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neteyamsilly · 2 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So dada started making you little trinkets.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re mistaken.”

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

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

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

“Baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, it’s on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A rustle from above.

“Attack him!”

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

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

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

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

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word.

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

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

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did.

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

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

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

But she was wrong.

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

Losing. It was all about losing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had gone slack in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had died in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You thought you weren’t loved.

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

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

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

His daughter’s blood, on his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!”

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

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

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate.

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

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

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

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

“Neteyam—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

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

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

It would never fly again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t understand.”

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

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

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barleyo · 1 year ago

Text

Love Machine.

Android! Leon Kennedy X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: I got this idea while listening to a song with the same title. This was my first time writing for Leon, I hope it isn't too clunky or too short! I am slowly coming out of my hiatus, so my writing skills are a bit rusty, I need you all to give me a little grace for the next few posts in case they aren't great LOL. Love you all so much, thanks for your support!

Part Two: Here

Wordcount: 2.4K

Tags: sex doll/living sex robot (?), sex toys, oral (fem receiving), reader is called things like "pretty girl", p in v, creampie (but not really because he's a sex doll??), unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play

“Welcome in, can I help you find anything?”

(Y/N) gave the cashier a polite smile and shook her head as she walked past him at the check-out desk, trying to be as non-awkward as possible, especially since she was the only customer in the small store at that time of night. It was an in and out trip, she tried to convince herself of that. She needed something small, just enough to get the job done.

Normally, she would’ve waited until the next day to run an errand like this, but days of stress had left her needy and frustrated, so when her trusty wand finally gave out on her mid-fun, she grabbed her car keys and headed out into the night.

Her eyes scanned the wall of toys in the back of the store. Pink and purple covered the shelves, vibrating toys and dildos being her main focus.

“Mini-vibe, bullet vibe,” she mumbled, squatting down to read the boxes on the lower shelves. “What’s even the difference–?”

She settled on a purple rabbit vibrator. Its packaging was the least indicative of its contents, and it was on the smaller side. Easy to hide.

“Will that be all?” the cashier asked, looking over the box.

“Yeah, that should be it.”

“You know,” he said, giving her a wide grin, “I can’t say I can suggest this one.” He held the box back out to her, waiting for her to take it. “We’ve gotten a lot of refunded purchases due to it.”

“Oh, shit, really?” (Y/N) took the box back, tucking it under her arm. “Okay, uh, I guess I should ask what the best option would be, then?”

The cashier gave a nod and waved her over, lifting the divider between behind the counter and the rest of the store. “Come with me to the back, we’ve got all the good stuff tucked away back there.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about whether or not to follow him. She didn’t immediately catch any red flags in his behavior: he was polite enough, no major creep-vibes. (Y/N) finally walked past the open divider and followed him into the stock room.

“So, over here,” he said, waving his hand over a heavily stocked shelf, “is all the high-powered stuff. These over here have a high-customization level, lingerie over here, and over here ....”

The man continued to go over the ‘hidden’ options in the store, but (Y/N)’s eyes traveled over to a large, sheet-covered box.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing at the box.

“Oh, that? That’s new, uhm, probably a little out of your comfort zone, though, he’s a little advanced.”

“He?”

The cashier sighed and stepped up to the box, gripping the corner of the sheet. “It’s—it’s a long story, but, here, have a look.”

He pulled the sheet down, dropping it to the cement floors of the room.

“What the fuck is that?!”

A blond man stood in the plain box, the only adornment on the cardboard being his name in bolded letters: Leon. His eyes were closed, his hands sat idly beside his sides, and his body stood bare before them both.

“His name is Leon, he’s a prototype for a new line of responsive sex dolls. I mean, most of the bugs are out of the system, he’s not faulty or anything.”

(Y/N) walked up to the box and scratched the cellophane covering, trying to get his attention. “Is he awake? Or on, I guess?”

“Nah, he has to be set up, there’s a manual in the box, I think,” the man replied, bending down to pick the sheet back up to throw over Leon’s box. Just as he began to shake the sheet off, clearing the residual dirt off of it, (Y/N) spoke again.

“How much for him?”

She mentally smacked herself for asking. There was no doubt he was expensive, hell, he probably wasn’t even up for sale.

“You want him?” He raised his eyebrow, looking the girl up and down, confusion painting his features.

“I– I don’t know, can I have him? How much?”

He crossed his arms for a moment, thinking. “He’s not for sale, per se, but– so, listen, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You can have him for free, okay? But if you aren’t satisfied with him, you can’t bring him back here, you’re stuck with ‘em.” He held his hand out expectantly. “Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, taking his hand quickly, giving it a few affirming shakes.

The boxcutter in her hand worked quickly, slicing open the cellophane. (Y/N) bunched up the plastic and threw it to a random corner in her bedroom, turning back to face Leon. She gave him a testing poke, and when he didn’t respond she turned that poke into a gentle tapping on the side of his face.

“Leon?” The name felt like acid on her tongue, guilt already creeping through her. “Wake up.”

She dropped her hand from his face and guided it further down his chest. The synthetic skin felt real, almost in an uncanny way. He was warm to the touch, not plastic-y and cold like how she assumed other sex dolls felt.

“Come on, big boy.” she muttered, pulling Leon’s large, heavy body out of the box and placing him on his feet near her bed. “Where’s your–? Oh, got it.” (Y/N) snatched the instruction manual from the box. The print was foggy, and some words were horribly misspelled, but she flipped through the pages and located the directions page. She read the page to herself quietly. “I am Leon, your AI-powered male sex doll. The setup process of a Leon doll is extremely easy. To turn me on, just set my dial. After that, just sit back and let me love you for a little while!”

(Y/N) walked a small circle around him in search of his ‘on-switch.’ She found it right on the back of his neck, almost hidden by his swoop of blond hair. On the silver dial sat three options: Off, gentle, and rough. A hand rose and ticked the dial to gentle. She stepped away from him quickly after hitting the switch, nervous to see what would happen.

His eyes opened slowly, and a weak blue light beamed from them, scanning outwards before shutting off completely. A grin slowly spread across Leon’s all-too-real features as he powered on.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he said, standing still in her room, only moving his head to face her. “Looks like you could use some company.”

“Uh, hello.” Her mouth was dry as she spoke, feeling like she made a bad decision the second he had snapped to life.

“Hm, why don’t you come closer to me? I don’t bite,” Leon paused before cheekily adding “unless you want me to.” He took her in his arms and let his eyes drift down her body. He eased her shirt over her head and tried to undo the clasps of her bra.

“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away but he held her in place.

“You have all your clothes, but I’m exposed over here. That’s not so fair, is it?” He looked down at his hardened length, ushering her to look down with him.

Her eyes widened a bit. “When did you even get hard–?”

“I’m always hard around pretty girls like you.” He slipped off her bra and groped her breasts with his large, somewhat calloused hands. “Look at these, baby. You have pretty tits, and a pretty face, huh?”

A hum left her throat as she felt his head dip down and take one of her swollen nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the bud, latching on to properly suck it after a few teasing moments. She ran her hands through his hair and gripped onto it tightly, whining at the feeling of his mouth popping off of her tit.

“Bet you’re getting wet from this, aren’t you?” His voice was airy and muffled while he spoke. He left open mouthed licks over her pebbled nipples, grazing over them with his tongue’s warmth.

She gave a weak nod in return.

“Mm, maybe I should take care of that,” he chuckled lightly and lowered himself to his knees. “Gonna let me take these off you?” He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

“G’head,” (Y/N) said, feeling her thighs rub against each other impatiently.

He pulled them down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. She shuddered at the feeling of his tongue darting across the cotton covering her wet center. Again, Leon laughed a bit at her reaction and licked a heavier stripe against the fabric. When he was rewarded with a gasp from her open mouth, he pulled the panties to the side and pressed his tongue at her slit.

“F–Fuck, that feels good,” she whined, hand still messily buried in his hair.

Leon kept his eyes on her the whole time, not letting a moment pass where his blue irises weren’t piercing hers.

His tongue dipped out of her entrance and moved up to her clit. He fidgeted with it, trying to see which motion worked best on her, and settled on a circular movement. The longer he sat slotted between her thighs, her knees thrown over his shoulders, the more frequently he felt her cunt jump from pleasure. He placed his tongue hard on her clit, giving it rough, pressured licks.

“Almost there, I’m close,” (Y/N) said, feeling a coil form in her stomach. She had felt this with other toys, but by far, Leon was the best at the job. “Don’t stop,” she hummed, voice catching in her throat while he moved his head side to side, dragging his mouth sloppily over her cunt.

A string of profanities escaped her mouth when she felt her orgasm hit. A sputtering wave of warmth flushed through her body, her pussy clenching around nothing.

“That’s it, good job,” Leon cooed. He held his hand up to her face expectantly. “Spit.”

Her mind already felt melted, like it could’ve oozed out of her brain at any minute. She mindlessly complied with him, spitting onto his lengthy fingers.

“Ah–! S’too much, Leon.”

“No, no, you can take it. I’ll be gentle, I know you want another one,” he said with a slightly mocking tone. “Greedy girl needs something to fill her up.” Plunging his fingers into her pussy, he groaned at the feeling of her slick walls still fluttering. “Y’haven’t even recovered from the first one, but I’m gonna give you another one,” he said, curling his fingers, “gonna be twice as strong.”

“Fuck, it’s too much,” (Y/N) knew her sobs of pleasure were pathetic sounding, but she couldn’t muster anything else up as she tried to push his wrist down and away, not being able to stand the feeling of his two fingers prodding at her most sensitive spot.

“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “not when you’re so close. Yeah, I feel you getting all tight on me. Mm, you’re gonna love how it feels, it only gets better from here, pretty girl.”

Leon became more aggressive with his movement, moving his whole arm as his fingers jammed in and out of her. (Y/N) was lost in her ecstasy. Her hands shook and flew aimlessly before taking purchase of Leon’s shoulders and holding onto them, nails digging into the skin.

Her second release, as promised, was much stronger. Her legs clamped around him, her moans came out in long, shaky intervals, and her brain was mush. She couldn’t force herself to focus on anything but the cum dripping out of her cunt and down Leon’s fingers and forearm. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling even the dim light of her bedroom to be too much for her now fucked-out, slutty head to handle.

She hardly noticed when he had placed on her back in the bed with her legs spread. Not until he guided his cock across her folds, tapping the head of it against her swollen, abused clit.

“More?” she asked, voice breaking and weak. “Can’t take it ‘nymore.”

“C’mon, sweet thing, you can give me one more, can’t you? Just one more?” He whispered into her ear, slowly pushing into her, holding himself back.

“Jus’ one? No more after that?”

“Mhm, just one.” Leon bottomed out and stretched her walls with his girth. The tip of his cock gave sweet, shallow kisses to her cervix’s tip, gently pressing into it with each thrust. His hips rocked into her, but he felt his dick being forced out of her walls, pushed out of her heat. “Even after all that, still tight f’me.” He slid back in, rougher this time, trying to keep himself inside. “Need somethin’ to stretch you out, baby. Good thing y’got me now.”

His hands were placed under her knees, scooping and holding them apart while he fucked her. He slowly transitioned from fucking and burrying his cock into her, to bringing her body forward, bouncing her on his cock.

“Leon—”

“Hush, now, you’re okay. Mm,” he wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, “look at how you take it. It’s like you were made to be used like this, sweet girl. Maybe you’d be better off as a toy.”

She moaned at this, feeling her cunt twitch at his words.

“Yeah? You like that?” Leon’s eyebrow raised at her a bit, teeth barring in smirk. “You like being a little toy. Being– oh, fuck, you’re enjoying this so much. Your pretty little face...”

(Y/N) threw her arms over his neck, pulling him closer to her body. Their chests pressed together, her sweat slick between them both. “God, Leon, please!”

Leon pressed his mouth on her to quiet her down, swallowing her moans as their tongues and teeth gnashed against each other. He winced as (Y/N) bit down on his lip, choking back her sobs when she clamped down on his cock. Taking this as a sign, Leon emptied his thick, synthetic cum into her.

Once he pulled out, a mixture of both of their cum pumped out, gushing and wetting in between her thighs.

“Good job, baby,” he said, stroking her face, grinning at the warmth of her cheek. “You did so well, getting all cockdrunk for me. To think I was being gentle. Wanna try my rough mode out for size?” He joked, letting his hand grip her hip.

“Goodnight, Leon,” she responded, unimpressed at his teasing and tired from what he had done to her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and turned his dial to ‘off.'

#barleyxnighteye #fanfiction #smutfic #smut #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #fanfic #leon kennedy x y/n #x reader #smut fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon scott kennedy #alternate universe

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gay-dorito-dust · 5 months ago

Note

okay so I just read the blurb about cannibal and reader going north to avoid family drama and that got me thinking !!

what if reader went to dorne and arrived at sunspear during the name day celebration of qoren martell eldest daughter (who is also the heir to dorne) and reader is invited to dine with the martell as a special guest.

the martell's have a lot of questions for her. here are a quotes I came up with from the dinner conversations:

a martel prince - "so which colour do you bare in this brewing war. black or green?"

reader - "neither, my loyality is to myself and my dragon. the highborns can do as they please, but I will not allow myself and my dragon to be turned into pawns so incestious maniacs can war over an ugly-looking metal chair and matching hat"

qoren martell - "there must be somthing special about your blood, as it is not everyday that someone who is not a targaryen claims a dragon."

reader - "there is not much special prince qoren, if you were to cut me now and smear my blood next to another hundred common borns I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

and then the eldest daughter (who is clearly into reader) asks to ride cannibal and begs her parents to let her (they reluctantly agree) but reader needs a bit more convincing.

heir princess of dorne - "I am not scared"

reader - "it is not a question of being scared or not. it is the question of if cannibal will eat you or not."

okay now stay with me on this what is reader rubs her sent (like an item of her clothing) on the princess to decrease the chances of cannibal eating her. and the two go for a flight and end up kissing which cannibal isn't to happy with. and the two girls def end up becoming a lot more than just friends. heheh hope you like this idea feel free to ignore it if it's shit <3

I hope this was alright for you, sweetheart. Sorry if it seems a little clunky in some places.

I love the idea that people have heard news of reader being a non-Valyrian who claimed the wildest of all dragons, and are just naturally curious as to what makes them unique for Cannibal to finally yield and take up a rider.

It’s a mystery that no one will ever know, not even reader cuz they’re probably just as confused about that. However it isn’t something that you want to delve in deeper because you were well aware that many houses, both big and small, had their eyes on you and were anxious.

Houses such as Bracken, Blackwood, Celtigar, Tully, lannisters, Baratheon’s, Starks, Greyjoy, Aryn etc. The realm holds its breath whenever you pass by on Cannibal, halting all forms of conflict as you soared above them unbothered. You just wanted to be left alone and you could feel that Cannibal felt similar.

You knew from stories that to doubt your bond with a dragon was dangerous but your bond with cannibal was forged out of your common desire, to be able to be free to live how you felt fit, free of the personal agendas of the highborn.

So when you arrived at Dorne, you were easily spotted by the royal family and were greeted in kind as a guest on the behest of the princess of Dorne herself, who was quick to cling onto your arm and smile as you spoke while Cannibal watched on, tired of yet another person filling to hide their seemingly immediate infatuation with you. He only hopes that you were asked for your hand…again.

So once you arrived to dinner, the questions were quick to spill and you answered them in quick succession.

‘The throne is rather ugly, I see no reason to fight over it when I’d rather have it burned.’ You told them as you sipped from your goblet, trying to not be affected by the way that the Dornish princess was rubbing the back of your hand softly, sweetly. ‘Besides people have already forgotten the cause of this war and are too fickle to remember as they’re too eager in spilling blood.’ You add.

Qoren Martel, with wise eyes, leaned forward. ‘You are a nomad? You fly no flag for either cause?’

‘No.’ You tell her.

‘Why? Were their offers not sufficient for you? Did gold and glory not arise any temptation within you?’ Qorne pressed as a silence befell the table as you felt the eyes of the princess and prince on you, but you were far too use to the questions being asked as they were the same you’ve heard from the likes of Alicent, Otto, Rhaenyra and Daemon.

You were the wild card they didn’t see nor expect and now we’re trying to quell you and Cannibal before the war reached a point where Dragons were brought into it. You were Cannibal’s counterpart in human skin as he was yours in dragon scales, you two were a force to be reckoned with and you had yet to engage in combat.

‘The thoughts of riches and glory and power is enough to tempt even the strongest man in Westeros, I however value things that go beyond such.’ You told her.

‘And what is that?’ Qorne inquired, raising her brow, curiosity taking over her as it did Dornish prince beside her as he too leant in close to her your words.

‘To find peace, to be left alone and out of the minds of every person in the realm. There was a reason cannibal never left his cave and yet, he came out for me and now he will not know rest because of me, and I want him to find rest be it with or without me.’ You tell her as you thought about how tired Cannibal had become during your journey, you could feel the ache of his bones as though it were you who were tired, you loved Cannibal and respected him immensely but you didn’t wish to have him suffer for the greed of others.

From a distance Cannibal lets out a groan, as though feeling your emotions through your bond to let you know that he made his choice in his rider, and that he did not liked his choice to be one of contention if his rider is feeling strongly about his wellbeing. For he was a dragon of old Valyria and could handle more than what was given to him now.

Stubborn old fool. You thought to yourself.

I heard you little one. You then heard cannibal speak in your mind, his voice a low timbre that could be felt within your chest, through your bones and more. You weren’t certain if Aemond, Aegon, daemon or the others could heard the voices of their dragons within their one head, or if you were the only one who had achieved such a thing; Either way it was just another thing that made you feel even more alone.

‘You put the realm at risk for the sake of your dragon?’ The Dornish prince asked as though the thought befuddled him.

‘It is not I who will torch Westeros.’ You reminded him, ‘it’s the Targaryen’s that are currently infighting right now who will, in merely a commoner who just so happened to be favoured by a god.’

‘A god? You consider your dragon on equal footing with the gods?’ The princess next to you asked eagerly as she gripped your hand.

‘Shouldn’t we all?’ You rhetorically replied before carrying on. ‘The Targaryens have fooled themselves into thinking their superior due to their control over them, a fallacy I call it, but if you take away their control. So who’s to say that they can’t be cut down like any other man regardless of social status.’ You looked into Qoren Martel’s eyes when you say this as a look of understanding passes over her face.

‘Can I ride with you on Cannibal?’ The princess asked suddenly and you almost chocked on your drink as Qorne was quick to voice her displeasure at her daughter’s brashness.

‘Of course you cannot.’ She barked, ‘that beast will seat no other than his rider.’ She then looks over to you, ‘am I correct in that assumption?’

‘Of course!’ You replied quickly as you aided in her attempts to prevent the princess from doing anything reckless. ‘Cannibal will not permit anyone other than me to ride upon his back, he’s…’ you paused as you looked behind yourself to see Cannibal reach up and feast upon a flock of birds passing by, ‘…well he’s as the legend of old speak of.’

The princess didn’t seem pleased with your answer as she stared you down. ‘I can handle it.’

You and Qorne Martel shared a look across the table that spoke of exhaustion that felt as though lasted for hours on end until it was broken by a sigh. ‘Fine you may fly with our guest on Cannibal but on one condition.’

‘Anything mother.’ The princess said, back straightened.

‘Come right back.’ Qorne said with finality as the princess was quick to grab you by the arm and drag you towards cannibal but before she was about to mount him, you pull her back and she looked at you with furrowed brows. ‘Why did you stop me?’

You didn’t speak a word but rip a piece of your clothing from your person and began rubbing it on the princess wrists, neck, cheeks and arms. ‘Protecting you.’ You said afterwards, letting go of her arm as she quickly mounted cannibal who gave you a look before you mounted him.

‘Hold on tight princess.’ You whispered in the beautiful woman’s ear as you reached past her and patted Cannibal twice before gripping the princess by her waist, pulling her close to your front as you took off to the skies above.

Cannibal wasn’t at the least impressed, and was even made more so when he looked behind to see that the princess had your face held between her hands as she leant in for a kiss. You didn’t make any moves to stop her as you indulged yourself in her sweet lips, heavenly and intoxicating as she was as you closed your eyes. Who’d knew kissing in the sky would be as romantic as you initially thought?

Cannibal only huffed as he continued to fly onward, he’ll let you have this one moment, you’ve been more then deserving of it for what the realm has put you both through.

#house of the dragon #hotd

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wallydrling · 2 years ago

Text

go away (or don't)

pairing: wally darling/reader

rating: g

author's note: gender neutral reader to the best of my ability! i'm very new to welcome home so please be kind @:)

ao3 (it looks so much better there! go to hell, tumblr!)

Your relationship with Wally, new as it may be, is not without its challenges.

The transition from friends to something more had been a bit of a sticky subject at first, tacky to the touch. But a dozen long conversations and drawn-out explanations had really cleared a lot of things up, and by the end of your first official month as Home's newest couple, things had seemed to be tilting towards hopeful.

Now, as you stand in the middle of Wally's living room, arms folded over your chest, you're not positive that you didn't rush into things.

You aren't mad at him. He is standing just a few feet away, face carefully blank, arms limp by his sides. He is nearly impossible to be mad at. But for all your talk of boundaries, you'd forgotten to discuss something very important with him; your dedication to your friendship with Julie.

"She spends the night with you," Wally says, voice even. "A lot. I don't even get to spend the night with you."

He'd been upset to find out that your twice-weekly sleepovers with Julie hadn't stopped even after your relationship with him kicked into gear. You hadn't brought it up during any of your discussions because you didn't think it mattered. You weren't– you aren't– willing to change anything about your relationship with Julie. You won't sacrifice it. It's too important to you.

"Julie is my friend," you tell him. It's important to keep a level head. Getting upset will only make the situation worse. "I'm not going to stop spending time with her just because you and I are together."

"She lies in your bed," he says. "With you. Beside you."

Bickering with him is…not what you expected it would be. Despite him being more in touch with his emotions than ever, it still doesn't transfer well into his voice. He speaks slowly, the cadence near-robotic, and it's difficult for you to decipher how intense the emotions that he's feeling actually are right now. He doesn't look mad. He isn't smiling, and his eyes are slightly narrowed, but besides that, he is a blank slate. It's as infuriating as it is confusing.

"Wally," you sigh, uncrossing your arms. "She's just a friend, okay? I'm allowed to have friends."

He tilts his chin up defiantly, and there it is–something to latch on to.

"I don't think it's appropriate," he says. "Frank and Eddie don't sleep in other neighbors' beds."

"You do understand that we can't model our entire relationship around Frank and Eddie's, right?" You ask, quirking a brow.

"You're not listening," he huffs. His hands twitch at his sides, fingertips curling into his palms. "You're being unkind."

"No," your jaw flexes subconsciously. "You're being unreasonable."

He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. "Home? Do you think I'm being unreasonable?"

There's a subtle creak, and a consecutive bang, bang.

"Well, there you have it," his mouth curls up into a smile, but it is smug and a little bit cruel.

"Wha–You can't ask Home!" You exclaim, throwing your hands up. "That isn't fair! This is between you and I."

He mimics your earlier stance by crossing his arms over his chest. It's a little off; a little clunky, but he gets the gist of it. He looks closed off, and hurt, and maybe angry. You can't read his eyes well enough. It's a learning process, and he is the kind of book that people spend hundreds of years decoding.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," He nods towards the front door, and it swings open. "Goodbye, neighbor."

You don't move. He's kicking you out? Your legs feel like they've been cased in cement, and your tongue is heavy in your mouth. No. The argument cannot end like this. There has to be a resolution, or the two of you will never come back from this. Your relationship is too new to handle something so detrimental.

"Wally," you try. His name sounds soft and sweet in your voice because, for all the bickering and the mean words, you cannot be mad at him. You just can't.

"Please leave," he says. He shifts on his feet. "I think I'm…mad. And I really, really don't want to be mad at you, but I don't know how not to be. So, you should go."

You appreciate the fact that he is attempting to explain his feelings. That he's digging deep, and being honest with you. You know that it hasn't been easy for him, learning about conceptualizing emotions, and letting himself take the time to decode them. He has struggled. You've helped him through almost-panic attacks too many times to count. He gets overwhelmed sometimes, and you know that, even for you, relationships aren't simple. Standing up to you, it must be difficult.

"Relationships are hard, sometimes," you say, taking a step towards him. "It's normal to be angry with your partner when you both disagree on something very important. And…I know that trying to talk about it can be frustrating."

He relaxes just slightly at your words; you see it in the way his shoulders droop. He still has his arms crossed over his chest, but he is looking at you now, and his eyes go round at the edges. They lose their sharpness.

"Frank and Eddie disagree on things, too," you continue. "Being partners with someone means compromising."

"Compromising," Wally repeats. "But you won't–you're not compromising with me."

"Let's sit down and talk about it some more," you suggest, offering him a warm smile. "We should never intentionally hurt each other, alright? If my sleepovers with Julie have hurt your feelings, I want to make that right."

You take a seat on his sofa, patting the spot next to you. He hesitates for a moment, and then sits down, too. His ankles cross, and he folds his hands in his lap.

"You don't like it when I have sleepovers with Julie because she lies in my bed with me?" You ask. You're careful with your words, with your tone. You don't want to upset him further, or have him close himself off.

He nods. "I've read Julie's romance books, and when two people love each other, they always share a bed."

Ah, yes. Since the realization of his feelings for you, Wally has been in love with the idea of love. He reads Julie's silly, cliché stories, and asks Frank and Eddie questions that are perhaps a bit too personal. He is smart and curious, and he's always wanting to learn. This–all things romance– has just been his newest fixation. You're not sure that Julie's books or Frank and Eddie's ever-changing dynamic are the best references for him, though. He is not like the love interest in a romance novel. He shouldn't try to compare himself to anyone else.

"Sharing a bed isn't always romantic," you explain. "There are a lot of different kinds of love. But," you reach out to place a hand on his knee, soothing, and he lets you. Does not move away, so you take that as a good sign. "If me sharing a bed with someone else makes you uncomfortable, I'm willing to compromise. How about when Julie comes over, she lies in my bed, and I sleep on the couch?"

He takes a moment to think about this. You see the cogs turning in his head, the way his mouth straightens out, and then pulls down at the corners.

"Okay," he says. "I think that would be��okay. I would feel happier with that."

"And," you tell him, "you can't keep basing your idea of love around what you read in books, okay? All relationships are different. You have to learn to navigate it through experience."

"I just," he looks down, eyes closing for a second. "I have questions, sometimes. I don't know where to find answers."

Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, and his skin goes a little pink beneath your touch.

"Next time you have a question, just ask me about it, alright?" You say. Your thumb smooths along his skin, and you brush a bit of blue hair behind his ear. "We'll work on it together."

"I like how that sounds," he smiles, eyes twinkling beneath high noon's light beaming in through the windows. "Together."

Pleased now, he scoots closer to you on the couch. His mouth curves up, and he gets this mischievous look on his face that you've come to associate with his silly little antics. He dives forward and kisses the round apple of your cheek, darting away with a sweet, "muah!"

"So you're not mad at me anymore, then?" You ask, tips of your ears warm.

He shakes his head. "Not mad. Sorry I tried to make you leave earlier."

You take his face between your hands, and squish his cheeks until his mouth puckers up. He looks goofy and open and so, so happy. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press forward and kiss him on the mouth, once, then twice. The pink on his face goes deeper, and his ears turn red, too.

"I'm sorry for not taking your feelings seriously at first," you say. "I accept your apology. Do you accept mine?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Maybe a few more kisses will sway me."

You laugh, falling against his chest, and he wraps both arms around your shoulders. He is soft, and smells like cedar and sunlight. You breathe him in, and tilt your head back to leave a little kiss to his jawline.

"You drive a hard bargain, Darling. I suppose I've got no choice but to bend to your will."

You tackle him onto the couch until he's lying on his back, head propped up on the arm rest. You pin his wrists by his sides and leave chaste kisses all over his face, each one signed with a tiny smack, and a "muah!" He laughs, and it is still drawn out and slow and stale, but it is so very him, and that's all you have ever wanted.

He buries his devastatingly cute, "ha, ha, ha's" into your shoulder, and you kiss him and kiss him until the both of you are breathless, and the sun begins to set.

#is this cute? i don't know. i just love wally.#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #wally darling x y/n #welcome home arg #wally darling fanfic

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chiangyorange · 3 months ago

Note

Do you have any LoZ/LU fic recs?

i have many! they wont be organized in any particular way tho

i started just hucking links at this until i realized, oh this is gettin really long actually, so im going to shove everything under the cut with the link to the fic itself and some personal notes from me to hopefully get you to read them!!

for Linked Universe;

Two Moon Pearls and the Master Sword by serbii

the chain get sent to the dark world and literally everyone but four, sky, and legend get to turn into animals about it. also baby legend is there <3 this also has an in progress sequel!!! its so fucking good!!!!!!

Absence by Anonymous

wild forgets he has to TELL PEOPLE that he has amnesia. this has consequences. i love wild and warriors dynamic so much theyre such a duo. if i believe in my heart other people can see the vision too.... sobs. WAILS EVEN.

Dearly, Departed by boo_boo_thefool

a series of post-lu oneshots revolving around each of the heroes!! hasnt reached all 9 of the chain yet but still a damn good read. if i think too hard about this one i can and will cry. on command even.

The Missing Link by SparklingWonderQueen

ongoing fic about if the chain met wild riiiiight at the beginning of totk when hes still missing!

willow bark and chamomile by schrodingers__cat

a REALLY fucking good read. like oh my god i just got SUCKED into this from start to finish. if ur a legend fan yes the fuck you are. get in there. go.

Dawn of the Fourth by LazuliQuetzal

also a damn good read!!! time gets de-aged and wind goes "haha im the big brother now. ... OH NO IM THE BIG BROTHER NOW!!!!!!" fucking hilarious. absolutely heart wrenching. these things are both true at the same time

ageless quest by fandomsandshit

OOOOOOOH YOU WANNA READ ABOUT THE CHAIN SEEING THE LIGHT DRAGON AND CONTEMPLATING THEIR OWN ADVENTURES SO BAD OOOOOHHH (theres three installments so far and if i think about THIS ONE i will ALSO cry on command about it. man i fucking love totk zelda so much why did they do that to her poor girl)

To Share, to Speak, and to Hear by NajikaSun

i cannot explain to you how much i love the knights trio. i have many feelings about them and they will sit riiiight here. its about the weight of legacy its about the weight of trying to fulfill your duties. you get it.

darning the threads as they fray by Ammo_Writes

this ones not done but bow howdy does it get my brain CHUGGING!! the tone... the haunting feeling.... augh... AUGH !!!! WHERES MY BOY I MISS HIM SO MUCH.

sorrow, immortality, and hope by virtualpng

READING THIS MADE ME WANT TO TEAR MY FURNITURE APART WITH MY TEETH!!! OHHHH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD this author's other fics within the series also fucking slap. hard. god. the chain (who havent met wild yet) meet a stranger in ordon

Applejuice Stains on the Past by MjsKindaHere

HEY REMEMBER WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE KNIGHTS TRIO??> sky gets de-aged and wild is NOT normal about it. legacies and expectations and burdens etce etc. you get it

Young volcanoes by jelly_dragons

wild is incredibly fussy about how he was forced to wear the big clunky ass flamebreaker set in his journey meanwhile sky just gets some fancy shmancy earrings about it. the duo go into a volcano. hilarity ensues.

The Ruin They've Made Me by CluelessMoose

botw link's last battle did NOT go well with calamity ganon and leaves him possessed by the damn thing. and then the chain pop in. (owwwww OWWWWWWWWWWW)

Twin Quasar by StrixEye

written before totk released and its still unfinished but MAN AM I A SUCKER FOR GOOD COMPELLING TIMETRAVEL.

hold on, reaper by virtualpng

the chain before they ever meet wild but they pop into his hyrule anyway while hes in the shrine of resurrection. wind meets a ghost at fort hateno. god i fucking lost ghost stories.

steady going under by rebornofstars

the boys.... theyre sleepy.... specifically on top of twilight...

I'm A Riddle In Nine Syllables by SilverheartSP

GOD i fucking love ghost stories. pre-lu in botw where wild meets the chain as ghosts first, and THEN actually meets them

The Legacies You Leave Behind by Eureka5215

flora-centric study about her interactions with the chain. because she cant ever escape the overwhelming weight of a legacy like me too girl so real. yes this is part of my fixation on the knight trio. their haunted sadwoman air surrounding all four of them have captivated me mind and soul

Untarnished by Tashacee

MAN I FUCKING LOVE GHOST STORIES!!!! lovelovelove tash's hero's aspect au obvs the 2nd piece of fanart i did for this fandom was FOR heros aspect but man... MANNNNNNN UNTARNISHED HITS ME DIFFERENT!!!!! first..... ily king <3<3<3

In Flux by zippe

FUUUUUCKCKCKCKKCKC I LOVE FUCKY ASS TIME TRAVEL it can be to heartwrenching and this one is exactly thattttttt augh. AUGH!!!!!! i lose it ever time remembering this one

~~~

LOZ in general, but mainly botw/totk(and some aoc);

For The People by myfairstarlight

hey girl where did the divine beasts go. sidon is NOT having a good time about it hes EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED to that thing!!!!

That Brilliant Blue (A Bittersweet Goodbye) by myfairstarlight

hey. what do you mean sidon and mipha are doomed siblings. ill cry.

VIRTUE IS DROWNED, WITH HOLY HANDS, BY SORROW by lizandre

totk zelda in her time in the past. she is. not doing well!!!!

Again by Drich (drich147)

botw timeloop fic. yeah. theres this one scene where its revealed that guardians have a fuckign partymode???? thats hilarious.

so i'll never die when i'm dead by arashi_the_pancake

OW. FUCK. au where after turning into the light dragon zelda keeps her consciousness about it. shes not doing well!!!

#its VERY clear what my biases are i think but its MY CITY and i get to choose what stories to have at bedtime!!!!!#i tried looking for fics that have less numbers that i want to boost because theyre just so fucking good #yeah ill maintag this why not #linked universe #chiangy answers #fic rec

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seyaryminamoto · 9 months ago

Text

Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing

This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.

Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.

ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')

Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...

Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!

#fic-to-art project #ozai #azula #obviously this was the February piece #and I'm very sorry for the long time it took me to post it but #god I hate it every time there's any “new” thing going on in this franchise #has nothing to do with me and yet it's always a pain because people with the STALEST takes #start to spring out and start trying to police what's going on in the fandom #even people with sense are saying things that blow my mind lately #... so yeah I don't feel entirely safe posting anything to do with my work lately #but hopefully that will change :')#for now enjoy this one

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aihoshiino · 7 months ago

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I'm honestly extremely disappointed at this arc, I was looking most forward to it but got nothing in return other than a made up fanfic that was not even developed anyways. I also am on the camp that Ruby didn't recognize her father, otherwise why would she monologue to this rando who she is trying to kill too

Ruby seems to have chosen to not forgive the person who killed her mother since the panel where she looks back at Hikaru is the same as when Akane was saying "it all comes down if the Ai in the movie forgives..." and in turn the death scene she (as Ai) portrayed her death without smiling (unlike the real Ai)...did Aqua do this on purpose so everyone spites Hikaru by showing how miserable Ai was to be killed? Or Ruby truly fail to understand her mom? Little aqua wasn't on the scene either crying over Ai either

It sucks bcoz we started the arc strongly with Ruby understanding Ai's deepest feelings with the Ai-Nino scene and the pudding outburst...to end with whatever this is. The only part I got curious was one of the last scenes with a Ai & Hikaru confrontation, what was that about? But this movie is a fanfic anyway, what's even the point knowing...

Sorry for this big rant but I'm just so annoyed with this arc, thank the heavens it's over but man...this had so much potential...Aka what were you doing

Could not agree more lol. I was saying to the gang on Discord that a big part of what made this arc so frustrating for me is that it has a handful of really high highs (131 and 136-7 my beloveds) which make the ways everything around them absolutely fails to cohere all the more obvious.

I have a secret conspiracy theory right now that the Movie arc was originally structured really differently (with the past life reveal happening much closer to 143) and that it was pushed up to its current place in the story to coincide with the last episode of the anime airing. As a result, the rest of the arc had to be restructured and it's why things feel so… janky.

I fully acknowledge I have no real evidence for this outside of just how weird and disjointed the Movie arc ends up feeling, but I kind of can't make sense of it any other way. It really feels like there were some kind of behind-the-scenes issues that resulted in the arc being structured in the way that it was just because it's so clunky and so much stuff gets such massive build up with no payoff. It feels like Akasaka was told to just make sure the manga was still running by the time season 2 aired and then got told to just cut the arc short when he was building up to the final handful of scenes because otherwise the way it rips through to the arc end makes no sense to me.

It's a mess!! I meant to sit down and try and re-read it over the break so I could at least start pecking at an arc retrospective but I just don't have the energy to even try yet lol. I'm hoping our next arc will be an improvement but. Who even knows at this point.

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk asks #onk spoilers

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likeadevils · 7 months ago

Note

what songs from TTPD and TA are now yours? Which ones have spoken to you the most?

songs that are genuinely MINE

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: i cried myself to sleep listening to this song on repeat on release night and for the life of me i cant tell you why. i think it’s a great example of her being older really deepening her writing— just that old scarred over longing of a possible life, a possible love, too far away to reach but close enough to brush past. also, the double edged sword of “if you want to break my cold, cold heart, just say’ i loved you the way that you were’”— you loved me before i’d twisted myself into the shape i am now in order to keep my current partner, but also, you loved me the way i was, not the way i am now

i look in peoples windows: i wrote a poem with the line “im afflicted by the not knowing” in it!! inspired by the outside!! and by spending so much of my childhood reading by moonlight and spying on my neighbors through their windows!!! it was called where midnight lives!!! what the fuck!!!

robin: another song i sobbed hysterically to. i was a strange little violent child obsessed with dinosaurs it feels like a lullaby someone made specifically about 3 year old me.

songs that i’m obsessed with:

but daddy i love him: the bridge is just so fun to scream along to. everytime ive been in a car since the album came out ive played this at least two times just cause

fresh out the slammer: it’s just. the first verse??? the way the song stutters apart for the last verse??? this song takes the blurry muse conceit of the album and uses it to its fullest. also just the diminishing returns from “but its gonna be alright, i did my time”

i can do it with a broken heart: my first listen favorite

the smallest man who ever lived: the bridge????? the bridge???? the bridge???? a few of the negative reviews specifically mentioned this song as boring and for a millisecond i was so angry i could’ve exploded

the black dog: this is like, the platonic ideal of a taylor swift song to me. just that old quiet tragedy she can build out of little moments of hoping your ex will remember you when they hear your favorite song or not having known your last kiss was your last kiss or your ex still sharing their location with you. like, it’s just her at her best, but with the maturity to sing “and you jump up, but she’s too young to know this song”

i hate it here: people have talked about seeing reputation in the anthology but i think you can also see so much debut and it makes me feel so tender. also i genuinely don’t understand why people don’t like “if chose the 1830s but without all the racists” like?? it’s supposed to be a bit clunky?? the songs about the limits of escapism?? the line enhances both of those themes?? also “i’m there most of the year” is such a funny devastating relatable lyric to say about a daydream

thank you aimee: it’s not every day a song inspires you to send this message about something a child did to you (fuck you madeline!!! fuck you jessie!!!)

the bolter: avoidant attachment representation!!! i love that it takes the stuff she hated about herself in the archer and just accepts and loves them and appreciates what they’ve given her. i especially love it because bolt can mean like, crossbow bolts, so it’s a flip on the archer. also “bolt” is one of my favorite words i love all the different meanings

“the only thing that’s left is the manuscript, one less souvenir from my trip to your shores, now and then i re-read the manuscript, but the story isnt mine anymore” also just had me sobbing. there’s just. wtf!!!!!!

#asks*

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beardedjoel · 1 month ago

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hiii, i was rereading smother (per usual) and i was thinking about joel's wish for blossom to be pregnant one day, and how so far she seems afraid of that. it's just.... well, seems a stupid question but, why does he want this? given not just how im sure hes traumatised from what happened to sarah but, doesn't he think that making blossom the mother of his children would be sort of, well i don't know how to put this but "in the way" of his dynamic with her? i mean, he has such fatherly ways with blossom, does he want to change that once they have children? would she still call him her daddy in front of their babies? doesn't he think about how he might be too old to even watch them grow up or help her raise them? does it come from a feeling of not wanting her to be alone after he dies, given their age gap? do you think she would ever speak up about her own thoughts of having or not children? would he ever change his mind if she asked him? i just always thought joel's idea of their relationship was just "me and her against it all" and in a "have her all to myself way" too and i have know idea why im thinking so much about this little fact and i hope you don't think im insane for it, it's just i never read, saw or even heard about anything close to their dynamic before and im just beyond fascinated by the characters you've build, and i sort of want to know every detail of their relationship as much as you are willing to offer! so sorry for the long ask, but thank you so much for sharing their story with us, i didn't really saw it coming but they mean the world to me ♡ lov ya bye

yap yap yap 👇

alright shiv, you’ve got me in a bind here agdhdhdh no but this is the byproduct of publishing my story as i go over a very long person of time lol. and over the months my mind moved and changed in regards to where i see details like that going. the core/end of the story has always been planned but along the way i thought that joel would very much like blossom pregnant in the sense of having control over her. he’d have another way to keep her “his” and sort of entrap her. and that man does love the idea of watching her grow his baby because its just a way for him to continue having the upper hand with her and it seemed kind of natural before that he’d be wanting to breed her (and i love a breeding kink 😩). that being said, at that time when he brought it up things were a little more shaky between them so maybe it made sense joel would want to scare her into thinking he was going to get her pregnant one day and have even more reason to keep her there with him forever.

however! over a lot of time and thought, i realized much of what you mentioned about it fitting into their preexisting dynamic. it kind of feels a bit clunky once i really thought it out, especially the sweeter and softer and more fatherly joel got with her. he would likely be scared to have another child! so i’ve got to do the hard thing and admit that honestly that i sort of started changing my mind on them having kids. i wavered a lot with it while thinking through what made the most sense for them.

i don’t want to say too much because this topic will actually be coming into play relatively soon, and so i don’t want to spoil too much of what’s to come! i do have a plan for all of it though because your girl had to do some backtracking/plot hole filling ahhah

ilysm for sending so many thoughtful perspectives and questions, honestly i love it so much that people care enough to think about it this much or send me messages. so thank you!!

#ask #fic: smother

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askablindperson · 4 months ago

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Hello! I have a question regarding screenreaders? How do I knoe what they possibly can't read?

I found some funky brackets on my phone keyboard and thought it'd look fun to use them on my IDs but im not sure if they fuck over screenreaders like keyboard smashes do, go unnoticed like bold text (in which case i guess its alright since apparently it also doesn't notify a regular bracket as other than a pause) or is read just like a regular emoji.

Oh, and also happy disability pride month!

Hi there! Thank you for the question.

Most likely, these would be red allowed by most screen readers on the default punctuation settings, so they could make the ID experience slightly clunkier to read with a screen reader. However, if they are the wavy brackets I am thinking of that can usually be typed on a standard keyboard, they are accessible, they just have a slightly longer name than standard brackets, which would be the only reason they could make the ID experience a tad more clunky. But it should not break most screen readers’ ability to read it in general.

It is important to note that most screen readers have settings where the user can adjust how much punctuation is spoken allowed and in what context, so this could vary from person to person. And even on most screen readers, the default punctuation settings can very slightly from screen reader to screen reader, so some may read them out by default and others may skip over them by default.

In general though, for an image description, I typically recommend to keep it as simplistic plain text as possible without decorative flourishes, so if you’re worried about it, I think sticking to standard brackets is probably the better safe than sorry route to go. Although I would love to hear from other screen reader users in the notes Whether or not the wavy brackets would impact your image description experience!

Thank you for the question and I hope this helps! Apologies that it’s so late.

Happy disability pride month to you too!!

#screen readers #image descriptions #accessibility

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tunastime · 1 year ago

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if you are perhaps still doing the ficlet prompt thing... ethubs with #14??

hi! it's been so long since i've done one of these, anon, so this was a really nice break from working on other stuff. sorry it's been a second since i saw this! though, fair warning, it is based on another fic! a special scene from my space au! <3

I accidentally did both prompts, but I hope you enjoy regardless :>

14. Bruised / Kissed (words: 933) (x)

“Here’s my argument,” Etho starts, watching Bdubs carry the clunky, white box of medical supplies over to the bedside. His eyes follow his hands, mouth moving on its own accord, it seems, as he babbles uselessly, trying to not sound as nervous as he feels. His stomach is twisted into knots, so much so he was barely able to stomach dinner. “I need to go out there, it has to get done one way or another.”

Bdubs sets the heavy case at the foot of the bed. It settles with a dull thump. The thing is, and Etho can tell as he reads Bdubs’ face, he’s being stupid. He’s right to be stupid, though, knowing, personally, that the work has to get done, and that Bdubs can’t and frankly won’t step into the flight suit. It didn’t matter if his suit had a hole in it, really. They had four made—two for each of them in case of a breach. And even then, Etho is good with his hands. He can patch the original suit just fine. Besides, his body took the brute force of the hit, tearing him open for a fraction of a second. It’s a two by one tear in the suit, that’s nothing!

Bdubs’ frown is less evident in his mouth than it is the furrow between his eyebrows and the set of his jaw. Etho deflates as Bdubs sits in the chair in front of him. He watches his jaw work, trying pointedly to ignore the brush of stubble forming on his face, or the way his deep brown eyes flick over Etho’s shoulder and neck. He sighs a particularly weary sound and drags the first aid kit over to beside his knee, lifting it into his lap. He still hasn’t made proper eye contact with Etho, his body language doing little to suggest he’s even heard his suggestion in the first place. That knotted feeling in Etho’s stomach is starting to sink into a cold, muscle-weakening dread, diffusing out through his body from his core. He swallows it back, or at least tries to. His hands find each other in his lap, and his thumb finds a broken notch of one nail. He worries it under the pad of his finger as his eyes study Bdubs’ face for anything.

Nothing.

“Bdubs,” he starts. Bdubs’ eyes flick up to him. His expression is cold only for a moment, before it softens around his mouth and eyes and Etho’s heart squeezes tightly in his chest. The words won’t come out of his throat. Bdubs’ expression looks like a no.

“Let’s see the stitches, Etho,” he says, far too gently to feel like it should be for Etho. Etho draws his hands back, one coming to lift the grey shirt he’s wearing up the side of his ribs, and the other to peel away the gauze covering a line of dark-threaded stitches. Bdubs frowns properly then, mouth twisting in thought.

“I can fix it,” Etho says, voice taking on an insistent edge. Bdubs sighs hard through his nose.

“I don’t care if you can fix it,” he says. “I can’t let you go out there again.”

“‘Dubs.”

“Etho, please,” Bdubs tries. He looks up at Etho for the briefest of moments, eyes wide and dark and Etho feels his heart leap into his throat. He’s standing in the decompression chamber barely able to breathe. He’s being impaled and feeling blood trip through his fingers. Bdubs swallows. Etho watches. “Don’t.”

“Fine,” Etho says, voice suddenly quiet. “I…I won’t.”

Bdubs peels off the last bit of tape, his voice dropping in volume as he works. There’s a long pause before he speaks again, and the silence feels heavy around his words, both before, and after them.

“Do you promise?” he asks, and Etho can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

“I promise,” he lies. He swallows down the taste of it.

“It’s looking better,” Bdubs says and smooths a dry piece of gauze gently over it. Another piece gets sectioned off for Etho to hold with his free hand, and Bdubs tears off two sections of tape. He presses the gauze flat against the stitching, taping it to Etho’s skin, smoothing it out with his thumbs. He lingers there for a beat longer than necessary, thumbs pressed to Etho’s skin and where the tape begins.

“That’s good,” Etho says, despite the fact that there’s a purple-green bruise from the impact crawling up the side of his ribs. His voice comes a little breathless, but he knows it’s not from worry anymore. Bdubs’ eyes flick up to meet him, and something about the way they settle on him makes something warm curl up in the pit of Etho’s stomach. Bdubs smiles, and Etho can’t help the smile that forms on his face in response, just the smallest curve of his mouth to match the soft look Bdubs fixes him with. Bdubs’ hands come up to cup his face, drawing his head down toward him. Pressing his lips to the space between Etho’s eyebrows, Bdubs kisses him, sighing through his nose, leaning against his forehead as he pulls his lips away. Etho’s hands reach to find any point of contact with Bdubs, reaching his knees, pressing his palms to them. He hums under his breath, feeling that warm thing settle more into his chest.

“Damn right it’s good,” Bdubs whispers.

Etho’ll have to fix that communication disk one way or another. But for now, he can sit with Bdubs resting here, despite how short, how much of a fraction of a moment that is. Etho can’t help but laugh.

At least he has this, for now.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mcyt #mcyt fic #fics #text #spacer au #sen au #stretching endless night #now with a new title!#rghrghrhgbrghrh they make me so so so crazy i forgot how much i love love ethubs #i always forget until open spacer to start working on it

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methed-up-marxist · 1 year ago

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This is my reading of the first chapter of the first book of a multi-media project I've been working on for over a year now but hoping to resume making serious progress on. It's about how the boy i had a crush on in secondary was really mean to me, about being physically disabled and loving football in primary and ofc about the relationship between militarism, autism and the body aswell as how I really love stupid sci-fi shit. I'm sure you've seen me post some aspect of it before and ignored it, and if you tried to read it but got bounced off by the clunky grammar and tone, but if you would ever engage with it I encourage you to engage with this - I think I've made something atleast exciting to listen to and genereally more clean in purpouse. Most direct influences are starship troopers, "queer new wave" or whatever and warhammer 40k. This is really important to me and if u consider me important to u I'd really recommend giving it a go. Below the readmore is the first 3 paragraphs, to access a transcript of whole thing and read along click the hyperlink

“WAKE UP, WAKE UP THIS IS A DRILL, I REPEAT THIS IS A DRILL” the 2am drill alarm rang out through the barracks. “I guess it’s drill time” thought Fuckjaw to himself as he rubbed his eyes and slowly swung his legs around so they hung off the bed. “I love drill time” he murmured to himself. “I know you do” came the voice from the bottom bunk, that was Shitarm and Fuckjaw would’ve done anything he could to have been waking up in the same bunk as him, but the rule was one marine per bunk and if Fuckjaw liked anything more than cuddling marines he liked rules. Tragically the rule was part of a larger collection of regulations, guidelines and dictates known as the parameter protocols designed to prevent any affection getting out of hand. “Do you feel we talk too much?” Asked Shitarm as they put their armour on, the alarm blaring constantly. “Well you definitely do” Fuckjaw responded, gently helping him place his helmet on. They weren’t allowed real power armour for training, the barracks coup near the start of the war had made sure of that, and the pliability of the far weaker plastic made it possible to feel the hole in the back of Shitarm's skull where a bug had skewered him last year. Both of them sunk their shoulders in a despondent recognition, but they had agreed not to talk about it. The rest of the room was going about much the same. The armour, even its weaker version, was too cumbersome to put on alone. Formally the protocols insisted no one help another put on his equipment, but you try to find room in the budget to put an armour-equipper in every bedroom.

Marching, albeit with little care for pacing or formation, out to the training arena revealed the same wide open space as usual. Grey fortification-like walls lined the perimeter while the area was little more than a sand pit filled with target ranges and cabinets holding guns, knives and the remnants of first aid kits. In all honesty it was a deeply impractical arrangement, the corridor through which they had marched was the only point of access to the arena and yet the targets mostly lined the space near the entrance/exit (many people had been accidentally shot upon entrance/exit) while the cabinets sat on the far side in the middle of it all stood instructor Verbnoun. Verbnoun barked at them as soon as the first two of their formation set foot on the sand "Decaysquad! Line up against that wall: the drill was not a drill, I repeat the drill was not a drill". As the squad fanned out and stood with their backs fast against the wall, exactly an arms length plus just a little bit more apart from each other, their minds raced with questions. This was explicitly a training camp for injured marines. "We woke you up last, given your undiagnosed damages” the barking continued, although "undiagnosed" is a cumbersome and hard word to yell even for a man as used to yelling as Verbnoun and it stumbled out of his mouth. "The city is under attack" he continued, less loud now clearly embarrassed by his difficulty with the word 'undiagnosed', “obviously we don't trust you right next to the bugs but conveniently… almost too conveniently” he muttered suspiciously “we have 6 turrets that we need the 12 of you to operate”. Lieutenant Fuckjaw couldn’t restrain himself in the immediacy of his correction “it's not a coincidence sir!!! the turret batteries are designed to be operated by one squad in an emergency” he blurted out as quickly as he could, already covering his mouth with his hand in apology before he had finished the sentence. The gesture was itself pointless, the communication module of the armour was located in the chest due to its clunky nature, but Verbnoun’s embarrassment led him to accept it as sufficient apology and simply point to the turret battery sitting on the far side of the base with a subdued “get going”.

Back into the entrance/exit corridor they ran, a glance back to the closing door showed a frantic instructor yelling into his mic as the two diagonal metal panes finally slammed shut meeting in the middle. “What do you think he’s doing?” Shitarm asked, looking to Fuckjaw as well as one can while running. Before there was a chance to respond, sergeant Exilethroat yelled back from the front of their formation “he’s doing his job, which is exactly what you should be doing”. He always was a bossy little bitch, that’s why they made him sergeant. Barreling through the absolutely empty military industrial complex (complex like the building) would have most likely been a deeply eerie experience, if there had been someone to turn off the 2am drill alarm. The bugs always attacked at night, or at least they did following the breeding accords [of (date)] signed with the bats - echolocation was a distinct advantage in the dark. Arriving now at the turret battery entrance after a good 20 minute run, the newer members of the squad were visibly exhausted, used to the mechanised armour doing most of their running for them. Fuckjaw and Shitarm always ran up the back, their war torn bodies a threat of embarrassment to anyone who found themselves struggling to keep their distance. They huddled into the elevator to take them up to the controls. It was a service elevator, the exact same one used in the construction of the tower the controls were at the top of in fact. With each step someone took they felt it move gently, then creak slightly less gently. There was piss on the floor and frankly it could've been the piss of the person who built the thing. As it only went between two floors the control panel was just a cracked little glass button - press to go up if you're down and down if you're up. Pressing it began the ascent and every bump or wobble as it moved up rippled through the marines, armour clanking together. Fuckjaw’s arms dropped to his sides, trying to make himself as small as possible and while he couldn't get a proper look through the needlessly large shoulder pads that displayed their rank and squad he was sure he felt the pressure of Shitarm’s hand pressed against him.

#Bandcamp

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possuminnit · 4 months ago

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you should tell me about your oc quinn :3

LETS GO !. ok urmmer right so i dont know how much ive really talked about quinns (and melek's universe by proxy) but the whole idea is that its just absolutely gone, again imagine wall-e universe, thats kinda what its like for hers. shes the only 'living' left wandering around but shes like, really old, shes not a really high-tech robot for the universe and really shes sort of scrappy, even if it doesnt seem that wayy... its really surprising that she even functions still, she does regular updates (as she calls it, but it doesnt really update her, just makes sure everything works in a way to keep her working) by hooking herself up to where she woke up, she has to attach a bunch of pipes to her and a system boots up and does all the work for her. its kinda ,very clunky and a mess and half the time it takes the system and hour before it can even process quinn is attached to it. but like it works so she just lives with it and hopes with all her non-existent heart that it doesnt break. ALSO like wall-e, she has a little place where she stores trinkets from humans, she has books too but a lot are unusable or missing chunks of pages, but some she can read (and has). she has a collection of cigarette boxes too, some with a few scattered in them

#she doesnt really get whyyy shes so attached to cigarettes #but i like to think its because whoever made her always smoked them #and somehow without realizing it she connected that aspect to being alive and human #asks! <3 #thinkingabout-girls #oc: quinn #possums.ocs

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loveforcarmen · 10 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 - CH. 1

- 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 | - 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳

NOTE: new chapters will always be posted on wattpad first!

| please let me know your thoughts on this chapter once you finish, thank you!!

MARGARET ADLER'S life had revolved around food since her birth. Her mother owned a small restaurant in Northern California called, Beatrice's Diner. That place was her second home up until her mother's passing.

Shortly after the funeral, her father flipped and sold the land the diner was on, packed everything up and moved back to his home town of Chicago, Illinois with Margaret.

Their new apartment was cold. Empty. It lacked the warmth that her mother provided through her paintings and photographs she had framed around their California home. There was not a family photo around the house. It hurt her father too much to even see his late wife's face.

There was never the pleasant smell of homemade food wafting through the house, just whatever canned items her father picked up along with his 12 pack that would be gone the next morning. Margaret tried her best to master her mother's recipes from her cookbook but always fell short from the lack of ingredients or her father getting drunkenly involved in her cooking process, sabotaging it without meaning to.

Margaret grew up resenting her father.

"God, I hope this is the right address." Margaret muttered as she approached the sign that read "The Original Beef of Chicagoland". The restaurant had clearly been established for a while or was just kept poorly.

Or both.

She pushed the door open, the hinges squealing slightly. The bell above the door rung as she stepped inside. Sydney sat slumped over the register, but perked up at the sound.

"You must be Margaret?" she asked, pointing at her with a pen. Sydney walked around counter to meet Margaret. She wore the standard outfit, a white tee with black slacks paired with a blue apron. She extended her hand out and Margaret took it, giving it a firm shake.

A loud crash came from the kitchen followed by a male voice yelling, "Fuck"

"Um.." Sydney scratched the back of her neck, "Just ignore that. That's Richie." Her pen waved around in her hand as she spoke, "Your application looked great; we're going to show you the ropes today so you can hopefully start tomorrow."

She began to walk to the kitchen and Margaret took this as her que to follow. The kitchen was bustling as everyone was getting ready for the lunch hour rush. It was loud. Exciting.

"We'll just teach you the basics today, like procedures - behind!!" Sydney called out loudly as she walked around a short woman, "That's Tina." she pointed behind her at the woman. "As i was saying, like procedures and stuff." she finished her sentence as they moved away from the kitchen.

They rounded the corner to the 2 rows of lockers in the back. They weren't very big at all, just wide enough to fit a pair of shoes side by side. There was billions of post-its and reminders on the sides of the both lockers.

"Go ahead and pick a locker, doesn't matter." Sydney laughed, "Well it does matter, don't take a locker that's obviously claimed." she smacked her pen repeatedly on her palm.

Margaret winked, "Got it." She picked the locker at the end of the row and set her worn leather coat and beige tote bag on the hooks. She closed it, but the door swung back open. She tried again and got the same result.

Sydney interjected, "Oh that one does that all the time, you just got to.." she lined her foot up with the bottom, giving it a swift kick, "kick it towards the bottom." Margaret looked down and saw the dents from others in the past doing the same.

Sydney continued to show her around the kitchen, telling her tips on how to get the clunky kitchenware to work, advice on what not to do. "I learned that from experience." she would say every once and awhile. She introduced Margaret to the rest of the family, and they all took immediate liking to her despite her being an outsider in their world.

Well everyone but one took an immediate liking to her. Except Carmen Berzatto.

"Carmen," Sydney caught his arm, stopping him, "This is our newest hire, Margaret." Carmen turned back around, irritated. The front of his apron was stained with some type of red sauce, if Margaret had to guess.

Carmen looking at Margaret through the corner of his eye. She was on the smaller side, just below his shoulder. She wore a green, knit top paired with blue denim jeans with 2 red stars on each ass-cheek. Her outfit was completed with her blonde, curly but unkept hair.

"Nice to meet you Margaret," he looked at her with his annoyed expression, then back at Sydney, "Can I go? I got something to take care of."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Sydney spat, clearly ticked off by his rudeness. Once Carmen was seemingly out of earshot, she leaned over to Margaret, "By take of something, he means have a smoke break." she said quietly.

"I heard that!" Carmen called from the front of the store, before opening the door.

Sydney finished up her small tour of the kitchen, which ended near closing time. "You need help cleaning up? I have no where to be." Margaret asked sweetly at the doorway of the restaurant. That was a lie, she had an Al-Anon meeting to attend but if she was late, it wouldn't be the end of the world. She wanted to make a good impression.

Before Sydney could open her mouth, Carmen butted in, "No, we're fine but thank you." he called from the kitchen. She located him and watched him furiously scrub a pan for 5 more seconds.

"Thanks for the offer. Bye Margaret." Sydney waved her off from the kitchen. Margaret waved back and left with the ding of the door.

"What's her deal?" Carmen asked Sydney as he swept. He held the dustpan with his foot, carefully sweeping the floor contents into it.

Sydney stopped sweeping to look at him, "Who? Margaret?" she put a hand on her hip while the other one held the broom.

Carmen had also stopped sweeping, "Yeah." he paused for a beat, trying to gather his thoughts, "She's just too..."

"Sweet?" Sydney finished for him. Carmen nodded his head then went back to sweeping. He bent over to the pick the dustpan up off the ground. Sydney walked closer to him, "What's wrong with that?"

"She won't last in this environment." He set the broom against the wall and tossed the handheld dustpan into a bucket in the corner, "She seems like a pushover."

He walked to his locker and began to pack his things up for the night. Sydney followed his same actions then walked to her locker. "Just give her a chance, you don't even know her." she threw her jacket on, fluffing the hood up.

"I'm usually right about my assumptions." he gave a sarcastic smile as he closed his locker. He leaned against the wall, waiting for a smart-ass response from Sydney.

Sydney zipped her coat up, "Oh really? What was your assumptions about me when we met?"

"Stubborn." He pushed himself up off the wall then headed out of the restaurant, "Bye Syd!"

"Bye." she said grumbled as she flung her pastel scarf over her neck.

Margaret arrived on the steps on the church for the Al-Anon meeting a little bit early. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. 15 minutes early. She opened the doors quietly, peeking her head in. They were just setting up when she got there.

"Margaret!" the group leader greeted her with an embrace. Margaret offered to help set up for tonights meeting and the leader happily accepted. They set up the chairs in a large circle, taking up half of the space they were allowed in the church. The pool of people slowly started to trickle in as the start time was nearing.

The meeting began, people sharing what they needed to get off their chest for that week. As everyone shared, Margaret scanned the group, looking for new and familiar faces. She was almost through the entire group when she stopped on one.

Carmen sat directly across from her.

He had lost the apron but kept the black slacks and white tee, which was covered by a fleece-lined corduroy jacket. She noticed the red sauce from earlier stained near the collar of his shirt.

The 2 made eye contact by accident, causing both looking away quickly. A minute went by before Carmen suddenly grabbed his backpack and stood up to leave.

"Thank you for joining us Carmen!" The group leader called out. Carmen let out a quick "yup", pushing the church doors open and leaving in what seemed like a hurry.

Why did he leave?

Syndey used the slow morning to show Margaret the system they had installed. She was a quick learner, making mental notes throughout the entire training process then eventually put in charge of prepping the vegetables for tomorrow. Sydney was stationed next to her, in case she needed to ask any immediate questions.

"You know what you're doing, you got it." she reassured.

Throughout the morning, she continuously kept making awkward eye contact with Carmen. When 3:30 rolled around, Margaret excused herself to take her break. She walked out the back door, unaware of Carmen's eyes watching her as she left. He noticed her white shirt was too big for her, most likely one of the extra ones from the back.

If they were on speaking terms, he would've ridiculed her.

Margaret sat down on the wooden crates near the door drawing in a deep breath. She rested her head in her hands as memories of her mother played through her head like a movie. Being back in the kitchen like that reminded her all too much the diner. She lifted her head up, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears welling in her eyes, repeatedly smoothing her apron to try and calm herself down. She stood up just as Carmen had walked out to take his smoke break.

"Hey." she greeted him. He swiftly walked past her, mumbling a "hi" back as he pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it a few times before it finally caught. There was a long beat of silence before Margaret spoke, "Who was it for you?" she asked, one hand on the door. Her question certainly caught Carmen off guard.

He turned around, wanting to confirm what he just heard, "Excuse me?" he took in a long draw of his cigarette as he waited for her to ask the question again. He watched as she delicately tucked a piece of floppy hair behind her ear.

She cleared her throat, "I saw you at the meeting. Who was it for you?" she asked again, but with less confidence.

Carmen shook his head and turned back around, "Can't a man have a fucking cigarette in peace?" he said, blowing the smoke from his lungs. Margaret huffed and went back inside, annoyed by his response.

Once he heard to door shut, he relaxed. Carmen could feel his heart beating faster as memories of his brother ran through his head. He lifted the cigarette to his lips with a shaky hand, taking one last inhale. He flicked the butt on the ground, exhaled and crushed it with the toe of his shoe.

He ran his hand through his hair, breathing deeply and counting down from 10.

"Why is Carmen so complicated?" Margaret asked as she washed her hands. She grabbed the striped towel above her to dry her hands.

Sydney sighed, "That's just Carmy. It's always a guessing game when it comes to his mood."

"Carmy?" she recited as she returned to her station, picking up her knife. She delicately diced the remaining onions on the cutting board, pushing them aside to put away later.

Sydney turned around to stir her boil, "Yeah, Carmy is his nickname. Pretty much everyone uses it. Except Richie. Richie calls him 'Cousin.' I would suggest calling him Carmen for now, I don't think you're at the 'Carmy' level yet." Sydney added, making finger quotations.

Richie's voice cut Margaret off before she could answer, "Margaret, register!" he called from somewhere in the front. Margaret walked to the front, almost bumping into Carmen, who was coming back from in his smoke break.

"Sorry chef." she apologized and kept walking. Carmen just shook his head at her, walking back to his station. He was still ticked off from her question from earlier.

"Who asks a complete stranger that?" he thought to himself, as he took the meat out from the oven. "Fucking ridiculous." he said outloud.

Margaret sped-walked to the front, but Richie stopped her before she reached the register, "Can I call you 'Marge'? It's just that 'Margaret takes too long to say and 'Marge' is just easier, you know?" Richie asked.

"Um yeah, that's fine." she said as she walked over to the register. She turned back to the customer, "Hi, what can I get you?" she greeted him with smile.

"I didn't like my meal, I want a refund for it." he demanded. He was a larger man, both in weight and height.

"Well, you finished the meal sir, we can't give you a refund." she said, starting to grow anxious.

The man slammed his hand down on the counter, "Listen bitch, I asked for a refund so I'm getting my refund."

Margaret felt her nose sting as she looked over at Richie for help. He shook his head and silently encouraged her to figure it out herself. She turned back to the customer, "If you had something to give back to us, we could've given you a refund-" her voice wavered as she was cut off.

"I want my $9 back, fucking now!" he yelled. Richie set down the label maker and walked over to the register.

“Sir, you can’t get a refund. You ate the entire meal.” he stated, clearly annoyed. His italian accent grew thinker with each word.

The man looked at Richie, then Margaret, then back at Richie. He scoffed, "I don't have time for this," and turned around to leave.

Margaret sighed, resting against the counter. "You okay, Margy?" Richie rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair out of her face, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks Richie. But a nickname for my nickname?” They both laughed at that as Richie backed over to whatever project he was working on.

Carmen had watched the whole incident from afar.

"Margaret, a word." he called her back to the kitchen. She excused herself from Richie, then went to follow Carmen to his office. She walked into his office, which seemed like a large closet with shelving. There was piles of manila folders with papers sticking out of them that read "overdue", "rejected", etc.

"Sit down." he motioned to the chair in front of her. He stood against the wall, with his arms crossed. She timidly sat down, not knowing what to expect from him. She picked at her fingernails as she waited for him to finally speak.

"Why'd you get into this buisness?" he finally asked her. He kept his hard stare on her the entire time. She parted her lips to speak but nothing came out. "What was that?" he asked. She cocked her head slightly, not understanding what he was talking about. "At the register." he clarified.

"There was a customer-" she started but was cut off by him. She bit down on her lip to refrain from saying something rude.

Carmen pushed himself off the wall, "You let him walk all over you. Richie had to fucking step in." he said as he walked to the doorway.

"He didn't walk all over me." Margaret disagreed. Her back was turned to him, so she was not able to see his reaction.

He stopped, turning around to look at her, "If you can't hold your own, maybe this isn't the place for you, California." he said. He hit the doorway twice then left, leaving Margaret with her thoughts.

END

AU: so what did we think of the chapter?? like or dislike? i’ll post ch2 in a couple hours on here but it’s already on wattpad @littlesadcowgirl

#carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto the bear #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #carmy x nyc chef #carmy x fem!reader #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic

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