#the other chapters are already up on ao3 but i might post them like this on here too

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[imogenkol]

Pairing: Imogen Kol (oc) x Bix Caleen Word Count: 2,941 Rating: Mature (18+) Warnings: casual sex implied, jealousy, possessiveness Tags: Repressed feelings, angst Read it on Ao3!

Summary: A former Imperial Inquisitor struggles with the deepening feelings she has for a mechanic from Ferrix.

Imogen Kol sauntered into the salyard as if she owned it. The cold, misted breeze of Ferrix blew through the elegant wave of her light brunette hair. Scrappers paused to watch her pass by like they always did when she paid the planet a visit. Their fear rippled through the Force to prickle at her senses and she hid a smirk. Perhaps it was the look in her stormy gray eyes – the perpetual scowl that creased her brow. Or the way she carried herself. Nothing else about her stood out, she made sure of it. Her mechanical leg had been hidden by dark layers of clothing and knee high boots. No one had ever seen her touch the blaster at her hip, much less wield the blood-red saber hidden in her tattered cloak. Yet they all knew exactly how dangerous she was. Her pace turned casual just to bask in it a little longer.

Following the distinct sounds of crackling sparks, Imogen found the mechanic right where she expected her to be. Bix crouched beside a suspended engine, face hidden behind a welder’s mask as she tinkered with the massive piece of machinery. Imogen took the opportunity of distraction to silently wander around her workshop. She picked up random spare parts or inspected tools with varying disinterest, taking her time and sneaking glances at the other woman.

“Do you have my parts?” she finally asked.

“Do you have my credits?” Bix replied like she knew Imogen had been there the entire time. She didn’t even bother to look up.

Her smirk may not have been hidden this time, but luckily Bix was too busy to notice. Imogen enjoyed the snarky game they played with each other – the challenge the mechanic always presented her without the trepidation everyone else showed. “You know I do.”

Bix straightened and pulled her mask off. Her dark hair had been tied back in a couple of messy braids, though a few loose strands fell over her tanned features. An apathetic expression met Imogen, which only privately amused the bounty hunter even more. “Then follow me.”

Imogen did as she was told, trailing close behind as Bix led her out of the garage. “You kept me waiting.”

“Moving contraband takes time,” Bix said plainly, as it was a sentence she’s had to repeat several times in the past.

“This is a salvage yard,” Imogen grumbled. “How will they miss a few extra parts?”

Bix threw her an annoyed look. “You don’t want circuits and regulators, you want combat modules modified to be installed in a custom yacht. That kind of order can tip the wrong people off.”

“I also requested a new microvalve.”

“At my suggestion because yours is defective. It takes time to gather a bundle of Imperial-grade parts without getting caught or –”

“Alright, I get it,” Imogen snapped.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get what you pay for,” Bix assured her.

They arrived in a musty storage room where countless large containers overflowing with scrap were placed and stacked seemingly without any rhyme or reason, but Bix knew exactly which bin to approach. She flipped open the lid and nodded at its contents.

“Everything’s in there. Let me know if it’s to your liking.”

Imogen stepped forward to inspect the parts she intended to purchase. Bix hadn’t been lying, she’d get exactly what she paid for. Imperial tech was top of the line and the brand new shiny parts reflected the pompous arrogance of the Empire. If they wouldn’t settle for less than pristine equipment, then why should Imogen? Especially since they’d been pestering her more often. She would make that their problem now.

The sound of an intruder caused Imogen’s head to snap in the direction of the whooshing door. A man with close cropped light brown hair and stubble entered the room, his longing gaze immediately locked on Bix. “Oh, there you are.”

Bix didn’t look half as irritated at the interruption as Imogen. “What do you need, Timm?” she asked. “I’m doing business.”

Timm eyed Imogen, but shrugged off her glare. Fool. “A few of us are gathering at Cavo’s later to watch the pod races. I was wondering if you wanted to join. There’s bets going around.”

Bix nodded. “Sure.”

“Fantastic. See you then,” Timm said with a much too fond grin for Imogen’s liking before leaving the two women.

“He likes you,” Imogen stated flatly.

“I know.”

She studied the mechanic’s face at the sound of her lightened tone. Bix’s features softened every so slightly in the direction of the door. Disgust boiled in Imogen’s chest as her upper lip twitched. “Do you like him?”

Bix’s rich brown eyes met Imogen’s. She studied her sharp features, the scowl creasing her brow, and eventually flicked her gaze down to her lips. The mechanic’s mouth flashed the briefest smirk – so quick and subtle that Imogen would have missed it if she blinked. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments.”

Every muscle in Imogen’s body suddenly coiled with rage. “Careful,” she whispered dangerously.

Bix took that as a challenge and invaded Imogen’s space. “There’s no such thing with you.”

“I haven’t been a Jedi for fifteen years.”

“You still have that lightsaber on your belt.” Bix reached a hand out towards her waist.

Imogen snatched her wrist hard. “It is not a Jedi weapon.”

Bix stared into the steel cold eyes of a ruthless hunter, yet she didn’t so much as flinch. “No, you used it to kill Jedi. But you’re not an Inquisitor anymore either. So, why keep it?”

If she still had any claim to that occupation, this line of questioning would have caused Imogen to cut the mechanic down without a second thought. However, just like the constantly shifting circumstances in the galaxy, Imogen changed as well. She utilized unpredictability to not only survive as long as she has, but to thrive. No matter how bold Bix became, Imogen realized she preferred her alive.

“Your credits are on my ship.” Imogen’s tone became calm and measured as she released Bix from her grasp. “I’ll pay you extra if you help me install the parts.”

“Don’t bother.” Bix glanced down at Imogen’s mouth again. “I’ll do it for free.”

“Free? ” she asked incredulously.

“What, you think I’d let you do it? After your botched job last time? The Huntress is as much mine as it is yours for all the work I’ve put into it. It kills me to see what you do to her while you're away.”

The implication that any of Imogen’s efforts were less than perfect stirred her anger once more. “If you dropped everything and ran to the other side of the galaxy, I’d be able to find you in less than a week.”

“Exactly,” Bix remarked and turned her back on the former Inquisitor. She shot a beckoning look over her shoulder, utterly unbothered by the simmering expression that pierced through her. Imogen followed again. “You’re good at hunting. I’m good at fixing ships. Let’s not get our roles mixed up.”

When she started in the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, Imogen rolled with a gunship just slightly above scrap. The guns jammed. The hull creaked. The tracking modules were inaccurate. She traded it in for scrap the first chance she got. One of her higher end bounties owned a space yacht – modest than most and perfectly unassuming. It took a few years, but with Bix’s help, she managed to customize it to hold bounties, cargo, and both defensive and offensive capabilities.

Colored a silver chrome with red accents and nothing but sleek angles and graceful wings, the ship had been dubbed The Crimson Huntress.

Whenever Bix did work on the ship, she refused to let Imogen do much other than pass her tools. Relinquishing control of her property provoked Imogen’s ire more than anything else, but the mechanic had a way of disarming her. Perhaps it had something to do with the view Imogen got to sit back and appreciate. Watching the deft confidence of Bix’s hands as they switched wires and attached screws admittedly fascinated Imogen. That and the loose strands of hair that Bix gave up on brushing back a while ago. They caressed her cheekbones and just barely brushed the corner of her mouth.

“You know I don’t like it when you watch me work,” Bix complained without looking up. “It’s distracting.”

“You should be grateful. I can be a lot more distracting than this,” Imogen quipped. She reached out from several feet away and flicked her fingers. An invisible force plucked a soldering tool out of Bix’s hand.

Her eyes rolled with her head as she snatched it out of the air. “Do you want me to get this done or not?”

“I’m in no rush,” Imogen answered nonchalantly. “But you do have a very important pod race to get to, don’t you?”

The condescending remark caused Bix to toss her tools down on the floor of the ship with a few metal clangs. A devious smile came across Imogen’s face as she watched the mechanic advance towards her. Their lips crashed into each other in a sudden and fervent cadence. Like always, it sent Imogen’s mind spinning and awakened a craving that utterly consumed her. A craving she felt the first moment she laid eyes on Bix. It tugged at her impulses and desires in a similar way to the Dark Side – only, surrendering herself to the temptation of this woman didn’t turn Imogen into anything other than herself.

Bix abruptly pulled back to hiss “This is the last time, you hear me?”

“I’ve heard you every time you’ve said it,” Imogen mused. Her hand came up to caress Bix’s cheek, her thumb charting a course from one lonely freckle to another. Then her fingers slowly dragged down to the woman’s neck where her hand wrapped around her throat. Imogen gave her a gentle squeeze. “But that one sounded like an order.”

“I’m serious this time,” Bix told her with uneven breath as she reached for Imogen’s belt.

Imogen hummed and pushed her against the wall she had been working on. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you go to Timm after we’re done.”

The weapons belt clattered on the floor next to the discarded tools. “He’s sweet.”

“How boring,” Imogen murmured and turned Bix’s head to expose her neck.

If Imogen had to give up her mechanic to a man, then she’d be sure to leave her mark. With a persistent, possessive hunger, she parted her lips and planted them on the spot where Bix’s pulse drummed the hardest. Imogen pressed herself into her and raked her teeth across the sensitive skin, relishing the quiet whimper that graced her ears. Bix had her own methods, plunging an assertive hand down the front of Imogen’s pants. The two of them writhed in tandem with each other, their shared noises of pleasure filling the cabin of the ship.

Some time later, they found themselves sharing space on the ship’s comfortable cot, totally spent. Imogen silently admired the marks she left on Bix’s tanned skin. The most noticeable formed just above the base of her graceful neck. Imogen never considered herself affectionate, but she couldn’t stop from reaching out to brush the back of her fingers down the slope of Bix’s neck and across her shoulder. It felt odd to indulge in such a candid touch, but Bix released a hum of satisfaction that filled Imogen’s chest with a slightly warm sensation.

But Bix’s gaze seemed determined not to meet Imogen’s. “You didn’t answer me.”

“About what?” Imogen asked.

“The lightsaber.”

Imogen’s eyes drifted to where it sat on the floor still attached to her utility belt. Its sleek handle caught the light, beckoning its wielder to put it to grim use. “It’s an effective weapon.”

“It’s a beacon,” Bix corrected. “For someone who likes to hide, you sure do make a name for yourself.”

“It’s a delicate balance.” Just like everything else, Imogen thought. Light. Dark. Shadows. Exposed. Wrathful. Merciful. Whatever suited her needs. Whatever she felt like, really.

Off in the distance, a bell rang to signal the end of the work day. Bix finally stirred out of the cot to retrieve her few stray articles of clothing. “I need to finish up here.”

“Or I could get a room at the hotel,” Imogen suggested as she propped her head up on her hand. A huge part of her believed Bix when she said this would be the last time. It dawned on Imogen as she watched the mechanic prepare to leave her that she actually hated the concept. And she wasn’t one to surrender anything easily. “I’ll go to Cavo’s with you. I may have credits I could burn on bets, not that I’d lose.”

Bix scoffed humorlessly and shook her head, still refusing to look at the other woman.

Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“If you wanted me to be yours, you should have asked a long time ago, Imogen.”

Here she thought only force users could sense intentions. Imogen scowled deeply and got to her feet, her movements measured. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone showed interest in me and you now can’t stand it,” Bix accused as she shrugged her vest on. “For the first time, you’re jealous. Instead of admitting to it, you want to act like you own me.”

“So what? You’ve never had a problem with that before.” Imogen grabbed her belt from the floor and strapped it back into place on her hips. Having the saber where it should be fortified her confidence. “I have never forced you into anything.”

“No. You haven’t. I’m admitting that.” Bix closed the distance between them, finally piercing the bounty hunter with an intense stare. Imogen went as still as the statues she used to pass by in the Jedi Temple as a child. “You know what I see? I see someone tripping over the roots of their past while trying to run from them.”

The ship rumbled with Imogen’s fast rising fury, but her voice was eerily calm. “You do not know me.”

Yet again, Bix stood unfazed when faced with one of the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy. “I know you better than anyone alive, I bet. You want more than this? Take it. And be honest about it.”

Imogen got the impression Bix wasn’t only referring to herself. Jedi. Inquisitor. Bounty Hunter. No matter how many titles she claimed, Imogen still felt a void within her. In fact, the emptiness seemed to grow more vast in her chest over the years. As a child, fear governed the void, and it was fear that allowed others to control her. Once fear got too tedious, Imogen replaced it with rage and learned that the more she stoked the fire of fury, the more she could control fear – not just her own. But the void remained. Always remained.

Did she want more? Yes.

She studied the mechanic from Ferrix. Bix’s eyes were as rich and warm as darkly brewed caf. Her smooth-skinned features decorated with a sporadic sprinkling of a few beauty marks. Full lips pursed in the stubborn glare Imogen had grown so familiar with. Something akin to pain pinched Imogen’s gut as she realized she couldn’t recall what her genuine smile looked like.

Yes. Imogen wanted her, too.

With the most gentle touch she was capable of giving anyone or anything – more gentle than even she thought she could be, Imogen reached up and rested her hand against Bix’s cheek. Miraculously, the glare gave way to parted lips, and a delicate breath graced Imogen’s skin. She finally allowed herself to feel the warmth seeping into her palm. That warmth traveled up her arm and into her chest. For a single heartbeat, it felt like the void shrunk the smallest amount.

“You don’t want this,” Imogen whispered softly.

“You’re wrong,” Bix replied, her hand carefully wrapping around Imogen’s wrist like she feared the other woman might disappear.

Imogen loved to take. Whether it was money, ships, bounties, or lives. Taking was second nature to her by now. The Jedi forced her to give everything she had up until the moment she plunged her blade into her own master. She never thought to give willingly. She didn’t know if she had it in her. Bix had a puzzling emotion in her expression that took a few moments for Imogen to decipher, but she soon saw the vulnerability on display for her. That is what giving is – surrender. Weakness. These were utterly foreign notions to Imogen.

Maybe she could try for the sake of her desire. Maybe that would finally reduce the emptiness.

She tilted Bix’s head down enough to place a chaste kiss to her forehead. Imogen held them there to soak in the sensations of such a strange form of affection. She found she liked everything from Bix’s scent to the heat against her lips.

The void hadn’t grown smaller, she noticed. It was filling up.

Imogen took a deep breath and pulled back to rest their foreheads together. “Finish up your work here… and then you will never have to see me again.”

“Imogen,” Bix gasped. The hurt in her voice cut through the former Jedi more than expected.

She needed this very moment to understand it. Imogen couldn’t bring herself to give any more than she could bring herself to take from the mechanic. But she had it in her to be willingly selfless for the very first time in her life. Just this once. Imogen broke all contact with Bix and stepped away. “You’ll thank me later.”

[atzloverr]

My favorite fics/blogs!!!

(multifandom)

The answer by @berryunho

this might me by favorite ateez fic y’all… It’s literally so GOOOODDDDD I’m obsessed… (atz x reader, cult au)

@freyaphoria

this entire blog is everything !! (never stop posting girl your stories are amazing) lovely yandere atz x reader stories

@yankpop

A blog with lots of yan bts x reader and I’m here for it!

Abundance by @angelicyoongie

ot7 hybrid bts x reader, I’m literally obsessed with this story and I still hope that the author picks it up again 😭

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea

(ao3) LOVE this ot8 ateez x reader fic!! The story is so good I’ve literally cried reading it…

Polarity

(ao3) yandere Jungkook x reader. I don’t need to say more. Read it.

The obsidian pearl by @angelicyoongie

yandere mermaid!Seokjin x reader, only a few chapters, but still amazing!!!

Complete

(wattpad) I don’t know how many times I’ve reread this story… It’s my comfort fic i think😭 a bts x reader soulmate au fic.

The four kingdoms

(wattpad) another AMAZING bts x reader story. This fic is the first part of the “blue eyes” series, and I’ve read all four parts like a million times… The following parts:

pyramids, dynasty, mist (mist isn’t finished)

Seven sins

(wattpad) seven deadly sins!bts x reader.

Blood ink

(wattpad) tattoo artist!Jungkook x reader, gang au

Circus by @lani-heart

A sweet (and angsty) fic about ot8 hybrid!ateez x reader!!! I highly recommend it! (ongoing)

@cheollipop

suuuuuch a good blog, has atz x reader and some svt x reader

@angelicyoongie

Amazing bts x reader stories!!! (two of them are mentioned in this post lol)

@xosannie

lovely nsfw ateez x reader, I’m so happy I found this blog likeeee, obsessed with their work dirty little secret (mingi x reader)

Guerilla by @sorryimananti-romantic

serial killer!Yunho x reader, literally obsessed with this and their entire blog!!!! And I’m Yunho biased so this hit the spot

@bro-atz

One of if not THE best atz nsfw x reader fics… Literal art, go follow right now!!!

Heavy and sticky by @k-hotchoisan

some filthy Seonghwa x reader smut!!!

When flowers bloom in the dark by @makeitmingi

Already so invested in this mafia au Hongjoong x reader story. It’s sooo good

Atz as boyfriends (nsfw ver) by @sorryimananti-romantic and @eightmakesonebraincell

explicit ateez ot8 headcannons (I’m obsessed)

The feral drabbles by @mint-yooxgi

Ateez (and skz but I haven’t read) x reader one-shots/drabbles!!! Includes darker themes (yandere), and omg this writing is so good!!!

@last-words-ofashootingstar

such good ateez x reader fics and drabbles!!! this blog has yandere content as well! Love their work allure

@gyupinkys

amazing svt x reader and atz x reader!!! I love their work like crazy (yandere Seonghwa x reader)

Our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom by @eightmakesonebraincell

poly ot8 atz x reader and ice hockey au, I literally died when reading this the writing is insanely good

Mist of celeste

(ao3) craziest read in my life. Space pirates atz x reader and this is a literary masterpiece. Read. It.

@holybibly

THE ONE AND ONLY QUEEN (atz x reader)

Sentinent by @trivia-yandere

(Oneshot) Yandere android namjoon x reader, omg I am obsessed with this and the author’s other works!!

Bloodline

(ao3) INSANE READ. I literally pray to god that this ot8 atz x reader story continues!!!

I’ll update this post if I find new works that I enjoy!

my masterlist

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Several therapeutic white boards were drawn on. Everyone reading was so good and normal about it. So were the characters, presumably.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Additionally: apologies to Adwen and Allmune on ao3, to whom I directly said I wouldn't do this; I lied. (Whoopsie).

Also additionally: Bonus fic snippet you may have missed

💚👻👽👻💚

“Are you hungry?” Danny’s new therapist asks, her fingers playing with her pen.

Danny shrugs.

Pretty quickly, they’d figured out that these sessions went…worse…when Danny was hungry. Hunger makes him upset. Being upset makes him want to speak less. Not talking ruins the whole affair.

“Want to talk?”

Danny shakes his head, and sprawls out onto the couch—he’s allowed to basically position himself however he feels comfortable in the room, and if he has a choice, he’d rather just hang out horizontal. Does it make getting back into his chair harder? Yes. Is there a lady with super strength right outside his the office door who is willing to pick him up at a moment’s notice? Also yes.

(It’s kind of silly, but, if his legs ever stop feeling so sore…Danny is. Well.)

(He’s kind of curious how tall he’d be if Diana held him piggyback.)

“Want to draw? Paint?”

Drawing is a high-stress activity. Danny tends to default to memories when he draws these days, and he’d rather not think about that right now. Finger-painting is another option, but it’s pretty messy…even if it would be fun…

Danny’s therapist (?) (he's pretty sure that’s what she is?) is a blonde woman, with a quiet face and piercing eyes. She’d probably be less intimidating if they knew each other’s language, if Danny’s being honest; usually these types of people try to talk their way out of being intimidating. Instead, Danny sits on her pinstripe couch in unbranded sweatpants and a thin white tee, and she wears a suitjacket over her tights.

It’s all very strange. It’s not more strange than his chaperone’s usual outfit of plate armor and tiara, but still.

“Want the language bócastréon again?”

…Danny hums in thought, hands crossed across his chest. He’s pretty sure they’ve tried building a thing that’ll detect his language, like, three different times by now, but every time it winds up like the Fenton Ghost Gabber: mindlessly repeating his words back to him, unable to make heads or tails on translation. At least these trials don’t end every one of his statements with I am a ghost, fear me.

Oh well. It’s better than nothing. Danny shrugs.

The therapist clicks the machine on from a switchpad at her elbow, and a blue holographic screen fills the air. Danny only spends a little bit of time batting at the display like a cat, watching the light play off his hands for his own amusement.

“Please begin,” the thing says, and the same text pops up on the screen.

“S’up,” Danny tells it, and grins when the little display starts its very, very, long, and very, very familiar, buffering process.

Danny already knows this isn’t going to work. He might as well have fun with it.

He talks about his day, he talks about his old bedroom; he talks about what he had for lunch, toying with one of the sucker-toys he woke up with ages ago even though he doesn’t know who gave them to him. He talks about his friends, because he loves them—not Tuck and Sam, who he’ll miss the rest of his life, but Mikey and Poindexter, and what school had been like for him. Quiet topics. Easy topics.

Normal topics.

…Danny isn’t’ sure he’ll ever have normalcy again, but…remembering it isn’t so bad either. He plays with his weird suction cup toy with both hands and he talks.

“…So I ended up getting stuck without the Speeder like a million zillion miles from the portal. I thought Jazz was going to kill me, since she needed it to take her girlfriend to prom the literal next night, so I had to run around for like forty minutes looking for someone to help me out— but at least Wulf was like ‘Ne estas problemo’ and he helped me sniff out the weird cheese Vlad had left in the center console of the Speeder the week before—“

The box beeps. “Lingvo identigita: Kryptonian.”

Danny bolts upright as fast as his limbs let him.

Danny was never as good as Tucker was with Esperanto, but—  But that’s Esperanto. Danny’s hung out with Wulf long enough, did enough Duodioma with the stupid little muppet bird mascot. The box didn’t call it the right thing, but—

—But—

The therapist looks at Danny, eyes wide. Danny can’t even look at her. He’s too busy staring at the discount-aisle Ghost Gabber.

“Diru ĝin denove,” Danny demands sharply. Say it again.

The screen automatically translates his words as he speaks—in Esperanto, and then into their own language, the two transcriptions populating side by side when Danny speaks.

At this point, the woman’s mouth is open. Danny would be right there with her, but—

Danny sits there, numb.

He has a language. A language that is mostly guesswork on his part and the occasional swears Wulf will teach him as a joke, but, still, a language.

A language made up by a doctor in Poland. In the eighteen…somethings. And these people with superpowers know it. And they know what it is.

And the therapist looks at him, stunned, with new eyes, as if she knows something new about him now.

…What the hell is Kryptonian?

*

There isn’t Kryptonian plural. Danny thought there there might be.

There isn’t.There is pretty much only one.

One. Singular. Kryptonian.

That feels worse, somehow.

*

Notes taken [DATE REDACTED] 2023, 22:37 UTC.

Participants are:

KE: Kal-El of Krypton, Codename: Superman. JD: Patient, John Doe, Codename: N/A. Patient file attached.

Note: Conversation was recorded in Kryptonian. Machine translation has been provided for convenience.

*Addendum: Yeah, I can get Jor-El on this, no problem –Supes

KE: This conversation will be recorded. Are you alright with that? JD: Conver…? KE: (Writing gesture) This talk. JD: Oh! Yes. KE: Good morning. My name is Kal-El, and I am of Kryptonian descent. On Earth, I serve as a protector. My title on Earth is Superman. JD: Superman? KE: Yes. JD: (Laugh) KE: Thank you. May I know your name? JD: (No answer) KE: Take your time. You may decline as well. JD: …I… (Pause). I do not… KE: That is alright. Do you have hobbies? JD: …What? KE: What do you like to do? JD: …I like to learn about space. I like to…when the fast child…we play games? KE: The fast kid? Impulse? JD: Impulse? (Incredulous) KE: That is his title, yes. JD: Why is his name Impulse? That is… Is that an insult? KE: I think he chose it? JD: (Stunned silence) KE: You like space? JD: Y…yes. KE: Tell me about it? JD: Do they not tell you about me? KE: I hear news. I have not met you face to face. JD: (Shrugs) KE: Not since you bit me, anyway? JD: I bit you? (Incredulous) KE: You were injured, and you were scared. I did not mind. JD: I am sorry! It was an accident! (Upset) I did not mean to! I do not remember— KE: It is alright, it is alright! (Placating) JD: (Cries) KE: Hey… (Touches shoulder) Oh, sorry. I should not do that. It is alright. My dog bit me yesterday, and my son bit me the day before. It is alright. You did not hurt me. JD: (Still crying, hard to decipher) You have a dog? KE: Yes! I have a dog! He is also from space. His name is Krypto. Here, I have pictures! (Takes out communicator)

*NOTE: pictures mentioned contain images of Superdog and Superboy(II)

JD: (Still crying) Are you supposed to ask me questions?? I have been here… I have been here for a long time. People want to know about what I am, and where am I from, and what I can do, yes? KE: Well…yes, but there is a lot of time. There is no limit. JD: (Wipes nose.) KE: All I am supposed to ask you today is if you have any allergies. See?

        *NOTE: List of potential allergens has been attached to patient file.

JD: (Takes list from KE) Allergi…? Oh. No. I am… No food makes me sick. I can eat all foods. I cannot take…there is a sick medicine. For a cough. I cannot take that. KE: Good to know! (Alarmed) I’ll tell your doctors. Do you like your doctors? JD: …Yes. (Shyly) They are nice. KE: Wonder Woman says that she already asked if you feel safe. Do you feel safe with your doctors? JD: I do. Everyone here is kind. I eat a lot. I get exercise. We play games. I take breaks. I see space. I do not worry here, unless I get scared by accident. KE: I am…very glad to hear that. (Chokes up.) My son is about half your height. If my son was far away, I would want someone to help him too. We only want to do our best for you, alright? Please tell us if something is wrong. JD: So I can fight? KE: Pardon? JD: I am meant to fight, right? KE: No, no—not fighting. Just healing. And resting. JD: And then after… I am supposed to fight? KE: No. No, not—you don’t have to fight. The only thing we need is for you to be healthy. We don’t need you to fight anyone. JD: Everyone wants me to fight. (Begins stimming with slime) There are many children here. They all fight. I am eventually going to have to fight. I know.

*NOTE: Slime was provided by Medical team for therapeutic use.

KE: (Pause) Who is everyone? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone make you fight, before? Is that why you were injured? JD: (Silence) KE: I am sorry if they did. That is not fair. You are not an adult yet, and even adults should not have to fight unless they enlist purposefully. You are a child. JD: No one thinks I am a child. KE: Who said that? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone hurt you? JD: (Pause) I do not want to talk. KE: Alright. Can you tell me why you do not want to talk? JD: (Silence) KE: Would you like to fight? JD: I am good at fighting. KE: That is not what I asked. JD: There is no choice? When there are bad things and bad people, someone has to fight. I am strong—when I am not injured, I am strong. I fight. There are people who are not strong, and cannot fight. I can fight. I fight. KE: (Silence) JD: This is why you are healing me. KE: (Pause) No, little one. That is not why. JD: (Pause) Oh. (Puts down slime) Am I…am I going to be data again? Are you going to test my body? KE: (Puts face into hands)

[PAGE 1 OF 4]

[Interview is to be reviewed by Black Canary and Dr. Pranathi Russo MD, Pediatric Psychologist.]

*

“It’s bad!” Clark says with a watery smile, because Clark isn’t Superman at the moment—in Bruce’s home office, as private as a place as the world can get, Bruce is only Bruce, and Clark is only Clark.

When Black Canary had suggested that their debrief happen somewhere private where Clark felt safe, Bruce had known that there would be bad news. Still, he pours a mug of coffee that Clark will metabolize all the caffeine out of anyway, and pours a long, thick cup of the stuff for himself, and settles back into his warm leather chair.

“Tell me,” Bruce says, not quite Batman, but not quite Bruce either.

“Bruce, he ‘knows’ we’re going to make him fight. He thinks we’re healing him to be a child soldier.” Clark’s laugh is half joke and half derision. Bruce thinks that he understands. “He thinks we’re keeping him here as—like property, where if we pick up something dumped on the side of the road, we can fix it back up and put it to work. Like an engine, or, or…or like a lawnmower. It’s awful.”

Bruce skips the creamer and goes straight to the Baileys beneath his desk for garnishing.

On the one hand, Dick has been flying out in Gotham since he was a preteen. There had been no question about training him; training was the way one kept their children safe, the same way that Alfred had taught Bruce how to shoot as a child—no matter how much Bruce had loathed it at the time.

On the other hand, Jason’s death plays out in his nightmares in technicolor around…once every few months.

The fires. The flames.

(The alien boy found in a wrecked vehicle outside the Kent farmhouse, curled up in fear.)

Bruce thinks about Damian, and how long it had taken for Damian to understand he could be loved as a child who loved animals, and not a future prince of Gotham.

…Bruce passes the Baileys to Clark.

The Kryptonian won’t absorb any of the alcohol in any meaningful way, but he dumps the remainder of the bottle into his coffee nevertheless.

[seriiousgiirl]

seriiousgiirl

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝑔

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is pathetic once again.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 4 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello dear readers, I hope everyone will love this new chapters! Once again, I don't have enough words to describe how touched I am for your support.

Also, I already said it, but my requests are open, and I love a lot of fandoms, so if you like my writing it would be with pleasure!

➜ ┊: chapter 5/?.

“How’s your new medical dose working, Mr. Sunderland?”

James stared down at the nurse, her voice breaking through his haze of memories. Her smile was wide and sweet, too sweet, as if she didn't know that every time he walked into this place, a little part of him withered. Her uniform was too bright, the walls too clean, the lights too harsh. Everything felt wrong in hospitals—had felt wrong ever since Mary and Silent Hill.  Mary had spent so much time in places like this, the sterile smell of antiseptic clinging to everything, the endless beeps of machines monitoring her slow decline. The sight of her frail body hooked up to wires, her once lively eyes dulled by pain and fatigue, haunted him. He’d hated watching her slip further and further away, hated how helpless it made him feel. 

The hospitals were a graveyard for hope. 

The nurse, unaware or uncaring of his inner turmoil, continued leading him down the long corridor. Every step felt like it was echoing in his head, like the ticking of some inevitable countdown. Her shoes clicked sharply on the polished floor, and with every click, James felt the weight of the place closing in on him. It wasn't just Mary anymore—it was him. He hated these appointments because they made him feel like he was in Mary’s place now, like the sickness had transferred from her body to his mind.

That’s what it was, after all. Mary had been physically ill, but James knew he was sick, too—mentally. 

And that scared him more than anything. 

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, trying to focus on something other than the tightening in his chest. The walls were lined with posters about health and mental well-being, all of them blurring together in a haze of meaningless words. James wasn’t sure how long he’d been feeling this way—restless, broken, angry. He was doing his best to hold it together for Laura. For her, he had to keep moving, keep showing up to these appointments, keep taking the medication that dulled his thoughts just enough so he didn’t lose control. 

He had to. Only God knew what he might do if he didn’t. The memories of Silent Hill still clawed at the edges of his mind, the weight of his actions, of his guilt, always there, just under the surface. 

They reached the end of the corridor, and the nurse stopped outside a door, turning to look at him with that same smile plastered on her face. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing, waiting. He hated it, hated feeling like a patient—like someone broken who needed fixing. “Mr. Sunderland?” she repeated, knocking gently on the door before turning the handle. “The doctor will see you now.”

James stepped inside, the familiar dread rising like bile in his throat. The doctor’s office wasn’t much different from the rest of the hospital—sterile, white, and cold. He could see the file with his name on the desk, his life reduced to a few pages of notes and medical jargon. He hated that, too—how clinical it all was. There was no way to explain what was wrong with him, not really. No dosage of medication could fix the things he’d done, the things he’d seen.

As he sat down, the doctor's soft murmur of greetings barely registered. James’s gaze drifted to the window, the gray sky outside mirroring the weight inside him. He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he had to be, for the last piece of his life that still made sense. 

“James.” The doctor’s voice was calm but probing, pulling him back to the present. “How have you been feeling on the new dose? Any noticeable changes?”

James rubbed his palms against his jeans, trying to think of what to say. What was the point of explaining? The medication didn’t change anything, not really. Sure, it dulled the edges, kept him from spiralling too far into the nightmares, but the weight was still there. The guilt. The grief. The memories of Mary’s final days still haunted him, and now…now there was everything else.

“Same as always,” James muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the window. “It takes the edge off, but...”

He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

The doctor nodded slowly, jotting something down in his file, and James felt that familiar frustration building again. None of this would help—like it hadn’t helped Mary. None of this would take away the memories or the guilt that gnawed at him like a festering wound. The doctor’s voice cut through his thoughts again, calm but firm. “You’re doing this for your daughter, right?”

“Yes,” James nodded slowly, the weight of the conversation pressing on his chest. "I need to be stable for Laura," he muttered, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as the doctor. He didn’t like talking about it. Didn’t like admitting how fragile his grip on things really was. 

But Laura—she needed him, and that was all that mattered… Right?

The doctor, however, leaned forward in his chair, his expression unreadable as he studied James for a moment. Then, in a calm but pointed voice, he interrupted, “Maybe you should be doing this for yourself first, James. Have you ever considered that?”

James opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He stared at the doctor, feeling caught off guard, like the ground beneath him had shifted suddenly. For himself? The thought sounded almost foreign in his mind. What was the point of doing it for himself? Why would it even matter?

His mouth closed again, his throat tightening with the weight of unspoken thoughts. The silence in the room stretched, the question lingering in the air. James hadn’t considered himself in a long time—his needs, his well-being. It seemed almost selfish, like a luxury he didn’t deserve. 

Apart from Y/n. 

He had taken everything from you.

“I…” he finally managed, his voice quieter now, hesitant. “I don’t know what good that would do.”

He shifted in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him. The idea of taking care of himself first felt wrong, unnatural even. His life had revolved around others—around Mary when she was alive, and now around Laura. He barely recognized himself anymore, much less thought about what he needed. The mere suggestion seemed ludicrous.

The doctor’s gaze didn’t waver, his calm persistence chipping away at the walls James had built around himself. "You’re still here, James. Still alive. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? You can’t help anyone if you’re not helping yourself." The doctor let out a long, tired sigh, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of this conversation had become too familiar, too routine. 

“It’s always the same with you, James,” he said, his tone gentle but edged with frustration. “I’ve been seeing you for years now, and there’s been so little improvement. It’s starting to become... alarming.”

James felt his chest tighten at the words, a cold ripple of anxiety spreading through him.Alarming. It echoed in his mind, drawing him back to another time, another place—the same hollow, clinical speeches they had made about Mary when it became clear she wasn’t getting better. That same hopelessness. That same finality.

His pulse quickened. The room seemed to close in around him, the doctor’s words blurring with memories of those sterile hospital rooms, the beeping machines, the pitiful way the nurses would smile at him as if they knew there was nothing left to be done. A lost cause. They had treated Mary like that toward the end, and now they were starting to look at him the same way. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

James’ breath hitched, panic gnawing at the edges of his composure. He tried to stay calm, gripping the arms of the chair as if grounding himself physically would somehow stop the rising tide of fear inside him. But the more he tried to control it, the more his thoughts spiralled. The idea of being a lost cause, of being considered beyond saving—it was unbearable. It felt like a death sentence, only this time it wasn’t just physical. It was his mind. His soul.

“I’m not…” he started, his voice shaky, the panic evident in his eyes as he looked at the doctor. “I’m not dying. I’m not—" His thoughts raced, but the words wouldn’t come out right. He couldn’t find a way to explain how much that idea terrified him.

The doctor leaned forward, his expression softening as he noticed the change in James' demeanour. His brow furrowed with concern as he held up a hand, his voice gentler now. “James, it’s okay. Breathe.” 

James struggled to rein in the panic, his breathing shallow, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn’t get the thought out of his head—the idea of being doomed, of wasting away the way Mary had. It had consumed him once, and now it was rearing its ugly head again.

“I’m not saying you’re a lost cause,” the doctor said quietly, his voice firm yet reassuring. “I don’t think that. I don’t want you to think that either. You’re not Mary, James. This isn’t the same.” He spoke slowly, as if trying to guide James away from the edge of that dark spiral. “You’re not going to die like she did.”

The doctor’s words started to pierce through the fog of panic, though James still felt on edge, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He stared at the floor, struggling to push the thoughts away. 

“You’re here,” the doctor continued softly. “You’re still here, still trying. And that’s what matters. But you’ve got to stop thinking of this as something you can just push through without taking care of yourself.”

James nodded stiffly, still shaken, but the panic was beginning to ebb. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but the doctor’s words had slowed his racing mind. 

The doctor extended his hand, his palm open and expectant. "Your journal, James."

James hesitated for a split second before reaching into his bag and pulling out the worn notebook. It was a simple thing, its pages filled with his scribbled thoughts and confessions, the only place where he could vent the swirling chaos in his head without restraint. His hand shook slightly as he handed it over.

The doctor accepted the journal without a word, flipping it open to where James had left off. For a long, agonising moment, James just sat there, staring at him. The silence in the room felt heavy, the soft rustle of paper the only sound breaking it. James’ heart thudded in his chest, the anxiety from earlier still coiled tightly within him. The doctor’s brow furrowed as he read, his eyes scanning the pages carefully.

Then, suddenly, the doctor paused, his finger lingering on a particular entry. His eyebrow raised slightly, and James’ stomach lurched. He found it. The entry James dreaded anyone would see, the one where he had let his shameful thoughts spill onto the page like a confession he could never voice out loud. He had been reckless, letting the memory of you consume him to the point where he couldn't resist anymore. And now, it was there in the doctor's hands, in black ink.

The doctor didn’t look at James right away. Instead, he flipped back a few pages, then forward again, as if comparing something. Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral, almost clinical. “So, a new name has appeared,” the doctor remarked, glancing up at James briefly. “It’s always been Mary, Laura and you. But now… Y/n?”

James’ throat went dry. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away, his hands curling into fists on his lap. He felt exposed, as if all his dirty secrets had been laid bare, the shame gnawing at him like a festering wound. His mind raced, remembering that entry, the way he had let himself go completely, jerking off to thoughts of you, and how disgusted he’d felt afterward. It was a moment of weakness, a release of the sexual frustration he’d kept buried for so long. And now the doctor knew.

James braced himself for judgement, for the inevitable look of disappointment or maybe even disgust. But when the doctor spoke again, it wasn’t what he expected. “Well,” the doctor said, leaning back in his chair with a hint of surprise in his voice, “at least you seem to be making some progress… when it comes to your sexual frustration.”

James blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected that. He stared at the doctor, unsure of how to respond. Progress? How could that be considered progress? It felt like a violation, a betrayal of everything he had tried to bury deep inside. The doctor’s gaze softened, his expression more thoughtful than condemning. 

“You’ve spent a long time suppressing those urges, James. It’s no wonder they’ve started to come out in... different ways. But I don’t think it’s something to be ashamed of. Not entirely, at least.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to form a coherent response. The shame was still there, clawing at him, but the doctor’s unexpected reaction had thrown him. "Y/n..." James began, his voice rough, but he couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t ready to admit what you meant to him, not to the doctor, not even to himself.

"You’ve been carrying a lot, James. Maybe it’s time to stop punishing yourself for simply being human."

The doctor flipped through James’ journal again, settling on another entry. His eyes scanned the page before he began reading aloud, his voice even and steady. James’ stomach churned as he recognized the date.

“‘Y/n came over today,’” the doctor began. “‘I made some pizzas for Laura and her. Laura seemed excited—she always is when Y/n’s around. It’s like her presence lights up the whole room. I hadn’t seen Laura smile like that in a long time. Y/n… she’s good for her.’”

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his jaw tight as the doctor continued.

“‘It wasn’t just Laura, though. Y/n has this way of making everything feel... easier. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like just being near her makes things warmer. She laughed at one of Laura’s jokes, and for a moment, it was like the weight on my chest wasn’t so heavy. Like maybe things could be okay for a while.’”

The doctor paused, glancing at James. “She sounds kind. Thoughtful, even.”

James clenched his fists in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t need the doctor to remind him of how good Y/n was. He knew. But that wasn’t the point.

The doctor continued, his voice a little softer now, as he read the next part. “‘I should’ve kept my distance, but I didn’t. After Laura went to bed, Y/n and I ended up too close. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I pushed her away before it got worse, but... I felt bad about it. Guilty, even. I don’t know why. Maybe because I wanted it. Maybe because I needed it.’”

Silence filled the room after those words, thick and suffocating. James’ heart raced, the memory of that night playing vividly in his mind. He had pushed you away, yes, but only after he’d let it go too far. Only after he’d felt the spark of something he knew he had no right to feel.

"It’s clear you care about Y/n, James. That much is obvious. But what’s more telling is the guilt you felt afterward. You’re punishing yourself for something natural—something human." The doctor commented. “You’re allowed to move forward, James,” the doctor said softly. “You’re allowed to let yourself feel, even if it’s difficult. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for every moment of warmth you find.”

But James wasn’t sure he believed that. The shame ran too deep, tangled in his grief, his guilt, and his fear. 

The doctor leaned back in his chair, giving James space to breathe. “Y/n seems to care about you and Laura. That’s something worth considering.”

James nodded slightly, but his mind was far from convinced.

The doctor flipped to the most recent entry in James' journal, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to read. James could barely sit still, his chest tightening with every second that passed in silence. He knew what the doctor was about to find, and the shame weighed heavy on him.

“‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’” the doctor read aloud. “‘That night with Y/n… how I pushed her away after everything. It was too much. Too close. But now, I can’t stop feeling like I made a mistake. It’s eating me up inside. I felt like I had to push her away, but now... all I want is to bring her back.’”

The doctor’s voice remained steady, but James could hear the shift in his tone, the careful consideration of every word as he continued. “‘I felt guilty because it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But I can’t pretend anymore. I need her. I can’t deny it—I want to be close to her. I’m tired of fighting it, tired of pretending that I don’t care. But what kind of man does that make me? I pushed her away, but now I just want to apologise. I need to apologise, because I need her, and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t.’”

The doctor let out a quiet sigh as he finished reading, closing the journal with a soft thud. James could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, every word of that entry now hanging in the air between them.

“You’re being honest with yourself here, James,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re acknowledging your feelings, your needs. That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s progress.”

James swallowed hard, his throat dry. Progress, again. That’s what the doctor called it, but all he felt was shame. How could needing Y/n feel like progress when it made him feel so weak? So desperate?

“But it’s the guilt,” the doctor continued, “the guilt that’s keeping you trapped in this cycle. You want to be close to her, but you’re punishing yourself for it at the same time. Why is that? Is it because of Mary?”

James flinched at the mention of her name, the familiar weight of her memory pressing down on him. “I... I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze focused on James. “You need to figure that out, James. You’re allowed to need someone. You’re allowed to want someone in your life. But until you deal with the guilt you’re carrying, you’ll keep pushing her away, and you’ll keep punishing yourself for wanting something that’s entirely natural.”

James nodded, though his mind was far from settled. The words in that journal were raw, real, and terrifying. He couldn’t deny what he felt anymore—he was needy, desperate even, and he hated himself for it. For wanting something he couldn’t have. For needing you.

The doctor turned a few more pages, his hand pausing as he reached the end of the journal where the pages were blank. His brows knitted together, and he hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to James. “When do you think this last entry was?” the doctor asked, his tone soft but concerned.

James pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the frustration bubbling up. “I... I don’t know. Maybe three days ago?”

The doctor’s face hardened as he shook his head. “It wasn’t three days ago, James. It was six.” He sighed, closing the journal with a soft thud. “You’re losing track of time again, and that’s not good.”

James felt a heavy wave of dread settle over him as the doctor’s words sank in. Six days? He ran a hand over his face, trying to remember, trying to piece together the blurred fragments of the last week, but it was like reaching into fog. Time slipped through his fingers more often than he liked to admit, and here it was happening again.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “Tell me, James—what happened these last six days? Where have you been?”

James clenched his jaw, trying to pull something—anything—out of the haze in his mind. He remembered the hotel, remembered Y/n, remembered how he pushed you away again. And the guilt, it had been suffocating him since. But six days? What had he been doing in all that time?

“I don’t know,” James muttered, his voice low and strained. “I... I think I just stayed home. I’ve been looking after Laura, I think. Just trying to keep things together.”

The doctor’s expression remained stern, though there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “It’s more than just keeping things together, James. You’re slipping, and we’ve been down this road before. You know that when you lose track of time like this, it means you’re dissociating again.”

James swallowed, his throat tight. He hated hearing it said out loud. Dissociating. It made him feel like he wasn’t even present in his own life, like a passenger watching from the sidelines while everything fell apart around him.

“And what about Y/n?” the doctor pressed gently. “You wrote about her, about how you wanted to apologise. Did you do it?”

James nodded slowly, his face showing deep struggle as he spoke, “Yes… I went to apologise. It was the day after class when Laura forgot her maths book.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, urging James to continue. “And how did it go? How did you feel?”

For a moment, James hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It felt… good,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “To apologise, I mean. I realised I had been acting like a jerk with her. She didn’t deserve that. And for a second, I thought maybe I could make things right.” The doctor nodded, waiting, but James’ expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and his voice dropped as he continued, “But then… then I took advantage of her.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, the silence thick with shame.

“I pleasured her in the classroom,” James confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now. His fists clenched in his lap as he struggled to make sense of it, to come to terms with what he had done. “And with a second thought, I realise… I didn’t even ask for her consent. I just… I just did it.” James’ breath hitched, his mind racing back to that moment. He had been lost in the heat of it, the need to feel something, anything, to escape the crushing weight of his guilt. But now, looking back, he wasn’t sure if he had crossed a line.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained calm, taking in James' words carefully. "You... took advantage of her?" he repeated, the weight of James’ confession sinking into the space between them.

James nodded slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the chair, knuckles white from the pressure. "I didn’t even think. It just... happened," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I went to apologise, but then everything spiralled. I—God, I didn’t even ask her. I just... I didn’t give her a choice." His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head as if trying to shake away the guilt crawling beneath his skin. “I truly don’t know,” James muttered, his voice breaking. “I think she wanted it. She didn’t say no, but… but I didn’t ask. I didn’t stop to think. I just… I just took. And now, I feel like I’ve made things worse. Like I’ve dragged her down with me.”

For a moment, the doctor was silent, his fingers steepled as he watched James closely, the gravity of the situation settling between them. "James," he said, his voice firm yet still measured, "you’ve made significant progress in recognizing your actions, but this... this is dangerous. You’re stepping into territory that could destroy what little stability you’ve managed to build—for yourself and for Laura."

"It felt wrong," James admitted, his voice strained. "But at the same time, it was like... like I couldn’t stop myself. I needed her in that moment, and I just—" He broke off, clenching his fists as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. "I hurt her, didn’t I?"

The doctor sighed softly, leaning back in his chair. "You crossed a boundary, James. And that’s something you’ll need to address, not just with her, but with yourself. You’re carrying so much grief, anger, and guilt—those emotions have nowhere to go, so they manifest in ways that are harmful to you and those around you. What happened with Y/n might have been about more than just desire. It might be about trying to fill the void you’ve been living with for years."

James nodded weakly, the doctor’s words ringing uncomfortably true. He thought about Mary, about the years of frustration and loss, about how much he had bottled up since her illness and death. And now, here he was, unravelling in front of Y/n, dragging her into his mess because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

"You need to confront what’s really going on inside you," the doctor continued. "You’re not just dealing with sexual frustration or the need for intimacy. You’re dealing with unresolved grief, anger at yourself, anger at the world... and it’s clouding your judgement."

James pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to block out the reality of what he had done. "I didn’t mean to hurt her," he said, his voice rough. "I didn’t—" James let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to face Y/n again, to admit the truth of what he had done. But the doctor was right—if he didn’t confront it, it would fester, eating away at him until there was nothing left.

James swallowed hard, his throat dry as he prepared to admit more. "That wasn’t everything," he said quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "After that day… I didn’t stop. One day, I called her and booked a hotel, and then it just… started. We began seeing each other. Regularly."

The doctor looked at him thoughtfully before commenting, “Y/n must be very patient, James. She seems kind, and forgiving if she continued seeing you after that initial incident.”

But James shook his head. “That’s the problem. The more I saw her, the worse it got. I… I started having these nightmares again. Vivid. It’s that… that thing.” His voice trembled as he spoke, the weight of his confession dragging him down. "That red pyramid thing from my nightmares... it's back."

The doctor’s eyes flickered with concern as James pressed on, his voice thick with dread. "I would dream of that creature, taking advantage of her. Of Y/n. It would… it would hurt and abuse her, and I’d just be there, watching, unable to stop it." His hands clenched into tight fists, the memories of those nightmares making his skin crawl.

James paused, staring at the ground as if lost in those dark, haunting visions. “And the more I felt at ease with her, the more unbearable the dreams became. It felt like I was losing control, like I was watching her suffer in ways I couldn’t handle.” His voice cracked with the weight of his fear.

The doctor remained quiet, letting the words spill out of James, not interrupting him.

“Last time,” James continued, “I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her away. I acted like an asshole, rude and cold… just to make sure I hurt her feelings. I wanted her to hate me, to stop coming around, to make it easier for both of us.” His head lowered, his face twisted with guilt. “I left her there. She didn’t deserve that, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep dragging her into my mess. I thought if I made her leave, it would stop the nightmares. But it didn’t.”

The doctor exhaled slowly, his face softening with understanding. “James, what you're describing… it sounds like your subconscious is trying to confront something deeper. Maybe it’s not just about Y/n, but about control. Guilt. These nightmares could be your mind’s way of punishing you for feeling like you don’t deserve her.”

James nodded numbly, but inside, he was reeling. He had been doing everything he could to keep Laura safe, to hold it together for her. But now, it felt like everything was slipping out of his control. Y/n had been his one escape, his one comfort—and now, he had destroyed that too.

“I’m scared,” James finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

The doctor nodded, his gaze steady but compassionate. “Being scared is completely normal, James. It shows that you’re aware of what’s at stake, and that’s not a bad thing.” He paused, letting the words settle between them before continuing. “But let’s take a step back and rationalise this. Deep down, you’re a brave man. Braver than you give yourself credit for.”

James blinked, uncertainty in his eyes as he looked up. The doctor’s voice was firm but encouraging. “You know what you want, even if it scares you. Think about it—when you realised alcohol had taken hold of you, you made a decision. You stopped, cold turkey, because you knew it was dragging you down. And since then, you haven’t indulged. That’s proof of your strong spirit. Most people would’ve faltered, but you didn’t.”

James clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of those words. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge the strength it had taken to quit drinking, but hearing it framed this way brought a flicker of pride, mingled with shame.

The doctor leaned forward, his voice softening. “But when it comes to your emotions, it’s different, isn’t it? There’s no simple fix. Still, you already know what you want deep down. You’ve made your decision, James, even if you haven’t fully admitted it to yourself yet.”

James swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he felt the truth of those words. He did know what he wanted, but the path to get there felt impossibly steep.

“The road ahead will be long and hard,” the doctor continued, his tone gentle but insistent. “Just like when you cut out alcohol. Guilt and grief have been your comfort for so long. They’ve been your constant companions, the last thread tying you to the past. Moving forward means severing that link, changing the routine. And it’s terrifying because it means letting go of what’s familiar, even if it’s painful.”

James stared down at his hands, his thoughts swirling. He had spent so many years cocooned in the comfort of his suffering, unable to envision a life without it.

“But moving forward also means sharing that vulnerability with someone else,” the doctor added, his words hitting like a quiet truth James had been avoiding. “And I think that’s where Y/n comes in. She’s been there, offering you something new. Something real. And it’s not easy for you to accept that, because it requires you to let someone else in, to share the parts of yourself you’ve kept locked away.”

The doctor let out a long breath, his expression softening further. “You’re brave enough to quit alcohol. You’re brave enough to do this too, James. But it’s up to you to decide when you’re ready to take that step.”

The doctor leaned back slightly in his chair, observing James closely. He could sense the internal conflict brewing beneath the surface, an invisible storm churning behind his stormy eyes. “You know, we talked about this woman, Maria, right?” he said, his tone steady but probing. “In our past sessions, we both agreed that she was—”

James swallowed hard, the name hanging in the air like a spectre, casting a shadow over the moment. “She wasn’t real,” he interjected, frustration colouring his voice. He felt a mix of resentment and acknowledgment rising within him. The doctor’s expression shifted to one of pleased understanding.

“Exactly,” the doctor replied, nodding with a hint of warmth. “She was a manifestation of your guilt, your grief—an anchor that kept you tethered to the past. And you’ve always pushed her away, never indulging in that fantasy. That shows remarkable strength, James.”

A flicker of recognition crossed James’s face, as if the doctor had peeled back a layer of his psyche to reveal something he had always known but hadn’t dared to acknowledge. He had fought against the allure of those internal fantasies, refusing to let them control him. But now, as the doctor continued, he felt the weight of a different reality pressing in on him.

“But now,” the doctor said, his voice gentle yet firm, “you’ve let Y/n take a part of your life. You’ve opened yourself up to her in ways you never did with Maria, and that’s a significant step forward. If you’re afraid of treating her like you did Mary or Maria, you have to remember this: Y/n is her own person, with her own desires and opinions.”

James’s brow furrowed, confusion and concern swirling in his thoughts. “But I—” he started, the words catching in his throat, a knot tightening in his chest.

The doctor held up a hand, silencing James gently. “You can’t know whether you deserve her or not. Your past experiences are not a reflection of who you are now. You’re not that man anymore, James. You’ve fought hard to break free from those chains, and you’ve come so far. Y/n is different, and she has the right to make her own choices in this relationship, just as you do.”

James's gaze dropped to the floor, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Each word the doctor spoke felt like a mirror, reflecting not just his fears but also his hopes—hopes he had been too afraid to acknowledge. “What if I hurt her?” he finally managed, vulnerability seeping into his voice like ink spreading on paper.

The doctor leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, an anchor in James's turbulent sea of self-doubt. “What if you don’t?” he asked back, his tone softening. “What if you’re capable of giving her something real, something that’s not clouded by your past? You have to give yourself that chance. Otherwise, you risk losing out on something beautiful.”

James looked up, searching the doctor’s face for any hint of insincerity, any sign that this was just another platitude designed to comfort him. But there was none. Instead, there was understanding—deep, resonant understanding that penetrated the layers of fear and guilt he had built around himself.

“Every time you pull away from Y/n, you’re not just punishing yourself; you’re punishing her too,” the doctor continued, his voice steady. “She deserves to know you, the real you—not the shadow of the man haunted by his past. And you deserve to be seen for who you are now, free from those burdens.”

James felt a swell of emotion rising within him, a mix of guilt and longing. The thought of Y/n brought warmth to his chest, but it was quickly eclipsed by memories of loss and fear. “But what if she sees the darkness in me?” he whispered, the vulnerability spilling out like water from a cracked vessel. “What if she runs away?”

“Then she’s not the right person for you,” the doctor replied, his tone unwavering. “But if she chooses to stay, it means she sees something in you worth holding onto. You have to allow her the opportunity to make that choice.”

James leaned back in his chair, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a physical force. The air in the room felt thick, saturated with the unspoken tension that had become a part of his life. He had spent so long living in a haze of self-imposed isolation that the idea of opening up to someone felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“You’re standing at a crossroads, James,” the doctor said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “One path leads back to the familiar—the pain, the guilt, the solitude. The other leads to possibility, connection, and maybe even happiness. But it’s your choice. You have to take that first step.”

James nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of the moment. His heart raced as he contemplated the risk involved in stepping forward. But deep down, beneath layers of fear and hesitation, a flicker of hope began to grow. Perhaps there was a way to reconcile his past with his present, a way to embrace both the light and the dark without being consumed by either.

Taking a deep breath, he looked into the doctor’s eyes, seeking reassurance. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to make it work with Y/n.”

The doctor smiled, a mix of pride and encouragement evident on his face. “That’s all I ask, James. Just take it one day at a time. You’ve come too far to let fear dictate your choices now.” 

As they sat together in that small, sterile room, surrounded by the echoes of their conversation, James felt a shift within himself—a small but significant turning point. It was a long road ahead, fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his past begin to lift, replaced by the flickering light of possibility.

───────────────

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the school grounds as children trickled out from their classrooms. James stood near the entrance, feeling strangely out of place, gripping a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He could feel eyes on him, parents chatting quietly while casting curious glances his way, and even a few teachers looked on with mild amusement. He swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to toss the bouquet and leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Then Laura appeared, bouncing out of the school building with her usual carefree attitude, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the bright burst of flowers in his hand, her brow furrowing in confusion as she approached. “Flowers?” Laura raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with disbelief. “I never saw you buy flowers, James. Are they for me?” She stood in front of him, crossing her arms as if she already knew the answer and was daring him to say otherwise.

James felt his face flush with heat, utterly embarrassed. He hadn’t thought this through. His heart hammered in his chest, and he was all too aware of the curious stares of the people around him. He cleared his throat, avoiding Laura’s sharp gaze. "Uh, no," he stammered, shaking his head. "These… uh… these are for Y/n. To thank her for all her hard work, you know… teaching and stuff."

The lie felt flimsy on his tongue, but he pressed on, forcing a weak smile. Laura stared at him, her eyes narrowing, not buying his explanation for a second. He could almost see the gears turning in her little head.

“Y/n, huh?” Laura's tone was sceptical, her arms still crossed. “Since when do you give teachers flowers for teaching? You didn’t give Miss Roberts any when she was my teacher.” Her voice was dripping with suspicion, and James shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

He cursed silently under his breath. Laura had a way of cutting right through his defences with just a few words. He could feel himself faltering, unsure of how to continue without giving too much away. “I just… thought it’d be nice, that’s all,” James mumbled, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just… showing some of my appreciation.”

Laura’s eyes darted between the bouquet and his face, as if she could see right through him. “You’re acting weird,” she said bluntly, her tone matter-of-fact. “Is this about that time you made her cry or something? I heard you in your sleep…”

James’s chest tightened at her words, and he looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. It was a low blow, and even though Laura didn’t mean to hit him where it hurt, it still stung. He couldn’t forget that moment either—the way he had pushed Y/n away, the way he’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he acted like an ass just to protect himself.

“No, it’s not about that,” he said, more to himself than to her. He glanced down at the bouquet, the bright petals taunting him with their symbolism. It was supposed to be an apology of sorts, something small but meaningful, a way to show Y/n that he was trying, that he wanted to make up for how distant he’d been. But standing here, in front of Laura, it all felt incredibly foolish.

Laura huffed, clearly unimpressed with his explanation. “Whatever you say, James. But I think Y/n’s too smart to be won over by some dumb flowers.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips, a sign that she was enjoying the awkwardness he was experiencing.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety creeping up his spine. Was he making a mistake? Would Y/n even want these flowers after everything that had happened between them?

Maybe the flowers wouldn’t be enough. Maybe nothing would. But he had to try, didn’t he?

The scent of the flowers seemed to mock him, filling his nostrils with their sweet fragrance, a reminder of the gesture he wasn’t even sure how to complete. But as much as he wanted to flee from the situation, he also knew he couldn't keep running from Y/n—or from himself. One way or another, he would have to face you. And this time, he would have to do it right.

He only hoped that it wasn’t too late.

James cleared his throat, attempting to sound casual. "Hey, Laura… could you wait for me out here? Just for a bit."

Laura glanced up at him with a knowing look, then cast a playful smirk his way. “Sure, James,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Take all the time you need.” She settled herself on a nearby bench in the school courtyard, crossing her legs as she took out her colouring book.

He could feel his cheeks burn, and he barely managed to give a stiff nod in response. “Right. Just... won’t be long.”

Heat rose in his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed by her intuition. His grip on the flowers tightened, and his palms felt slick against the bouquet wrapping. He took a breath, steadying himself, but as he turned toward the door leading to your classroom, his stomach clenched. Each step felt like a shaky stride into the unknown, his heart beating in his throat.

He took a steadying breath, glancing back at Laura. She was already focused on her drawing, making herself comfortable on the bench, entirely unbothered by his lingering. The reassurance of her casual support was oddly grounding, but it didn’t ease the jitter in his steps as he turned toward the school building.

His heart thudded heavier with each step down the hallway, his mind racing through what he might say. How do you even apologise for the way I’ve acted? For pulling you in close just to push you away? But whatever happened, he owed her this face-to-face, his presence rather than just empty words.

James hesitated outside your door, gripping the bouquet a bit too tightly. The rehearsed words played in his mind like a distant echo: “Apologise. Tell her it wasn’t fair to keep her at a distance.” He had played out this moment in his head, every word planned, his intentions set. But standing here, about to step into reality, his mind began to spin. Every inch of him felt on edge, like his nerves were stretched thin. 

He breathed deeply, hoping to quell the tension creeping up his neck.

Finally, he mustered the courage and opened the door, only to feel his heart drop. There you were, just as he’d pictured, a radiant presence that drew his gaze without effort. You were leaning over your desk, focused on some papers, your fingers lingering on the corner of a page. For a split second, he thought this might actually go well.

But then you looked up, and the way your brows furrowed in surprise made his confidence wither. There wasn’t the hint of warmth he had imagined—no welcoming smile. Instead, your expression was one of confusion, even discomfort, as though he had interrupted something important.

Before he could gather himself, his gaze followed yours, and he finally noticed the man standing beside your desk. The stranger turned, eyeing James with equal confusion, his posture suggesting he was someone used to having your attention. There was a brief silence as the three of you took each other in, the air heavy with unspoken questions. The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, the shift in his stance subtle but unmistakable. His gaze flicked to the flowers, then back to James, as though he were trying to piece together what was happening.

James felt his grip on the bouquet tighten, the carefully selected flowers (based on your favourites, Laura told him) suddenly feeling like a foolish gesture. He cleared his throat, struggling to keep his composure. The apology he’d rehearsed slipped away, buried under the awkward tension filling the room. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He felt out of place, almost intrusive, like he’d stumbled into a moment that wasn’t meant for him.

The man’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with a touch of formality. “Mr. Sunderland. Can I help you with something?” he asked, looking at James with a polite, almost dismissive expression.

James felt his mouth go dry. “I—I just came to speak with Y/n for a moment,” he managed, his voice a little too soft, like he was tiptoeing over broken glass. He glanced at you, seeking some kind of reassurance in your eyes, but you only looked back, your face still unreadable. “But... I didn’t realise you were busy. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

There was a moment where the man looked at you, waiting for a cue, maybe some indication of how he should handle James. But you didn’t give one, your gaze darting between them, leaving James feeling even more adrift.

After a moment you sighed and stood up, glancing at the man in the room. “We can continue this discussion later,” you said, giving him a soft smile. He returned the gesture, nodding in agreement. As he turned to leave, James couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an intimacy between you two that cut deeper than mere familiarity. 

“See you on Sunday for the movie, right?” He said before leaving.

When the man’s hand lingered on your shoulder for just a moment too long, a surge of jealousy shot through James, startling him. It was a sensation he had long since buried, one he thought he had forgotten how to feel. His heart raced, and he felt a heat rising in his chest. The sight of you and this other man made his stomach twist, a painful ache spreading through him that reminded him he ever had a heart. He had almost forgotten how intense jealousy could be—the way it could claw at his insides, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

It was unsettling, almost suffocating, to think about you being with someone else, sharing your laughter and moments with another man. The idea sent his mind spiralling, and he fought against the intrusive thoughts that begged to take hold. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel anything for anyone—especially someone as captivating as you. 

As the door closed behind the man, the air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions. “James,” you said, breaking the silence as you turned to face him. He could see the confusion in your eyes, but all he could think about was how that other man had made you smile, how easily you had interacted. A part of him ached at the thought of sharing you with anyone, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

“Um, hey,” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding strained. Your gaze held his, and in that moment, he felt both grateful and envious. Grateful that you were here, that you were real, but envious of anyone who could have even a piece of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your brow furrowing, and it made his heart race. 

“I, uh…” He hesitated, the bouquet of flowers suddenly feeling heavy in his hands. 

You shook your head, your expression turning serious, the playful smile fading quickly. “James, it’s really not professional to come to school with flowers. People might get the wrong idea,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. 

“And especially the way you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me”.

Your words stung, but it was the hint of anger in your tone that truly cut him. And James couldn’t shake the sight of the hickeys he had left on your neck as he took a glimpse of the delicious curve of your neck, a reminder of the intimacy that had turned into a mess of confusion and regret. But, the possessiveness igniting within him clashed against the storm brewing in your eyes. 

He cleared his throat, attempting to steady himself. “I’m here to apologise,” he asserted, forcing his voice to remain calm despite the unease bubbling up inside him. He needed you to see his sincerity. 

But before he could continue, you interrupted him, your frustration boiling over. “Apologise? You think that’s enough?” You stepped forward, fire in your gaze. “After everything? You can’t just come here with flowers and think you can sweep it under the rug! Do you even understand how hurtful that is?”

James felt his heart sink. The anger in your voice was palpable, filling the space between you with tension. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice faltering. “I messed up, and I—”

“Damn right, you messed up!” you shot back, raising your voice—he never heard you like that, so angry and sad, it broke his heart. “You pushed me away, James! You treated me like I was nothing, and now you think a bouquet of flowers is going to fix it? It’s pathetic!”

The sting of your words pierced through him, and he felt a mixture of shame and regret swirling inside. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he managed, desperation creeping into his tone. “I just—I was scared.”

Before he could even process your words, your hand came up and slapped him across the face. The impact rang sharply in his ears, but it was nothing compared to the shame he felt. His head snapped to the side, and a silence fell between you both, charged with emotions neither of you could put into words The sting from your slap lingered on his cheek, and his throat tightened. He blinked hard, feeling his eyes water, not from the pain of the slap, but from the deep, aching remorse that welled up inside him. He deserved it, every bit of it, and he knew it.

“Scared?” you repeated incredulously, your eyes blazing with fury. “Scared of what? Scared of letting someone in? Scared of actually having to face your emotions? Because it sure looked like you were just fine when you fucked me like I was a whore!” Your voice shook with indignation, and James couldn’t help but flinch at your words.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of your anger made it hard to find the right words. He could see you seething, your body tense with frustration. “I was trying to be nice to you, James! I wanted to help you, but you just pushed me away like I meant nothing!”

Your tone cut through him, and he felt the sting of guilt settle deep in his gut. “You’re right,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I treated you like crap, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Fix it?” you echoed, incredulity dripping from your words. “You think it’s that simple? You can’t just decide to ‘fix’ things when you’ve already hurt someone! You have to earn that trust back, and you haven’t even started!”

James felt a wave of frustration well up inside him, mixed with a desperate desire to reach out and bridge the gap between you. “I’m trying! I really am! Can’t you see that?” 

“Trying isn’t enough anymore, James!” you snapped, your voice rising. “You can’t just show up with flowers and think it’s going to make everything okay. You’ve broken things, and it’s going to take more than just an apology.”

In that moment, you were a storm, fierce and unyielding. James could see the hurt behind your anger, the way you wrestled with the disappointment he had caused. It pierced through him, and he realised just how deeply he had let you down—and how much he deserved it. 

“I—I know it’s going to take time,” he said, trying to steady himself as his heart raced. “But I want to put in the effort. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you.” 

Your eyes narrowed, scepticism etched across your features. “You care? After how you treated me? What’s to say you won’t just push me away again when things get tough?” 

The accusation hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension crackled, and James felt the weight of your anger pressing down on him. He realised that he had crossed a line, and now he had to find a way back—if you would even let him.

James’s entire world narrowed to this moment, this fragile, painful second, where everything hung in the balance. The anger in your eyes seared him, a raw heat he knew he deserved, but it was the disappointment—cutting and profound—that struck him deepest. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so exposed, like a light had pierced straight through every shield he had ever put up, and now he was forced to face what he really was.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, his voice raw and barely holding together. “I’m… truly sorry,” he began, struggling to find words to do justice to everything that had been roiling inside him since the moment he’d pushed you away. “Since that night, it’s like… I’m lost. Every single night, I lie there, alone, and all I see is you. All I think about is… how you feel beside me, the way your voice calms me, how much I want to be… better.” He choked slightly, but forced himself to go on. “And I know I hurt you. I see it. And I… hate myself for it.”

Each word was a weight being lifted, but it only uncovered more buried shame. His voice faltered as he said, “I don’t know how to be enough. Every voice in my head just… it keeps telling me you deserve better. That I’ll only end up pulling you down with me, that… I’m a broken man who’ll ruin anything he touches.”

He laughed, but it was hollow, dark—a laugh tinged with self-loathing. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore because all I see is a man who’s become… something ugly. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be around someone like you.” His voice wavered, thickening as his throat tightened. “All I see is a monster. Someone who’s past redemption.”

Then, as if he could no longer bear his own weight, James lowered himself to his knees before you. The gesture felt natural somehow, a desperate attempt to be as close to you as possible, even if it meant bringing himself to his lowest. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a pleading sorrow he couldn’t hold back, his gaze full of the vulnerability he’d fought so hard to bury.

“I… I can’t go on without you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Now that I know what peace feels like, even for a few moments, with you beside me… I can’t go back. It’s like you gave me a taste of something I thought was lost to me, and now the thought of not having you…” He swallowed, the words almost failing him. “It’s unbearable. I’m… begging you, just… don’t walk away. Don’t leave me in the dark. Please.”

He looked down, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and he whispered, “I want to be better. For you, Laura. For… myself, even, if I can figure out how. But I need your help, I can’t do this alone.” His voice cracked, and he looked back up, his eyes brimming with raw, pleading desperation. "Please let me prove to you that I can be the man you see. I want to be the man you deserve. Just… don’t leave me here, alone."

For a long, heart-stopping moment, James held his breath as you looked at each other in silence. He saw the faint, lingering shadows of hurt in your eyes, and in their depths, a softness—a glimmer of something he hadn’t dared hope to see. Then, slowly, you took a step toward him, and James let out a trembling breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

When he felt your hand gently find its way to his hair, a shiver ran down his spine. Tentatively, he pressed his cheek against you, leaning his head against your abdomen, as if finding solace in the very nearness of you. The warmth of your touch was a balm, easing the wounds he’d long hidden from the world, and in that moment, he let himself collapse into the comfort of your presence. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, as he rested there, seeking the peace he’d once thought was lost to him forever.

The silence between you stretched, gentle and unhurried, broken only by his steady breaths. He could feel the weight of everything he’d been carrying start to slip away, piece by piece, as he nestled against you, his heart finally slowing to a gentle rhythm.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “I don’t even know why I’m doing all this for you, James. I… I don’t think I even understand it myself.” Your hand moved gently through his hair, grounding him in a way he hadn’t thought was possible. “But… if I don’t, I feel like I’ll miss the biggest chance of my life.”

Hearing this, James closed his eyes, a warmth blossoming in his chest that was foreign and achingly tender. He nodded, his head nestling against you, soaking in the comfort of your words. In that moment, he felt like a lost soul, clinging to the only light in a world of shadows, and he held you just a little tighter, as if afraid that you might slip away. The sensation was almost childlike, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek as he gave in to that sense of safety, that warmth he thought he’d never feel again.

Snuggling closer, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible whisper. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, his tone layered with reverence. For the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as lost as he’d thought.

You let out a soft sigh, fingers still tangled in his hair, and looked down at him with a firm gaze. “James, if you ever push me away like that again, I swear, I’ll slap you harder.”

A flicker of humour and self-deprecation passed through his eyes as he nodded. “I deserved it,” he admitted, voice steady, acknowledging not just the slap but the wake-up call it had become. He pulled back, finding his balance again, and when he rose to his feet, you offered him a small smile before finally accepting the bouquet.

James couldn’t help the slight catch in his breath as he watched you, his heart lighter now, the weight of his earlier dread slipping away. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, Laura and I… we’re going to the beach. It would mean a lot if you’d come with us.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, and he found himself captivated by it, warmth blooming under his gaze. The sight tugged at something deep inside him, something raw and tender. He had a sudden, powerful urge to lean in and kiss the flush on your cheeks, to feel the heat of it against his lips, to let it anchor him there, beside you. And when you nodded, accepting the invitation, his heart leapt.

A smile—a genuine, unguarded one—broke across his face, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He lingered there, letting the quiet moment say what he couldn’t put into words, and then pulled back, his eyes soft and warm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, the promise of a new day, a fresh start, held between you.

[hiddenzev]

Second Confession: Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Already having a crush on Joel for a year now, she was asked to be his patrol partner.

Chapter Warnings - Angst, One-sided love, Unrequited Love, Idiots in Love, a hint of fluff

WC: 1.6k

series masterlist . AO3

A/N: This is my first time committing to write a complete series of a fic. Also my first time posting it on tumblr so i'm still navigating and figuring things out. I love reading unrequited love with a happy ending stories so this has been living in my head rent free for awhile. I speak broken English most of the time (singlish iykyk) so there might be errors in my writing here and there, sorry bout that. Idk if anyone is gonna read this but if you do, i hope you enjoy it. This is prolly gonna be a 5 part series so the next few chapters will be longer than this.

Knock, Knock, Knock

You finish up washing your hands in the sink before shouting over your shoulders, “Coming!”

You dried your hands before making your way to the front door. You quickly put on your coat before opening the door and finding Tommy leaning against your porch with his hands in his front pockets.

“Good morning!” he say with a smile, “Ready to go?” he asks, turning his body to gesture them to walk out front. You nod your head and turn to lock your door. Both of you walk out and make your way to the cafeteria for breakfast as usual.

The cafeteria is filled with people in the morning. After getting your food, both of you made your way to the table in the corner with Maria, Ellie and Joel already seated eating their food. As you get closer, Tommy went to Maria’s side and bent down to kiss her on the cheek before sitting beside her. You sit down beside Ellie and gave your greetings to the group.

“Good morning,” you greet them.

“Morning.” Ellie greeted back with mouthful of food still in her mouth.

You get a nod from Maria as she looks up at you while eating her food. Maria has been nice to you from the moment you got to Jackson. Even though she can be strict and tough at times, that is what makes you admire her. You, on the other hand, are reserved and laid back. You are not a leader but more of a follower. That’s why you respect her a lot because of what she’s doing for the community.

It’s been 3 years since you arrived in Jackson, tattered with the remnants of the past and  the pain within you. It was difficult to adjust to the community at first but the couple currently sitting in front of you embraced you into the community with open arms without any judgement. They taught you everything that you need to know about Jackson and since then, you have been living here without much difficulties.

Unlike Maria, Joel does not even acknowledge your presence and keep on eating his breakfast with a frown on his face. You wonder if you will get to be the receiver of his smile one day. You had seen him smile a couple of times while talking to Tommy and you want to see his smile more often.

However, Joel is someone who distances himself from everybody else and has a tough exterior. People in Jackson find him intimidating and stay as far away as possible from him, scared to agitate and make him angry. He’s always tensed around everyone except the ones that he consider his people like Tommy and Ellie.

Joel and Ellie came to Jackson a year ago to find Tommy and that was when you saw him letting his guard down for the first time when embracing his brother in the middle of the town. After that, he had returned back in his shell refusing to open up to anybody. In the beginning, you tried to come up to him and strike a conversation but he always reply with one word answer or silence or a glare that can burn through your skull. You understand that after everything that happened to this world, it’s tough to live with optimism and hope like before.

Ever since he arrived, he had caught your eye. With his rugged appearance, tic in his jaw every now and then, a face that doesn’t show you a hint of happiness and you still can’t take your eyes of him when he’s around. You don’t know why you seek to look or ask about him when he’s not around. You have been harbouring this feeling towards him for a year now. It’s starting to bubble up on the surface and you’re afraid that you can’t contain it anymore.

You shake those thoughts away and start to dig in your food. Breakfast is filled with Ellie telling everybody on the table about things that she learned in school and asking us about life before the outbreak. Tommy and Maria answer her questions and Joel scoffs at what she said sometimes. You watch her talk about life before the outbreak with wonder in her eyes and you can’t help but smile at her. She brings up the feeling of serenity in you when you see the curiosity in her eyes.

Seeing the world through a kid’s eye is something that we adults cannot afford to do anymore. You are caught up in what Ellie is saying that you don’t realise that Joel, who is sitting on the other side of Ellie, is looking at you. You stare in each other’s eyes for a few seconds before he look away and go back to finishing his food.

“How are you feeling today?” Maria ask you.

“I’m good,” you answer, tearing your eyes away from Joel.

“Do you mind covering Tim on patrols next week?” Joel looks up hearing this. Tim is Joel’s patrol partner. They’ve been partners for almost a month now. Apparently, Tim and Joel don’t get along well. I mean, no one gets along well with Joel. Anyone that got assigned to be his partner always backed out after a few weeks. They cannot find anyone that can handle him except for Tommy. For awhile, Tommy was his partner but they cannot let him stick with him all the time as they needed Tommy’s help somewhere else sometimes.

You look at Joel to gauge his reaction. His stern look towards Maria is not breaking.

“Yeah I don’t mind.” You turn your head to look at the couple. Tommy is giving you an apologetic look knowing Joel is difficult to work with. He look at Joel who has turn his eyes away from Maria and now towards him.

“Joel, please. We don’t have anyone else.” Tommy says with a begging look on his face. Joel stares at him without saying anything.

“Oh come on man, is it so difficult to not be mean?” Ellie breaks the silence. Joel frown at her as she continues to speak.

“She’s my friend and she’s nice,” her eyes widen to emphasise her words.

“I don’t want you to infect her with your ‘old man attitude’,” she air quote annoyingly, making Joel to soften his eyes a little bit.

“Besides, she’s the only one that can stand you and your grumpiness.” Joel look at her confused. You are confused too by what she said. What does she mean by that? Tommy and Maria exchange glances before Maria speaks again.

“If everyone is ok with it, I’ll see you at the gates for patrol next week.” She looks at everyone for confirmation before stopping to look at you. You give her a nod before she stands up to start her day. Everybody quietly leaves before you are left with Ellie alone who still has a little bit of food to finish.

You timidly ask her about what she meant earlier, “Ellie, what do you mean when you said I’m the only one that can stand him and his grumpiness?”

Ellie looks at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She smirks and continue to eat her food not answering your question.

“Ellie!” you urge her to answer you.

She just laugh at you and stands up to return her tray. You are left alone being confused.

Feeling a little bit sluggish from the day, you make yourself a nice hot tea and make your way to your front porch. You sit down on your chair, immersing yourself in the calm stillness of the night. You have always enjoy the nights in Jackson more than the daytime. 

As you are relaxing, what happened earlier today, creeps up in your mind. The way Joel was looking at you makes your heart beat faster. What was he thinking while looking at you like that? Also, what did Ellie meant when she said that I’m the only one that can stand him and his grumpiness? You did not spend a lot of time with him alone for her to think that way.

You are perplexed on joining him on patrols, knowing the fact that a lot of people had a tough time with him. You cannot back out from it now and you are taking this opportunity to get to know him better.

While you are in thinking about Joel, you hear the strumming of a guitar nearby. It must be him. Joel lives adjacent to your house and you know that he plays the guitar some nights thinking no one is around to hear him play. You are not able to see him play because he plays the guitar at his back porch all the time. You did get to see him play once when he was back facing you, sitting at the edge of his porch, taking in the sunset. You had thought it was a beautiful view even though he wasn’t facing you.

You did not tell anyone about your feelings for him but you think that maybe Tommy has caught on to it. Sometimes he caught you looking at his brother and he would give you a mischievous smirk.

You have been wanting to tell Joel about your feelings that you’ve kept for about a year now. You also know that it is a risk as he will probably react badly to it. You do not expect him to accept it. You are doing it mostly for yourself. Call it selfish or whatever but you think it’s better to let those feelings out and move on with your life without keeping a secret that will only eat you from the inside.

Having a crush for a year is a long time and you think that it won’t progress any further so you’d rather do it fearlessly with no regrets. With a determination to confess , you let yourself listen to him playing the guitar for awhile more before calling it a night.

next part

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 2

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Descriptions of the Rumbling (WC: 7k)

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-

It’s past curfew when you catch a glimpse of Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary. He's been coming up here this past week, though this is the first time you approach him.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Levi asks. He’s playing with a small pocket knife, twirling it in his hand.

You consider his question. No doubt Erwin would want to know that his new gamble is sneaking away from the barracks every evening. Then again, knowing Erwin, he might already know and chooses to just let it slide anyway.

You lean your weight over the edge of the window sill, gazing at the way moonlight crowns Levi's hair. “Are you going to hurt anyone with that knife?”

Levi's eyes twinkle in the night. “What, just because I’m from the Underground means I’m gonna stab someone?”

“Actually,” you say carefully, “I was more worried about you hurting yourself.”

His eyes lose their fire; he focuses back on his knife. “I won’t.”

.

.

.

Freedom—it is the ability to glimpse at endless blue skies; it is horse riding until dusk; it is choices and opinions and being able to voice them.

These days, Levi takes it for granted, his freedom. He’s an ungrateful asshole like that.

If the people from his childhood would hear him now, they would spit in his face. Try to beat him to a pulp. Here he is, lacking gratitude, when some poor lowlife was born and died in that shit hole that was the Underground.

Levi hears that the Underground doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve told him that the Rumbling caused earthquakes to fracture the ground, that much of the subterranean city has been buried under. There were some casualties, of course, but the worst could be avoided since Historia had ordered a gradual evacuation years prior.

Levi wonders if the people now discovering life above ground still have violence in their blood the way he once did when he first saw the sun.

“Levi, where is your secret tea stash?”

Your question muffles over the sound of the kettle groaning awake on the gas stove, blending with the sound of waves crashing outside. It tears him right out of his thoughts and away from the headline he'd been reading: 'More than 75% of refugees in Marley now rehoused, much work still remains in the mental aftermath of the war'.

Levi has been up for several hours now, breakfast long since consumed. You, on the other hand, just got up, the whisks of sleep still present in your cadence, in the corners of your eyes. An anomaly to be sure—Levi remembers you being an early riser, but he supposes that habits, just like people, change.

“Why would I have a secret tea stash?” he counters.

You yawn, a hand covering your mouth. “Well... you always had a secret tea stash, didn't you?”

“To hide from cadets and their grubby fingers. I’m all alone here.”

“Mm," you shrug, words a little slurred, "you could still want to hide a thing or two from me.”

“Then I wouldn’t tell ya where it was, would I?” Levi leans one elbow over the kitchen table, chin lazily resting on the center of his palm. His index finally pokes out to give directions. “S’on the left side, second cupboard.”

Your gaze follows his directive, only to look at him with a slightly more straight posture. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” You stick your tongue out, like a damn child. “Words. They help.”

Levi refrains from rolling his eyes. He watches you open the cupboard, grabbing the tin of loose tea leaves.

On the chair next to him, Scout is curled up and fast asleep. The kitten's muzzle scrunches as she dreams.

“Are you sure I'm allowed to drink this?” he hears you ask.

Levi's eyes flicker back towards you. “Yeah."

"But isn't this special? Isn't this tea from Paradis?"

It is tea from Paradis, courtesy of Armin. It's one of Levi's last boxes, in fact. He knows he'll eventually run out of it, and while he supposes he could ask for more of it, he thinks his taste buds will just need to adapt to something else. That's just the way life goes.

"You know," he mutters, "if you’re gonna be like this about every little thing around the house, it's gonna get tiring real fast.”

You focus on preparing the tea. “I’m just being polite."

“Why? You never bothered before."

A grimace splits across your face. "Ouch. Harsh.”

"S'not," Levi mumbles, running a hand through his hair. It’s freshly washed, still a bit damp. "I mean, no need to act all fake and shit."

"Okay... but this isn't like life in the Survey Corps. This is your house."

His house. Levi doesn't know if he should be more possessive about these things, the way he's seen some townspeople be with their possessions, but Levi's just never been one to care about these things. He never has.

Levi flips his newspaper to the next page. "So long as you keep the place clean, I don’t care about the rest."

“You don’t care?”

His eyes meet yours. There's a spark in your gaze.

Oh you’re taunting him.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Drill this into your head, Adler: anything that’s mine is yours, so just treat this place as such.”

That seems to shut you right up. You blink with a dumbfounded expression, apparently startled by his (accidental, Levi swears it was accidental) turn of phrasing. It’s soon replaced by words uttered beneath your breath, words Levi doesn’t quite grasp because his own ears are whistling. He returns his attention back to the newspaper, attempting to shrug off the weight of the innuendo.

Anything that’s mine is yours. What a stupid thing to say. That almost sounded like a confession or some shit. 

For the next minute, Levi tries his damn best to focus on his newspaper.

“Getting her beauty rest, huh?”

You've placed two cups of tea on the table, one pushed towards him, along with a plate for the infusers. You're eying Scout.

“She seems glued to your side,” you add, sitting down.

“Kittens sleep a lot,” Levi supplies lamely.

“In any case, it’s cute to see the two of you together.”

Levi turns the handle of his cup to his left side. “Please.”

“Can you imagine what everyone would say? The fearless Captain Levi, succumbing to a cat—”

"Quit talking and just drink your tea, would you?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Aye, aye, captain."

For a moment, silence does fall, and his peripheral catches your chest rising and falling, something oddly quaint and peaceful about witnessing your breathing. You’re staring outside the window, looking at the view of the sea glimmering in the distance. He follows your line of sight, noting that there’s a buildup of crusted salt around the windows; Levi should really clean it off before summer ends.

“Hey, so,” you interrupt after a while, “I was thinking of going to the market today. Get a few things. Maybe find a job.”

Levi locks eyes with you. You’re holding onto your cup with two hands.

“A job?” Levi asks.

“Mm. Yeah. Something that makes sense for me...”

You want to get back to the medical field, already? You just got here.

“Why the hurry?"

“Well…" you say, "I don’t want to leech off you forever—”

“You're not.”

“Still, it'd be good for me, right?” You shoot a bright smile—something too bright about it. Levi eyes narrow. “Anyway, you wanna join or what?” Your eyes crinkle with softness. “You know... I’d love to meet all the nosy people you’ve told me about.”

Levi purses his lips, feeling as though you glossed over that subject much too quickly. A part of him wants to nudge you a bit, though his usual habit to just let you be kicks in. Whatever you're hiding, you have your reasons.

Levi considers your proposal. He knows it would be better if he didn’t join, seeing how damn foolish he’s already acting around you. He should try to set clear boundaries with you.

And yet—

“Sure,” comes out of him all the same.

Well, so much for that, anyway.

.

.

.

“You flew.”

You stand there, staring at the sight of the man as he finishes his round of training.

Levi shoots you a look, grappling with the hand grips. “I’m just using the ODM gear correctly.”

You take a step towards him. “No, but you’re amazing. You must know that, right? I’m not a soldier, but… I know talent when I see it.”

He gives you an odd look then, and before you have a chance to say anything else, propels himself in the air and disappears in the shadows of the forest.

.

.

.

At the market, Levi follows you around like a brooding shadow.

He’s in his wheelchair today. Behind him, you’re pushing him and asking questions about the scenery and the people and all sorts of trivial things.

(“Look, look there, all these teas. Have you tried any of them?”

“Some.”)

(“I'm gonna buy some flowers to plant in the gardens. Is that alright?”

“Do what you want.”)

(“Is the sea always as pretty?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, there's shit that gets carried in.”

"How poetic.")

(“Look, Levi! A car.”

“It looks dangerous.”

“I think I’d like to try driving. Get over my fear, you know?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Hey, give me some credit! S’not so different from riding a horse, right?”

“You’ve got a few screws loose up there, you know that?”)

Well, Levi was never great at talking. Not that you seem to mind; you’ve always liked to ask him questions and fill in the blanks when needed. Most of the time, it’s the silence that sits comfortably between the two of you that Levi appreciates so much anyway. It just is, filling the space between the two of you like a soft cloud fills the sky with shapes.

You're moving next to him, calmly taking in the sight of the buzzing market. It's a little too busy for Levi's liking, but the sight of you distracts him: you’re wearing a sunhat with ribbons today, coupled with your cotton overalls. Levi’s never seen you wear a hat like this one before, but he thinks it suits you.

“You should protect your skin from the sun,” you’d said earlier. “That’s why I wear a hat.”

“I didn’t come to the surface to run away from the sun,” he’d grumbled back, even if he did notice how warm summers in Marley truly are (and yes, he’d gotten sunburned on several occasions, and also yes, his injured eye stings every time the sun shines too brightly... but, still, Levi wouldn’t budge).

“Good morning, dear boy! What a surprise to see you here!” someone says, tearing Levi out of the thoughts. Attached to that booming voice is none other than Levi's boss, Adam Jakowski.

Originally an Eldian from Marley, Mr Jakowski was one of the first residents that settled here in Mare. He quickly opened his carpentry shop, and when Levi moved in, he found a job there.

Today, however, Mr Jakowski isn't here for any carpentry-related trades. Every week-end, the man likes to come here and share the goods his wife makes.

"What brings you here?" Mr Jakowski asks.

“I was dragged out, believe it or not,” Levi answers, head bobbing towards you.

Next to him, he hears you snort.

“And who might this pretty young lady be? Are you the missus Ackerman, per chance?” Mr Jakowski asks, his tone carrying a curiosity only people genuinely interested in others are capable of mustering.

Levi feels his cheeks burn at the idea, but you just chuckle, swatting a hand in the air to dispel the notion. “No such thing, sir. But I am new to town and it pleases me all the same to make your acquaintance. Miss Adler, charmed to meet you.”

Levi’s thin brows knit together. It’s the first time he hears you introduce yourself without your profession tied in.

Miss Adler. Not Dr Adler.

Strange.

“Well met, Miss Adler… Well met, indeed! Ah, it is a pleasure to see new faces in Mare, especially a lovely one such as yours. Will you be staying here for a while?”

“Mm. Who knows?” You smile. “I can’t quite say yet, to tell the truth.”

Levi’s throat suddenly feels a little thick.

“Anyway, what are you selling here, sir?” you ask, peering over the stall of the merchant, gazing at all the products and zeroing on a particular one: a red paste.

“The one you're eying is a paste from the eastern part of Marley, ma'am. It’s made with paprika and bell-peppers, you see. Great for inflammations and stomach issues,” the old man explains. He makes you smell it, then turns around to sprinkle it onto something. “You can coat it like so,” he raises a piece of bread that he smears with the red paste, “or add it to your cooking.”

He hands you the toast.

You bite into it, chewing for several moments as you raise a hand over your mouth. “Walls! It does have such a particular taste. It’s the aftertaste, right? Spicy.”

Your eyes wander to meet Levi’s, and you raise the bread slightly in his direction as if to inquire if he wants to taste it as well. Levi shakes his head, and you shoot him a smile, gulping down the rest of the food.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, drumming his left index in a series of five taps over his forearm—tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Next to him, he hears the way you engage in easy conversation, talking about the weather, how the region has adjusted to the influx of settlers, how you're looking for a job and how, yes, you’d love to meet his wife and daughter!

The rest flies over his head. Instead, Levi looks up at your sunhat again, admiring the way it hugs the shape of your skull, the way the ribbons flow gently with the breeze.

Levi wonders if he could buy you a hat. Or sew you a new ribbon. Would you accept his gifts?

At last, you seem convinced of the product and order three jars. This is the moment when Levi comes back to his senses, seeing you rummage through your pockets to find coins to pay for your purchase.

No such luck.

Levi beats you to it, slinging out the leather pouch his first squad gifted him many years ago, placing the change in Mr Jakowski's hands.

You blink, mouth parted, but Levi just plops the jars he receives into your bag, wheeling himself back.

He hears you fumble your goodbyes to Mr Jakowski, thanking him for his help, and at once, your voice is in his ears.

“Levi, why did you just pay?” you ask, tone bewildered.

“Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“I’m not." You stop in front of him, all stern-looking, hands on your hips. "You didn’t have to do that.”

Levi raises a defiant brow. “But I did, and it’s done.”

“Don’t make it sound so simple. You’re already letting me stay in your house for free. I intend to pay my dues, you know. I have money.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“You—”

“Complain again and I won’t let you pay for a damn thing.”

You close your mouth, glaring at him.

Levi swears he hears something along the lines of ‘I’ll just sneak it back into your pockets later’ whispered under your breath, but when he narrows his eyes in your direction, you feign a look of innocence.

After purchasing everything you wanted to purchase—a book on art, flower beds for the garden—you finally settle in a cozy little café on the town’s square. You order some pastries, while Levi takes his usual tea, the closest thing that resembles the tea from back home. You watch people from everywhere bustle by, while Levi sips on his drink.

“Hey, look!” you point out suddenly. “I’ve never seen those birds before.”

You've pointed to a flock of birds of all colors, no larger than a fist. They’re hopping on the ground, scavenging for food. You get up, asking for some seeds from a waiter to feed them.

“Why did they migrate to this part of the world?” you wonder as you lay out food for them.

Levi doesn’t know what to say. He stares at the birds, nibbling the seeds, admiring the way their feathers seem foreign in this strange land.

Maybe, Levi thinks to himself, just like all the rest of this town, the birds were looking for a new home.

.

.

.

“You know, you should try to teach them.”

Levi’s bored expression swerves in your direction. You’re back to leaning on the window sill, while he sits on the rooftop. A routine, these last weeks.

“What?” Levi mutters.

“Your combat skills. I saw you at training again. I’ve never seen anything quite like the way you handle yourself. You should teach the other cadets.”

His eyes narrow. “And why would I do that?”

“You’ve been out there, right? Seen what the titans are like? You could save their lives.”

.

.

.

The square of Mare is quiet at this time of the evening. A half-moon hangs lazily over the black sky, casting its silver glow over Mare.

You’ve both been drinking. Cheap, bubbly, acidic. Cremant, a drink native to Marley. It was given to you by a shopkeeper when you picked up bread earlier—all it took was seeing you by his side and hearing you were new in town. The woman practically threw the bottle at you, offering it as a welcome gift. You tried to refuse, many times over, but the woman wouldn't take no for an answer (“We need young blood around, so anythin’ to convince younglings like yourself to settle down!”).

Now, here you are, finishing the bottle together in a park. Levi sits with you on a bench, his wheelchair tucked behind it.

Silence.

Levi thinks there’s something on your mind. You’ve never been easy to read; you’ve got a tendency to hide and scheme, to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s always your lips that give you away. You bite them when you’re worried, you pout when you’re deep in thoughts.

“Hey.” Levi raises your attention, only to find gentle eagerness on your face. It makes him frown for some reason. “Say something.”

You seem a little taken aback by his directive. It’s rare for Levi to actually seek conversation after all, much less to be the one initiating it.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask.

Levi shrugs. “I don’t know, just anything.”

“Like… what?”

Levi mulls it over. If it were him, he’d hate to be put on the spot and asked outright what to say. So he decides to try a tactic he’s seen you use on others—starting with something light before finding the right angle to tackle the actual subject.

“What was your favorite sight?” he inquires. “On your travels.”

“My… favorite sight?”

Levi gives you a look that makes it clear he’s not gonna repeat himself.

“The sea, of course.” You raise your feet on the bench, hugging your knees as you stare off pensively. “It’s funny, really. With every nation we visited, we saw mountains, deserts and forests… but I kept coming back to the sea.”

Levi remembers the first he saw the sea. The water, glimmering like thousands of silver gems. The blue sky, coming to meet its shine. The 104th brats, with awestruck wonder. Hange and their brazen curiosity.

And you, the way you’d looked at him…

If ever there was a moment of peace during Levi’s years as a soldier, it was those blissful hours spent by the sea. It felt like the world had grown so big, and that there was only wonder to be discovered.

Of course, reality had caught up.

“I’m glad you’ve picked a place like this one to settle down,” you say. "It kind of feels like a homecoming, you know?"

"Yeah."

“The stars are so bright out here.”

Levi follows your line of sight.

This past year, Levi has rediscovered an admiration for stars. Back inside the Walls, they reminded him of Isabel and Furlan, of his dreams from another life. This past year, they’ve started making him think of you, too.

All because of one of your letters: 'Levi, do you ever think about the fact that, despite the distance that separates us, every night, when we look at the sky, we see the same stars?'

“What else,” he finds himself asking, “what else do you have to say about your travels?”

“Hmm… what do you want to know exactly? I wrote so much in my letters, I’d have thought you’d be tired of hearing about that topic.”

“Yeah, but you only described random shit. What was it like?”

What was it like without me?

That thought hangs on his tongue, begs for relief, but Levi bites it down. It’s not right for him to ask; it's none of his business.

And yet, your answer still takes him by surprise, “It was… hard.”

To that, Levi does raise a brow, looking at you.

He finds your gaze already on him.

“The sights were... nice, of course,” you continue. “I got to witness all manners of landscapes. Those were the photographs I sent you in my letters. But then, well, the rest came.”

You swallow loudly. Levi finds his heart squeezing, though he doesn’t fully understand why.

“Seeing the aftermath of the Rumbling…” Your lower lip quivers as the volume of your tone decreases. “It was horrifying. The emptiness was the worst. It’s not like murdering someone in cold blood, see. There, you have to deal with bodies. But, what Eren did…”

You shudder. Levi thinks you’re trying to even out your breathing, and a part of him wants to reach out to you and squeeze your hand. And yet, he knows there’s nothing he can do to really alleviate those images flashing in your brain. That nothing he does can make it right again, that the pain you feel is the cost both of you need to bear for the rest of your lives.

“After that, I went with Armin because I knew he would need help, because I always believed in diplomacy… because I still believe in it. Even now," you say. "But many nations hate the Eldians from Paradis. They hate us and maybe they have every right to hate us.”

You stop talking and close your eyes. For a while, the lull in conversation allows Levi to stare at you unabashedly, to commit your features to memory.

“Why did you never say any of this in your letters?” he asks mid-silence.

“I guess it felt easier not to mention it. I don’t know. I wanted you to hear hopeful things in my letters.”

“I’ve seen how shitty the world can be.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why.” Your eyes somehow find his own again. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know it’s still the same out there.”

It makes Levi’s blood rush, like he was some breakable thing that needed to be protected.

“You don’t need to coddle me.”

And yet, you don’t even seem to notice the snap in his tone, your crossed arms tightening around your knees.

“I know, Levi,” you whisper. “But that doesn’t mean that my pain is your burden to bear.”

Seeing your deflated expression, dipped chin resting over your knees as you lose yourself to your thoughts, Levi’s defense mechanism fizzles away.

That’s the thing about you.

No matter how harshly he reacts, you never seem to rise to the same level as him, the way others did in the military, and it might be why Levi always found it easier to stay by your side.

“You dumbass,” he says with a sigh. Despite telling himself to hone it back, Levi can’t help but raise a hand to the back of your skull, ruffling your head gently—the only comfort he knows how to hand out right now. “Of course that’s my burden.”

The knot in your throat bobs. “Levi, you don’t—”

“Don’t give me that.” He pauses, the words heavy on his tongue. “Even I no longer have the rank to prove it… what does it matter? Nothing’s changed.”

Your voice comes out grated. “Nothing’s changed?”

Levi hesitates. So much hangs on this question. Of course, things have changed.

And yet…

He retreats his hand, patting his stiff leg. “Some things did.”

“Does it still hurt a lot?”

“Some days more than others. The doctor has helped.”

“I’m glad... I'm so glad. Are you still seeing him every other week?”

He nods.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

His eyes narrow. “You said that already.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He sighs. “Anyway, you gonna tell me why you stopped calling yourself a doctor?”

Different degrees of surprise flash across your face. Your eyes are wide as saucers, while your mouth stays slightly open.

Levi waits. And waits.

“Hey, you’re not trying to catch flies, are you?” he says, lifting a finger to poke at your chin.

His physical reminder seems to bring you back to the present.

A pout forms on your lips. “How did you know I no longer want to be a doctor?”

Levi shrugs with one arm, pressing his back against the bench. “I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice so quickly." You let out a wry snort. "Should have known; you’re always so perceptive.”

“And you’re beating around the bush.”

You hum. “Indeed, I am. It’s just… I’m scared of your judgment.”

Levi frowns.

“Don’t give me that look, Levi Ackerman. Your judgment, yes. You’re a very scary man, just not for all the reasons people think you are.”

In the distance, the sound of seagulls drifts from the skies.

“When I asked you if I could come here…” you say after a pause, “I kept on thinking to myself: What will Levi think of me?” You raise one hand to your face, glancing at the scar that runs from your index to the lower part of your palm—a memento left by the Yaegerists. “What will he think of this hand?”

Levi stays silent.

Your smile turns bitter. “You always said my hands were made for healing. But after everything that happened, everything we did, they’re not anymore. They can’t be.”

“Hey—”

“—and the question kept playing in a loop in my head. Will Levi think I’m a coward? Will he think less of me for giving up on this? Is he gonna be done with me?”

Levi ignores all the ways you seem to include him in your insecurities and focuses on one thing only: “You’re a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them.”

You shake your head. “But I am a coward. I don’t have it in me to heal people, not like that anymore.”

Levi doesn’t know why, but there’s a sense of dread forming in his pit of his stomach.

“Is that why you’re here?” he asks.

Your eyes fire back on him. “No, I didn’t come here to escape, or as a last resort.” You glance away. “But I do feel… lost.”

That makes him backtrack. You? Lost? The doctor who blazed through the Survey Corps’ ranks, making her demands known to the Interior and Erwin like it was no big deal, who pushed for changes to save soldiers' lives?

That doesn’t align with the person he knows.

“I don’t think it’s right anymore, the path I chose.” Your tone is suddenly more frail, more vulnerable. “The first three years after the Rumbling, it felt like the right thing to do, giving my skills in helping others but now… Now I feel like a fraud. To arrive here, I had to end lives.”

Levi’s throat is heavy. “We all did.”

You ignore his words. “The attack in Trost, the one in Liberio, and so many others…. I killed people there. I did. And I remember your words, Levi, about it being us or them but I… now, whenever I look at my hands, all I see is the stain of blood. After all of that, I just don’t think I’m fit to call myself a doctor anymore.”

“You shouldn’t regret the past.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Is that why you’re now calling yourself Miss Adler?”

You nod.

Levi purses his lips. He cannot understand your perspective, not truly, because his own moral compass has never been set right. To him, killing was always about survival and there was never good or bad. There simply was the act and the aftermath. There was the fact that he needed to keep on pushing, for humanity.

Despite this, Levi wants to understand. He wants to tell you that your hands did heal, that they continue to heal in invisible ways.

He wants to tell you that however you want to become want, it’s all fine to him.

“Then start over,” he declares, throwing an arm to the back of the bench.

“Yeah.” You snort, fiddling with a loose strand of fabric of your overalls. “It’s not that easy, starting over, is it?”

“Never said it was.” Levi would know. It’s not like he’s here to preach the moral high ground—he’s lost, much more lost than you are. “But if you want to, you’re the only one that can make it happen.”

“Yeah, I know.” You raise a hand to press against your right eye. Levi has the strange urge to tuck it away, to take it in between his own, but he holds himself back. “It’s just… hard. You know, when we were fighting titans, then humans, then nations… I just never considered who I would be after all of it. And when I found myself trying, I found I wasn’t the person I once was, that I couldn’t do what I would have done any more. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“Old me would have kept on going. Old me would have continued to heal people and traveled and helped Armin with peace negotiations. And I tried. Walls, I tried, Levi. But at the end of the day, I just find myself… tired. I’m just so tired.”

Something heavy fills Levi’s chest. He understands, to a degree, what you’re going through. He knew his role was over the moment that the fighting stopped, but for you, the war hasn’t stopped raging—conflicted on where your place should be.

“Sorry," you say, "I know I’m wallowing here, that I’m throwing my own pity party. But, shit, it’s hard, you know?”

“Yeah.” Levi hardens his expression. “But it’s fine, to wallow. No one expects you not to have setbacks.”

“You don’t mean that. Weren’t you always telling soldiers not to linger and look back? Besides, I don’t get to say any of this in front of you. Not with everything you went through.”

Levi’s jaw clenches. “Hey. It’s not a competition.”

This time, he reaches for your hand and unclasps it, noticing you digging your nails into your skin. He forces you to squeeze his hand instead—only, now, you treat him with such care, not even applying pressure.

He continues, “I only said what I said because a Scout’s life was a battlefield every day. But we’re not soldiers anymore.”

Levi sucks in a breath at those words; it’s the first time he acknowledges it out loud: We're not soldiers anymore. He’s a hypocrite, saying these things, when he himself hasn’t let go completely. And yet, for your sake, he wants to pretend—he wants to pretend that there’s a way out for the both of you.

“So I’ve told you, the offer still stands," he adds. "You can stay here for as long as you want."

“Careful what you promise, Levi." You snort. "I’m going to be a real burden to you.”

“Only when you don’t clean.”

Your weak snicker turns into laughter. It might be the most enchanting of sounds Levi’s heard in a long while.

Levi lets go of your hand, despite the fact that he wishes he could hold on, but he tells himself that friends don’t hold each other’s hands for prolonged moments. And that's what the two of you are. Friends.

“You know, when it came down to it… after months of introspection,” you say, voice soft, “all I knew is that I wanted to be near you.”

Oh.

“I stayed away for a year, thinking I could prove to myself, to you, that I wasn’t the needy person I once was," you say. "That I could, I don’t know, manage on my own. But all I got was… how much I missed you.”

Levi thinks his breathing might have stopped entirely.

“Levi, you’re… you’re important to me. You know that, right?” Your eyes find his own, glimmering under the moonlight. “I think… I just don’t want to not have you in my life anymore. Is that a strange thing to say?”

Levi is speechless. He stares at your lips, how plump and lovely they seem, glistening with moisture. He feels sweat on his back—damn this hellish warm weather—and he thinks perhaps he should act.

He forces his mouth open but instead of words—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

An explosion blasts in his ears.

Levi screws his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact. There’s screams echoing in the back of his skull, bullets ricocheting against concrete. He smells the charred scent of bodies, sweet and off-putting.

But the fighting never comes. When he evens out his breathing, leaning his weight onto the bench, he notices—

You’re on the floor.

Your hands are covering your ears, your lower lip wobbling. You’re muttering things under your breath, things Levi can’t recognize, but there’s tears brimming the corner of your eyes, and Levi realizes then what happened.

You’re hyperventilating.

At once, Levi is by your side, bending down. The action causes his legs to scream in pain, but he promptly ignores it. He sees you and only you.

You, on the other hand, are unable to look at him; you whimper erratically.

Levi can deduce the source of your panic, because he’s had his own moments like this. It’s the way certain noises, smells, and others pull him back into the past. It must be the same for you.

“Hey,” Levi’s voice comes low and clear, trying to muster it all for you, “take a deep breath. It's not guns. Just fireworks some teenagers are toying with.”

But you seem unable to follow his advice, shaken as you are. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears clumping, streaming thick down the valleys of your cheeks. He sees your fingers pull at the strands of your hair.

Before he can think about it, his arms reach out of you, looping around the small of your back, where he draws you in. He presses you firmly against him. At first, you attempt to fight him back, muttering “no, no, no,” beneath your breath, scratching him, but when Levi finally manages to smooth over your words with his own, you accept the embrace.

Your head slumps down into the crest of his shoulder, like you were just a ragdoll gone limp. Levi tries to ignore the way his worry doubles down.

“Adler, listen to my voice,” he urges, trying to use things that have helped him during his worst panic attacks, during his worst episodes. Of course, Levi never allowed anyone to see him like this, but if he had, he thinks this would have helped. “Your ear’s pressed against my heart right now. Do you hear my heartbeat?”

“Y-yeah,” you answer, voice barely a raw whisper. The sound is enough to shatter something in Levi. It’s so small, so fragile.

“Focus on it," he says. "Focus on me speaking. Pretend that it’s the only sound in the world.”

You seem to attempt to laugh, but it comes across as another nervous sob, hiccups strangling your words. “S-someone thinks h-ighly of his v-voice.”

Levi just clicks his tongue, tightening his hold on you.

Your hands interweave with the collar of his shirt, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. It takes several moments, but he feels the tension in your spine untangle, vertebrate by vertebrate.

“Steady,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You’re alright.”

Your warm lips, drenched with tears, move against his neck. “I just can’t do it, ‘Vi… I just can’t.”

“You can.”

“I’m fucking stuck and I feel so guilty there’s always noises in my brain…” A sob cracks out of you. “I’m so fucking lost.”

“But you’re not alone.”

Your knuckles tighten, but your breath falters.

“You’re not alone,” Levi repeats. His three-fingered hand weaves through the hair at the back of your skull, mingling between your locks. He’s reminded of another time, long ago, when he did this after Nanaba died. “Even if you feel lost right now, you’re not alone.”

“I just—I don’t want to be a bother. I don't want to overstay my w-welcome.”

“You’re not.” His hands have fallen onto your ribcage, slotting over every bone like they were made to belong there all along. “You can stay as long as you want.” Until you grow tired of me. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You’re still hiccuping for air as you draw away from him. You seem to be searching for something, dazed and blurry.

“Y-you don’t mind?” you ask.

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?"

"I guess not."

For a while, neither Levi nor you say anything else. He watches as your eyes cast down, eyelashes still full of tears. Your breath is back to being steady, though no less frail.

Eventually, your digits settle over his forearms, looking back at him with puffy eyes.

He offers you his clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

You take it with a crooked smile, staring down at the white cloth. “Thank you, Levi. I mean it.”

Levi looks away; he doesn't think he's done much.

“Walls.” You hiccup, lifting the handkerchief to your eyes. “I’ve made a scene, haven’t I? It’s the alcohol, I s-swear. I barely d-drink these days.”

“You were always a lightweight.”

“Pff, don’t remind me.”

“Well, judging by the brats walking towards us," he says, looking over your shoulders, "they’ve come to apologize.”

Sure enough, moments later, as you help Levi up and you both sit back down on the bench, three snotty kids approach the scene with a look of apology plastered on their faces.

One of them, a boy with vibrant ginger hair, takes the lead. “Ma’am… are you alright?”

You sniffle, eyes still red. “Fine—”

“She’s not fine, brat,” Levi interjects. “Don’t light this shit up in public.”

The boy grimaces with the kind of juvenile innocence only kids can muster.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say, giving Levi a look. “But hey, do try to be careful, ‘kay? Don’t light up things like this all on your own. Fireworks are dangerous, not to mention they’re scary when they’re up so close.”

“I... I won't do it no more, ma’am…" the boy says. "I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

The boy nods before finally fleeting up and meeting Levi's glare. The child instantly cowers back.

“Mistakes happen," Levi grumbles with a softer tone. "Just be more careful.”

“Y-yeah, mister. Won’t happen again.”

"Good."

.

.

.

Erwin finds you in the stables one day. “Levi is integrating with the squad.”

You stop cleaning your horse, raising a brow at the man. “Is he now?”

“Mm." There's wistful amusement on the Erwin's face. "He's started giving advice to his comrades.”

"Is that right?"

That night, when you greet Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary, you don't say a thing about this exchange, but you'll smile just a bit brighter at him anyway. 

.

.

.

Levi comes back from his evening shower to find something waiting for him in his bedroom. A piece of paper, carefully folded in three, is placed on his cabinet. Next to it is a medium-sized, black pouch.

Levi first unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find that it’s a letter and that it’s from you.

Levi, You’ll excuse me for coming in without asking, but you insinuated I should make myself comfortable, so… Here I am. You know, if you're going to let me pay for things, then it’s decided: I’m going to bribe you with new tea! No, you can’t fight me on that. As you know, I’m a force of nature—unstoppable. Here’s a new blend for you. I know for certain you haven’t tried this one because it’s straight from my travels. I don’t know why I waited a week to give it to you, but I hope you like it. Your amazing new roomie,- A.

Levi’s lips twitch. He can just picture you scribbling those words in your room, a grin on your face, waiting for him to take a shower just so you can place this handout in secret.

He briefly puts the letter back down, moving to open the gift. The black pouch hides a tea tin of simple design, with an etiquette that’s handwritten. White pu-erh tea. He slowly unscrews the sealed top, bringing it close to his nose to inhale its potent fragrant. Tea aromas, rich in citrus, fill his brain with a lovely buzzing effect. It smells nice, unlike anything he’s encountered before and Levi thinks its taste will be to his liking—that you picked it knowing it would.

His eyes stray back to the letter, picking it back up. He loves the way you write his name, the way you loop the letters together. It's elegant.

With his heart just a bit lighter than usual, Levi adds your letter to the chest under his bed, filled with the rest of your correspondence.

-

A/N: Thanks for reading! I was really touched by all the engagement the first chapter got, truly, so thank you for that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and hey, if you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in any shape or form! Take care <3

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 668

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

I’m Not Your F*ckng Maid

-Prologue-

Dean was awoken with a slam inches from his face and he sprung to life, almost losing his balance before he realised where he was. He’d fallen asleep at the table with his face in a book and surrounded by heaps of paper - many of which he hadn’t even started to read through yet. Blinking awake and gaining his bearings, he heard a familiar voice ring through the room.

”You boys are disgusting, how do you live like this?” The older Winchester finally looked up to see Charlie lifting a plate of half eaten, day-old pizza whilst kicking several beer bottles aside so she could pull out a chair and take a seat next to Dean, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

”Yeah well, we’ve been a little busy recently if you haven’t noticed,” his voice was gravelly from the sleep. Charlie put down the plate of old food and sat down, worry crossing her face as she looked at the man next to her. She knew they’d been under a lot of pressure lately with their work, so much so that the brothers were starting to neglect themselves. It had been months since they’d eaten proper food that wasn’t instant or take-out, they rarely went outside, always locking themselves away in the bunker to do research and the bunker itself was getting cluttered with bin bags and pizza boxes. Not to mention the piles of laundry that she’s noticed slowly starting to form its own ecosystem in the washroom.

“Yeah I get that, but you really have to look after yourselves. When was the last time you ate a vegetable?”

Dean scoffed.

“Yesterday, obviously,” he gave her a look like she was from another planet, and she rolled her eyes.

“The pizza sauce doesn’t count, Dean.”

He looked puzzled, raising an eyebrow, “Why not?”

Before she could even humour him with an answer, Sam emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh hey Charlie, when did you get here?” His voice was equally as gravelly as Deans, so she assumed he’d also just woken up.

“Five minutes ago.”

“She called us disgusting Sam. And she said the sauce on pizza isn’t made from vegetables,” Dean gestured to Charlie like she was the fool as he looked up at his younger brother who now stood across from him on the other side of the table. Sam went to open his mouth to respond, but closed it again quickly and furrowed his brows, clearly unsure how to reply to his older brother without opening a can of worms. Charlie huffed.

“You guys need to sort yourself out. I only dropped by because I hadn’t heard from you for a while and thought you might’ve worked yourself to death. I can’t stay long because I’m meeting a friend for a drink. She’s already at the diner waiting for me”

“A friend?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and the redhead smirked.

“I wish, sadly she’s into dudes,” she paused, a thought crossing her mind, “Come to think of it, she’s actually looking for work, you guys might be able to help.”

Dean and Sam shared a glance.

“She’s a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly. Her uncle was, so she knows about stuff, but from what I know she was just a research girlie,” Charlie peered at the mess of papers on the table, “and it looks like you could use the help.” She looked between the brothers as they stared at each other, like they were having some sort of unspoken conversation. A few moments passed before Dean slapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Sure ok, but we’re coming with you today to meet her,” he went to grab his jacket from the back of his chair, an eagerness in his movements before Charlie put her hand out to stop him.

“Great!” She grinned, before raising her eyebrows and pointing to them both, “but first you guys have got to shower, because I can taste your BO from here.”

——————————————————————

Up Next

Chapter 1

[reds-skull]

Fanfic Recommendation: Multi-Chapter (Completed)

The comic I'm working on is taking... a long time (understatement of the year, been working on it since July 31st...) so I wanted to make another post like this

Like last time, there's no shared theme between these beside having multiple chapters and being completed (both SFW and NSFW)

As always please check the tags for CWs, and if a link doesn't work you're welcome to reach out!

Every Morning by sauceboss_yahoo - Ghost is back on base with the rest of the 141, ready to fall into his usual routine. Someone else, however, is itching to be a part of it and wants to peel back the curtain concealing him more than he already has, whether Ghost likes it or not.

Mask of my own face by Avidcatperson - Ghost takes great offence to the implication that he’s going to eat his cell mate, who is clearly sentient, with his bare hands. Soap is fairly sure he’s about to die. Chucked into a cell with a human? Pretty much a death sentence…hopefully Gaz can get out at least. [Space AU, multiple works in this series!]

bare my skin by Cristinuke - A study of moments as Ghost learns to trust Soap's touch.

Anomalous by Brigadier - Ghost, a SCP-056, finds a certain human worthy of his love, trust and adoration.

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns - When the news of three weeks’ forced leave reaches Ghost, he’s resigned himself to loneliness in an empty base. That is, until a certain Sergeant offers him an invitation he just can’t seem to refuse. Or: the sheep farming fic nobody asked for [this one hurts so bad but comforts so well]

Punch Drunk by Drolly - If you told Soap the second time he’d see Ghost’s face was in a shitty bar on a shittier block of Chicago… Well, he might have asked for a little more pomp and circumstance. At least then he’d have an excuse for the way he could hear his blood pumping faster in his ears and why he could feel it, hot and burning behind his eyes.

Simon's Gateway by wayfaredsoldier - When things get too rough on retired soldier Simon, his friends help him out and unknowingly provide him a gateway to something, or someone, beautiful. [veteran support hotline operator Soap]

A Bit Too Much by cod_dump - Soap always acts confidently, brave. Almost always has a smile on his face. But the fact is… He’s a bit too much. [locked for non-AO3 users]

Until The Nightfall by Mikhail - Upon realizing their friendship had grown into something deeper and more serious, Ghost is left torn between duty and longing. With each mission, Ghost is reminded of all the things he can't control, and it's becoming clear that this - whatever it is - he has with Soap, just might be one of them.

Philematology by ErlKönig (Herm_own_ninny) - Ghost kisses Soap while begrudgingly playing spin the bottle, and tries to repeat it with other party games.

stick up by amongthebooks - While off base, the 141 are unexpectedly caught up in a robbery. The raiders clock Soap, Gaz and Price as SAS operatives…but without his usual gear, Ghost was seen as just another guy. His team is rounded up, whilst he's treated as a civilian. Can Ghost take down the attackers and rescue his team without exposing his identity?

I Will by lemonwrap - After going missing on a mission, Soap has been gone for an entire year. Ghost finally rescues him, but he’s not quite the same.

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence - To take the edge off his maddening attraction to his aloof and inscrutable Lieutenant, Soap decides to try his luck with the local barflies off base. To prevent Soap from fucking anyone else but him, Ghost offers himself up under the guise of mutual stress relief. Soap thinks he’s just taking one for the team, but Ghost has just had everything he’s ever wanted fall right into his lap.

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane - After an encounter at a club, Soap needs to know if he's actually into men… like into men. In a fit of desperation and homoerotic panic, he arranges a one night stand with a prostitute. It was just supposed to be a one off arrangement. But when Ghost shows up, it sets a series of events into motion that neither men could have predicted. [locked for non-AO3 users]

They Blame it on the Times by WildFlowerSolitude - "We were never anything. You need to get that through your head." Soap laughs hollowly into the empty corridor. I can live with that OR Ghost says some fucked up shit and Soap crumbles.

home is where the heart is by Anonymous - Soap vanishes from base one day. The Captain says its nothing to be concerned about. Ghost disagreed. [literally so so good]

Personal Affairs by sannikovs_bastard_son - Ghost got injured on a mission in Spain and was forced to take a temporary leave, leading to some buried feelings being brought to light, and Soap doesn't make his inner turmoil any easier by being the casual flirt he is.

Tug A Little Harder by puffyfish2006 - Ghost really really really likes Soap's long hair.

Burned and Broken, but Not Beaten by sick_of_sleep - Ghost ends up burning his hand pretty badly and Soap help his lieutenant while it heals. But Soap ends up helping Ghost in more ways than one.

Lofticries by Arodana - The mafia had always escaped John "Soap" MacTavish. No matter what evidence he found, it would disappear. For lack of words, it pissed him off. On top of that, he has to find a serial killer that has been evading the police and any efforts they've made for months. Soap finds himself stuck between his sense of justice when he is offered an opportunity to work with the one man that had been making his police career a living hell. Soap might just get what he wants.

Freely Given by Tatzelwurm - After the stress and danger of Los Almas and Chicago, Soap is finding it near impossible to let go and relax. He can’t sleep, jumping at shadows. Ghost wants to help him, dutiful lieutenant that he is. But Soap can’t bear to take any more from Ghost than he already has. At least, not without feeling exceedingly guilty about it.

Hold my hair up, Darlin (Ice packs on my neck) by JackiboysHorrorHouse - a fic where Soap's wisdom teeth end up having to be removed when he's in the 141, and ghost is the one who takes care of him during recovery!

Misplaced Jealousy by dyn42ty - Soap hinted that he had been crushing on someone within the base to Gaz. Overhearing the conversation, Ghost wonders who has Soap captivated. Not to mention it wasn't him? The more he thought about it, the more angry he had gotten.

lotus flower by exavibus - a new flower shop opens across the street from 141 Tattoo, in london's shoreditch district. one of the florists already seems to have something against him. the feeling's mutual.

Cry by kcisbroken - Ghost always leaves. After an intimate night together, Ghost picks up his things and doesn't look back, leaving Soap to sit in silence and ponder on whether or not it's worth breaking his heart over and over again.

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless - Soap spends three and a half days in Ghost's house after getting injured on a mission.

used to hide behind a mask by kj_crwn - What a pitiful thought; the scary hound of 141 force turned into a pliant mess by one simple man. “’Bout your scary mug,” Johnny clarifies, as expected. He leans down again and settles against Ghost’s chest, his head resting just beneath Ghost’s chin. “Yer a bloody gorgeous lad, Simon.” Except that Johnny is anything but simple.

We Are Ghost by Murmeloni - Instead of having to crawl out of his own grave, Simon escapes Roba's clutches with the help of Ghost. A klyntar stranded on earth who decided to make Simon his new home. The two of them were content with each other. Until they met Johnny.

Emergency Contact by soapsbeloved - John MacTavish is about as unlucky in love as you could get, never finding someone that would give him enough of a chance for a second date, resorting to sleeping around when he gets stood up. Simon, his best friend, seems to be the only person in the world willing to give Soap a chance, but the dumbass can’t see past the fact that Ghost isn’t very good at talking about things, and is completely and utterly oblivious to how Ghost feels about him.

dicentra by crown_twist - There's someone new joining the 141 and everyone is happy about it. So happy, in fact, that they don't seem to realize one of them is slowly slipping away. Johnny's only all too aware. [I reread this one so many times it's the ultimate hurt Soap fic]

and i wish i could change by SoftKing - Which meant he also noticed when Ghost frowned heavily and murmured, “Not really my thing.” “Oh,” Gaz said with his brows raised. “So you haven’t got one then.” He slapped Price on the shoulder and grinned. “I do.” Ghost interrupted, taking another long sip from his nearly empty glass. “Just think they’re rubbish.” [soulmates AU]

Night Has Always Pushed Up Day by Sillililli - Simon "Ghost" Riley is stuck in a shared hospital room, which has been fine up until then. He'd been alone, alone to fight the shame of having his face uncovered and having failed his team. But they bring someone into his space, a younger soldier, temporarily blind.

Domestic by Sillililli - Simon and John are coworkers. Both ex military, they relate in ways others can't. Soap is facing hard times at home and finds a safe place with Simon.

So Call Me Maybe? by cripplingchips - Ghost is trying to focus on the mission at hand when Soap starts getting a little… strange.

A Kiss For Luck by iamtheidiot - Soap and Ghost start playing gay chicken.

Mission: Cardsharp by nyxite - Soap (accidentally) gets a love reading from a fortune teller.

death is in the air (wish i could be brave) by aetherealmoss - Ghost gets injured severely and is sad and upset about it, until Soap appears at his doorstep and makes it better.

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane - After a mission goes wrong in Russia, Soap has to patch Ghost up... and keep him from freezing. Huddled together in a tiny cabin in the middle of the frozen tundra, something warm blossoms. [locked for non-AO3 users]

demolitions threat by amongthebooks - Home on leave, Soap has to instruct Ghost on how to disarm a bomb over the phone. The pair make a good team - but not every mission can end well. Ghost has dug himself out of his grave once already. Can he do it again?

i'm something else when i see you by oh_ellie - The first time Ghost had enough courage to plant his lips against Soap’s they’d both been drinking. They're fairly heavily intoxicated.

In the Middle of the Night by JDigital - “Go!” Came his Sergeant’s gruff exclamation as he threw his elbow into the Shadow’s face, an alarming amount of blood still soaking through his clothes. “Get out of here, go!” A few Shadows stopped their assault on Ghost’s cover to subdue their captive, and he was forced to watch as Soap was brought to his knees by a cruel strike of the stock of one of their rifles. “Ghost, move! Get out of here!”

Racing hearts season by Nuria123 - The F1 COD AU no one asked for SoapGhost style.

Through His Eyes by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost accidentally finds Soap’s sketchbook, is taken aback when he sees a familiar face looking back at him.

Peeping John. by A_BitOfStrange - When he considers it properly, the only person that would be either brave or stupid enough to go into Ghost's room while he’s away would be Johnny. The little fucking shit.

Surviving You by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost forced himself not to feel frustrated, had to admit to himself that Soap might be the most challenging sub he had ever had assigned into one of his units.

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish has been medically discharged following a mission gone wrong, which left him with severe agoraphobia and PTSD. He joins a programme which connects both active service members and veterans through the act of writing letters. Although things get off to a bad start, the connection he forms with his letter mate slowly becomes unbreakable. That is until he gets too close and strikes a nerve. [one of those fics that will not leave your brain for weeks]

Doing Time by MildLimerence - Soulmate AU: On leave from the 141, Soap lands himself in Strangeways prison, home to some of the worst criminals in the UK. When his soulmark activates on the inside, Soap must contend with Ghost, an infamous soulmate-hating killer who seems intent on haunting his every move.

Spiorad agus Corp by Oud_smoker420 - A bet is made between the notoriously reckless Soap and Alejandro to try and get their respective crushes and the most stoic and traumatized men of the 141 in their beds. It definitely has the potential to go so bad.

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven - Soap and Ghost are sent on a mission to the middle of American suburbia to protect a Russian journalist targeted by Makarov. Their cover is that they're newlyweds. And very much in love.

Bathe in Sunlight, Take Deep Breaths by coderaven - Ghost gets honorably discharged after taking a bullet to his shoulder that completely obliterates his rotator cuff and leaves him with nerve damage. He joins a gym to help with his recovery. He meets Soap, ray of sunshine personified, a trainer at the gym. He falls pathetically in love.

Learning Experience by AvaLoren - Soap is forced into a simulated interrogation with his Lieutenant and the information he learns about him isn't what he expected.

If tomorrow you don't open your eyes by Swiftwater_Prawn - Ghost loves Soap but is bad at feelings and gets stuck in a time loop. [multiple works in this series!]

Collecting Strays by WhisperedWords12 - Ghost didn't trust Soap, couldn't know for certain what a year and a half of forced fighting in the pits did to something as volatile as a Wolf. But Price insisted that the man may have valuable intel, might be enough to finally bring down the Fighting Ring where they'd found him.

Driving Myself Home by Aether_Ghoul - Gaz insisted that he was just the thing for Soap. Soap insisted that everyone had a "but" and for the life of him, Gaz wouldn't tell him what this Simon guys "but" was.

all that's said in the low light by headlocket - After a near-fatal injury, John MacTavish finds himself back in his hometown in Scotland. Fresh off an untimely discharge, he's forced to cope with disability, his dysfunctional family, and the lingering knowledge that there are some things he's just not ready to leave behind… [literally if you haven't read this yet what are you doing with your life]

Lay back and think of England by Aether_Ghoul - From the outside, Ghost is well adjusted. He seems like everything recruits and rookies could ever wish to be. Inwardly, he is falling apart. It is when Soap asks him to spend their leaves together, that he makes a decision that will haunt him. Do everything Johnny wants, needs or dreams of because if Ghost is useful, maybe Johnny will finally love him. [this is another one I keep going back to T_T]

Our Time Is Right Now by ChaoticEmeline - A serial killer is making their mark on the newly installed crime factions in London. Smart, savvy, and undetectable in a city covered in CCTV. The man operates…like a ghost. Captain John Price and his team aren't afraid to get their hands dirty and do a little ghost hunting. But what happens when the ghost starts hunting them back?

Spectre-Unit by Zosch - The Spectre-Unit was a task force shrouded in mystery, not much was known about them and it was a rare occasion to witness one of their members in action. Until the Task Force 141 gained a new addition; S-U: 25, John "Soap" MacTavish.

Velocity Of Envy by leathfaic - Soap has a friend with benefits back home in Glasgow and Ghost, Ghost doesn't have a problem with it of course. After all, Johnny is his sergeant and anything else would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?

Crystalline by Sillililli - Soap and Ghost end up captured at the same time and as much as they'd like to save each other, they can't let their captors know they could be used against each other. Easily. Simon concocts a plan to save them that he can't let Johnny in on, hoping the lie won't shatter what little is left of them when it's over.

[soaps-mohawk]

So...

I've been doing some thinking about a couple of things.

This blog has grown considerably, even from its start and I appreciate each and every one of you so much. Your support never ceases to amaze me and I owe all of you a lot for giving me something to focus on this year instead of spiraling into insanity.

But

Things have gotten a tad bit overwhelming recently between trying to run the blog and trying to write. I find myself either having to ignore the blog to get writing done, or sacrifice writing time and energy to spend time on the blog and keep up with all the replies/reblogs/asks etc. Definitely not complaining, you all never cease to amaze me.

But, I am just one person and my brain only has so much power right now. So, I'm planning to take some (more) time off each week right now while I focus on writing and planning since we're getting into some serious plot stuff soon. So I'm planning to be on the blog three days a week for a while: Saturday, Sunday, and Thursday. That gives me some time to get some writing done as well as some time to rest my brain.

Saturday and Sunday of course to post the chapter and respond to replies and reblogs so I don't get super behind. Monday I'll have some asks queued up as well as maybe a few reblogs. I'll still use the queue Tuesday and Wednesday for reblogs/asks with spoilers as usual. Thursday I'll be on the blog answering asks from Monday - Wednesday as well as things I get that day. I'll queue up a few things for Friday since that day gives me a little break between to prepare for the weekend and posting the chapter.

I'll probably add more days as time goes on. You can still send in asks on the days I'm gone, but just know I won't see them or respond to them until later in the week. I already get behind by a couple days on asks anyway so that's not much of a change.

Don't feel bad for sending them either, I love getting all these asks, I just tend to get behind on days I spend more time writing.

The second order of business

has to do with my taglist. Most of you probably haven't noticed (which I don't blame you lol) but my taglist has gotten very big. Very, very big. It's just over 230 people right now, and I'm sure there will be others asking to join. It's quite time consuming to do all of these tags for every chapter (especially since we can't tag in blocks anymore) so I've been doing some thinking into how I can make it easier for me, and for you.

I know there's at least one blog I've heard of, though I'm sure there's more, that have made side blogs that they have people follow and turn on notifications for and just make a post on that blog when they post a chapter or fic, etc. I've been considering doing that since the taglist is a lot of work and time.

I've also seen blogs that have side blogs that just post chapters/fics and nothing else. I know quite a few of you only follow for the fic, so if anyone is interested, I could put together a side blog like that as well that you can follow and get notifications from instead of having to follow this blog and having to go through the probably 100 posts that I make a day 😂 (at least it feels that way for me)

Having a separate blog for the taglist too would allow me to schedule posts so I can have them come out a bit earlier than I get up for those of you across the world who stay up to read and have to wait for me to post in the morning when I get up (or later like today because I slept in). Of course Ao3 will get posted later because I can't schedule posts there, but at least for Tumblr I can have things post earlier.

So let me know what you think about the taglist side blog and the possible just chapters/fics side blog. Feel free to send in asks (anonymously or not) with your opinion. I might not answer them all (not tonight because my brain is fried and honestly i'm not sure if this is even comprehensible English) but I will at least use them to make the decision (or make a post with all of them and answer it as just one).

[holdmymallowsweet]

What are you doing here? 01

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 4328, properly tagged on AO3

Chapter summary: Falling right between the awkwardness of their first encounter outside the Undercroft and their jaunt into the Scriptorium, Ominis and the new fifth year have an innocuous little meet up in the library. 

a/n: I’ve always wondered why Mc would offer to talk to Ominis about the Scriptorium, when their last interaction outside the Undercroft was so hostile, and I figured there could have been another conversation in between- not anything deep or meaningful, just a little chat that made it clear that they don’t hate each other. So that’s what this is, and although it’s now the first chapter/prologue of a slow-burn longfic, it was originally a oneshot and can still be read as such, if you prefer. Enjoy! And many, many thanks to @myokk for encouraging me to finally post this, you're the best ❤️

Masterlist || Chapter 02

Chapter 01 - Invitation

Sending her that letter might have been a mistake.

Ominis Gaunt had been sitting in the library for hours now, waiting for someone who, he now realised, in all likelihood would not come.

“I heard you running around aimlessly in the defence against the dark arts tower again today. If you enjoy my company that much, perhaps you would like to join me in the library this evening. I’ll wait.”

It was supposed to be a playful way of telling her he was not angry anymore, a sort of peace offering after he had yelled at her outside the Undercroft. 

It was only after he’d sent the letter that he realised it probably sounded presumptuous and rude beyond belief. Words on parchment couldn’t tell the reader what tone of voice they’d like to be read in, at least not until someone invented a spell for that, but it was too late to take it back.

He sighed. Honestly, he could not remember what possessed him to write the blasted thing in the first place. It had been a whim, a result of his frustration and loneliness when he heard he’d be spending another evening alone because Sebastian had gotten himself detention again. He was not usually that bold, and she was practically a stranger.

They did happen to share a best friend in Sebastian though, so one could hardly blame him for trying to get to know her. In fact, it might be long overdue.

At least that was the excuse he’d use if anyone asked. Or the one he told himself, to be honest.

The truth was, she intrigued him. It took him some time to realise it, but now that he did, he couldn’t let go of the feeling. If Sebastian was to be believed, she was curious about him too, or at least she had been, for a fleeting moment- before his temper got the better of him and he took his frustrations about Sebastian’s betrayal out on her.

Ominis sighed again and ran his hand through his hair.

Someone from across the table shushed him, and his face twitched in slight annoyance.

Oh, he really hoped they’d be gone by the time she showed up, whoever they were.

If she showed up.

By now, it seemed more likely that he’d stay here sulking by his lonesome until it was time to walk back to the dungeons, perhaps facing a bemused Sebastian who’d already know where he’d been. The two of them seemed incapable of keeping secrets from one another, after all.

That would ultimately be the proper punishment for his unreasonable jealousy, her rejection delivered by his best friend.

He’d come to the library with every intention of writing the assigned essay for Herbology, determined not to care too much about whether she’d take him up on his invitation, but it was a lost cause. His self-spelling quill wouldn’t work properly unless he concentrated on the precise words he wanted to put on the parchment, but with his head filled with thoughts of the new fifth year and the undefined nature of whatever relationship they did or didn’t have, all he had managed to write so far was an embarrassing mess.

Ominis considered writing with his own hand, but thought better of it. He could, of course. He’d make notes or short letters without his enchanted quill regularly, but writing an entire essay without being able to tell when the lines would inadvertently run into one another was a daunting task. He’d have to use twice as much parchment as anyone else, and he already felt sorry for Professor Garlick, if she’d have to decipher the mess.

Finally, he decided to just give it up. The door opened, and once again, he strained his ears. He was able to recognize her footsteps by now. Not her, just some unfortunate chap getting chewed out by Madam Scribner for returning his books late.

He was starting to feel ridiculous.

It felt like hours since he’d hurried through the castle, almost slipping on the wet fallen leaves covering the stairs when he left the owlery. Heart thumping with excitement, he’d even made sure to sit at a table where he would, hopefully, be seen by her as soon as she walked in, but far enough away from the librarian to have a conversation without being reprimanded for disturbing the peace and quiet.

Actually, if he hadn’t been so concerned that she might not see him and leave, or that he might miss her coming in, he would have preferred a table in the farthest corner on the second floor, away from prying eyes. She was still the talk of the school and gathered attention wherever she went, and “What is she doing with Gaunt?” was not something he wanted to hear whispered in the corridors.

Thankfully, it was one of the last warm and sunny days before the autumn chill fully set in, so most students were happy to make the most of it and took their work outside. Even Cressida Blume still seemed determined to let Madam Scribner forget her face (not that she would), and he hadn’t heard any other classmate of theirs either. 

Sebastian’s detention was pointless busy work as usual- scrubbing or cleaning or something of the sort. Truthfully, Ominis had ceased to pay attention when his friend complained about his punishments long ago. Whatever it was, it kept him far away from the library- no one was foolish enough to try and “punish” Sebastian by letting him get his hands on even more books.

Not that it mattered whether they knew the curious onlookers or not. She was still the object of everyone’s interest and admiration, and with the way things were going, that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. Not while she was so eager and endearing, always willing to drop everything the second someone needed something from her.

Right, it wasn’t like her to deny a request from a fellow student. She’d usually jump at the chance to do someone a favour, even if it came from someone she’d never seen before, even if it was much more bothersome than studying in the library for an hour or two.

So why wasn’t she here?

She wouldn’t have shown anyone his letter, would she? Unless she didn’t have to, if the owl reached her at an inopportune time, Merlin knows who else might have read it over her shoulder.

Ominis could imagine it, them sitting in a circle in the Hufflepuff girl’s dormitory, passing his letter around, seemingly teasing her about it in a playful attempt to get her to be wary of him. Until her curiosity would get the better of her and she’d ask them why precisely they found him so disagreeable. He shuddered. 

According to Sebastian, she already knew. She knew, and didn’t care. 

According to Sebastian, she also felt apologetic and regretful about their last encounter, much like him.

And if that was the truth- he couldn’t be entirely sure it was, but if it was, why wasn’t she here? Ominis tapped his quill against the parchment, piercing tiny holes into it and probably soaking the table underneath with ink. 

He was slowly but surely getting annoyed now. If she was as regretful about invading the Undercroft as Sebastian had made it seem, she should have pounced at the chance to meet up with him and make things right.

Of course, that had been weeks ago, so she might have gotten over it by now. Still, he wasn’t good enough for her to at least show up and quietly do her homework on the opposite side of the table? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any work to do. She always did, with all the extra assignments the Professors threw at her to help her catch up, and even if by some miracle she didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt her to simply study, for once.

She could have come. Ominis frowned. Unless she actually couldn’t.

Notorious troublemaker and rule breaker that she was, he’d often half jokingly wondered when her recklessness would come to bite her in the arse, only it wasn’t unthinkable, was it?

Her duelling skills didn’t make her invincible, it was entirely possible that she was lying dead, or dying, somewhere on the cold forest floor. Small animals and insects already crawling under her robes and the scarf she always insisted on wearing, slowly devouring her corpse while a confused owl pecked at her, trying to get her cold hands to take his stupid, embarrassing letter. 

Ominis took a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to squash the slowly rising dread.

Stop it. She was  fine, she had other things to do, or she thought she was in trouble with him again and didn’t feel like being chastised and insulted all evening. It was annoying that she didn’t even want to find out what he wanted from her- nothing, really, except perhaps a chance to clear the air- but he had no right to complain, he was the one who messed things up.

And his annoyance was merely a way to mask his fear of rejection.

He slumped down, his forehead hitting the table with a soft thud. Ears filled with the sounds of soft footsteps, turned pages and scratching quills, ink from his quill staining his fingertips but nothing to really occupy his mind in her stead.

Why couldn’t he have spent a few more minutes to rewrite that letter, although one could barely call it a letter- the note, why couldn’t he have tried to sound a bit more friendly and inviting? Then again, even a second longer might have caused him to rethink the whole thing, keeping him from sending it at all.

All things considered, that would have been a blessing in disguise, saving him from making an absolute fool of himself.

He’d heard it countless times from the Sallow twins, trying to console him in his moments of self-doubt; that he was a good person, a good friend, that he was fun to be with, but it’s not like she’d ever seen that side of him.

The two of them would make an odd, unlikely combination, but he wanted to get to know her, be near her. His invitation had been a final act of desperation- or perhaps insanity- a desire to hold on to the strange but comforting, tender feeling that rose in his chest whenever he heard her voice in class or her footsteps in the hallways nowadays.

At the very least, he wanted to make sure there was no lingering resentment between them.

The library door opened again, and the next sound to reach his ears suddenly made his head feel blissfully empty. 

It was her voice, and he instantly straightened his back and cocked his head to the side to listen better as she greeted the librarian.

She made her way through the library, with eager steps, drawing closer until he could smell her signature scent, then until he could hear her breathing. Ominis noticed she was slightly out of breath.

Had she been in a hurry?

To meet him?

In spite of the confusion, the sick feeling inside him dissolved almost instantly, all thoughts of why she made him wait only to show up hours later forgotten. She cared. She cared at least enough to give him a bit of her time.

“Hello, Ominis,” she said.

He knew she wasn’t one for formalities, calling all of her classmates by their first name without invitation. 

What surprised him more was the lack of any bitterness or trepidation he’d expected to hear in her voice, instead, she sounded cheerful, excited, almost.

“There you are. Care to sit down?” he replied, trying his best to sound unbothered while ignoring the sudden flutter of nervousness in his stomach. The scraping of the chair from across the table told him she did.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, I’m really sorry.”

Are you?

She sounded genuinely apologetic. Suddenly he realised, with another bout of nerves, that this would be the first time they actually had a proper conversation. Without any shouting. She was here for no other reason than to spend time with him, and more importantly, because he asked her to.

Ominis took perhaps a bit too long to answer, but she didn’t seem to notice. It sounded like she was busy taking her textbooks out.

“It’s all right. It’s not like I was just wasting time waiting for you, I was quite busy.” It was almost not a ridiculous lie, considering he’d been busy indeed, desperately craving her company, making a mess of his homework, hoping she’d care enough to show up. He hoped she wouldn’t think too hard about the messy, half empty parchments littering the table. 

It wouldn’t be fair to be upset about it. After all, he invited her on short notice and they never agreed on a time to meet.

“I left as soon as I got your owl, but it took me a while to get here,” she sighed, casually pushing aside his mess on the table to make space for her own.

Why? Where have you been?

Obviously not on school grounds.

“Why would that be?” he said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

“I was near Aranshire.”

“Aranshire? What were you up to over there?” He raised his eyebrow. He knew it was one of the Hamlets, the one close to Hogsmeade station, if he wasn’t mistaken, but he couldn’t judge exactly how far away from the castle it was.

Oh, he had a bad feeling about this, and she, ever so perceptive, noticed.

“Nothing to be concerned about.” she said airily.

She doesn’t trust me.

Ominis knew he shouldn’t hold it against her. They barely knew each other, after all, and yet he couldn’t help the tiny stab of annoyance as she was lying to him yet again. If it had been Sebastian, she would have told him. 

Then again, Sebastian had never threatened to get her in trouble with the Headmaster.

“Anyway, on my way back something came up and I looked a bit dishevelled by the end of it, and it took me a while to sort that out. That’s why I’m late. I really am sorry.”

“You looked… dishevelled?”

She hummed in agreement, taking a moment to shuffle around pieces of parchment before answering properly. “Just a bit.”

“You do know I wouldn’t be able to tell,” he said with a smirk.

She laughed, and Ominis was almost disturbed by how much he liked the sound of it.

“Fair enough, I suppose, but others would, and I wouldn‘t want to give anyone a reason to stare, or… talk more about me than they already do.”

Ominis tensed. He’d always been aware and annoyed at how much the entire school seemed to gossip about her, but he’d never considered that she’d know, or how she felt about it. There was an odd sort of undertone in her voice.

He wondered yet again how much she knew, or guessed, about the things others said behind his back, when they thought he was out of earshot, always underestimating his hearing. They were careful when Sebastian was close, but they had no reason to hold back when it was just her.

So was she concerned about what the others might say if they saw them together? For her sake, or for his? He was beginning to feel sick again.

“Why did you look ‘a bit dishevelled’ in the first place?” he asked in an attempt to return to the original subject, and perhaps lighten the mood a bit.

“Well…” she hesitated for a moment. “I had a run in with some spiders.”

Oh no.

“Really, nothing to be concerned about.” She added quickly when he furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to say something.

If he had to guess, this wasn’t the first time something like that had happened- in fact he knew it wasn’t. Dragons, Trolls, Dark Wizards, now this- and Merlin knew what else in between. She almost seemed to enjoy it, always roaming around, curious to see what else she could take on.

That recklessness made him uneasy. He had spent the last four years with another one like that, and the two of them being best friends felt like pouring oil in a fire.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I am. Nothing a bath and a Wiggenweld potion couldn’t fix,” she reassured him.

So you did get hurt.

Ominis frowned. He couldn’t smell any blood, and didn’t hear any strange whispers when she came in. She also didn’t sound as if she was in any pain, so she most likely wasn’t lying when she said she was fine now. Her having just taken a bath also explained why the scent of her soap was slightly stronger than usual and not mixed with the earthy, piney smell of the forest that always clung to her when she’d been roaming around the highlands.

“Are you all right?” she asked suddenly.

The question caught Ominis by surprise. “Certainly. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem a bit tense. If there’s anything I can help you with…”

Even without sight, he could guess she was pausing to look at him expectantly. Merlin, did she think that’s why he asked her to meet him?

“No, I…” There were a lot of things he would have liked to say to her, and yet he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

He had to say something, though, because the silence between them as she waited for Ominis to finish his sentence was starting to feel oppressive.

“I’m fine,” he finally said, suddenly feeling self-conscious about how much he was stressing over what, to her, was a casual conversation she had with dozens of others on an average day.

For Merlin’s sake, they were classmates sitting in the library, making smalltalk.

Time to change the subject.

“Really though, what were you doing out there?” He tried his luck again.

“Just the usual.”

Ominis barely managed to suppress a frustrated sigh. “Which would be…?”

She seemed to consider him for a moment. The building frustration from her annoyingly vague answers must have been evident, and Ominis thought for a split second that he’d pushed too far.

“Nothing too exciting. Chatting to some of the locals. Looking for good spots to collect potion ingredients, that sort of thing.”

“Sharp must be very proud of you.”

She laughed that melodic, infuriatingly infectious laugh of hers, and Ominis was both relieved and grateful that the atmosphere lightened considerably again, even as the annoying git who shushed him earlier made a disapproving noise. If she’d heard it, she’d decided to ignore it, and Ominis was more than happy to follow her lead.

“I’m not doing it to please Professor Sharp, I quite enjoy potion making- unlike some of us,” she teased.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t bother denying it, it’s not like I’m imagining the sour look on your face every time I look at you during Potions.”

So she hadn’t been ignoring him, even after everything that had happened. His insides squirmed pleasantly. Perhaps she was still curious about him, after all.

Ominis cleared his throat.

“So, had any success in finding those potion ingredients?” he asked, awkwardly attempting to keep the conversation going.

“Hmm. I’m running out of Horklump juice, but there weren’t any around. I did find some Ashwinder eggs though, at an abandoned poacher camp nearby,” she rambled on absentmindedly, still shuffling around her pieces of parchment. “I’ve always been curious about them, you know. I’d like to see one someday.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re dangerous criminals, you know.”

She held back a laugh. “I meant an Ashwinder- as in the creature, not the poachers. I’ve seen quite enough of them.” 

“...it was a joke.”

She giggled. “I’ve been thinking about how I always collect their eggs as potion ingredients, but I’ve never actually seen one,” she mused.

Well, they weren’t exactly the sociable sort, even for snakes.

Ominis had met an Ashwinder once, in the gardens behind his family home, after it had slithered out of an abandoned fire his older brother had been playing around with before he’d wandered off, bored. Excited to have someone to talk to, someone who he’d hoped wouldn’t either dismiss him or use the opportunity for some casual cruelty, Ominis had bent down to greet the little snake. It had told him to sod off and slithered away to lay its eggs. Back then, he’d been sulking the whole day over it.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards.

Shame, he thought ruefully. There he actually had a somewhat funny story about the very thing she was interested in, and he couldn’t even tell her. Not without revealing secrets about himself that he’d rather keep tightly guarded.

“Have you ever heard one?” She inquired.

Ominis stiffened instantly. So much for his tightly guarded secrets. He really would have to wring Sebastian’s neck one of these days. “What do you mean by that?”

“I only meant, well…,” she answered sheepishly, “… you obviously wouldn’t have seen one, and I know you have good hearing. Sorry, did I say something wrong?” She was obviously taken aback.

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” He relaxed. So Sebastian hadn’t told her that, at least. He cleared his throat. “You would have to be lucky to see one. They are born from unattended magical fires and only live for about an hour, barely long enough to lay their eggs.”

“Ah.” She was fumbling with her quill, running her fingers along the feathered edges, from the sound of it, seemingly deep in thought, and thankfully not angry at him for snapping at her. “If they’re born from fires, what are they laying eggs for?”

“I think that’s a question better asked of Professor Howin,” Ominis replied. “You’re the one taking Beasts class, not me.”

“So… could I just make a fire somewhere, ‘unattend’ it and wait for one to come out?”

He gave her an amused snort, not sure if she was being serious. “Are you taking a page out of Peeve’s book, trying to burn down the castle?” Brows furrowed, he still flashed her a warm smile as she had a fit of giggles, and a pleasant warmth spread through his body.

“Perhaps I should take a page out of Peeve’s book, that’d make us even,” she said.

Ominis was waiting for her to explain that rather puzzling statement, but she didn’t.

“Meaning…?”

“Never mind.”

He brushed it off. This was all he’d wanted, sitting together, having a pleasant conversation, laughing about each other’s jokes. And yet it didn’t feel quite right, there was still a wall between them, made up of secrecy and lies.

She finally seemed to have started on her work, the scratching of her quill adding to the symphony of the rustling paper and soft hums and whispers surrounding them.

Apologise for yelling at her about the Undercroft.

Ominis wanted to, he really did, and if he was ever going to, now was the time- but he was still embarrassed just thinking about it and he didn’t want to ruin their first decent conversation by reminding her of how horrible he’d been. It might have been easier to talk about if she was the one to bring it up, and he quietly wondered why she didn’t.

Through the ambient sounds, he heard Madam Scribner get up from behind her desk, about to make a final pass through her sacred halls. Reminding students not to leave a mess, picking unwilling volunteers to tidy the mess of the ones who didn’t listen amongst the stragglers who couldn’t flee fast enough, he was almost tempted to make sure it’d be the two of them.

It wouldn’t be fair, though.

Based on her account of how she’d spent her evening so far and his own idle contemplations, they’d both need to dedicate the remaining hours of the day to schoolwork, and she’d already dropped her previous plans as soon as she received his owl- a courtesy far beyond anything he deserved.

They were out of time.

“We should probably leave.”

There she was, slipping through his fingers again. If only she’d arrived half an hour earlier, maybe he could have gathered his nerve and apologised, at least.

“Wait, weren’t we going to do our homework? I haven’t even started, to be honest.”

Ominis smirked. “The library is about to close, you know. I’ve been here for hours before you came in.” Not that he’d been very productive in that time.

“Oh.” She sounded defeated- and perhaps even a bit disappointed?

That might have been wishful thinking on his part.

“I guess I’ll head back to the common room then. If I’m lucky, Adelaide’s still up and I can copy from her.”

He let out a small chuckle. “Cheating on our assignments, are we?”

“Oh, well. I can’t always be a saint,” she said cheekily.

For a second, Ominis had the urge to walk her back to her common room, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. It felt like it would be too much, walking around the castle with her, giving others the opportunity to make assumptions about a relationship that he himself didn’t yet fully understand. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said instead. He gathered his things, ignoring the growing regret and guilt.

“See you, Ominis. And… if you enjoyed my company enough, perhaps we could do this again?”

He felt his cheeks grow hot. “Sure.”

She laughed. “Cheers.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Her scent and her laughter still lingered and he was left wondering what, if anything, this little get together had accomplished.

Ominis could not have known this would be their last proper conversation before the three of them entered the Scriptorium.

more a/n: Before the Scriptorium though, the next chapter will be a little trip down memory lane, featuring the earful Sebastian got for showing her the Undercroft. It’s finally here! I started working on this a while ago, so if you’ve read this far, thank you! Like I kind of hinted at in the beginning, the concept of this fic is basically “what could they have been up to ‘off-screen’, if canon events stay exactly the same” (up to and including the fact that no one ever mentions mc’s name, we’ll see if I live to regret this decision), and I don’t know if that’s interesting to anyone but myself, but I’d be happy if anyone wants to be along for the ride.  Writing from Ominis’ pov is a challenge and I try my best to keep in mind that he’s blind when describing things (so don’t expect visual descriptions of anything, ever), but hopefully without constantly drawing attention to it, I hope I managed to do that respectfully and realistically. That said, if anything feels off to you or you have questions, feel free to let me know. And finally, English is not my first language. I proofread and edit everything I write to hell and back but if I still misspelt anything or obviously misused a word, let me know so I can fix it (just be nice about it). There’s a lot more I wanted to put in the authors’ notes but I think it’s already rambly enough, so I’ll leave it at that. Until next time? (I’ve written a few chapters ahead and I’ll try to upload regularly, but realistically, I probably won’t manage it more frequently than once every 1.5 to 2 weeks)

[meldy-writes]

Stupid Games

Summary: Takes place during S2 You’re the eldest of the Greene sisters (about 10 years older than Maggie). You’re mean, overprotective of your family, and overall just kind of a mythic bitch. Daryl can’t seem to keep his eyes from wandering over you whenever you’re around. One day you run into each other in the woods while hunting down the same deer and Daryl finds himself being toyed with. Maybe you’re not as cold and forbidding as you let on, but then again, maybe you’re just luring him into playing a stupid little game with you.

A/N: This is an excerpt from a fic I want to post to AO3 but don’t have anything substantial enough to post a full chapter yet so I wanted to post this here and see if it was good enough to keep working on. Might post another part I have written as a companion piece if people like this enough.

The first time Daryl laid eyes on you, you were just a distant figure on the roof of the Greene family farmhouse as he rode in at the head of the convoy on his bike. You were sitting on the porch overhang, looking out over your father's land with the vigilance of a grizzled soldier on the front lines. He watched you stand up as they drove up your gravel path. You put out a cigarette you'd been smoking in an ashtray resting on an open window ledge before climbing into the house. He and the rest of the members of his group that had stayed behind at the highway the night previous had made it up to the path and met up with the people who were already working on something judging by the pile of rocks they were collecting in a wheelbarrow by the time you reemerged on the porch. You surveyed him and the others with a set and piercing stare, arms crossed defensively over your chest as if daring one of them to cause trouble and give you a reason to beat their ass. You were followed out of the house by an older man in his seventies and the rest of Daryl’s group. You took stock of the new arrivals, starting with him and working your way over everyone, scanning them like you could see everything there was to know about them on their skin and didn't like it. When you were done you fixed your gaze back onto Daryl as if you'd identified him as the biggest threat. He hated the feel of your suspicious stare, though he told himself it was typical of people to see him as nothing but trouble and to treat him like dirt so he should be used to it. The way you tilted your head from your elevated position on the raised porch—like you were looking down at an ant and trying to decide whether it was worth the energy to squash it—made him fidget.

“How is he?” Dale asked after Carl when Rick and Lori came out of the house looking like they’d just been through hell and hadn't slept a wink.

“He'll pull through,” Lori responded, relief clear in her voice, “Thanks to Hershel and his daughter, (y/n),” She said motioning towards you, “and their people, and–”

“and Shane,” Rick added, “We'd have lost Carl if not for him.”

Daryl watched your already cold eyes darken and a snarl twist across your face at the statement, failing to suppress an eye roll before you yanked your head away from the group and the conversation like it disgusted you, choosing instead to stare off towards a barn at a distant end of the property. He wondered what your problem was, but he wasn't wondering long. It was revealed soon after the group arrived that someone had gone with Shane when he went to retrieve medical supplies for Carl and that that person did not return with him. Someone you and your family cared for.

If it wasn't made clear by the way Lori recognized those living at the farm house as not just your father's people but yours as well that you were the oldest child, it would have become obvious by the way your sisters looked to you for comfort at Otis's funeral. The little blonde one bawled her eyes out and clung to you like a child clings to their mother while Maggie, the woman who'd rode up to them on a horse the other day, leaned down to your height to rest her head on your shoulder. You tucked the sniffling teenager under your arm protectively, rubbing at her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead and then turned to bump your head softly against Maggie’s in a comforting way. Your lips pursed like you were sucking on a lemon as you tried your best to stay strong and not start crying like your sisters, pinning Shane with a frigid and accusatory glare that he expertly ignored as he told the story of how he and Otis were ambushed by a group of walkers while retrieving the medical supplies for Carl and that Otis had valiantly stayed behind to cover his retreat, shooting into the herd with a pistol before ultimately being swallowed up by the swarm and getting torn to shreds. Daryl found it miraculous that Shane managed to recover the gun but not the man that had supposedly been firing it in his daring escape—and by miraculous he meant shady. You didn't seem to be buying Shane’s story, either.

After the service your father motioned toward you and told you to show the guests where to set up their camp, as he graciously agreed to let them stay until Carl recovered and they had located Sophia. You nodded dutifly with a muttered “Yessir,” motioning to Rick with your head, beckoning him to follow as you untangled yourself from your siblings and began marching off in a direction with purpose, not looking back to check if anyone was following you. If the group couldn't keep up with your quick gait that was just too damn bad. They did their best to match your pace, some, like Daryl, breaking off to fetch the vehicles and bring them over to where they were meant to stay. When you got to a spot under some particularly shady trees a good distance from your house you stopped, looking around as you waited for the group to congregate. When everyone was grouped up again you addressed them directly for the first time that morning. Your voice was down to business and detached as you pointed out where the boundaries of the camp would be and where the well they could use for water was. “One more thing,” You said with the same rural twang as your sisters, your tone changing to one of warning as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, jutting out your hip and resting your hand against it. Daryl followed the movement, your curves drawing his eyes in a way that made him itch and blush. “My daddy believes we should be good christians—help our fellow men and give ‘em the benefit of the doubt, but I don't share his blind faith. I don't know you people and I don't trust you. I can’t afford to, I have a baby sister to protect. Beth is sixteen, you understand? She's a child. If I catch any of your men lookin’ at her, talkin’ to her—sniffin’ around her in any way, I will rip their balls off like I'm takin’ a part off a Mr. Potato Head.” You made a popping sound with your lips that had Daryl's stare fixing on them instead of your hips, and gave a motion with your hand as if grabbing at something and yanking it down. “Clean off,” you reiterated, staring Glen down who swallowed thickly and tried to give you a friendly and disarming smile that did not change your attitude in the slightest. “Maggie can take care of herself but still, if someone upsets her, with God as my witness there will be hell to pay.”

There was a loud silence from the group after your blatant threats of bodily harm that was broken by Dale, ever the peacekeeper. “We understand where you're coming from, you have nothing to worry from us. We're good people, you'll see. Thank you for letting us stay on your beautiful property while Carl recovers and we look for Sophia.”

You scoffed, “You're only here because we shot your boy,” you reminded bluntly as you turned to leave for your house, “don't thank us.”

Daryl’s first impression of you: You were a bitch, but a bitch who loved her family. The only times he ever caught you cracking a smile or being anywhere close to kind during those first few days was when you were with them. You seemed to disagree with your dad on a lot of things, but it was clear you both respected and loved each other and that you had a bond that had been worked on and cultivated to be strong enough for you to argue and debate and still look at each other with love. After every tiff he’d catch you having in the windows of the front room, spitting and pinching the bridge of your nose and tossing your hands up while your dad calmly spoke back you would sigh, relax your gaze, and kiss his cheek or his forehead before stomping off with a storm cloud over your head. You’d grin wolfishly as you and Maggie laughed conspiratorially on the porch in the afternoon, teasing each other as you ate cherries together, trying to hit each other with the pits you spat out. Your whole face would soften when you looked at Beth, practically glowing with unconditional adoration as you played on the guitar Dale had originally found for Glen and accompanied the little blonde girl as she sang her heart out. Your voice was low, bluesy, raw, and filled with vibrato. There was an untrained authenticity to it that was almost hypnotic. It paired well with your sister who sang like a songbird, pretty and light as if she’d been taught by actual birds. You were happy to let her take the center stage, supporting her through harmony while your fingers strummed frets with a clumsy sort of charm, like you were taught to play at one point but never practiced, and were now making all sorts of mistakes that were going to become bad habits without a proper teacher. It was later revealed that Otis had taught you the basics a few years back and you’d only bothered to pick it back up now that he was gone and Beth needed someone new to perform with. You softened for Patricia, as well, helping her in the kitchen and going out of your way to assist her with her chores on the farm despite having plenty of your own responsibilities to fulfill.

Daryl’s group, however, you continued to treat like shit on your shoe. You made no effort to hide that you wanted them off your property as soon as possible, only showing a hint of compassion when it came to Lori and Carol, the mothers of the group who were distraught over the perils of their children. They were the ones you supplied the group’s meals to, giving them bushels of produce and bottles of milk and sending your sisters over to hand them baskets of eggs, even going so far as to offer Carl some of your late step-brother’s hand-me-downs to wear, but you still had a cold sneer on your face when you handed things over and you didn’t speak to them unless it was to ask how Carl was recovering or if they were making any progress finding Sophia. You were only asking to try and gauge how much longer you’d have to wait before kicking them out, and you grew more and more agitated the more the group settled in. Every time Rick or Dale or anyone tried to appeal to you or your dad about staying longer or staying permanently you’d bristle like a cat being pet the wrong way. You made a point to avoid them most of the time, which was just fine with Daryl because every interaction he did have with you pissed him off, and only fueled his own frustration when it became harder and harder to ignore you or look away.

For instance, the first one on one conversation he ever had with you was out in the woods while he was looking for Sophia. He was about to give up the search for the day and head back when he picked up the trail of a deer. He stalked it through the woods, thinking it’d be better to provide the farm with some venison than to return empty handed again. When he finally found it, he took aim and shot it at an angle that had it sprinting off with a limp in the direction of the farm. That’s when he heard a startled gasp and watched as you rushed out of the nearby foliage with a rifle, taking aim at the retreating deer before realizing you couldn’t get a clear shot on it. You then turned to where he was, gun dropping in your arms as you pinned him with a furious look. “Congratulations, Numb-Nuts, it got away.”

“The hell are you doing out here?” Daryl snapped, face red at the way you were treating him like a dullard with no idea what he was doing.

You seemed flustered by the question, looking down and kicking at the dirt with your horse-riding boot. “Came out to hunt and figured I’d look around for the missing little girl while I was at it,” you said with a casual shrug, avoiding his eyes until you seemed to remember you were pissed at him at which point your head snapped up and that signature sneer of yours was back. “Saw the deer and was gonna take it out but somebody went and scared it off.”

“I shot it in the leg on purpose,” Daryl explained defensively, getting angry and up in your face, “see that trail it left? It’s carryin’ itself back to the farm, less effort this way.” He looked you up and down and scoffed, nodding towards your gun. “What's with the rifle, Annie Oakley? You shoot that thing, every walker in a five mile radius is gonna come here to tear you and that deer apart.”

You slung your weapon over your shoulder and crossed your arms defiantly, “It takes a buck down in one clean, quick shot. The animal feels little to no pain if you know what you’re doin’ so it’s not suffering with an arrow in its ass for half a mile. Plus, I woulda been outta here with the buck slung over my shoulder long before anything came over to check out the noise.” You were confident, clearly convinced you knew better and that your methods were best. Daryl couldn’t have that. He had a good decade’s worth of experience on you and he hadn't had his hand held the whole time he was taught to track the way you probably had. He licked his lips ready to knock you down a peg.

“Yeah, but you’d be so exhausted from caryin’ it the whole way that if a walker came up on you, you’d be too tired to fight it off. Maybe you’d be able to drop the deer and fumble for your rifle, but that’s as far as you’d get. It’d be on you in a second. Would a little thing like you be able to fight it off? You even got a weapon other than that big ol’ Elmer Fudd gun?” As he was talking he saw your expression shift. You tilted your head like something had just occurred to you and you were sizing him up.

Suddenly, you brought your right leg up, bent at the knee so you could lift a jack knife from your boot, and flicked the blade out so it pointed at his chest. That shut him up for a second. He really hadn’t expected the quickness with which you had it drawn on him. “Believe me,” you let out a bored, breathy sigh, a smirk on your face like you knew you had the upper hand, “I’ve got some experience dealing with ravenous things that want to pin me down and devour me, I can handle myself just fine.” …were you still talking about walkers? You were, right? The way you poked the tip of your knife against the skin of his chest peeking out from under his open collar and gently dragged it down until it caught on the button of his shirt had him feeling goosebumps on his flesh and hearing innuendo in your words. You took a step towards him, looking up at him through long lashes with your chest puffed—either in pride or in an attempt to get him to look at your breasts. Regardless of the reason, It was working. “What about you? You sure you can catch up to that deer before somethin’ else does? You said it yourself, it’s hurt and slowing down—a biter could take it down in a matter of moments. Then what, tough guy?” Daryl had nothing to say in defense of that. Partly because your slightly seductive shift in demeanor had his mouth going dry and partly because you had a point and he knew it. He remembered the last time he’d hunted a deer like this, it’d carried itself all the way back to the quarry camp before getting caught on the fishing line of the perimeter alarms they put up and then it’s stomach was ripped apart and it’s innards devoured by a walker that followed the sound of a wounded, frightened animal and jingling cans. You must have seen in his eyes that you’d caught him because your slight smile spread into a full-on Cheshire cat grin. You retracted your knife and returned it to your boot, turning and sauntering off in the direction the deer had run off in. “guess we’d better go find it, huh?”

Daryl stalled for a second, stunned by your behavior. One second you’re spitting venom at him and making him feel like he’s two feet tall, the next you’re purring like a kitten and being the biggest fucking tease he’d ever had to endure. He mentally smacked himself when he realized he’d been so focused on the sway of your hips as you walked away that he wasn’t following you like he should be. He began jogging to catch up with you, falling into step easily as you both picked up the deer’s trail again. “You even know how to track?” He couldn't help but keep trying to pick a fight with you—he didn’t even know why, but as much as bickering with you pissed him off, he also found it fun. You didn’t treat his meanness like something you had to quell or cry about like his group did, you stood your ground and tossed your own barbs right back at him. It was like a game. A game he seemed to be losing, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop playing.

You looked over to him, a brow raised as you scanned him up and down. “Yes, I do. Do you own a shirt you haven’t ripped the sleeves off of?” You nodded to the button down he was wearing. He’d torn the sleeves off a few days ago because it was too hot to wear them and he needed the fabric to tie markers off on trees to denote what parts of the woods he’d already searched through in case the others ever decided to get off their asses and help look for Sophia. He had a few other shirts that had sleeves at some point but no longer did that he wore in a common rotation. He must have had a sour look on his face at your retaliating comment because you shook your head and chuckled under your breath, “don’t play stupid games if you don’t wanna win stupid prizes.”

You walked through the woods mostly in silence after that, not wanting to make an abundance of noise and end up accidentally spooking the deer. That became a competition as well, with you both smirking in triumph every time the other stepped on a twig or kicked up a bit of dirt in your effort to leave as little evidence of a trail as possible. Eventually, as you were coming up on a clearing near the edge of your property where the tall grass almost completely covered the view of your home in the distance, Daryl stuck his hand out to stop you and put a finger to his lips, pointing towards the buck you’d both been after peeking out through the foliage, whining softly and doing its best to lick at the wound in its back leg. You took cover behind a honeysuckle bush and Daryl nodded at you and your gun, “I got the last shot, your turn.”

You hesitated a second, scanning the woods and warily looking towards your farm. “Too close to home to use the gun now, it’d attract the dead to our property. Lemme borrow that crossbow of yours.” You held your hand out for it and Daryl clutched it away from your grasp. You looked at him first confused by his reluctance then annoyed, “please?” you said petulantly. After a beat of studying your face he eventually relented, but only after you’d started pouting a little. The second it was in your grip you hefted it up, remarking that it was heavier than you expected.

Daryl watched you handle it a bit clumsily as you got used to holding it and his fingers itched to show you how to aim it right. In the end, he couldn’t help himself. He came up behind you and put his hands on your hips, angling them the right way so you had a solid stance. He felt you stiffen under his hands and could hear your breath catching in your throat. “You wanna stand like this,” he coached, his arms coming around you to adjust your elbows and help you aim the weapon straight. You leaned back against his chest a little, maybe unconsciously, maybe on purpose. “Then just use the arrow tip like a sight and pull the trigger.” He could feel you shift as his breath brushed against the skin of your neck. The way you acted made you so big and imposing, but actually having you in his arms made you feel so small and demure; like he could envelop you entirely and keep you all to himself if he wanted. The way you’d been acting the past half hour made him feel like you might want that, too. The idea sort of excited him a little—made his pants and his chest feel tight. There was a quiet moment where he expected you to aim and fire, but it passed and the arrow still hadn’t been shot. He turned to look at you and see what the hold up was. Surley, you weren’t that unsure of your aim. He flinched back a bit when he moved his head in your direction and almost brushed noses with you, as you were not looking at the deer and had instead shifted to look back at him, a look on your face reminiscent of a cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“You really are just like any other man, aren’t you?” you crooned out in a teasing tone.

“What?” his mind went blank in his dumbfoundedness and that was all he could manage to utter.

“In my experience, I’ve found that any man who’s attracted to a woman is always willing to believe two things about her: One, that she doesn’t know anything about anything and needs him to help her, and two, that she’s just as attracted to him as he is to her.” Daryl’s mouth opened and closed like a fish at that statement, unsure what you meant or how he was supposed to respond. In that time you yanked yourself out of his grip, redid your stance, took aim with perfect form, and let loose an arrow with absolutely no hesitation. The deer let out a sad bleat as it was shot in the eye and then it crumpled into the grass, dead as a doornail. You handed his crossbow back to him with a nasty, shit-eating grin. “Do I really strike you as the type of person who’d ask to borrow somethin’ I didn’t know how to use? Honestly now, all I had to do was bat my lashes and push up my tits and you were all ‘here, let me get up close behind you and show you how to hold this big heavy tool’.” You said those last three words in an erotic and over dramatic moan, getting close to press your breasts against him as you ran your hand up his chest.

He pushed you away, a heavy blush heating his face while you began to cackle maniacally at him. “How the hell was I supposed to know you knew how to use it when you were fumbling with it like a toddler?” he barked out angrily as you stepped out from behind the bush you’d both been hiding behind and began walking towards the farm, still laughing. “Hey! Ain’t you gonna take the deer? It’s your kill!”

You turned around with mirth dancing in your eyes and a wide happy grin on your face. The light of the setting sun bounced off your hair making it look so shiny as the light summer breeze ran through it, making it float and sway around you in such a pretty way. Daryl felt his heart pound hard in his chest as he glared over your retreating figure. You were walking backwards, tucking a few strands of hair that had flown into your face back behind your ear as you said, “Who, me? But I'm just a ‘little thing’ who’d get tired if I carried it all the way back. You’re the big strong man—use those big strong muscles to carry it back for me. Oh, and since you’re the big strong provider, you can go ahead and string it up, drain it, and skin it, too. Thanks for your help,” you sing-songed sarcastically, “I just don’t know how I ever woulda done it without you!” Daryl began to huff, storming towards you for a second, unsure of what he’d even do if he caught you, but he felt like you’d just tricked him and he didn’t like it. You held your hands up in your defense as you saw him coming. “Stupid games, stupid prizes,” you reiterated with a shrug as you giggled and turned, running back towards the farm and leaving him in the thicket with the dead buck.

Daryl got the sudden sense as he watched you slow your pace to a jog then a brisk walk once you’d gotten far enough away that this had all been a test of some kind. He couldn’t tell if he passed or failed, but you certainly seemed pleased about the results either way. He kicked at the ground, a clump of dirt launching into the air as he did so, and moved to heft the buck over his shoulder. He didn’t know if or when you’d ever come looking to play again, but if you did, he’d make sure he won.

As he strung up the deer in a tree a little ways away from the group’s makeshift camp later that afternoon, cutting at its arteries and letting the blood drain out of it, he imagined what you might look like when he got the upper hand on you. What would you look like when the sneers and the smirks were wiped away and you were pinned down, completely at his mercy—all flustered with your cheeks flushed, trying to squirm your way out from under him. He bet you’d still have bite. He bet you would still spit venom, but maybe he could get you to purr for him, too. Maybe he could get you to look at him the way you looked at your family, all sweet smiles and gentle touches. The thought made him eager to play another one of your stupid little games.

[autistichalfblood]

🩷🖤Unfathomable🩷🖤

On March 8th 2023 I got a job as a public school English teacher and I couldn't do anything else, I barely even had time to sleep.

On April 29th 2024 I had to quit that job because I was having way too many anxiety and panic attacks and my health (physical and mental) was declining. I am a diagnosed autistic person who just couldn't handle it anymore, I was teaching 16 different classes, working 9 hours every day, the only English Teacher for over 500 students.

I'm now trying to find my balance again, looking for the safety of my special interests, one of them being Wenclair, hence why I'm back writing my fanfic Unfathomable.

I am rereading what I have already written and doing some small updates (mostly sentence structure and stuff like that) and after I finish up with what is already posted, I will go back to writing that!

It might not be updated in consistent, quick manner when I go back at it, because I need to avoid too much pressure and stress but I'm so fond of this pairing, they keep me company when I'm lonely because I have no friends and no one to talk to, and they actually teach me some things and help me understand others.

I would love to ask any tumblr mates, wednesday/wenclair fans or otherwise, to check my fic out and let me know how I can improve my writing (you can comment there on my fic), I honestly think that interacting with other human beings in a classroom is too much for me and writing has always been my love, so I'm gonna follow that path now.

Fanfic: Unfathomable

Pairing: (Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair)

TV SHOW: Wednesday (Netflix)

Link: Click here to be transported to AO3.

---

UPDATE:

Chapters 1 & 2 were already fully checked, edited and updated.

Chapter 3 is OUT NOW!!!!

Stats:

1 kudo away from 2150!

479 hits away from 17,000 (woow!)

20 comments away from 100!

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta'em - calm before the storm

Masterlist - part seventeen

Summary: Just as the chapter's title suggests. It was the calm before the storm…

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 11k+

Warnings: Fluff! Some awkwardness that happens after one makes a confession lol. Trauma regarding torture, loss of a child, body dysmorphia, etc. There's a plot twist at the end of this chapter ;)

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully @lightandshadow31 @jamie-poopoo @brittney69 @avatar-lover @ikeyniofthetayrangi @cardi-bre91

A/n: Hiii 🥰 I'm very sorry for the hiatus that I originally promised wasn't going to be a hiatus. To escape life, I dove into other fixations such as Destiny 2, the Fallout show, Dune Part 2, and Bridgerton... yeah, I did some bouncing. So far, my summer has been fantastic! Anyway, here's another chapter before I inevitably disappear again 😂

Enjoy!

If there was anything Kayla was extremely grateful for, it was that Spider didn't have a heightened sense of smell as the Na'vi did.    

She could smell both Ronal and Tonowari on her skin, and while it internally delighted her, she felt her skin prickle at the thought of Spider of all people being traumatized and learning about her very recent courting by smell alone as they share close quarters with one another. The thought mortified her more than anything, more than the idea of eventually having to tell Jake.

Thankfully, Spider returned home that day none the wiser, Ronal and Tonowari already long gone even with their scents still lingering in Kayla's nose. She felt like a teenager again, embarrassed and trying to hide it from her parents. However, she quickly stomped down that thought at the harsh reminder that she's a grown-ass woman and Spider wasn't a very judgemental kid. He was also someone who had caught onto Ronal and Tonowari's interest in Kayla early on and wouldn't be surprised if he learned the truth. 

With that in mind, Kayla emerged from her kelku the next morning wearing the new top the Metkayina clan leaders had gifted her. For a very brief moment, she felt exposed and uncomfortable, the woven beads cool against her skin, but then, she looked down at herself and felt her body relax to see that the top covered just about as much as her threadbare red shirt did. It wasn't even close to revealing as some of the tops Kayla had seen Na'vi women wear, even with the low cut. A small part in the back of Kayla's head felt delighted to realize that this top was definitely made for her.

She still wore her shorts, but the small change in attire was still noticeable as she quickly learned. Na'vi eyes silently observed her as she walked through the village, and even though she heard the Metkayina whisper as she passed them, they weren't hateful or disgusted, but more in awe. Her skin crawled because she didn't know if she preferred it or would much rather have them feel indifferent to her again. 

While their eyes all noticed her top, Kayla almost felt the need to throw her shirt back over herself at the thought that the Metkayina might also smell her new scent as well. It would explain the way their noses would twitch and their ears all perk up and turn in her direction when they haven't even noticed her presence yet. 

If Spider noticed any of it, he didn't say a word, instead, he informed Kayla that he would be deep-diving with the other reef boys that afternoon. Something crawled in her stomach at the reminder of Ao'nung and other reef boys leaving Lo'ak alone outside the reef before she sternly told Spider to make sure either Lo'ak or Tsireya was with them. Apart from the small, suspicious stare, Spider didn't question her, taking his new bow in hand and heading out to meet his friends, waving back to Kayla as he went and promising to be back before supper.

Walking along the beach, Kayla recognized the tsahik from a mile away, fingers entangled in a worn fishing net. As Kayla walked over to the other woman, she watched the way Ronal's ears lifted and moved in her direction. Ronal looked up from her work and recognized Kayla from a distance, and by the time the dreamwalker approached her, it wasn't hard to deduce how pleased she looked, eyes dancing approvingly over the avatar woman's figure, reaching a hand out to lightly adjust the top on Kayla before nodding once with confidence,

"It suits you perfectly. I was afraid it would not be able to hold up against your beauty."

Despite having a young Na'vi body, Kayla felt as though her heart was ready to give out, her feet barely catching when she initially stumbled in reaction to Ronal's compliment. Kayla's eyes quickly averted, the tip of her ears feeling warm as she quietly thanked the tsahik and changed the subject, making plans to see both her and Tonowari later. After making a brief conversation as to what each other's plans were for the day, Kayla had turned to leave but nearly jolted out of her skin when she felt a gentle tug on her tail. She couldn't help the feigned glare she threw back at Ronal, internally delighted by the rare mischief she saw in the Metkayina woman's eyes, but trying not to show it. Kayla's fake irritation only appeared to amuse Ronal forward, the tsahik tilting her head at the avatar while appreciatively staring her up and down once more, forcing the heat from Kayla's ears to travel down her neck. 

The avatar cleared her throat and then finally departed, hiding her own smile as she thought back to Ronal's well-hidden playful behavior. It was nothing like the woman who sharply tugged Kayla's tail the day they first met, further showing just how much things have changed around here.

Summoning an ilu, Kayla makes her way through the reef, reaching the atoll wall where all the various pools travel up one side like stairs, catching various sealife whenever the tide rises up and down. Dozens of Metkayina are fishing and gathering in these pools, with nets, and baskets at their feet. Kayla zeros in on one particular Na'vi and swims over after letting her ilu take off, climbing up onto the slippery wall to make her way over to her friend.

Rutxa looks up and appears smug at the sight of Kayla, blue eyes pointedly narrowed on the avatar's new top while dramatically sniffing the air, "You look... enamored. Had a good evening?"

Kayla's eyes narrow, "Don't play dumb. I bet you're just dying to weave a story about it."

Their grin remained playful, humming dramatically as if deep in thought, "Perhaps if you tell me all about it, I won't have to... fabricate any details."

Kayla lets out a humorous scoff, shaking her head, "You're horrible."

"Yes, that was what my mother called me. Don't abuse it."

The laugh that bubbles out of Kayla coincides with the screech of an approaching ikran. The sound makes Kayla pause and look up to the sky in order to discover which ikran. She only had to briefly catch the color to know the banshee was Neytiri's bonded, and a small wedge of dread made its home in Kayla's chest.

Neytiri lands her ikran gracefully, several yards away from any Metkayina as they go about the pools of the atoll wall. The Na'vi woman looks around before her eyes land on her intended target. Kayla half expected her sister-in-law to bristle at the sight of her, but she felt a small bit of genuine confusion when all she saw was a woman who was trying to appear small and guarded. If Kayla wanted to verbally taunt, she would've pointed out to Neytiri that she almost looked guilty. The two women stare at each other for some time before Neytiri takes a deep breath and starts slowly walking forward, her face pinched with dread at the idea of the long-awaited conversation she was no doubt forcing herself to partake in.

Kayla takes her own deep breath and then motions Rutxa to wait here before drifting over to meet Neytiri halfway. While it felt as though they walked forever to reach each other, both women found themselves standing right in front of one another only seconds later, neither saying a word while their eyes never fully meeting, both hesitant to say anything at first due to their ongoing impasse. 

Neytiri looks Kayla up and down before she swallows her pride, both visibly and internally as she opens her mouth, "Your clothes. They are lovely."

The Sully sister's eyes dart off to the side, her words are stiff but courteous, "Thank you."

"Did the tsahik make it?"

The mention of Ronal made Kayla's ears twitch, "What gave it away?"

"It would explain why she asked me about making a bow for Spider. And--" she takes a small whiff of the air around her mate's sister, "You smell like her. Tonowari, too."

"... I see. Don't tell Jake."

She raised a hairless brow at the other woman, "I will not need to. He will smell it."

Kayla pointedly doesn't blink, finally staring directly into Neytiri's eyes with a stern expression, "Which is why I am avoiding him at the moment."

Neytiri quietly observes Kayla, yellow eyes piercing into one another's gaze, trying to sniff out each other's thoughts. The Omatikaya woman is wracked with bafflement. It is a beautiful thing for one to finally find their mate, or, in this case, mates. It should never be something to be ashamed of, as newly mated pairs often run to their families to excitedly share the news. The fact that Kayla would rather hide and avoid Jake baffles Neytiri. She wanted to hiss and scold both of the former sawtute for what was clearly a spat between siblings, along with a dash of pride, but at this time and place, she knew Kayla wouldn't accept nor appreciate her scolding. 

Still, it bothered the Na'vi woman. Neytiri knew the two siblings had a lot of conflict between them, but to go as far as to not share such wonderful news with each other? Neytiri would give anything to be in Kayla's position. She would've given anything to be able to excitedly share life updates with her own sister once more. Sylwanin used to love hearing how Neytiri's day went before bed, even though Neytiri wasn't in turn thrilled to hear about what her sister and Tsu'tey would get up to in the woods. Then again, Neytiri was the only person her sister trusted with that information, and it shattered Neytiri's heart to think how she had taken that for granted. She will never make that same mistake again, and any secrets Sylwanin entrusted to her will die with Neytiri.

Hence why she couldn't bring herself to deny Kayla when the other woman was clearly trying to tell her not to share her secrets with Jake. Neytiri exhaled through her nose and nodded in defeat, "I will not breathe a word." 

Kayla stiffly nodded and briefly looked away, peering over her shoulder to see if Rutxa was still waiting for her. Neytiri's conflict was easily undetected, watching Kayla when the avatar wasn't looking with a pained expression in her eyes. Everything that had come between the two women lately was pounding against Neytiri's skull, begging her to say something, to make things right, to finally confess her sins out loud. It has been plaguing her ever since the boy-- ever since Spider confronted her about her distaste and mistreatment toward him. Ever since he made her stand in the eyes of her inner demons, her hidden thoughts no longer feel as hidden as they used to be and she's been struggling to accept everything he said was true. 

'Denial is a river in Egypt.' It's a phrase she's not familiar with, but it's something she remembered Grace used to say when Neytiri was a child. When the scientist explained what it meant, somehow it threaded its way into Neytiri's head, and she had yet to forget about it. No one could deny Neytiri's grief after everything she's been through, but neither could anyone deny how unfair she had been to Spider his whole life. Despite knowing how innocent he was, Neytiri refused to See him. Despite eventually accepting Jake and loving him for who he is, she couldn't do the same for Spider, and despite knowing how that hurt the child, she didn't care. Or at least-- not at the time. The fact that she didn't care for a child and his feelings was something she came to terms with long ago, but staring Kayla in the face and simply stating she wasn't Spider's mother haunted Neytiri in her sleep. 

The expression Kayla gave terrified Neytiri, guilt riddled her mind and heart. She didn't originally care how her words might hurt Spider, but the guilt she felt when her words affected Kayla felt like she took an arrow through the stomach. It only got worse when Neytiri took the time to look around and see everyone else's reactions. Those who mattered most to her, her husband and her children, all had looked at her as though they didn't recognize her. They looked at her as if she was some sort of monster. After spending time to herself, replaying her words to Spider and everyone's faces, Neytiri finally admitted to herself that they were right. She was a monster. She might not be like Quaritch, but she shouldn't go around and pretend she was better than him, especially after they both held a child at knifepoint for the sake of another.

Neytiri had looked down at her reflection in the water that same day -the day Spider called her out- and suddenly realized she no longer recognized herself. Even though there were things no one could blame her for, there were still moments in her life where Neytiri knew she could've done better. Yes, she let her children play with Spider, but she never once acknowledged him. She didn't have to claim him as hers, but she could've at least made the boy feel welcome. She could've invited him to a family dinner at least once, or given a comment or two on how to properly hold a bow when she caught him trying to teach himself. 

So many instances flash over Neytiri's eyes, instances where she could have shown kindness or care to a little orphaned boy who had done nothing but admire her family and love her children with every fiber of his little being. But she didn't. And when she thought back to the young woman she used to be... before Hometree and before her father... before Tsu'tey and Sylwanin... that young woman would have shown such kindness to Spider. By Eywa, that young woman might have even grown to love him as she had grown to love Jake.

Regret will forever be her friend as Neytiri finally comes to accept that she was wrong. Feeling a little more courageous with Kayla's eyes no longer on her, Neytiri spoke up once more, albeit a little more softly, and with the most sincere regret, "I am sorry."

Unaware of Neytiri's internal conflict, Kayla's eyes return to hers, squinting with disapproval, "It's not me you should be apologizing to."

Neytiri pressed her eyes shut for a moment, the guilt bleeding into her expression as her ears pinned back against her skull, "I am sorry to you as well. I had threatened your son. I almost killed him in front of you."

"He's n--" Kayla's words caught in her throat, then she swallowed them down and looked away again, trying to hide the small pain in her voice, "Thank you."

Neytiri nods, voice a little more sure, "I would not be any better than the monster who took my son away from me if I took yours."

Kayla wanted to be firm and agree, but her tongue swelled in her mouth, with something itching at the back of her mind that told her not to sound petty and vindictive. A question kept nagging at her, the same question Kiri once asked her. What would she have done if she was in Neytiri's place that night? It was a scenario she couldn't imagine in her head, even if she could imagine a lot. 

She hesitates, her posture relaxing and less guarded as she softly asks, "Can... can you explain it to me? So that I can try to understand?"

A visible wince flashed over Neytiri's expression, her eyes wide with distress in response to Kayla's question. Neytiri wasn't sure she could describe what she felt... not without breaking down, that is. Then again, it had been the first time anyone had asked her how she felt instead of just assuming and giving her time to herself. She didn't want that anymore. She's had plenty of time to herself, and a part of her was angry at everyone who continued to give her a wide berth. Solitude was something she no longer needed, and she wanted everyone to stop treating her like she was going to break.

Perhaps talking about it was something Neytiri needed just as much as Kayla in order to feel some sort of comfort. The idea makes her take a deep breath and slowly answer, "It is not the same as losing a parent, in my eyes. I lost my father, and even though I miss him every day, we are told that our parents will join Eywa before us and that they will be waiting for us there when we eventually do the same. For a child... it's different. A parent should always go before their child. That should always be the way of things... and that was stolen from me. You might not know this, but you should be prepared for when Ronal has her child. When we are born, the first tsaheylu is with our mother. To form that strong and emotional bond. To lose the first child I ever bonded with--"

Kayla's tail and ears lower, blinking rapidly to contain hidden pain, her imagination running wild with everything Neytiri had described. It helped that Neytiri was trying to explain it... but Kayla couldn't imagine how it must feel for a grieving mother to say all of this out loud.

Neytiri sucks in a sharp, wheezing breath, but it wavers and her lips begin to quiver. Her eyes grow wet with tears as her hand reaches up to try and gently claw at her chest, visibly and verbally shaking, "The pain for my father and even my sister do not compare... I feel as though I have a gaping wound in my chest that will not stop bleeding. It's always there, ever flowing, and I cannot take a breath without remembering it. My baby who I had kept safe inside me for so long... suddenly ripped from my arms before he could find love... or have a family... or be the olo'eyktan he was always meant to be... I had always wanted to see him as a father, and now I will never have that."

Saying it out loud felt as though she was living Neteyam's death all over again. Fresh tears spilled down Neytiri's beautiful face, carving a familiar path down her cheeks as a sob interrupted her explanation. Her chest squeezed painfully, and her sobs only got worse as Kayla suddenly reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace, purposely hiding Neytiri's face as the grieving mother continued to cry her heart out, wishing she could just be numb. Neytiri didn't miss the way Kayla buried her own wet face to hide from the world, nuzzled into Neytiri's shoulder. The female Na'vi continued to sob, and even though the grief was still too fresh, it helped to have finally put it all into words. It helped to know that someone was trying to understand her when she felt as though everyone else could only pity her. 

"I'm sorry..." Kayla whispered as Neytiri's cries began to subside, "I could never imagine what that feels like."

Neytiri didn't miss how her shoulder felt wet where Kayla's face lay, and something inside the Na'vi woman snapped into place. She didn't want Kayla to imagine. She didn't even want Kayla to understand because that would mean having her sister-in-law go through the same agony she went through. Neytiri didn't want anyone to go through the loss of a child, let alone her husband's dear sister. The thought of having Kayla go through pain similar to hers nearly brought Neytiri to anger. Determined and dry of her tears, Neytiri pulled away, lifting her hands to rest gently on Kayla's shoulders, fixing her with a sharp eye.

"I do not want you to ever experience this pain. I do not want you to end up like me, ma tsmuke."

Kayla shook her head, "There's nothing that says it's wrong to end up like you. You're a good woman and a good mother. You're fiercely protective of your children. Any mother would thrive if they were even remotely like you," watching doubt and pain creep back up Neytiri's face drives Kayla to quickly add, "And I was wrong if I ever suggested otherwise. I never blamed you for protecting your children, Neytiri."

"I know," the Na'vi woman whispers, eyes briefly lowering to the ground in shame, "But I should have never belittled you for protecting yours."

The two women stand in silence once more, now filled with understanding as two mothers protecting their young. With her newfound determination, Neytiri raises her head high, straightens her posture, and stiffly nods, "If you'll allow me, I will go apologize to the boy."

Kayla is silent for the moment, carefully watching Neytiri before slowly replying, "... I better not hear that you hurt him again."

"You won't." 

And with that, both women nod and part ways. Neytiri moves back in the direction of her ikran while Kayla stands still and watches her leave. Wiping the remaining tear tracks on her face as she walked, a thought crossed Neytiri's mind, making her pause in her tracks. A brief memory of Sylwanin flashes through her mind, happy and glowing as she tells Neytiri that Tsu'tey had begun courting her. It was a small pain in her heart at the memory, a small pinprick of a needle, faint but still causing her heart to bleed at the thought of her sister. Swiftly turning back around, Neytiri briefly sees Sylwanin in the flesh, standing there with a beaming smile before the facade fades, and reverts back to Makayla, whose head was tilted while quizzically watching Neytiri. 

Neytiri's breath stuttered for a moment before the words began to tumble from her mouth, "For what it is worth, ma tsmuke, I am happy for you. If Ronal or Tonowari or either of them hurt you, I will kill them for you."

The words briefly stun Kayla, eyes wide and jaw open with shock, before the spell breaks and she finds herself laughing. The needle in Neytiri's heart fades, along with the pain of her sister's memory. Neytiri found herself smiling as well, proud that she pulled such a reaction from her new sister.

~~~~~~~~~

As promised, Spider came home before dinner, and Kayla looked up from cleaning her AR with a smile, "Hey, kiddo."

"Do you have to do that a lot?" Spider tilts his head down at the weapon with curiosity, then briefly looks back at his charge, "Will it not work otherwise?"

Kayla rolls her lips, unsure of how to explain to a child who prefers the life of a Na'vi compared to humans. She shakes her head, "It could jam, for one. I have to clean it for the same reason you have to eat. It needs to function."

Spider nods and says nothing else, which sounds off a dozen other bells in Kayla's head, quick to understand that his questions and attempt at small talk usually meant something else was going on and he was deflecting. She knows that behavior all too well. She sets the weapon aside and gives all her attention to the teen, knowingly smirking at him, "What's up?"

His eyes immediately dart away, arms folding in around him as if to protect what little there was left to hide. He looked embarrassed, ashamed he had been caught as he mumbled under his breath, "Neytiri apologized."

Her expression melts into something solemn and sincere, nodding once, "I know."

"Did you make her?" He asked with suspicion in his gaze.

"No, but she asked me if she could."

"How come?"

Kayla shrugged, feigning innocence as she tried to play nonchalantly, "I'm guessing she was under the impression I didn't want her anywhere near you."

He stared at her for a while, unconvinced, "Right."

Then he moved on to the next topic, "'You gonna break your link tonight?"

Kayla groaned quietly, playfully rolling her eyes up at the ceiling of the marui, "Yeah. Norm radioed earlier to pester me, and I figured I'd see how everyone was doing. 'You need me to tell him anything?"

"My spares' got plenty of battery. I'll be good for a while. Tell everyone I said hi."

"You got it."

~~~~~~~~~

She wakes in the link bay with a queasy stomach and a splitting headache.

It wasn't nearly as bad as the last time she broke her link, but the moment the blinding lights of the biolab flashed in Kayla's face as the lid of the gurney was lifted, she felt her stomach turn and she had to bite the inside of her cheek. 

Sitting up with a stifled groan, Kayla holds her head in her hand, trying to stop the bright room from spinning. Norm, dutifully standing beside her with his arms crossed, decided not to beat around the bush, even in her weakened state, 

"You can't keep doing this, ya know. Staying back there for long periods of time is going to kill your body here, one day at a time. It's safe to say you've reached the limit of human-avatar links."

"Maybe that's a good thing, Norm," Kayla muttered, able to roll her shoulders back and sit up straight without feeling dizzy, "With data like that, the RDA won't be able to get the go-ahead with building avatars for civilians. This can keep them at bay for a while."

"But it's not a good thing for you, Kayla."

"I know. I just..." she tried waving it off, avoiding Norm's narrowed gaze like a child being scolded, "I just need a little more time."

Norm scoffed, unimpressed, "You're stubborn. Just like your brother."

When that doesn't pull a reaction out of her, Spellman decides to break more bad news, "There's more. Scouts have reported seeing a rogue ikran dressed in military gear flying through the mountains, and it's pretty close to our base. They've confirmed the rider to be Colonel Miles Quaritch."

Clouded eyes flick briefly to Norm, widened with shock before Kayla looks away again, exhaling her opinion, "Fuck."

"I thought maybe you could tell Jake for me when you get back."

Kayla is silent for a few moments before she replies, "No. No, let's not tell him."

"What?" Norm rustled.

"If we tell Jake, he'll just wanna come back and track Quaritch down. Maybe that's what Quaritch wants. Right now, Jake needs to be with his family instead of looking for revenge."

Kayla's eyes return to her friend's, wide and pleading, "Please, Norm. Please don't tell him."

They have a silent stand-off, the occasional sound of machinery breaking said silence. Eventually, Norm's posture sinks in defeat, making him look smaller and older than he actually is, "... Fine."

"Swear it."

"I swear it... unless he asks me."

Kayla scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Fine."

"... When you say you need more time, I meant when I said you're just like your brother."

She silently watched him with confusion but didn't verbally ask what he meant, waiting for him to elaborate. Norm looks off to a far wall, recounting very distant memories he hadn't thought of in years, "He was also running out of time, and he was getting desperate. He said he needed more time; time to see Neytiri again."

When Norm looked back at Kayla, he noticed she was purposely keeping her own gaze glued to the floor, her long matted hair covering most of her face, mumbling to a point where he struggled to hear her, "It's not like that this time."

"You're lying." Norm immediately retorts, taking a gamble on his theory when Kayla doesn't immediately try to defend herself. They both knew she was lying only to herself, and Norm didn't hesitate to point it out, "Something's changed."

Seeing no point in lying or keeping it secret, Kayla sighs, "Tonowari and Ronal have officially asked to court me."

Norm's eyes widen, "And...?"

"I agreed but asked to wait on the rest of it until I'm officially one of the People."

"Smart..." He couldn't help it. He needed to lighten the mood and feel a little smug. Norm deserved that much as a boastful smile spread across his face, "Also 'I told you so.'"

Kayla scowls, her eyes finally looking up at him to express how stolid she felt, "Dick."

He snorts, unaffected, finally moving to sit down next to her on the gurney, "So... do they know about... you know... the fact you can't have kids?"

Her posture visibly stiffened, "It didn't come up, no."

"That's probably something you need to discuss with them, Kayla, and soon."

"I know."

His hand reaches out to lightly tap her knee, "I am not saying that it'll be a deal-breaker for them. I don't think they'll care, to be honest. But you don't keep secrets from the people you love."

"Hey," she nudged him back, trying to force a teasing smile on her face, "Why do you think I'm telling you all this?"

"How sweet," Norm scoffs goodnaturedly, "But that's just you trying to deflect."

~~~~~~~~~

It was strange being able to sleep in the shack again, and even more strange to be the only occupant. Kayla looked around the tiny man-made space, eyes flicking to her bunk, the desk, the small kitchenette, and then the vacant wheelchair she never had the heart to throw out when she first arrived at High Camp. It now lay folded up and leaning against the corner wall, former white letters that spelled 'Sully' now unrecognizable. A fond smile graced her lips when she thought back to the three weeks she and Spider stayed here and the teenager struggled to figure out how to balance on the accessible chair as it rocked on its back wheels. The attempt ended with him falling and rolling backward and leaving Kayla in a fit of uncontrollable laughter that he eventually joined.

The thought of her boy made her chest squeeze uncomfortably for a moment, the feeling of loneliness suddenly very apparent in this small shack. How strange that she was sitting in a place she had once tried to call home, but now she felt homesick for an island that was oceans away, or in her case, one neural link away. Realistically, she could go lay down in a link bay and wake up in her marui, awaken to Spider's nivi swinging slowly just off to the side of hers as he sleeps. Kayla shook her head and smiled to herself, amused at the idea of walking to the link bay only to be intercepted by either Norm or Max, both men who had adamantly told her not to link back until it was early morning in Awa'atlu so both her human and avatar form could receive separate reprieve. 

As much as she would like to entertain the idea of rest, the lingering silence in her shack made it feel as though the walls were closing in around her. Kayla knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she were alone, so she kept herself busy instead, starting with her overgrown hair.

Looking into the mirror that night, a small sense of normalcy returned when she had managed to cut her hair to the same short length she had when she first arrived on Pandora. While her reflection didn't initially scare her anymore without any matted long hair or sunken eyes, Kayla still had a hard time recognizing the woman in the mirror without blue skin or a piercing yellow gaze. It felt wrong and her skin prickled and itched with this revelation. A twisted part inside of her wanted to try and scratch her face off until she recognized it, but she refrained from doing so, knowing how delusional it sounded. It felt as though she was living in someone else's body and she needed to return to hers despite the logical voice in her head reminding her that she was born in this body, as a human, not a Na'vi, and she was foolish to believe otherwise.

The unrealistic voice in her head argued that there was nothing wrong with being a little foolish.

~~~~~~~~~

Waking in her avatar gave Kayla a wave of relief, sitting up in her hammock and stretching as if she had never left. The worries of the night before are immediately forgotten as she and Spider venture out of the home to search for friends and family.

The three reef children Spider has been associating himself with were the first of the day to greet them, and it was clear that the silent news of the Metkayina's clan leaders' courtship was not lost to their children. Kayla was surprised when Tsireya ran up and hugged the older woman's waist, the girl giddy and unable to contain her bright smile. Spider tilts his head curiously at the interaction but otherwise says nothing. 

Kayla took a peek at the girl's brother and saw a slightly different story. Ao'nung was glaring, but not at Kayla or Spider. Ao'nung was scowling at Rotxo, the latter of whom looked gobsmacked while staring up at Kayla, unable to hide his shock even as he turned to his best friend to see his reaction. Ao'nung only scoffed and shoved Rotxo's surprised face away with one hand, mumbling to Spider that they should get a move on.

"Where are we going?" Spider asked curiously. 

"Father wanted to show you how to weave our fishing baskets."

His play on words wasn't lost to the group, certainly not to Kayla and Spider. The adult avatar managed to hold back the wince at the thought of Spider silently noting how Ao'nung didn't say 'my father', but did her best to pretend she didn't even notice. Instead, Kayla decided to follow Ao'nung and Spider to the chieftain's marui, while Tsireya and Rotxo had split up to do some chores, promising to catch up with the other reef and Sully kids later. 

Tonowari greeted them as they entered, both he and Kayla sharing a secret smile as she crouched down beside him. Having many obligations around the village yesterday, the olo'eyktan had only been able to see Kayla from a distance and had yet to get a better look at how she appeared in her new top apart from what Ronal had described to him. Kayla could tell how much he enjoyed seeing her wearing his courting gift by the way his large hand grazed over her skin, encompassing her back whenever both Ao'nung and Spider were occupied with the task he had given them.

The two teenagers were busy weaving large pieces of what would eventually become a fishing basket between them, taking up a lot of floor space with the amount of dry grass, seaweed, and pliant wood being used to fashion and form such a large item. Tonowari was mostly instructing Spider on how to do it since Ao'nung was already skilled in basket weaving, but the chief's son was also impatient and this served as a way to tame such impulse. The olo'eyktan works effortlessly alongside them, his words gentle yet stern,

"Work together, like brothers. You are building a house. You're building your village. You're building a family."

Kayla restrains her smile, despite how warm her chest felt while watching the three of them work together in weaving. She allowed herself to play at the idea of this image being hers one day without trying to get her hopes up. As she watches Tonowari instruct Ao'nung and Spider to take turns weaving their basket pieces together, she gives into the desire to call them 'my boys'... but only in her head.

~~~~~~~~~

Flashing lights, spinning faster and faster while his eyes are forced wide open to watch, feeling as though something sharp was penetrating his skull, embedding itself into his memories...

His screams go unheard this time, and no one comes to stop the machine, not even Quaritch, as the blood drips from his nose, bare skin cold against metal. Spider feels as though his head is going to explode--

Sitting up in his nivi, Spider finds himself gasping for air while his eyes try to get accustomed to darkness... no flashing lights in sight. His hammock gently swings with him as he moves, his mind taking an embarrassingly long time to remember where he was. Spider takes a bunch of large, greedy gulps of air, his breathing mask hissing in tandem, while he looks around the marui to remember he isn't alone. 

Kayla was sitting up in her hammock and carefully watching him. Spider's mind briefly felt shame for being responsible for waking her, but he was too busy breathing to form an apology. It's not like she would accept it anyway. The two of them have already spent countless nights waking up due to Spider's nightmares, and Kayla has been adamant in assuring him that he wasn't at fault for any of it. Once she knows Spider is aware of her presence, Kayla silently stands up and moves over to the kid, standing over his nivi as he's sitting up, starting to relax.

When trying to talk, his throat felt raw and his voice only added to it, "... Hey."

"Hey," Kayla bravely reaches out to cup the back of his head, her hand a gentle, warm weight that feels a lot better than a cold, metal slab, "Was it the scanner again?"

He nods, but the moment Kayla goes to step away, something inside him panics. It felt stupid and childish, but Spider couldn't stop the impulse that made his arms move around Kayla's torso and pull her into a tight hug, pressing his mask up against her ribs as his body started to uncontrollably shake.

Kayla froze, arms raised in the air with hesitancy, blinking multiple times to ensure she was still wide awake and not just imagining this. The teenager only burrows further into her as if she had just found him lost in a shopping mall. For several seconds, she didn't even dare to breathe so as not to spook him before she eventually began to relax and gently settle her large arms around his shoulders, her voice softer than before,

"Alright... it's alright, Spider. You're safe now. What do you need?"

"Just," Spider huffed, feeling incredibly stupid yet distressed at the same time. He knows he shouldn't be acting so small and meek, but the idea of going back to sleep terrified him, "Talk. About anything."

The marui is filled with silence as Kayla wracks her brain to come up with things to say, and then decides that now might as well be as good of a time as any, especially if it meant helping distract Spider from his nightmares, "... Ronal and Tonowari have asked me to be their mate."

Initially, he's quiet while digesting the news, but he's honestly not surprised. He thinks back to the way both clan leaders and even their children had been treating him differently today and the day before. It explains the certain looks Spider has seen other Metkayina give Kayla and her new attire... and it would possibly explain Neytiri's sudden apology to him.

Instead of pointing all of these signs out to his guardian, Spider just snorts in his mask and keeps his arms around her waist, "I told you so."

"Shut up," Kayla huffed under her breath, but even he could tell there was no heat behind it, especially since her arms only tightened around him, "I'm not taking an 'I told you so' remark from a sixteen-year-old, especially since I already got that from Norm. I'm dense, okay?"

Spider laughed and let the silence linger for a minute before reopening his mouth, "... So? Did you accept?"

"Not entirely. I told them I wanted to wait until after my Iknimaya is complete."

"Makes sense. That's usually the way it goes. Courting sometimes lasts years for the Na'vi, so it's not entirely something they wouldn't be used to. You did the right thing."

Kayla's tail leisurely sways behind her, the tone in her voice sounding hopeful, "You think so?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to feel like a child for once, to be held and comforted before he answers quietly, "Yeah. I do." 

~~~~~~~~~

While it was an honest answer, there were slightly different intentions behind it. Spider was impressed by the way Kayla handled her courtship, and any respectable Na'vi would approve of her mature decision to wait. However, Spider now felt as though he was racing against the clock, and at least this way, he still had some time to prove himself useful.

Now that he was proven right that Ronal and Tonowari did, in fact, wish to mate with Kayla, Spider felt the need to work harder and become a more willing and helpful individual. He did what he could without the ability to connect with a tswin and tried to always give a helping hand whenever and wherever. Offering help wasn't hard, especially if he offered it to Tsireya since she always had something for him to do, but some Na'vi still have a hard time accepting Spider's help for... obvious reasons.

But even if the Metkayina didn't want his help, the human teen wasn't just going to lie down in defeat. He found many ways of helping around the village, either by his friends' side or himself, now that everyone wasn't as worried about leaving him alone. Other than to help with chores, Spider barely spent time with his friends outside of work, too busy trying to keep himself relevant. He wanted-- no, needed to pull his weight, too ashamed of the idea of being useless to the point he would get left behind again. As silly as he felt for still having such fears... it was still warranted. He wanted to give the Metkayina a chance to trust him and consider him a viable part of this village so they wouldn't make him leave. As much as he missed the Forest, he couldn't bear the thought of going back alone. So if his friends and his... guardian were staying here, then so was he, and he was determined to prove that he deserved to stay here.

These thoughts plagued him almost every waking moment and thus distracted him from the world around him. While Spider was busy gutting and cleaning some fish Lo'ak had caught, he was approached by the very clan leaders he sought to impress, but hadn't noticed their presence until they spoke,

"Hello, Spider."

Spider's posture straightens instinctively in response to Tonowari's strong voice. Looking to his right, the teenager glanced up and met eyes with the olo'eyktan, standing tall beside his mate and greeting the boy with a pleasant smile. Spider stood up and appropriately greeted the clan leaders with a gesture of his hand and a small, almost sheepish smile, "Hello."

"Is your bow of any use?"

It was difficult to see behind the mask, but Tonowari could've sworn Spider's eyes brightened at the mention of his bow, "It's solid and nicely made. Thanks again."

"Of course."

Spider briefly glanced at the silent Ronal, and he felt as though he imagined  the smile on the tsahik's face and quickly looked away to pretend he didn't see it, "Uh... is there anything I can do for you two?"

While Ronal may or may not have been smiling, Spider dared to describe Ronal's tone as sounding almost light when she spoke, "There might be."

Tonowari chuckled at her being vague and decided to specify for the boy who looked between the two of them with such confusion, "We came to ask for your blessing."

The boy tilts his head, "My... blessing?"

"To court your guardian, Makayla te Suli."

Spider appeared uneasy by their motive, crossing his arms over his chest while the confusion was still evident, "Why are you asking me? Shouldn't you be asking Jake?"

Ronal snorts lightheartedly, "Makayla has been vocal about who we should and shouldn't be asking for permission. It's not her brother's approval she wants, it's yours."

He stood there, motionless, trying to figure out the ever-growing puzzle in his head that was made in Kayla's image. He didn't know why she would tell both of her future mates to seek him out over Jake, someone who was related to her by blood, despite their differences. While Spider understood that Makayla felt responsible for him, that didn't mean he was suddenly entitled to any life-changing decisions she had to make. It's not like her decision to join Ronal and Tonowari's family would affect Spider... much.

The idea of being left in an empty marui came to mind, but he quickly stomped the image down, glancing off toward the ocean as he finally gave the two clan leaders his answer, "Then... yeah, I guess it's fine."

~~~~~~~~~

They must have told Kayla his answer, because once she returned home, Spider was met with a cautious look in her eyes,

"And you're really okay with this?" She asked without even greeting him.

Knowing what she was talking about without even asking, Spider only looked at her with the same confusion he had given Ronal and Tonowari, "Yeah?"

"Kid, I'm not doing anything that's going to make you uncomfortable."

Guilt ate away at his stomach, his sole purpose of trying to remain useful to the Metkayina still at the forefront of his mind. He didn't want Kayla to hold herself back for the sake of his comfort. That would only make him a burden and that was the last thing he wanted. He needed to prove that he didn't need her should the day come when she moved into the chieftain's marui and he was left behind.

Trying to keep his expression neutral, Spider tried to explain this to her without having to go into detail about his insecurities, "They're going to be your family someday, not mine."

Realization dawns on Kayla as her eyes widen, "Is that what you want?" When he doesn't answer, keeping his head lowered, Kayla tries a different approach when she feels as though she was onto something, "'Cause personally, I'd rather have you with me on this. I go where you go, kiddo and anyone who gets with me will have to deal with that."

Stunned, he looked up at her with disbelief, unable to help how accusatory his voice sounded, "Why? Why do you care so much?"

There it is. A question that should've been asked a long time ago, but Spider had always been afraid to ask, so confident that he wouldn't like the answer. As for Kayla, she had always been afraid of the day he'd finally ask her because she wasn't sure if she would be able to say the right thing or even give an honest answer. Half the time, she knew she was winging it when it came to taking care of Spider, but... isn't that what most people have been telling her parenting is all about? As much as she wished to continue being stubborn about it or outright refuse it, Kayla had to admit to herself that even if she would never be Spider's mother, she was the closest thing he had to a parental figure. And... she knew, deep down, that's what she wanted but she had been putting her own wants aside if it meant that's not what Spider wanted.

But clearly, he wanted to make sense as to why she wanted him to be comfortable with their new clan leaders, along with everything that came with them, so finally, Kayla took a deep breath and put it all out on the table, "Because you're a kid, Spider, and you deserve a family. I'm asking you if I can officially be your family. And who knows, maybe one day Ronal, Tonowari, and their kids could be your family."

Spider sucked in a sharp breath of air without realizing it, the soft hiss of his mask filling the marui. His nerves made him want to instinctually laugh it off like she was joking, but he didn't picture Kayla to be the kind of person who joked about such things, especially when he was involved. Replaying her words in his head, he almost believed he imagined it; like it was muffled in the back of his mind because that's what he wanted to hear her say... and yet the words had matched up with her mouth as she spoke... had he imagined it?

There was a small, nasty voice in the back of his head telling him that of course, he imagined it because why in her right mind would Kayla want to be his family? He's nothing but trouble and Kayla was being courted by the leaders of the Metkayina, two respected individuals whose image would surely be ruined by Spider's very presence. 

Another small, more kind voice in his head told Spider that Kayla was right and that he deserved to have a family. Sure, it might not be the family he was born into or the family he had wanted practically his whole life, but it could be his, the family he actually needed. He thought of Ao'nung and Tsireya, two Na'vi who had become such unlikely friends... and yet they could be more? Ronal and Tonowari, who have been decent to him, could potentially be more?

Of course, there's also Kayla, the female avatar who looked unsure as she stood before Spider, staring down at him with fear as if she had said the wrong thing. He couldn't possibly hope that this was her intention, and so he swallowed the dryness in his throat before hesitantly replying,

"So... you're not asking if I'm comfortable about this for... other reasons?"

She frowned, "What other reasons?"

"I don't know..." he shrugged and found himself looking away, sheepish to admit it, "I thought you were asking me all this to make sure I would be okay with getting left alone again when you inevitably go to be with them."

He didn't see the way Kayla's eyes briefly widen in horror before she cursed under her breath, crouching down beside him while bravely placing a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention, "Shit, Spider-- I'm sorry. I can see why that looked bad. No, I'm not leaving you alone just because I intend on seeing someone. I take my responsibilities very seriously, thank you very much."

Ah, yes. Responsibilty. That's who he was to Kayla. It was a good reminder for Spider not to get his hopes up, a reminder that Kayla was a parental figure, but she could never be more than that. He didn't dare glance over at the bookshelf where his mother's picture was displayed, not wanting Kayla to misinterpret anything. 

"... Okay."

Kayla's eyebrows furrow, trying not to appear hopeful, "Okay?"

He nods, "Okay."

Kayla smiled then, more confidently and unaware of Spider's hidden thoughts, but he smiled back, regardless. She squeezed his shoulder once more before pulling away, humming with a small, playful tone in her voice as she mentioned, "You know, eventually we'll have to move in with them, right? Are you comfortable with that? You know that families usually pile together at night."

Spider's face slowly begins to contort with uncertainty, "... You and I aren't used to that."

"Nope. We're not."

Nervously, he smiles, "Shit. Is that a dealbreaker?"

The laughter Kayla let out was cheerful and full of life. It was also contagious as Spider found himself laughing as well, and despite his doubt, there was a small bit of weight that had to been lifted from his shoulders. Despite being unsure of what the future holds for him... at the very least, there was going to be someone to keep him safe. Whether or not Kayla could be his family she mentioned, there was also the uncertainty of whether or not the clan leaders and their children would think the same. Either way, his acceptance clearly made Kayla happy, and he didn't want to ruin that with his insecurities. 

~~~~~~~~~

If there's one thing Jake can confidently say about his sister, it's that if she wants him to know something, she'll tell him. 

It was obvious to everyone that Kayla was not afraid to tell Jake whatever she was thinking. She's not afraid to speak her mind to him, no matter how brutal, and while there are times that Jake secretly appreciates it, lately it's been disheartening due to recent... obvious incidents.

So, when Kayla avoided him for two days, Toruk Makto enjoyed the peace and quiet, but Neytiri gave him a knowing expression that told him he wasn't being very true to himself in those moments. He eventually had to admit to himself that the silence was getting to him and he would've preferred his little sister yelling at him than straight up avoiding his presence. He eventually gave in and sought her out on the third day. 

He finds his sister in her marui with Spider that morning, rolling up their separate nivi and getting prepared for the day ahead. Jake watches them for a moment, still unsure of how to address them if neither was going to admit they were mother and son, before announcing his presence. Kayla, once laid back and content, ready to face the day, now looked tense and wary at the sound of her brother's voice. Jake tried not to let it bother him, keeping his expression neutral as he offered to assist Kayla with any chores she had.

She agreed, with reluctance, and moved to meet him in the doorway. Jake did his best to keep his face impassive, but he struggled when Kayla walked close enough to the point he could catch a whiff of her scent. It was by no means her own, or the one Jake had affiliated as his sister whenever she was near. It smelled familiar, but it wasn't Kayla's and while it was faint, it was definitely new. It bothered him for a moment as both he and Kayla walked out of the marui together,his brain trying to conjure where he had smelled that particular scent before. While Jake wanted to mention it, he wisely doesn't say a word for many reasons. The whole scent debacle was a Na'vi thing and he could understand if Kayla wasn't entirely comfortable about the concept, and she may not understand it fully herself. 

And like before, he knows that if there's something Kayla wants him to know, she'll tell him.

Kayla had asked Jake to help her with a canoe she's been wanting to make for a while now, and so together they conjured up the necessary supplies and started hauling it all back to her pod. She trailed behind Jake, silent for the most part, and the tension in the air was palpable, almost worse than the silent treatment she had been giving her brother for a few days. Jake knew something was right on the tip of her tongue, practically hearing the gears in her head without even needing to see her face as he walked in front of her. It was the same, intense silence he remembered experiencing when she was younger, right before she came out to her brothers. Tommy, ever the nurturing sibling, was worried for Kayla and had gently told her that if there was something she'd like to get off her chest, he and Jake would always hear her out, and no matter what, they would always be there for her.

Jake felt his chest squeeze painfully at the memory, so he was glad to distract himself from it when Kayla's voice suddenly spoke up from behind him,

"Jake."

He continued to walk towards her home as it drew near, ear tilted back in her direction, over his shoulder, "Hm?"

"There's something I got to tell you--" 

She paused, and before Jake could ask her to elaborate, a soft thud from behind him gently rattled the woven pathway beneath his feet, followed by the sound of a large splash. Jake frowned and turned back around, only for his sister to no longer be standing there. In her place, was the basket of supplies she had been carrying, the contents spilled across the walkway and even rolling into the water below, the soft plopping sound of small items crashing into the water filling the air while Kayla was nowhere to be seen.

Something heavy falls in Jake's gut, as his ears point up and dance around in alertness. He reacts fast by quickly setting down his items and sprinting to the edge of the path, looking down into the water.

"Kayla!"

He sees a small shadow, quickly growing smaller as it sinks further into the water. It was the only thing that crossed his mind before diving into the sea.

The loud splash followed by Jake's distressed voice calling out to Makayla grabbed Spider's attention and steps out of the kelku, just in time to see the revered Toruk Makto diving straight into the water, abandoning baskets full of spilled supplies all along the pathway in his panicked rush. Spider's heart plummets in the five seconds Jake was underwater, and when the older man had yet to break the surface, Spider found himself running down the woven path toward the spot Jake had jumped from, even if he didn't believe he could be much help to a large, full-sized Na'vi, fearing the worst.

By the time Spider reached the deserted supplies scattered across the walkway, Jake had finally resurfaced, gasping for air while water spilled into his eyes and ears. The former marine struggled to paddle with just one arm back toward the path walk while trying to keep a fully grown female avatar afloat, her closed eyes doing nothing to help the panic begin to eat away at her brother's chest.

Despite being small, Spider scrambled to help Jake lift Kayla's body out of the water, hooking his arms underneath hers and lifting with all his might with a soft grunt. Jake helped by lifting Kayla's legs out of the water, and once she was lying across the pathway on her back, Jake lifted himself out of the water before frantically crawling over to her, gently shoving Spider out of Kayla's space so he could inspect her for injuries.

Nothing visible appeared to be wrong with her, but Kayla's eyes remained closed and when Jake initially dragged her out of the water, he couldn't help but notice how lifeless her body moved. Or, in a sense, didn't move.

"Hey!" Jake practically yelled in her face, his hand beginning to gently pat her cheek, only for the motion to grow into harsher slaps the longer she refused to open her eyes.

The panic that was beginning to rise up to Jake's throat only added to the stern, angry tone in his voice as he yelled at his sister's face, "Heyheyhey, wake up. Kayla!"

"Kayla?" Spider's voice called out, less afraid of sounding panicked while fear was evident behind his mask when directing his attention to Jake, "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know..." Jake initially replied before pausing his train of thought, a sinking feeling of familiarity washing over him when he started to analyze Kayla's symptoms and recognize the signs. It had been over a decade... but he'd seen this happen before, and the thought scared him.

"Spider, do you have your flashlight?"

Without asking for an explanation, Spider hands him the flashlight he kept in a small pouch of necessities he had tied around his loincloth.

"There we go..." Jake mutters under his breath almost as if trying to soothe and reassure himself, turning on the flashlight before leaning over Kayla's face. He takes his free hand and forces one of her eyelids to peel back, shining the bright light directly into her eye before moving on to the other one. 

Her pupils don't move or even dilate, confirming Jake's growing fear, "Shit. She's not in there."

"What?" Spider croaked, suddenly hating the way his eyes felt warm.

"She's not in there," Jake automatically explained, "Something or someone interrupted her link." 

Jake tries catching his breath, willing himself to regain a bit of self-control. He didn't want to assume the worst, but at the very least, Kayla wasn't dead, and her avatar didn't appear to be injured. For all he knew, Kayla had simply woken up hundreds of miles away, among their human allies and the Omatikaya. He'll just have to make a call back to High Camp and they can sort out this small situation. Nothing major... 

He kept telling himself that as he bent down and lifted Kayla up into his arms, supporting her back and the crook of her legs while trying to maneuver around Spider, "Hang on-- watch out. Let's get her back to my place." 

Spider dutifully follows, bounding down the woven path just to be able to catch up to Jake's long strides, the boy's eyes never leaving Kayla's avatar, "What do we do?"

"Let me try and contact Norm."

The walk back to the Sully marui felt like forever, with Jake trying to stamp down his growing anxiety the longer it took to get back. When they finally arrived, Jake and Spider brought Kayla inside only to find themselves alone, with no one else home. Jake gently lays Kayla down and immediately beelines for his long-range radio, gripping the device harshly as he speaks into it,

"Dirty Falcon, Dirty Falcon, do you read me? This is Devil Dog, over."

Jake releases the button and waits, the pod filled with static and silence. Spider kneels down beside Kayla's head, staring at Jake's radio with a rising, fluttering feeling in his chest that makes chills rise across his skin. As he and Jake continued to sit in silence, the lack of response on Norm's end was palpable.

Jake could hear his own heart racing in his ears as he brought the radio to his mouth once more, "Norm, it's Jake. Are you there? Norm?"

Silence.

"Norm? Norm?"

~~~~~~~~~

He wasn't sure how many times he had tried calling High Camp as minutes turned into hours. Whether it was six or seven attempts, Toruk Makto had begun to inspect the radio to ensure it was even working, not wanting to entertain the thought that something might be wrong on the other end of the communication. Each time he spoke into the radio and then stopped to wait for a response, he couldn't help the glances he'd send over to Spider. Each time, as the silence lingered between each call, the teenager's face only fell further and it made Jake's chest feel like lead. By the time the suns were at the highest peak in the sky, the village stirred with whispers about Makayla te Suli's collapse. As people gradually learned what had happened, Jake found his home being bombarded with not only his wife and children as they raced back to the pod but other Na'vi as well, much to his surprise. 

Some of his children's friends were also present. Ao'nung and Tsireya were with Lo'ak when they heard about what happened to Kayla and immediately came running back to the marui with him, concern etched on their young faces. Jake watched with confusion as the reef siblings moved like a well-oiled machine. Ao'nung, as if on instinct, knelt down beside Spider, inspecting Kayla's avatar while Tsireya sternly let Lo'ak know that she was going to fetch her parents.

Jake heard this but didn't register the words until the young girl was already heading out the door, and by then it was already too late to stop her. Lo'ak quickly distracted his father from his racing thoughts when he asked what had happened to his aunt. By the time Jake recounted the events, the rest of the Sullys were speeding into the marui and Tsireya had returned with the clan leaders. 

Ronal was like a tidal wave as she bounded into the Sullys' home, a fearsome expression in her eyes that would immediately make any normal man flinch had Jake not been exposed to Grace Augustine's own ferocity, 

"And why have you brought her back here instead of to me?"

"Because she's not injured and this has nothing to do with spirituality," Jake found himself saying robotically, instinctively falling into the role of Toruk Makto to help him not acknowledge the hidden anxiety deep in his gut, "Makayla's human form must have woken up and that's why she collapsed here. She's... she's no longer possessing this body."

Tonowari hovers over his mate like a protective shadow as she bends down over Kayla's avatar, the olo'eyktan's eyes hardened with determination to find a solution as he addresses Jake, "Is that normal?"

Jake's ears pin back, eyes unfocused for a moment, "No, it's not. This only happens if someone is forced out of their Na'vi body. I've seen it before."

Ronal grabs Kayla's chin to tilt the avatar's head to look up at her, "Makayla? Makayla, can you hear me?"

The formality had puzzled Jake for a moment, staring oddly at the tsahik as she continued to carefully inspect his sister's avatar. Peering over at his wife, he noticed Neytiri looking back at him, waiting patiently with her tail gently swaying behind her, the way she normally looked when she expected him to figure something out. Whatever it was, it would have to wait as Jake shook his head and turned back toward the radio, making contact his first priority. 

"Dirty Falcon, Dirty Falcon, do you read me? This is Devil Dog, over." Jake pressed into the radio before letting go of the button, not as enthusiastic for a reply.

"What is happening?" Tonowari questioned.

"I've been trying to reach our human allies with the Omatikaya all afternoon, but so far no one's responding."

"And I take it that is not normal either?"

A shadow falls over Jake's eyes as he glares into the piece of technology in front of him, "No."

"J-- Jake! We have a situation."

A familiar voice suddenly buzzes through the device before being abruptly cut off. The whole room stills as if time had stopped. Jake hadn't noticed he was holding his breath as he stared down at the radio until his lungs burned and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. With a start, Jake greedily sucks in air as he quickly moves to grab the radio,

"Norm, what's going on?" He harshly demands, "What happened?"

"Lab compromised-- can't--"

The connection cuts off again but Jake doesn't give up, desperate for an answer, "Norm! Come on... Norm, do you copy? Where's Kayla?" 

"She... She's gone!"

The air completely sucks out of his lungs, his brain scrambling for a reasonable explanation. He didn't have to look around to know that everyone else would be panicked and concerned as well. Ronal had stood up straight once more, standing near Kayla's feet as her expression reared back with affliction, her eyes darting to Tonowari as they both shared a look of genuine fright. Spider noticed their exchange out of the corner of his eye before looking back down at the body in front of him, his chest feeling tight as the news sunk in, his small hand leaning near Kayla's as if afraid that touching her hand would somehow evaporate her avatar's form. The lightest brush of skin against his elbow let him know that Ao'nung was still right beside him.

Jake could feel the rushing of his heartbeat pulsing loudly in his ears as he absorbed the information. All other rational thoughts jump out the window as he suddenly snaps and growled into the communication device, "What do you mean 'gone?' Norm, what the fuck happened?"

Neytiri didn't even have the heart to chastise her husband for such language in front of the children, her own mind spiraling at all of the possibilities that might have befallen her people, let alone Kayla. Tuk's hand instinctively reaches up to grab her mother's when she feels the older woman's distress, the air stale with tension as all eyes are fixed on the radio. 

"I had to force an emergency shutdown on Kayla's link in progress," Norm finally manages to explain without the connection cutting him off, "High Camp had to evacuate because we thought our location might've been compromised. We all scattered and ran to hide and avoid capture, but when we made it to the rendevous she didn't show up-- And... she's not here, Jake. We went back to camp when the coast was clear and Kayla is the only one not accounted for."

That could mean anything, but Jake wasn't ready to make any conclusions until he got the full story, "Who compromised High Camp?"

"Quaritch."

The room felt silent once more, dread swimming in Jake's gut as he closed his eyes and heaved a large, exhausted sigh. One of his ears flicked in the direction he knew Kiri was kneeling down to wrap her arms protectively around Spider without even having to look. 

"He had been sighted scouting the Hallelujah Mountains for days prior to this. We thought he might've finally found us so we dispersed."

Jake's head spun with emotions, trying not to let anger get the better of him as he clutched the radio, "Why didn't you call in these sightings to me? I would've come back."

"Because we thought he was after YOU, Jake. If you had come running back, he would've been there, waiting for you."

He took a deep breath, "Do we know for sure Quaritch has Kayla?" 

"We're still looking, but... look-- Kayla grabbed a radio before we split up and scattered. There was a tracker, and when we got back, Max tried to access it, but the signal was lost nearly halfway to our rendevous point. If Quaritch snatched her, he could be anywhere by now."

"... So why Kayla? Did he take her to get to me?"

"That's what I thought originally. But Jake-- we don't think he's reporting back to Ardmore anymore."

Norm's words clearly surprise Jake, eyes briefly widening before they return to their normal shape. Unaware of Jake's reaction, Norm's voice continues to come in through the radio, "We've been monitoring RDA radio chatter and there were never any indicators that he never called in a strike against the camp. Ardmore didn't send an army, it was just him. I think he acted alone on this, against Ardmore's orders. Or maybe she doesn't know about it. All I know is he's after something or someone, whether it's you or something else, he knows that Kayla has what he wants."

Jake feels a weight of revelation sink in his stomach, slowly peering over his shoulder, only to find that Spider was already looking back at him. As expected, Kiri was kneeling behind her best friend and her long blue arms encompassed the human teen's shoulders, tightening further when her father's gaze landed on them. Spider doesn't move or even breathe for that matter, the kid's eyes wide with what could only be described as fear. 

"I think I know what he's after," Jake muttered back into the radio, his eyes never leaving Spider's, "Let me get back to you with a plan, Norm."

He cuts contact on the radio and rushes to stand up. Kiri, assuming the worst after seeing the look in his eye when he gazed at Spider, speaks up before her father can even say a word, "Dad, you can't leave her! Not like when you left Spider!"

Jake winced, an apologetic expression directed at the boy in question before he straightened his posture, looking around at the room of Na'vi all staring at him expectedly. The weight of Toruk Makto was heavy on his shoulders once more... only this time it felt worse. The fear of failure was worse.

Quaritch likely has Kayla, and the very thought of the Recom holding his sister hostage brought that same, deep-rooted fear he had festered when Quaritch had taken his daughters. The haunted image of Quaritch's knife against Kayla's throat when they were fighting on the ship didn't help that fear. Looking over and meeting Neytiri's eyes, Jake saw that same haunted expression on her face, the look of someone who had lost so many of her loved ones to the colonel. Quaritch was responsible for her father's death, and the lives that were lost when Hometree fell. Quaritch was responsible for Tsu'tey, for Grace, for Trudy... Neteyam... Hell, he might have been the one held responsible for the death of Neytiri's sister, Sylwanin.  

Turning back and taking one look at Spider's pleading eyes, Jake was desperate to ensure that Kayla wouldn't be added to Quaritch's growing list. 

Jake's expression hardened, hiding away his thoughts while addressing Kiri, "I won't, baby girl. Not this time." 

~~~~~~~~~

A/n: In between chapters, I asked for a couple of commissions from the following:

I'd like to thank @sullyfortress for this beautiful masterpiece of Kayla!

And @rocklobster0 for making this cute chibi art of Kayla/Tonowari/Ronal! You guys are amazing individuals and are so gifted😍Thank you so much!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“His control over his emotions slipped during the interview,” J’onn sighs, hovering alongside Bruce as they carry down the hall.

Bruce grunts. He isn’t quite capable of complicated speech yet. The teenage alien crying, too scared to let even the internationally-favorite, universally beloved Wonder Woman hold him without screaming…a person he already knew would take care of him…

J’onn continues, nevertheless. The thin privacy of his mind aside, Bruce has always appreciated the Martian’s understanding of Bruce’s oft-shifting moods. “His memories of his home and his family were tied up with extensive pain. I would continue under the assumption that his human family turned on him after discovering his nature—there may have even been collateral damage to others around them at the time.”

Bruce breathes in. Bruce breathes out.

“He thought himself akin enough to humans to be betrayed when he was seen as an 'other'. He knows that he is far from home, he knows that he has been targeted for his non-human traits and abilities, and he has reasons to think that he may not return again—what they are, I could not tell, but the sentiment was clear. This escape was purposeful, as was commandeering the vehicle he used to do so. He is alone. He is scared.”

“Known or unknown threat?” Bruce growls, not quite up to elongating his bite into a full sentence. J’onn is more than skilled enough to skim lightly over the words, and match them to Batman’s pointed fury.

“Our patient is familiar with the threat. I could not recognize the insignia or acronym from his memories, but they had enough resources to keep him captive and alive—without food or water. Likely, for a lengthy amount of time.”

Bruce’s near-running stride slows to a stop. J’onn, ever-patient, floats to a standstill beside him.

“No food,” Bruce confirms, just to make sure he heard correctly.

J’onn nods.

“No water.”

“There was an alternative method used to keep him alive, although the details weren’t significant to him in his flashback. The method may have been possible due to his minor healing ability, or something unique to his species.”

No food, Bruce thinks. No water. Kept alive as a function. Worried that he’s meant to be used as a weapon, kept in isolation, afraid of what humans in uniform might require of him for help.

This isn’t just torture. It is, specifically targeting a half-human entity, entirely purposeful dehumanization.

Of a child.

Of a child.

Bruce inhales. Bruce exhales.

This is not something that will be solved short-term. He has to keep an eye on the long-term goals for this teen—safety, recovery, reassurance, and reintegration.

Doable. All he has to do is break larger goals down into reasonable steps.

“Update the pediatric psychiatrist that Dr. Martin referred him to on the details.” Bruce’s demand comes out as flat as it gets. It is hard, when he’s stressed, to make his words hit with any intonation. Everything he forces out is precise. To the point.

J’onn nods. “I will.”

“This is personal medical information, to be accessed only on a need to know basis.”  

J’onn floats slightly higher, something relaxed in his face. This is a significant gesture, meant to remind everyone involved that this is a child, not a resource, and not a mission to be solved. This is a patient. “Understood.”

“If you pass this on to Diana, do it in person. Minimizing documentation…” Bruce falters. There isn’t a strong, authoritarian way to phrase how he feels about being someone to store clinically cold information about a boy who had likely been imprisoned, if not actively experimented on, if not actively tortured. How he needed to minimize behaviors that would exactly model what was done to the boy by his captors.

A smile flickers over J’onn’s expression. It’s suitably fleeting, but it comes and it goes—and it’s extremely polite of him to emote so visibly for Bruce’s sake. He makes sure to project his appreciation as best he knows how—blindly, without a telepathic sense to know what J’onn will and will not see.

“Understood, Batman.”

Bruce grunts.

They split at the end of the hallway, each dedicated to their own tasks.

J’onn will inform the medical team of what triggers may affect their patient’s long-term recovery and the quality of their stay. He is a thorough and patient coworker, and Bruce is grateful to have him on his side.

Bruce, in the meantime, has a favor to ask of Alfred and Dick on their way back into Gotham; more importantly, this is a favor he has to ask of Alfred’s employment-provided Costco card.

*

There’s something new in Danny’s room.

He transfers himself into the wheelchair to look at it, scrambling down the bed the way the physical therapist taught him to—the new thing isn't at bed height, but it is pretty low, and it has a door that he could probably reach from seated height or standing.

The square thing’s door swings open.

Inside are…little water bottles. Canned juices. Those mushy fruit-filled bars, and something so obviously wrapped in a yellow Fig Einstein wrapper that even the gibberish non-English is super clear.

There’s a bunch of things. Just. So many; and all in a few different types, too. The whole thing is filled with so many choices.

…Huh.

There are disposable straws in the door. Danny has to borrow a nurse’s ID card to open the can tab in the end, and his unwrapping of a straw is more than a little shaky, but Danny takes his medication with a mango-pineapple juice blend instead of his usual cup of water, and he’s perfectly fine with that.

[nyarumie]

Brains to Brawn. (Chapter 1)

narumi gen x f!reader — 1.7k words, co-workers to lovers, narumi loves kisses, multiple parts, semi canon compliant, in denial reader.

STATUS: Ongoing. Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Author's Note at the end! Happy reading ♡

Cross-posted on ao3.

Requests, prompts, or any messages are appreciated! Just open my ask box.

The shift in the tides of the First Division wasn't subtle. It wasn't the way the large bodies of water swayed with greater force against Ariake Maritime Base's sturdy walls, nor did it have to do anything with Regular Officers being transferred from one division to another.

The first change in the atmosphere was when Second Division Captain, Hikari Shinomiya, died. Tense. Strict. A single drop of needle could disrupt the entire defense force—ironically seeming so quiet despite the sounds emerging from the Officers' even more rigorous training.

The second wave of change felt rowdy, raucous—but hopeful. Narumi Gen had made quite the scenario even before officially joining the Defense Force. An unleashed combat power of 24% even without donning a suit at least once in his life, showing great aptitude potential for Kaiju No. 1 weapons, and... having a blatant display of disrespect and chaos, as the higher ups would describe. What seemed to be the hope of the nation turns out to be the First Division's biggest headache. Most times.

The third was when things started to be more obvious—to most people, a shift in leadership means a shift in everything. Shortly after Narumi joined the Defense Force, the Head of Operations eventually had to retire. Kurusu was given the prestige to be the young Head of Operations. At the same time, Narumi had already been appointed as a Platoon Leader, a sign that the youth will shoulder the fate of this country and power will emerge across all divisions.

The next wave is you.

From the previous year, the Defense Force's annual selection involved both Officers and Operators. You were tempted to apply in both, for simple reasons: As an operator, you know you're extremely smart—emerging at the top of your class in university and having reading as a hobby enhanced your intelligence. 

On the other hand, you simply think it would be fun to try the Officer Selection Trial. Who knows? You were pretty athletic, diving here and there to save volleyballs on your university's sports fest. Hell, you even won an MVP award twice.

But you have bills to pay and concerts you'd love to attend, so you let the rational part of your brain win and opt for the safer option. With a fellow youngster like Kurusu leading the Operations, all worries about bonding with your co-workers were thrown out the window.

In fact, it seems like you went overboard with bonding with them. You all were friends and swore to do your job properly so as to stick together til the end, but how come you're the only one facing this... baffling scenario?

'A little fun in your normal working day as an operations manager won't hurt', they said.

'The captain won't find out about this anyway', another added.

You should've known that the normal working day applies only to your co-workers. You, on the other hand? It literally changed the trajectory of your life—for better or for worse. Internally groaning, you wondered why you didn't push harder when you were against their idea of 'fun'.

When your co-workers suggested doing something for fun, you never thought it would be testing out each other's unleashed combat power, if you even have them; you're all managing the operations, after all. Doing calculations in your head, you estimated you'd all be getting a percentage ranging from 1% to 3%.

After pleading with Kurusu for what felt like an hour, your little unassuming friend group got permission to use the combat power technology. 

"I'm an MVP for volleyball in our University, y'know? If I get an 8%, maybe I can smash a ball or two on a yoju's head. Might get recruited on the spot too.", you said with humourous arrogance.

Your co-worker who was prepping the machine chimed in, "We don't have balls for weapons. And don't get your hopes up, the most you'll be getting is probably a 2%. It's impossible for anyone to get a 0% after all."

With a pout, you denied that you're hoping for a good result. You're pretty satisfied with your job, anyways. Good pay, safety secured—what else could you ask for?

"Alright, prep done. Who's up first?" 

"Oh, I'll go! I proposed the idea, so I should be the one taking the first step!" said your enthusiastic co-worker. There were only 4 of you anyway, enough to fall into a line, letting yourself go last.

Sometime along your little fun, Kurusu entered the room, feeling uneasy about giving permission against official purposes. As expected, your friends got a range of 1% to 3%. They were all cheering as you got ready to lay down, as you were initially against the idea of having fun with these machines.

"Show us your 8%, then!" they laughed.

You rolled your eyes at them as your co-worker is sticking the device to certain pulse points to extract your body conditions. 

"Keep your head straight and calm down. I'll activate it in a few minutes. We wouldn't want any irregularities in your readings—like you getting 8% from your volleyball experience." she snorted. 

Following further instructions, you closed your eyes and kept your composure. It surprisingly felt comfortable, despite the hard surface. It's probably because you haven't slept well comfortably in so long.

"Extraction in 3, 2, and 1..." 

It was Kurusu who surprisingly spoke this time. "Well... You almost got an 8. You're on 6%." he announced, still looking confused at the screen. 

"Can somebody give me a gun? Or a sword?" you asked.

You thought their necks will snap at how fast they turned their heads to you. They looked at you as if you just had asked for the most incredulous thing, which in this case, does sound frightening. 

"Gonna kill us for doubting you?", they joked. "What for, though?"

"Trying to see if I can get that combat power up if I hold those. We're already having fun here, wouldn't hurt to test a few more things, right? Just don't let anyone know of this, or we'll all lose our jobs." you said.

They turn to Kurusu, eyes hopeful, asking through their gazes if it's still within his given permission to issue weapons.

Curiosity piqued, he didn't hesitate giving approval this time. "Alright. Just do make sure to get some less powerful weapons." With a sigh, he mumbled, "My first year as head operator and I feel like I'll already lose my job..."

Once you were provided with your 'weapons', you were instructed by Kurusu this time. "Just hold them as naturally as you can. You may choose between the two weapons provided. Lay them down next to you if you don't want it tested."

Holding the gun in one hand, you heard their countdown go off again. You let yourself relax while waiting for the results.

"Huh. A small increase, but quite a feat. You're smart for suggesting to hold these weapons. It's actually now on 8%. Try the dagger."

You let go of the gun and did as you were told. It took you a while to get as natural as you can while holding the dagger, but decided to not put in any effort as you were just having some 'fun' anyways.

"...That was higher than the gun. 10%. You're unbelievable." 

'What's so unbelievable about that?' you thought. Not a single result elicited any reaction from you. Hell, now-promoted Platoon Leader Narumi had a whopping 24% even as a normal civilian. Why would yours be any unbelievable? Maybe it's the first and only time an operations manager got this number. Who in their right mind would test this out for fun anyway?

"Hey, I'll try holding both of these. Let's end our fun and curiosity here." you announced. By this time, you just want this to end. But you are as intrigued as they are, hence suggesting a final test. For some reason, you felt yourself become uneasy at the last attempt. You know it never ends good whenever a sudden wave of uneasiness washes over you, so you force yourself to keep the relaxed state you were previously in.

From your peripheral vision, you saw Kurusu nod. You took both weapons in your hand. The procedure repeats, for the last time.

And then there was silence. You thought you fell asleep, but moved your fingers just to confirm you're still awake. Opening your eyes, you turn to look at your co-workers who were currently gawking at the huge screen.

"Um... You..." started Kurusu. "You uh, just got an 18% unleashed combat power with both weapons in your hold." 

Oh.

Now that's unbelievable. 

"...And our fun little session ends here! Can somebody assist me here so I can continue my work?" you asked in a rush.

"No. You stay there, I'm not done with your analysis. I'll have to command everyone to go back to their stations." Kurusu said, seriousness suddenly taking over his voice.

He continued speaking, "Not only do you have an 18% unleashed combat power, you also have a potential aptitude for Kaiju no. 3 cells." 

It's as if your ability to speak was taken. 18% unleashed combat power sure is something for someone in your level, but to have an aptitude for an identified kaiju...? No wonder he asked them to leave. Word about this finding mustn’t spread, at least, not for now. Your co-workers are new in the job, so they probably don’t know how to identify an aptitude reading for identified Kaiju.

"Um... So... Do we report this to the Captain or something?" you hesitantly ask after a few minutes of blanking out. You don't know what else you can say at the moment, totally taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Before Kurusu can even respond, you hear a voice coming from the doorway.

"Huh. No wonder those operators flocked out of the room in a hurry. I've spared you the job. The old man is already informed." 

Your eyes widened, soul leaving your body upon hearing it. You know you'd have to eventually report this to the Captain, but this soon? And what's worse, that voice...

Standing lazily at the doorway with his phone in one hand is no other than the newly promoted Platoon Leader, Narumi Gen.

Author's Note(s):

My first fic! I've actually never wrote anything like this before, as I've only spent my entire life writing academic papers 😭 Thus, constructive criticism and feedbacks are always welcome!

I also apologize for any inaccuracies in the terminologies I used, my brain is pea-sized when it comes to some canon minor details.

I thought I'll be able to finish this in a single chapter, but I think a max of 3 wouldn't sound so bad. I can't write continuously or my head will explode omg

I'm not sure about the holding weapons thing, but I included it here based off how they tested Mina to have great aptitude for guns. I also recall a chapter saying Soshiro's combat power for firearms is so low, hence why he's a close quarters combatant.

Also, about the Kaiju No. 3 thingy, It's not gonna be canon compliant since we don't have any info on that identified Kaiju so I'll just be making stuff up for the sake of this fic lol.