. He even gets snacks and a packed meal shoved into his arms when he’s heading out.

He shouldn’t be so used to it now. Shouldn’t be looking forward to the happy echoes every time he’s in the galley.

The ones that make every meal even better because love and care and joy are etched into every plate and bowl and utensil. It’s something he’s missed. The Temple’s kitchens were overflowing with the care the cooks put into their craft, the determined happiness of Initiates learning their ways around the workspace, the joy of the people who partook in the meals so lovingly made. It was hard to get that in a war. Even harder on Bracca.

A hand rests on his forearm and Cal realizes he stopped chopping; the vegetables are a little blurry. Greez carefully takes the knife from him and sets it to the side. He doesn’t press his hands to his eyes, he at least has that brain capacity, but he tucks his face into his elbow for a second, his exhale a little shuddery.

No one says anything while Cal takes a second to compose himself, and he is so very grateful for it. Crying over cooking. Wow. Not even cooking, just chopping vegetables and remembering.

When Cal’s breaths finally settle and he drops his arm, face flushed in embarrassment, Greez silently hands him the knife again. He finishes up the peppers, focusing a little more than he needs to.

“Cooking with someone makes the food taste better,” Greez says eventually when the first omelet is sizzling. Only Cal’s will have the Shaaloani peppers, both Cere and Greez find them too spicy. Cal hums, keeps his eyes on the browning edges. He should flip it. “It’s always good to know how to cook, but really, it’s for me. Cere is hopeless and I miss having a cooking partner.”

“I’m not against it,” Cal tells him softly. He flips the omelet. It’s a little browner than it should be. Overcooked, maybe, but it’s still edible, right? Greez doesn’t say anything about it. “It’d be nice to know how to make something other than heated grainmush.”

Greez shudders. “Gods, never mention that tasteless gruel in my galley. Is that what you ate on Bracca?”

“Among other worse things.”

“I’m going to teach you so many dishes you’ll forget that one was ever an option, got it?”

Cal smiles as Cere slides a cup of caf over now that the more finicky bits of prepping are completed. “Got it.”

[mymultiverse00]

Mrs. Blum

My head is pounding. Over and over again, it’s drumming out a cadence in 4/4 time that I can feel behind my eyes, and in my ears, and all the way down to my stomach. I feel sick and hung over, but I have no idea Why I’m hungover. I don’t remember getting drunk last night. Actually, I don’t really remember anything from last night, but whatever I got up to has left me feeling sick as hell and I do not like it.

I pry my eyes open slowly and am momentarily blinded by a blazing hot sun shining in through a wall of very tall windows. Where the Hell am I? I wonder, taking a moment to try to focus on what’s going on outside, sitting up with a start when I finally start to recognize the landmarks. There’s an enormous fountain outside with dozens of people standing around it, and loud music playing in the distance. The Eiffel Tower stands across from that, looking very regal and pretty, but somehow not quite the right size. Eventually, my turtle slow brain clicks over. I’m in Las Vegas. Why the hell am I in Las Vegas? I really need some answers.

I look around the room a little and confirm that I am in a very large suite at the Bellagio Hotel, and judging by the overturned bottles and dirty glasses everywhere, I’ve been having a party. A tiny twinge between my thighs and complete lack of clothing tells me I’ve also been having sex, and likely quite a lot of it, but with who? That mystery is about to solve itself when the bathroom door suddenly flies open and a very naked and very aroused Roland Blum steps out.

“Roland! What the fuck are you doing here?” I shout, yanking sheets and blankets up over myself to hide my naked body.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/n!” He growls back. “Could you keep your screeching to a minimum this morning? I’m hungover as fuck and that’s not helping.”

“Sorry, you just surprised me is all, but what in the world is going on here? What are you doing in my hotel room and why the hell are we in Las Vegas?”

“Well, Mrs. Blum,” he began, swaggering over to join me on the bed. “First of all, it’s our hotel room. And second, it was your idea to come here in the first place, but I guess you chose to forget that.”

“My idea…? Wait. What did you just call me?”

“Mrs. Blum. Unless you want to keep your maiden name like some kind of bra burning feminist? We got married last night, kid.” He flashes his left hand at me, showing off a gold wedding band.

“What?!” I squeaked, scrambling to check my own ring finger and finding an enormous diamond resting there.

“Yeah. You came over to my place last night, crying about some shit that probably doesn’t matter and I offered to fuck you. You said the only way you would ever fuck me is if we got married so… there you go,” he concluded with his hands spread wide like some corny magician, giving me that self satisfied smile he always wears when he knows he’s won an argument.

“So you’re telling me, you drove us all the way to Vegas - to marry me - just so you could get some pussy?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re damn right I did.”

“Huh.” I sit back against the headboard, taking in this new information and trying like hell to recall any of those events. “Was it any good?”

Roland gives me an offended look. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that, doll.”

“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never had sex with you before, not sober or as a married woman. I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Well then, let me tell you, wife,” he says lasciviously, slowly pulling down the sheets to expose my bare breasts to his eyes. “Married pussy is the best pussy. You wrapped your long legs around my head so goddamn tight last night, I thought I was going to pass out a couple of times! Then you did this thing to my ass…,” he shivers at the memory. “You’re a real freak, Y/n, and I gotta say, I like it!”

“And you’re ok with being married? To me?” I ask timidly.

“Fuck yes, Y/n. I’ve wanted to get inside your snatch for years! I got my trophy now, and I’m keeping it.” He leans over and kisses me roughly on the mouth. His beard tickles, but in the best way.

“So what do we do now?” I ask.

“Well, if you’re hungry, I can feed you my dick. If you’re not, I’ll eat your ass until you pass out. After that, who the fuck cares?”

I giggle. I’m beginning to come around to the idea of being married to this foul mouthed lawyer, and I’m thinking it might be helpful if I could remember having sex with my new husband, so I give in.

“Tell you what, husband. I’m going to order some room service from downstairs and then I’m going to eat it while I sit on your face.”

He growls in response, sliding in closer to me so his massive cock rubs against the side of my thigh. He starts sucking a bruise onto the side of my neck and pulling at my nipples.

“After we eat, if you’ve been a good boy, I’ll let you rail me against those big glass windows over there, for all the tourists to see.” His head pops up and he smiles widely.

“Goddamn it, Y/n. I fucking love being married to you.”

“Good. Now, I’ll sort out my breakfast, why don’t you sort out yours?”

“Yes, Mrs. Blum.”

The End

[milimeters-morales]

okay under the readmore is part 1 of a oneshot i wrote about an autistic miles morales for fun, but overlapped pretty conveniently with disability pride month at the time. Really self-indulgent, and i got some nice reviews on it and wanted to test sharing my writing on here for autism acceptance month ^.^

Content Warning: Miles does self harm a good amount in both parts without realizing, and thinks some pretty ableist thoughts (at least I think they would be considered that) about himself every now and then.

Word Count: 5k+

Pairings: Minor Milesganke, everything else is platonic!

Miles lets his feet dangle off the side of the building, his heel hitting the brick wall to a rhythm in his head. One two, swing out, one two, swing out, one two, shake-swing out, and start all over. He layed back on the roof, soaking up the last of the warmth from the sun and heated concrete. It was a common thing he did, this rhythm and movement, it helped him calm down or keep him from getting too bored. Too bored was bad, too bored was almost physically painful, but it’s not like he’d tell anybody that. Well, anybody besides Ganke. The other boy understood that perfectly well, it’s one of the many reasons they’re best friends.

He wasn’t sure why he actually did this though. But he didn’t like to think too hard about it, and he’s always got a lot of other stuff to do anyway!

Speaking of, Miles sits up, still letting his feet hit the wall and bounce off, when there’s a pained shout from below. Seeing a man in a dirty chef’s apron bending over with a hand on his back and a pained expression, Miles jumps down from the roof and lands quietly on the street in front of him.

“Do you want some help?” He asks him. The man nods his head to the paint buckets on the ground next to him, and Miles easily picks them up, barely registering the weight. The man walks stiffly and a bit hunched inside his shop, telling Miles to set the paints down on an empty table.

The inside was a mess. Napkins littered the floors and tables, sauces on the seats and counter, and a whole uneaten meal sat alone on the far end of the counter. Miles glances again at the man. He’s sweaty, exhausted looking, all alone in here going by how Miles can hear only his heartbeat, and he just hurt his back. There’s no way Miles would leave this man to deal with this mess himself.

“I’m gonna clean up these napkins so we don’t slip,” Miles tells him, already picking up the pieces. He wouldn’t slip of course, but the man definitely would if he wasn’t careful. “So, Mr…”

“Call me Bob,” the man says after putting the paints away somewhere in the back of the kitchen.

“Mr. Bob, how’d this even happen?”

Mr. Bob sighs and runs a hand through his short hair. “My kids invited their friends over, made a huge mess, left before I saw it, you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Miles agrees, not knowing how it is at all. He throws all the napkins in the trash and was about to ask where a towel was so he could clean up some of the sauce mess, but Mr. Bob places his hands on his back again.

“Hey Mr. Spider-Man, how about you run along? My back is killing me, and I don’t wanna make you clean up alone,” he says, eyebags somehow becoming more prominent by the second. Miles winced under the mask and hoped it didn’t translate through. 

“That’s nice of you, but are you sure? I really don’t mind,” Miles offers, making a sweeping gesture to the rest of the mess still in the store.

“Nah nah nah, it’s fine. It’s my kids who should be cleaning it up anyway. I’ll make them do it when they get home,” Mr. Bob explains. 

Ah, okay. That’s better than the man just working in pain. 

“Alright. Bye sir!” Miles leaves Mr. Bob inside the shop, and swings away to another rooftop. He wishes he knew more about treating bad backs though, he might have been able to help more! Maybe he could ask his mom? But wait, would that be an overly familiar thing to do for a stranger? Surely not, helping someone in pain is what he does nearly everyday anyway…but some people get real upset if he has to help them, and he just doesn’t know why. Ugh, so complicated, and for what?

Doing a few extremely low swings that end up sending him high into the air, he lets the wind press against him with each rise and fall. It’s like being smushed, or hugged just tight enough to make you so relaxed that you feel weightless. He gets dizzy sometimes, but in a good way, he promises. He wishes Ganke could feel this. He wishes a lot of people could feel this, actually. They’d be much happier, he’s sure of it!

___

It’s not like he’s… embarrassed, he guesses is the right word, to have to keep shaking his hands at his sides. It’s just that he gets weird looks sometimes when he does it. It’s not often at all, it’s actually pretty rare, but when it does happen, it makes a weird feeling curl in his stomach and around his throat, making it hard to speak, which is embarrassing. It makes him stutter, pronounce words wrong, makes him unable to focus on whatever’s happening, it even made him tear up one time. It’s different, when he just doesn’t speak for a while, because at those times there’s nobody pressuring him to talk or for an answer on why he’s “being weird”.

“Well?” the officer asks. She pointed out his shaking hands, and asked him why he was doing that. And Miles was going to answer her, he was! It’s just… the way she said it. It was like when he got caught drawing on his worksheets and the teacher made him throw the entire paper away and start over. Or his parents caught him sneaking small animals under his clothes into their apartment. Or when the kids at school would try and see what he was drawing by looming over his shoulder. 

His chest felt kind of tight. Why did he even let her approach him? He tries to avoid as much interaction with the cops as much as he can besides calling them to places

“I… uh…” was all he could manage to utter. It felt like everyone was staring at him, even when he knew that it wasn’t true.

“Spidey’s still around?” Oh god, of course his dad is here. And approaching rapidly. 

“Yeah, was trying to ask about the hand shaky thing, but he just froze up,” the officer explains, turning away briefly- Miles can feel the tightness just a little- shrugging with a raised eyebrow. She tucks her hands in her pockets and turns to look back at Miles. Great. The feeling was back.

“Oh, this?” His dad asks, copying the moment, making it much harder for Miles to not shake his hands. Thanks a lot! “My son does that, lots of kids do that. You don’t do that?” 

Miles wants to run, so he does. Not like he needed to be there anymore anyway. He’ll go somewhere that calms him down so much to the point where he doesn’t even need to shake his hands.

___

Pavitr tightens his hold on him, arms a comfortable pressure on his waist. He nuzzles into the crook of Miles’s neck, humming when Miles lets out a happy sigh. 

They do this, sometimes, when the stress is becoming too much. Just hold each other. It works out great, because Pavitr loves giving hugs, and Miles likes getting hugs, and they have no problem being this close to each other. 

Miles traces a figure eight onto Pavitr’s back, fingers feather-light on him. He doesn’t like pressure the way Miles does, says it makes him feel trapped and anxious, but Miles couldn’t disagree more if he tried. Besides the obvious bad-pressure, like a building and debris falling on you, there’s good-pressure, and that pressure is what Miles craves almost daily. It makes him feel much closer to whatever’s going on around him without making him hypersensitive to it- he can focus better, basically. The weight on his body is like a firm reassurance that he’ll be fine, that he’ll be safe, and that he’s… real. Not some mistake and about to float away into non-existence, or whatever. 

He’s heard of weighted blankets, and has been wanting one for a few years now, but he’s always chickened out when it came to asking his parents. And it’s not like he can ask any of the other spiders, then he’d have to lie to his parents how he got it, and he’s trying to keep the “lying to your loved ones” part of being Spider-Man to a minimum. Plus, he just doesn’t think it’s that serious. It’s not like he’ll die without it.

Miles stops drawing the figure in Pavitr’s back and simply rests his hand on the back of his neck. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Pavitr mumbles into his neck.

Miles wishes they weren’t wearing their suits. He’d much rather feel the vibration directly on his skin.

“Nothing,” Miles answers automatically. The two are silent for a bit before Miles continues, “Oh, there was this cop. She kept asking me about this thing I do with my hands-”

“The stimming?”

Miles ignores the interruption and continues, “-where I shake my hands when there’s too much energy somewhere and I get all antsy.”

“Should’ve brought Hobie. He would’ve dealt with her,” Pavitr says, shoulders shaking lightly with silent laughter.

Miles rolls his eyes and raises his chin to rest it on Pavitr’s head. His hair was so soft, it was another thing Miles liked about these cuddle sessions, he guesses he’d call them. Pavitr was a good mix of soft and firm, like a foam cube in a gym or children’s play area.

“Wasn’t really her fault, I just got nervous. Thought she would call me weird or something,” Miles mumbles.

“Don’t they already do that? In the uh- the uhh… The news company with the musical instrument.”

“The Tuba?”

“Yes! That is the one, haha,” Pavitr giggles, “remember when they called you a clone of Peter?”

God, does Miles remember. Not only was it completely out of nowhere, it just didn’t make sense for so many reasons. One, how could a clone be a different race? Two, why would a clone be way younger and have no idea what he’s doing? Wouldn’t you want your clone to be just as smart as you and the same age, so when you died, it’s like nobody would notice? They even sounded different! People called him down just to try and rip his suit to see his face for days, causing fights to break out between civilians when someone tried to defend him. He couldn’t just fight back like usual, so all he could do was lightly slap their hands away or shove them off and swing away, and then just deal with his lowering reputation that came with “self-defense.” He was glad that there were a good few people, his parents included, ready to defend Spidey if they saw that happen in front of him, but it didn’t really matter. He really hated, still hates, the Tuba for that.

He can’t see the humor in it, but a lot of other people found it funny, so maybe it was just a him thing like it sometimes is… yeah, he's probably just missing something. Miles closes his eyes and says, “Yeah,” and relaxes again when Pavitr’s sensed his hold had gotten too loose and tightened it around Miles again. 

He’d have to leave eventually, but he’ll enjoy this time while it lasts.

___

“Miles, stop that, you’re gonna get a cramp in your legs,” his mom scolds him lightly as he passes by her.

Miles looks down, and hurries to flatten his feet from walking on his tip-toes. That was always embarrassing to have pointed out, but at least he wasn’t in public doing that. 

___

It was all too much. He thought coming to Gwen’s dimension would calm him down, it was much prettier than his and a huge inspiration when it came to art, so he thought he could come here after a particularly bad fight to just enjoy the sights and maybe draw them. But now, he can’t stand the sight of most things. He can’t even stand the feeling of anything. He was huddled on a roof, a dirty, disgusting roof, there’s probably dirt all over him now and his stupid suit- it’s too on him, he can feel it and the sweat scratching at him and trying to seep into his pores. The creases causing awkward pockets where the suit isn’t actually touching him, but he can still feel it, the thought of all the germs and dirt and god , the trash, the wet trash --

how would that feel?

--his body jerks violently and he falls to his knees.

He wants to yell. But even that would feel wrong. He’d feel his voice in his teeth for god’s sake.

He takes off his gloves, but he isn’t even able to enjoy the cool breeze hitting his now exposed hands because his nails, his fucking nails , they hit the concrete and scrape lightly. The feeling sends shivers down his entire body and makes him rip his hands away as if he had been burned, and bite down hard on his fingers. He can’t fucking stand it. He- it’s too much. It’s all too much. 

nails on chalkboard 

silverware scraping

that man coughing down the street

the smell of approaching rain

metal on your teeth

blood under your nails

flesh squelching in the rubble

sickening crunch 

his breath on your face

digging in your skin

too heavy too close he’ll kill you he’ll kill you

His thoughts spiral, he can’t control it. One bad feeling, and he can’t stop thinking about the other bad feelings just like it, and it keeps going until his brain reaches the end of its list. 

He hates this. He hates that his brain even does this, that it even thinks it’s the right course of action. Nobody else’s brain does this, he bets. Why is his so dumb that it can’t even realize it’s only making things worse? 

Miles keeps biting on his fingers and starts biting on the rest of his hands when the feelings aren’t going away. He tries to him to his favorite song to calm down, but it doesn’t work- nothing is working-

Gwen is here, he vaguely registers in his mind when a black and white blur lands in front of him. She’s here, and she’s grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands out of his mouth, and she’s trying to hold him. He scrambles back, but she catches him and lifts him bridal style. Miles tries to kick out and shoves his hand in her face to make her drop him, but she holds on as tightly as possible. The pressure from her fingers digging into him is- good. Bad. It’s just more touch - he doesn’t want touch right now, he wants pressure-

holding you down you’re a mistake breaking your neck is so easy keep fighting keep fighting 

“I know,” he hears faintly. Was that him, or Gwen?

He keeps thrashing in Gwen’s hold, almost escaping once when he bit her shoulder and started to scratch, as she hopped from rooftop to rooftop. It was all a blur, he could only focus on how her heartbeat was too loud, and the feeling of her fingers and just her being so close was confusing his stupid fucking brain, it was all good, but it was actually all bad because he didn’t want that now, it made it worse actually.

“I’m sorry, I know,” he hears Gwen apologize to him. 

God. Someone end it. Someone cut him out of his skin. He can’t be here. He tries to wiggle out of her grasp one last time before he gives up and brings his hands back up to his mouth to bite down, to have any sort of control over anything he’s feeling.

“It’ll be okay,” Gwen whispers- still too loud.

He doesn’t really remember much else.

___

Miles rouses slowly. His eyes don’t open immediately when he tries, the crust is uncomfortable on his skin, and his limbs feel like they were made of stone. He turns his head to the side, only to be met with webbing. He moves his body slightly, feeling himself swing. So he’s in a hammock then. That’s fine, it’s better than waking up on the floor. Or that rooftop.

Wait, the roof, Gwen, he bit Gwen-

He sits up and looks out of the hammock as best as he can, quickly spotting the girl gently rubbing her now bandaged shoulder with a solemn expression. Quickly scrambling out and crawling down to be next to her, apologizing before he even hits the ground.

“Gwen, I am so sorry, I have no idea what came over me, I don’t know why I did that to you, I’m so sorry-”

Gwen stops him, “Miles, calm down, I’m fine, see?” She gestures to her shoulder, and his eyes trail down and catch her bandaged hand.

He doesn’t even remember that one, and that makes him feel even worse. Shame curls in his gut, makes his fingers twitch, he feels disgusting.

“Listen, you aren’t disgusting,” Gwen says gently, “you were scared and in pain, you might have been overstimulated. I know it gets really hard to control what you do. I’ve done, like, the same thing.” 

Miles nods, not believing her.

“Seriously Miles. I’m not mad or anything.”

Yeah right. Who wouldn’t be mad after being bit and just… being forced to deal with whatever that was. Even he’s mad about it, because it never lasts. It always ends eventually, he doesn’t know why he was being so dramatic and violent when he could have just stayed still and dealt with it until it passed.

It’s whatever. It’s over now, and Gwen is clearly trying to move on from it. He shouldn’t make her more upset. Talking with her is already like walking a tightrope, lately.

“I uh, I wrapped you up in that hammock. Did that help? You said- well, not really said, it was more like… mumbling, that you just wanted pressure. So did that help at all?” Gwen stumbles through asking, fiddling with her hands and furrowing her brow.

Her question takes him out of his thoughts for a second. “I guess it did,” Miles says after a moment of consideration. He honestly wasn’t sure how he was feeling, but he certainly wasn’t feeling bad, so that’s definitely an improvement. He’d have to keep this hammock idea in mind, how did he never think of that?

And like the strings controlling her had been cut, her shoulders drooping and lenses closing as she breathes out a sigh of relief (look at what you did to her, Miles), Gwen reaches out to him. She stops right before they make contact, allowing Miles to move forward and finish the hug. Gwen hugs tighter, but in weird waves, like she doesn’t actually know how long a hug is supposed to last and keeps trying to part when she thinks she should. Miles loves it anyway, because it’s Gwen, and the last time she hugged him this tight was when… oh, nevermind that. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Gwen’s hug tightens again, and he feels the tension in his body slipping away.

___

The one thug that’s still conscious decides to try his luck at talking with him. 

“So I noticed something…”

Congratulations , Miles doesn’t say. He doesn’t have the energy to speak to anybody for the night, and while people didn’t really like that because it also tended to mean Peter was ready to beat someone to a pulp, they’ve learned that sometimes the new Spider-Man was just… didn’t speak.

“Why are you organizing us by shoe size? And you got Har- um, gray tennis shoes wrong. He wears a size 11.”

A good save on the name reveal AND a correction so his order is perfect? Well mister, looks like you’re walking away scott-free tonight!

Just kidding . Miles smiles to himself as he picks up “Gray Tennis Shoes” and places him in between Blue Nikes (size 10)  and Black Boots (size 12 and a half). He turns back towards the talking thug, pointing to his shoes, who sighs before answering, “Size 7. And a half.”

Miles smiles wider as he drags the cocooned man to the right spot, and begins walking away to investigate the den.

“Wait, you didn’t answer my question! Why are you organizing us like this?” The man calls out to him, trying to sit up but failing. 

Because he overheard cops on duty making fun of the way he organized people by their hair color last time. He had to go for something a bit less noticeable. Obviously. 

But Miles doesn’t say any of this, because he just doesn’t want to. Not like he had to answer that guy anyway.

___

Now, don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t have complete control over when he wants to speak or not, as much as he’d like to pretend he does to save himself some embarrassment from admitting it. And it seems to be both random and stress-induced, which is already bad when you’re Spider-Man. Most of your days are extremely stressful with worrying about the best outcomes, the best and most effective ways to save people in danger, time management because of school or a job interview or a party your parents threw that you cannot be late for again, the usual. The simple moments to help around are like a mini-break where he can take his time to breathe and get a second wind, so they’re greatly appreciated. Don’t even get him started on the power-naps he can sometimes sneak in if it’s a calm enough day with just the right temperature and breeze…

Off track. Basically, he can’t always control if he goes silent or not.

Right now, during the cleanup after a fight, where all the debris is moved to small piles for him and others to clean up, and any civilians injured are given medical attention immediately or taken away to hospitals, he can’t speak. The villain- which looked surprisingly too high definition- only stopped attacking after it heard a little girl screaming, and it was pulled through a portal by a red, blue, and white hand. Miles didn’t even care about a Rhino from a different dimension somehow turning up here, and what that could mean about the (worsening) stability of his dimension, he just wanted to curl up somewhere nice and dark, and sleep for fifteen hours.

But Spider-Man has a duty to the people.

He removes the last bit of rubble from on top of a woman’s car, tears in her eyes as he guides her away from the smashed vehicle. She’s certainly going to have to replace it, but she definitely has bigger things to worry about, like the glass sticking out of her arm from jumping through the storefront window to avoid the Rhino’s rampage. 

That was pretty badass of you, he can’t say. He frowns. He wanted to make her feel a bit better. That’s one of the many drawbacks of this unwilling silence, it prevented him from comforting people in the way he knows best: talking their ear off until they’re too absorbed in (or annoyed by) his ramblings to freak out.

He sits with her in an ambulance that’s treating the people with more minor injuries. The paramedics are stretched thin, so he’s here taking the smallest pieces out of her arm while the paramedic is on her other side and checking for a concussion. 

The woman winces.

Sorry, he can’t say, but he looks up with a sad expression to meet her own exhausted and tear-streaked face, and knows the message isn’t getting across.

He goes back to pulling the glass out. He can’t even apologize for all the pain he’s causing her.

Focus, Miles.

“Spider-Man, you’re alright?” The paramedic asks after the woman is cleared and sent off. The hospitals have been at their highest capacity since… ugh. He doesn’t want to think about it when he has something to focus on now. “Not a talking day?”

Miles shakes his head, already making his way to help other people.

The entire time he’s pulling more glass shards out, holding more hands through painful processes and anxious checkups, hugging more children and holding more babies as the parents are found and reunited, simply sitting with those too shocked to even understand what had just happened, not once does the barrier come down. The people look to him for words of encouragement, assurances that it’ll be okay, they cling tighter to him and hope he’ll say something kind to ease their fear, that the person on the stretcher will survive and heal just fine. 

And it breaks his heart when people see he won’t say anything, it makes him feel so useless, what is he even sticking around for? He sees the hope leave their eyes, sees it replaced by grief, by horror, by nothingness. Nothingness is the worst, if you ask him. They’ve given up because he can’t even muster up enough strength to say a few simple words. It shouldn’t be this hard for him, Spider-Man, to say “you’re okay” or “take a breath” for god’s sake! If he could, he would yell until his throat was raw about how he was sorry for all this pain he’s only made worse. How everyone would be fine, just don’t look at the bodies! How they just needed to follow his breathing, and to follow him to the ambulance! Don’t worry about your destroyed car! How he’ll do better, he won’t let something like this happen again, how didn’t want this, didn’t choose this, he wants to tell them so bad-

But he can’t. So he doesn’t.

The probably-now-orphaned girl clings to his legs as they stand in front of a pile of rubble Miles hadn’t moved yet. He knew there were bodies (or what used to be bodies, anyway) under there, heard the heartbeats instantly stop while the Rhino threw the hunk of concrete so he could hold Miles down and slam his fist into his entire body. He thinks she was the one who screamed and stopped that Rhino for enough seconds to be taken away. There was blood splattered on the bottom of her frilly green dress, and all over her legs and shoes, and Miles just hopes she has family somewhere that’ll take her in. 

He really should move her away from this. At least cover her eyes.

You’re a hero, he can’t say. And I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, but you’ve saved a lot of people, he hopes his look to her gets across. You saved me.

The girl looks up at him with angry eyes and a dirty face, clean lines created by her tears going down her cheeks. Some good that did, she’s saying.

Miles says nothing, because of course he doesn’t, and holds her hand as they walk to an ambulance. She needs that blood cleaned off her.

___

Miles sobs into Ganke’s pillow, wishing the boy would return from the nurse’s office quicker. It’s been a week since then, and now he’s finally able to talk. So of course the first thing his brain makes him do is cry so hard he can’t even breathe properly. Ganke was appropriately freaked out by his sudden crying spell, and went to go get an ice pack for him for the headache that was sure to follow. 

The hiccups are bordering on painful now, his teeth and jaw aching from grinding his teeth so he doesn’t cry too loud when he needs to take a break from practically suffocating himself in the pillow. He can still see the blood on the ground, on the rubble, and on the little girl’s dress. 

He closes his eyes and covers his ears, for a reason he doesn’t understand, curling up and sobbing some more into the pillow. He tries to dig his toenails into his other foot’s skin, the pain doing nothing but making him flinch. Maybe it just wasn’t the right spot to get rid of it, these thoughts. If he found the right spot, maybe even combination, his brain would focus on the pain instead of these horrible memories. 

He removes his face from the pillow and bites down on his hand and scratches at the side of his face, his thighs, his neck, any skin he can reach. He finally feels the switch from “slightly painful and annoying” to “very painful, we’re in danger” like a gentle wave, and releases his hand from his jaw, letting out a weak cough of relief as he falls limply back onto the bed. His breathing makes it sound like he just ran a marathon, and It aches and burns like he just did too. A lot. His mind is blessedly empty and numb, he realizes, as his eyes struggle to stay open. What’s he fighting it for again?

Ganke. Right. Ganke was coming back with an ice pack for the headache that hasn’t hit yet. Stay awake for Ganke.

He inhales his friend’s faint scent from the pillow and sheets, and feels the dip in the mattress from where Ganke sleeps, a bit off center. Miles always tells him to flip his mattress, but he never does.

He faintly hears the door opening over the blood rushing in his ears, and feels a hand grab his own. The touch is gentle, but is gone before he has the chance to lean into it. There’s a welcomed cold sensation on his forehead, making him shudder and sigh.

And he’s waking up, the alarm screeching into his ear and making him groan in annoyance. He goes to smash the alarm clock, but a hand catches his before it could do any damage.

“Not this time man,” Ganke’s sleepy voice scolded from above, “we aren’t replacing that thing again.”

Above?

Miles opened his eyes, realizing he was in Ganke’s bunk. Oops. An apology was already on his lips as he peeked out from under the bunk, but it died on the tip of his tongue at the sight of Ganke’s bed-head, squinted eyes, and scrunched up nose. 

“You good? Because I had to take care of your hand last night,” the boy asks with a yawn.

Miles looks down at his hands and his eyes widen in shock. His right hand was bandaged up in a white gauze, albeit a little sloppily, like Ganke was in a rush or something when he did it.

“Yeah, sorry if it looks bad. It’s just that I wasn’t really expecting you to break skin,” the boy tells him, “have you seen my glasses?”

“They’re on your forehead,” Miles tells him in a fond tone, “and thanks man. I know it’s weird-”

“Uh uhn, don’t start that now. It’s too early in the morning for me to talk with you about if anything’s weird or not.”

Miles shrugs and rolls his eyes. “It’s always too early in the morning for you,” he says as he tries to find his clothes to get ready for the day.

___

Dear Diary,

Haven’t been the best lately. It’s like i’ve only been hurting people and myself. I bit Gwen a few weeks ago, then i couldn’t speak and help people when that Rhino dude came, and last night i bit my own hand. I know it’s bad and gross, but it feels like it’s the only thing i can do sometimes even when i can’t really control it. And it works for me most of the time so it’s real confusing. It’s like i don’t have control, and then next thing i know i’m biting myself, and i’m calmer. Ganke says it’s not weird, just worrying, but i’ve never seen anyone else do it. Guess i never really bothered to look it up either because i know it’s bad. wanted to end this entry on a good note but i can’t think of anything. tomorrow is another day though so there’s that.

Part 2 >>>