#this serves no purpose other than my own amusement

[whimsyprinx]

do you think we suffer for the same reasons our ocs do, any gods out there are venting their feelings through us in order to feel better?

[randomsuggesteduseername]

—RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW

❝ MASTERLIST ❞

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

wc: 4.7k

best friends to lovers, making out, slight smut,

prompts: “Kiss me to prove we’re not in love”

Your mouth might’ve ran faster than your brain could process it. At least that’s how it feels when you watch the blush spread over Steve’s cheeks, paired with a frown meant to help keep his composure. “You want me to kiss you?” His voice wavers slightly, checking in to see that his own brain didn’t produce that thought out of thin air. It’s been long since Steve’s felt this nervous and unsure of himself around you, usually he’s all flirty smiles and cheeky words, yet now he’s been reduced to a deafening silence.

“Yes, kiss me so we can prove once and for all that nothing is going on between us.” Arms crossed over your chest after placing the bowl of caramel popcorn down. The most indignant look on your face as you stare at him expectantly from your side of the couch. The blue-ish hue the tv casts onto Steve’s side profile highlights the way his eyes stay wide when the words slip out of your mouth. “We are not Harry and Sally.” You argue with a crooked brow which seems to earn an amused huff from him.

This all started when he brought a new tape home, the hottest release of the year ‘When Harry met Sally…’ At first glance, nothing but a simple rom-com, little did you know it would put you and your best friend in a position you’ve never thought you’d ever end up.

Steve’s been adamant about the movie the whole night, calling it a heartwarming love story, while you, thinking clearly, stood your ground and told him that it ruined the vision of friendship between men and women. Of course he didn’t get it, his love-deprived brain worked in ways you’ll never understand.

“Admit it…” His eyes swiped over your face quickly as his head leaned back against the couch and to the side to face you. That grin of his couldn’t be more cocky. “You’ve thought about me like that at least once.” Almost stating it rather than asking, you shove a foot into his hip, thanks to your laying down position along the length of the couch which kept him in your reach as he occupied the place left on the couch next to your feet. The ‘humf’ sound he makes instinctively at your shove has you rolling your eyes and looking back at the TV screen.

“Kill me if I ever do.” You deadpan, the look on your face is nothing less than serious. His accusation is absurd, how can he think that you’ve ever viewed him as anything other than your best friend? His hands raise in faux defeat with a slightly amused look on his face, his gaze pulling away from you, at least momentarily until you open your mouth to speak again. “You don’t believe me, do you? Oh my god, Harrington, you’re so arrogant!” Huffing, you get up from the couch, padding over the soft, fluffy carpet the Harringtons recently bought for their living room.

Despite the coffee table topped to the brim with snacks and drinks you feel the need for a glass of water instead of a sugary and fizzy beverage. “It’s not a good look on you at all.” You let him know as you tuck some hair behind your ear, pouring yourself a glass of water, hearing his voice ring out from the living room. “So you think I have good looks, huh?”

You’d roll your eyes again at him if you could, but something tells you you’ll end up with a headache if you keep doing that. Taking the glass back with you, you claim your spot onto the couch, this time your legs curling up next to you. The movie long forgotten as it keeps playing on the TV, now only serving illumination purposes, you’re stuck on the disagreement tonight’s movie started.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You huff. He thinks it’s cute, he loves riling you up from time to time. “You’re crazy if you think I could ever be with you…” The words come out slightly harsher than intended, but he doesn’t seem to take it personal, only faking a gasp, his hand pressing over his heart to try to trick you into feeling guilty. You don’t, not even a little. “Oh honey, how can you be so mean to me?” He almost whines, pouty lips on display, his eyes almost glazing over with the puppy look he’s mastered at this point.

You know this is just ordinary messing around, he’s always poking and prodding you with his words, but something about his suggestion has shifted something inside you. Maybe it’s the thought that he thinks you’re in love with him which…quite frankly, is insane…right? Maybe it’s the way his rhetorics make you want to slap that grin off his face…or maybe, just maybe, instead of slapping you’d like to try a kiss first.

Instead of staring at his stupid brown eyes, you decide to busy yourself with the bowl of caramel popcorn, picking a handful. The taste melts on your tongue which brings you some sort of serenity for a few moments.

The idea which sparks into your head is not appropriate, far from it. What has got you thinking about kissing him again you think you’ll never know, but maybe that’s just the answer. A simple kiss to prove that whatever assumptions he has about your feelings are completely and utterly absurd.

So, you can blame him for pushing it, or you can blame yourself for being so stubborn about proving him wrong. Either way, it brings you back to his shocked face, the words already uttered and too late to be taken back without implying some sort of fear that his suggestion might be true after all. The long and awkward silence almost makes you jab him with a few teasing words, but the way he seems to be a bit shellshocked for the better part of a minute has you keeping it to yourself.

“Kiss you? As in, for real?” You smile, amused by his tone as you nod, the thought brings some butterflies into your stomach but you just assume it’s nerves from having to kiss your best friend. “I’m serious— right here, right now. To get that stupid idea out of your head.” You explain as if it’s the sanest and most logical explanation for this. “It’ll prove we’re not capable of being attracted to one another and that nothing will ever happen between us.”

Steve, after seemingly coming out of his momentarily catatonic state, has already masked his shocked expression and covered it up with that smile you know so well. Shifting to face you on the couch, one leg underneath himself, he seems to be contemplating this before he runs a hand through his hair. “Makes sense.” That’s the conclusion he seems to arrive at as he scoots closer to you on the couch.

The room is still mostly covered by darkness, which makes it harder to see his facial expressions and how his eyes dip to your lips briefly, as if already setting his target on them. His arm is laid over the back of the couch, coming to a stop in front of you once his knee bumps your ankles, making you change your position as you cross your legs and face him too. It doesn’t feel as intimate as the moments before a first kiss should feel, but once again, he’s your best friend…nothing more.

“Wait…” His voice comes out laced with concern, brows pulling together slightly. “Are you sure you won’t fall in love?” Steve asks and you can’t help but let out the breath you’ve been holding up until now, your hand smacking his bicep still settled on the back of the couch. “Oh I'll be fine, not so sure about you though.” Now it’s his time to roll his eyes though you notice the way his lips curl up and his bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a brief moment.

“Alright, Casanova, could you just get to it?” He nods and adjusts his position, not really sure how he needs to approach this. The hand settled in his lap skirts up over your arm, ultimately finding its place on your chin. The way he holds it so gingerly between his thumb and index makes you feel that there’s this sort of nervousness in him just the way it’s in you too. But this is just a kiss to prove him wrong, nothing else.

His eyes find yours and then he’s leaning in, waiting for your reaction, waiting to be shoved away or chided for actually trying to kiss you, but the closer he gets it dawns on him that you want— no, need this to prove him wrong. It bothers him slightly to know you’ll go as far as kissing him to prove that you’re not in love with him and never will be, but he can’t help the sudden thought which pops into his mind, uninvited.

Pulling back slightly to put some distance between your faces again, your eyes narrow curiously, a tinge of annoyance on your features too. “This won’t make it awkward between us, right?” His question makes you sigh, wondering if this whole thing is really a good idea or if it’s just going to make things worse. The last thing you need is to lose your best friend over some stupid rom-com.

“No, Steve, it won’t change anything between us because it doesn’t mean anything.” You assure him, finding it in you to be understanding of his worries. He nods, accepting that it’ll be done and you’ll never speak of it again.

He’s getting into position again, more shuffling and scruffing over the couch as you find a way to rest your legs against one another comfortably. Steve’s hand lifts to your chin again, keeping hold of it softly as he takes one last look at you, starting his approach again. You don’t feel the nerves anymore, truthfully you don’t feel anything, further proving your point that you don’t have any feelings towards him.

You let your eyes fall shut, expecting his kiss as you breach your hand on his knee, not feeling his breath hitch the slightest bit at your touch. It’s so brief that you almost miss it. A chaste peck which only meets your lips for a second. Your eyes open once his hand pulls away and clears his throat, not saying anything.

You should be happy that you felt absolutely nothing during the kiss, yet it still leaves you with a sort of empty, unsatisfied feeling in your chest. You dare to look at him again, a few beats passing before you notice the soft blush dusting his cheeks, though it might as well be the light from the TV.

“See? Nothing.” You press your hands to your thighs, subtly drying them against the material of your sweats as he seemingly agrees with you. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you gaze forwards before your mouth opens again. “You know, that wasn’t really a kiss. Like, a proper kiss.” You twitch your nose as you don’t dare look at him.

“Mhm, yeah…” His bottom lip is stuck between his teeth, the plush flesh catching your interest as it falls freely back into its place. “You’re totally right, we should probably try again.” The thinking process seems to be logical, as if the possibility of looking for another excuse to kiss each other is not even on the table right now. Just two friends making sure they’re not in love, right?

“Okay then, kiss me like you’d kiss Becky, Tina or Amy. Just pretend I’m one of them.” The words make him dizzy. How can he pretend to kiss you like you’re just some girl he wants to spend his night with? You’re so much more than that, though at the same time less. Your connection is too strong to one another, and as if reading his mind, you speak again. “Maybe not like that. But just kiss me like a girl you’re in love with.” His huff comes out with just the right amount of humour.

“I can do that…I think.” His tongue comes out to wet his lips, the way he’s looking at you feels a bit more intimate now. “Get to it then.” You try to joke as you take a deeper breath, his body already close to yours, making it easier for him to reach out.

The way his skin feels on yours when he cups the side of your face should be the first indicator that this kiss is going to be much different from the first. As if reading your thoughts, his thumb swipes over your cheekbone almost tenderly, eyes falling shut in time with one another, you’re left with the darkness of your eyelids, focusing solely on your other senses.

The musky smell of Steve’s slept in clothes and lingering wafts of toothpaste on his breath, the warm encompassing feeling of his palm on your cheek and the low hum of unintelligible voices since the movie is still playing. The tip of his sharp nose is now tracing over the contour of yours, whereas the first time it was merely just a clumsy bump. You refrain a shudder successfully and you let him go on, carrying a sort of curiosity about what King Steve does to these girls to have them in a chokehold.

And then it happens again, that chaste press of lips on lips, though you keep still and lightly press yourself closer. Just as fast as it comes it goes again, making you furrow your brows. “I th—“ The words get swallowed by him as Steve leans in again, more purposeful, carrying more intent.

Something trashes wildly in your stomach, dare you say butterflies as he parts his lips slightly, coaxing you into a slower open mouthed kiss. You don’t mind, letting him take the lead, following his pace, you’re pleasantly surprised when his tongue tries to enter the mix. You welcome it with your own, brushing wetly over one another while his lips seal over yours.

Without realising, you let your hands come up, one hooking against the back of his neck while the other pushes greedily into his hair. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, though you surely get lost in the way he’s treating you like you mean something more to him. The way his hands touch you, stroking your cheek and holding your hip, the position is still somewhat awkward and stiff, having to meet in the middle, but you don’t mind it that much.

Clearly he does, having to pull you closer, making you slip into his lap to get more comfortable. Settling on his thighs, your knees dig into the leather of his couch while his head tilts back to reach you better. You’re sure your lips will soon turn numb from his ministrations in which you both seem to get lost, clearly forgetting the whole reason you got into the argument in the first place.

Feeling him up, your hands drift over his shoulders and down to his chest, giving the briefest squeeze on it which has him taking a deeper breath in, making you smile against his lips. You’ve fallen into a rhythm, getting accustomed to one another, but everything freezes in place when you hear him.

Confusion etched into your features, your brows twitch together momentarily. “Did you…moan?” The question seems absurd since you’ve heard it clear as day, you couldn’t have missed the way it made your insides clench, your eyes searching his face as you watch the tips of his ears and his cheeks flush a deep red. “Well we’ve been shoving our tongues down each other’s throats, sorry for getting distracted.” He defends, trying to sound as if it’s your fault, looking away to hide the embarrassed look on his face.

Gazing down at him, you take a breath and shift, unintentionally brushing over his lap, his hands tighten on your hips if it’s any indicator to the torment he’s going through. Your lips out of reach, unsure if you’ll even kiss him again after his slip up, your body nothing but a teasing, heating pressure which would be embarrassing to let affect him. But oh how can he keep it together when you’re set on ruining him?

He thinks you know what you’re doing, not when you stare down at him for a brief moment, giving him the idea that you do want him, not when you shift over his lap, and not even when you breach your hands on his shoulders and push him to lay back again, but when your lips press against his for a third time which has his mind rebooting, trying to keep up with the pace you’re setting.

The idea that this was supposed to be just a kiss is now forgotten, the only thing that seems to matter now is kissing his best friend like she’s a girl he’s in love with. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even find it that hard to do, though he doesn’t have the faintest idea as to why.

You can’t help but grab hold of his locks again, so silky and soft through your fingers, giving them the slightest tug experimentally. This time when Steve feels it, he doesn’t moan, not even grunt, what he does though is shamelessly grind up against you. You’d stop the kiss to ask him if he’s hard, but it all feels so good, the way he’s encompassing you in his arms, how he shifts the slightest bit down towards your jaw, in search of sensitive skin. Nails digging lightly into the back of his neck, you gasp when his mouth leaves yours properly and latches onto your neck, lost in the bliss of it all, you grind down again which is enough to make Steve lose his mind.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” His breath sounds strained. “can’t take it—“ His murmur is a rumble against your skin, your whole body warming up at the idea that your best friend can’t contain himself after a simple kiss. Your thighs try to squeeze together at the sound of his voice, instead, squeezing his hips.

Heart drumming, you feel his lips finish up the work on your skin and it doesn’t hit you that it’ll leave a mark, you’re too preoccupied with the way his hands help you grind over his lap to notice. There’s a fire growing between both of you, low and slow, simmering dangerously close.

There’s sudden silence, the tape has no doubt ended, leaving you in a way too intimate silence, only filled by the grunts and gasps shared between you. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be letting a simple kiss get the better of you but Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, letting his needs guide him into stealing another greedy kiss.

Getting light headed, unsure if from his passionate kiss or the lack of oxygen, you’re forced to part, a thin string of spit splitting between the two of you as you look at one another, realising just how wrecked and ravished you both look.

His strands are sticking up at odd angles, his lips flushed a deeper red from all the kissing, just enough to match his cheeks. The collar of his shirt is stretched out a bit, showing a part of his collarbone from where you’d fisted his shirt. The way he’s looking up at you makes it seem like he’s begging for more, his body certainly is with the way he’s still pressing between your thighs, feeling that he’s fighting to contain himself for the sake of the dignity he has left.

Forcing down the lump in your throat with a harsh swallow, you force yourself to move off of him, sliding next to him onto the couch. Settling your hands in your lap, you toy with your fingers, gazing up at the ceiling as he does the same, waiting in silence until your breathing slows down and your mind is a bit more clear.

“You’re a nice kisser,” You mumble the compliment. Calling it nice would be a gross understatement but that’s all you can manage at the moment. Two, Three beats pass before he conjures up a response. “Thanks, you too…nice,”

“Great, um…I guess we proved my point.” Only now remembering what got you in this mess in the first place, you blink and look for your glass of water before you take a sip, the room temperature liquid feeling cold as you drink.

Stubborn.

That’s exactly what you are. It’s been three days since you and Steve broke the dam and started a metaphorical flood of thoughts and feelings. You haven’t seen him since, not that you’re looking forward to the awkward silence and new weird dynamic. Some part of you wishes you’d just accepted the defeat without having to prove anything, while the other can’t help but think back to that kiss, maybe the best one of your life.

It’s on Saturday night that Robin calls and invites you over for a movie night. Just the mere thought of it has your blood warming up, but you can’t let him keep you away from your shared friend group. You’ll just have to…ignore him.

Easier said than done.

You rode with Eddie, he never has a problem with picking you up, but he does give you a strange look when you hop in his van as if to say ‘Where’s Harrington?’ Since the two of you always come together, wherever you go, he’s there and vice versa.

With a hammering heart, you let yourself in as you always do and greet Robin with a smile, subtly looking over her shoulder as she speaks, trying to see if he’s already here. Snapping back to the conversation, you follow her to the couch as she rambles off about whatever tape she ‘borrowed’ from Family Video, though it always ends up thrown somewhere in her room, gathering dust.

Settling in the middle of the couch, You watch as Robin takes a seat next to you, telling Eddie to prepare the tape and bring the bowls of snacks over. Finally settling into the familiar energy, you laugh, entertaining Robin’s absurd thoughts and jokes, but soon enough it’s interrupted as the door opens and closes again, Eddie’s still occupying his usual armchair so it can’t by anyone else than him…

Clammy hands drying on your thighs, you look back as his voice comes out, greeting the three of you as he apologises for being late. You know him, and you’d be inclined to say that you do it best, but looking at him right now, you can’t seem to be able to read him anymore. All you can see is those big hands that grabbed and squeezed at you, those walnut strands which you tugged at, pulling the prettiest of sounds from him, and those eyes…oh how you’re lost in them until Robin boops the tip of your nose, flushing in embarrassment as you pretend they didn’t catch you staring with heart eyes at your best friend.

“Okay, come on, let's watch this already.” You huff, as if you’re impatient to see the movie, but in reality, you’re only thinking about the lights being dimmed so the blush on your cheeks won’t be on full display anymore. You’re cursed with having to squeeze into Robin’s two person couch with her and Steve, each of them pressing closely into your sides, Steve’s arm laying over the back of the couch.

The movie isn’t great, not even close to what Robin’s promised it to be. Proof of that is Eddie drooling on himself as he sleeps peacefully in the armchair, and Robin’s head pressing against your shoulder as she rests with soft snores coming out of her. You wonder how you’re still awake yourself, but the heat radiating off Steve’s body is enough to keep you alert for almost an hour.

“Should we turn this off?” He asks as he gazes at the screen with a sort of bored confusion on his face. You nod and watch him as he gets up, using the opportunity to let Robin lay comfortably on the couch as you slip away from the living room and find yourself walking away, moving towards the bathroom but before you can lock yourself there, you hear his voice.

“Can we talk?” His question seems to slip out like he doesn’t want to go through the conversation either, but it’s eating him up, having to keep his distance from you. Telling yourself it’ll be okay, you turn on your heel and nod, heading to Robin’s room as he follows closely.

Once the door is closed, leaving the two of you alone, you dare to lift your gaze, swallowing thickly while he seems to be looking for the right words. “Did I make things awkward between us? You know, like after we uh— made out?”

“No…no, it’s just, It’s fine…really.” You rush to assure him, he doesn’t believe it one bit, your voice wavers as he steps closer and tilts his head with a concerned furrow in his brows. “Are you sure? It doesn’t seem like that, you can barely look at me and you haven’t called to spend the night in like………forever.” He argues, knowing you always have sleepovers, especially now in the summer.

“Steve, it’s been four days…” You smile lightly as you correct him, seemingly overestimating for how long you’ve been apart, though for him it surely feels like a drawn out eternity meant to make him suffer in your absence. “Exactly!” He huffs as if you can’t seem to understand just how much he’s missed you.

He’s got you, it’s a curse that he knows you this well. Maybe you can’t lie your way out of this, not when he’s watching you like a hawk, trying to find the source of the problem as always. He hates to see you upset, even more so when he knows it might be his fault.

“C’mon, when did you stop telling me what’s bothering you?” The way his tone seems to be a bit hurt makes you look at him, now he’s much closer, his hand reaching for yours as he tugs you gently towards him. You’re not sure you can say anything that will justify your actions, so you don’t. Gazing down at the way his hand swallows yours up completely, your chest swarms with butterflies as he toys with your fingers gently. Want takes over your mind, clouding your judgement as you gaze up at him, opening your mouth to speak.

Knowing no words will ever compare to what you want to do, you push yourself up on your tiptoes and grab hold of his shoulder, leaning in to connect your lips again just like you did three nights ago. Despite the sudden movement, he doesn’t seem to be too shocked, quick with returning the kiss as his hands settle instinctively on your waist to make sure you stay close.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, you cup the side of his face with your free hand and lean more into him. Letting him walk you back until you bump into the wall, you sigh into the kiss and pull his head down to reach him better. A fuzzy feeling takes over your brain as you let yourself enjoy the moment, feeling Steve’s wandering hands advance, you cling to him for support and arch, saying his name in a soft whisper.

Letting your hands slide up under his shirt, fingers tracing soft skin, gripping at his strong back as Steve occupies himself with pawing at your thighs and waist.

Your bodies pressing and tangling warmly, finally feeling the freedom to touch him like you’ve always known you wanted deep in your heart, humming softly as he lets a relaxed sigh slip from his lips. Minutes pass before a sudden thump, followed by a grumpy Robin cursing, travels through her small apartment.

You break apart with a groan and bite your lip, gazing at him as he seems to resent the interruption too. “We should get back out there before they realise we’re missing.” He knows you’re right, but the way you look like you hate the idea, carrying that soft pout on your lips which has his heart melting makes him dip his head to catch your lips in another kiss, this time softer. “Mhm, in a minute.”

And how can you turn him down when he’s so adamant about kissing you?

[anat-e-no-inori]

character i made based off of Harvest Moon, A New Beginning!

[sonotpattismith]

my blues for my brain (megumi fushiguro x reader)

word count: 8.7k inspired by: fate by grey reverend content: angst, fluff, mentions of car accidents, hospitals, invisible string theory, me pretending gojo is still alive for my mental health

“Please don’t leave me here.”

These words were ones all too familiar to you, in an all too familiar scenario. The difference was, it wasn’t you clinging to life with blood soaked skin. Instead, it was the strange boy that had just raced out of the over-priced cafe that you worked at to make a dime during your summer semesters. 

You could recall the exact, desperate words falling from your own lips as a good samaritan crouched in front of you just a few years back, your fingertips just a hair away from death’s door. In an act that would serve to veer you off any sense of understanding for your purpose in life, that person didn’t leave you to die, despite the chaos that was ensuing around him. When you woke, you had more questions that filled your prayers than thanks. 

Why did you live if others had died the same fate that was allotted to your own life? There was meaning to everything that happened in one’s life— at least that’s what everyone told you when you woke in your hospital bed. What was the meaning of this though? Were you meant to find a new purpose in your life; was this meant to steer you in the right path? If so, why did you end up working a minimum wage job as you scraped up enough money for a college education you still had little to no clue what you wanted to do with yet? 

Up until that day, as the pale stranger’s desperate grip on your hand slowly weakened with his waning consciousness, you were sure you had failed whatever god saved you all those years ago. As the man before you opened his eyes for the briefest of moments to beg for your mercy, you thought meaning had finally found you. 

“You’d think for a café in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Tokyo that there would be a little more excitement in here every once and a while.” Your coworker droned as she stared at the front door, which hadn’t opened in exactly forty-one minutes. Who was counting though? 

You shouldered into her with a half-hearted smile as you made yourself a mid-shift drink. Today’s choice happened to be a matcha latte, though you often switched it up for the sake of having something new to look forward to everyday. Peering back at her and then toward the hustle and bustle just outside the shop, you sighed dejectedly. What meaning did standing behind this counter for hours a day have? Perhaps you should be enjoying the life that was granted back to you so fortunately, you thought as you trailed an absentminded finger down the scar that ran down your arm. 

Snapping from your haze, you offered her the most encouraging smile you could muster in the midst of your perpetual existential crisis. 

“Staring at the door isn’t going to make customers appear.” You scolded, and she peered over at you with a bored glare, to which you chuckled lightly. “Quick, pick a syrup, and we’ll put it in my matcha to see if we’re horrible at our jobs or not.”

At this, an amused smile stretched across her face, and she quickly straightened up to look over the options. As you two bickered over which of you had more abysmal taste than the other, the rare chime of the front door interrupted your concocting session. The both of you snapped up like dogs who just heard their food bowl rattle in the next room. 

Appearing slightly out of breath and frantic, a man stepped into the café. There was a determination in his step as he rushed over to the register and rested his hand atop the counter to lean in with purpose. There were prominent, pink scars lining his face, so large in size and quantity that you wondered what kind of trouble someone seemingly your age could have gotten himself into already. Forgoing your growing curiosity, you mustered up a welcoming smile. 

“Welcome! Can I get—”

“Did you see anything strange passing around here just a second ago?” The two of you spoke at the same time, but he paid no mind to your cut-off question as he stared expectantly at you. 

Your mouth slowly shut, brows furrowing in the process as you tried to recall anything that had happened in the last five minutes, but the only memories that surfaced were you trying to decide between lavender or hazelnut syrup. 

“Maybe we have, but we reserve the right to withhold answers for paying customers, actually.” Your coworker chimed in with a mischievous smile, clearly just desperate for any business on this slower-than-usual day. The raven-haired man sighed indignantly.

“This is serious—”

“So is our no loitering policy.” You had to repress a tickled smile at her persistence. She smiled triumphantly as he grumbled and frantically fished a few spare yen from his pockets and slammed them on the table. 

“A black coffee!” He growled his order at her before returning his attention to you, a scowl set deeply on his already intimidating face. Beside you, your coworker mumbled something in reference to his boring order before working to prepare it. “Now what did you see?”

You almost felt bad after the fact, that you could only pathetically shake your head at his question. 

“I’m sorry, I really haven’t seen anything. What are you looking—”

A frustrated grunt from the disgruntled man cut you off, and before you knew it he was storming out of the café. An amused scoff escaped you as you watched him leave, and your coworker leaned against the counter beside you.

“Just our luck— we ask for entertainment, and we get crazy.” She commented with a shake of her head. “He left his coffee, too.”

This made you tear your gaze from the door to the lidded, brown cup she set down on the counter. His yen were still sat messily before you, and you suddenly felt bad for having coerced him into buying something. Peering out to see him speaking to a few pedestrians just outside the shop, you grasped the cup and exited your post behind the register. 

“Hey!” You called out, ignoring your coworker’s questioning as you poked your head out the door. Sighing when he appeared too preoccupied to notice your calls, you prepared to try one more time as he continued his frantic trek through the bustling city. “You forgot your—”

The blaring sound of a truck’s horn sliced through your attempted good deed of the day, and you could only watch in stone-cold horror as the offending vehicle slammed into your distracted customer. His uniform-clad body jolted across the street with a velocity you had trouble keeping up with. Your eyes wouldn’t allow you to stop following the movements no matter how hard you tried though. The steaming cup in your hands slipped from your trembling fingers before splattering across the ground in tandem with the stranger’s blood across the street. 

Vehicle’s horns were blaring behind the truck that had come to a screeching halt. Behind you, your coworker rushed out, shouting words you couldn’t process in your shell-shocked state. You watched with vast, unblinking eyes as his body finally rolled to a stop, and he twitched out in agony. With unwavering precision, you could swear you knew the exact pain that was coursing through his body at that moment; the fear that must be setting his wounds ablaze. It wasn’t that long ago that it was you, laying in uncertainty, at the mercy of whoever might have felt your life was worthy enough to try saving. 

So, you ripped your arm out of your coworker’s frantic grip, and your legs raced toward the scene. The truck driver was stumbling out of the driver’s seat, a horror-stricken expression etched onto his features as you dropped down to your knees beside the barely conscious man. Blood coated the corners of his lips as he continued to weakly sputter up the substance. 

“Oh my god,” You babbled mindlessly, hands hovering over him as you contemplated what to do. As if reacting to your voice, his head swayed in your direction, but his eyes remained shut. He was pale— dare you say even paler than he was when he walked into your shop just moments ago. “Call an ambulance!” You shouted at the truck driver, who seemed to be too shell-shocked to spring into action himself. Upon hearing your frantic order, he immediately began fumbling with his cellphone. 

Turning your attention back to the stranger, you noted he was now struggling to pry his eyes open, a deep navy color squinting back at you. 

“Can you hear me?” You questioned, fingers twitching with the urge to turn him on his side in an attempt to prevent him choking on his own blood. You didn’t know what was broken though, so you opted to carefully tilt his head toward you. He only stared deliriously up at you as blood began to ooze from the side of his mouth. “Is there someone I can call? 

Megumi’s mind was in a state all too familiar to him though. It clung on the border between life and death, and, in the past, it was a constant struggle of whether or not it was worth fighting to get through. Now though, he was desperately grasping at the straws of his consciousness. It was his first mission by himself after the trauma his mind and body had endured during the Culling Games. After everything he’d gone through, all the battles he’d fought and the mental strife he’d worked through, this couldn’t possibly be how he left this world. A meaningless and pitiful death— is that what he would have to show for when his friends asked what became of him in the end?

“Hey, hey, stay awake, okay?” Megumi was pulled from his wallowing thoughts by the frantic voice above him, and it sounded as though he was under water, though it wouldn’t surprise him if there was blood in his ears as well. His lips parted, but all that left them was a strangled groan. Your fingers, still warm from his black coffee that had just been clutched in your hand, squeezed gently at his cheeks as though to rouse him from sleep. They slipped from his face and fell into his hand, giving his fingers a soft squeeze. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Weakly, you felt his trembling fingers grasp back at your hand. You found yourself smiling encouragingly at him, though you doubted he could see it. The sirens of an oncoming ambulance had you looking behind you, and you could see the flashing lights in the distance cutting across the traffic. From your peripheral, you saw your coworker racing out toward you, pushing through the small crowd that had formed. 

“He just— it came out of nowhere. He’s—”

“He’s suspicious as fuck.” She finished for you, concern pooling in her eyes as she grabbed your free hand in an attempt to tug you up. As you stumbled a bit, you felt the stranger’s cold hand grasp at your wrist, turning your attention back to him. “Let’s go, the ambulance is already here. This guy was probably caught up in some seriously shady shit.” 

She was right, and you knew it. It was evident from the grotesque and oddly placed scars that lined his face, the strange uniform he donned, down to the odd questions and abrupt departure he had graced you with before the accident. Still, your memories of meeting the exact same fate kept you empathetically tied to his side as you peered down at him apprehensively. He opened his eyes once again, and it appeared as though he was mustering every last bit of strength he had left. His fingers wrapped around your wrist desperately as his lips parted to plea with you.

“Please don’t leave me.”

It was a cry that was so uncharacteristic of him, but he only knew one thing at the moment. The warmth of your hand and the soothing sound of your voice was the only thing tying him down to the land of the living. Without your grounding, he felt he may slip away, resigned to the fate he had just fought so valiantly to avoid. 

The plea clutched at your heartstrings as the paramedics rushed to the scene. They were bustling around you, asking you questions while simultaneously shouting foreign terminology at each other as they immediately began tending to the situation at hand. Your eyes remained locked on the stranger’s as they slowly drifted shut, and he offered one last desolate squeeze to your hand before darkness seemed to consume him. 

“Ma’am,” The gruff voice of the paramedic beside you pulled you from your trance, and it was then that you noticed the tear that slipped down your cheek. Blinking it away, you looked up at the man, still shell-shocked. “Do you know this man?”

“I…” Your words got caught in your throat as his final plea rang in your ears. Glancing up, you saw your coworker on the other side of the sea of medical personelle, shaking her had at you with wide eyes. In your palm though, the limp, cold hand of the stranger still lay. “He’s my partner.” You lied in a haze, watching as they prepared to carefully shift him onto a stretcher. 

Your lie earned you a ride in the ambulance beside him, staring in an absent haze as the team moved like ants around him, peeling his lids back to check his eyes with a tiny light, cutting his shirt down the middle to check his vitals, prying an oxygen mask over his parted lips and expertly starting an IV on his limp arm despite the rustling of the fast-paced vehicle. They attributed your inability to answer any questions to your shock, which was partially true, but you also feared revealing your white lie to them with the wrong responses. 

Police were awaiting you at the hospital when the ambulance came to a screeching halt.  They questioned you about the accident and what you had seen. You complied easily, however couldn’t help but grow nervous once the staff at the hospital asked you to fill out paperwork on your ‘partner’s’ behalf. 

The pen in your hand shook as you stared down at the first blanks. 

FIRST NAME

LAST NAME

Of which you knew neither. 

“Is everything alright?” The soft voice of a compassionate nurse questioned as she typed away at her computer, likely awaiting your information to complete his admission. 

You looked up at her patient eyes, and you couldn’t hold back your lie any longer, explaining to her what had actually happened. Her slow nod made you feel guilty, as she thanked you for your honesty and explained the paperwork would be different now as they had no way to identify the stranger. He had no identification on him, and the cellphone they’d found in his pocket had shattered in the midst of the accident.

Perhaps you should have gone home after you’d given them all the information they needed, but you stayed in the small waiting room, anxiously bouncing your leg and chewing on your lip. As hours seemed to pass by, you’d perk up each time someone would come in, hoping any of the visitors would be coming to claim the stranger that was currently being tended to in the intensive care unit. They each came and went though, and you remained the only one awaiting him under the fluorescent lights. 

Your eyes were beginning to burn when the nurse you had spoken to hours prior walked carefully up to you, that compassionate smile everpresent on her lips. 

“I know there’s no relation, but I thought you’d like to know his condition is relatively stable as of right now.” She offered, causing you to sit up in the stiff, plastic chair. 

“Thank you— really.” You sighed breathlessly to which she nodded in return. For a moment, you wondered if you were overstepping by asking for anymore details. Casting your eyes down to your lap, you chewed pensively on your lip. She seemed to take note of your bashful apprehension, smiling knowingly. 

“You’re currently the only contact we have for him. There wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to pay him a visit.”

So, with your fingers wringing nervously at the hem of your shirt, you followed the nurse through the unit and to the room he was occupying. Though you had seen first hand the damage the accident had done to him, you still had to bite back a shocked gasp upon seeing the various monitors he was hooked up to, as well as the clear tube running into his mouth and down his throat. You had endless questions for the god-sent nurse, but she had already mentioned that her shift was ending, so you didn’t want to hold her any longer. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet, but they can still hear you, you know?” She explained with an encouraging smile as she leaned against the doorframe. Tearing your gaze from the various lines and tubes connected to him, you peered back at her in shock, but the nurse only nodded affirmatively at you. “It helps. Especially since he’s by himself.” 

Following her polite goodbye with a promise that she’d be back on shift tomorrow morning, you were left alone with the stranger. It was silent in the sterile room, only the persistent beeping of his monitors filling the space around you. A shiver ran down your spine as if the below normal temperatures of the hospital were finally catching up to you as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you had stayed back to drink your stupid, black coffee.” You began hesitantly as you circled the raised bed. Pursing your lips, you slowly sat down on the chair beside him. Toying with the end of the blanket that hung off the bed, the ragged rise and fall of his chest caught your attention, and you wondered how much of it was thanks to the tube running down his throat. “I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.” 

As an assistant came in to check on him, you peered awkwardly down at your lap while they checked his vitals. Once done with the routine checks, you watched her move the blanket back over him and gently adjust certain chords to settle more comfortably around him. It made your heart warm that they seemed so attentive to his comfort, even if he wasn’t conscious enough to notice. You thanked her quietly as she departed from the room. 

“You know the nurse’s assistant was the only one in the room with me when I first woke up after my accident.” You explained to the unconscious man before you. A fond smile settled onto your lips. “My parents had stepped out for a while just to get some food. Just their luck, huh? He held my hand while I was waking up so I wasn’t all by myself. It meant the world to me.”

It felt as though Megumi was trapped right back in the barrier between his mind and his soul— helpless to find an escape. This time around though, he had more of a will to fight. There was no way he had gone through everything and exhausted his mind, body, and soul, all to meet his demise because he didn’t look both ways before crossing the damn street. Another part of him wondered if this was fate granting him mercy. Perhaps if he didn’t die here, hooked up to all these tubes and machines, his cards held something sacreligious— a gruesome and grotesque death rather than the comparably mundane one that had befallen him. After all he’d been through, maybe this was blissful; the only happy ending that could be promised to him. 

As he lay in that strange veil of unconsciousness though, as if at the bottom of a pool, looking up and barely able to see the sun’s light poking up from the surface— someone was there with him. Your voice sounded as though it was just above the feet of water that separated him from life, muffled but still familiar. It was the same voice that had coaxed him into trusting his body to let go, not knowing whether or not it would be strong enough to reemerge again. 

His brows furrowed— that he could feel, and he willed himself to swim up to the surface as the soft hum of your tired rambling filled his ears. Why were you here? Why were you still here? The sorcerer needed to know, and the urge pushed him to keep struggling against the surface pressure that weighed him down. 

You weren’t sure how long you had sat there mindlessly babbling to the unresponsive man. Wariness was beginning to weigh down on your eyes and shoulders though, likely because you had been up since four that morning to prepare for your shift. If you stopped talking, you thought you might flop over and pass out yourself. He couldn’t be by himself when he woke up, you determined. 

Some staff had come in and dimmed the lights in the room what seemed like hours ago, so they weren’t so harsh in your tired eyes as you tilted your head back to stare at the ceiling while spewing out anything that came to mind. 

“My coworker finally texted me, you know. She said the only weird thing that passed by the shop today was you. Are you in some kind of gang? It would explain the uniform and all the…” Your rambling slowly died out as the sound of sheets rustling filled your ears. In an instant, you were sitting up properly in your uncomfortable chair. His hand twitched against the sheets, and you breathed out in anticipation as you watched his face contort in discomfort. The chair you had been occupying for hours slid back as you stood up abruptly to get a closer look. “Hey— can you hear me?”

Megumi forced his eyes open with what seemed like all the energy left in him. He half expected to be in Shoko’s infirmary with his friends hovering obnoxiously over him, or even in his room where he’d awake in his bed and realize he’d dreamt the entire scenario. The blinding, white ceiling tiles above him were different from the ones he’d grown accustomed to over the years though, and the dull ache radiating through his body served to remind him that he certainly hadn’t been graced by any reverse cursed technique. 

Those mysteriously dark eyes stared incredulously up at the ceiling, and you could see the confusion begin to morph onto his features. All too soon, that confusion shifted into panic as he tried to speak, only to be met by the grueling realization that there was a tube shoved down his throat. 

“It’s okay!” You quickly reassured, placing a careful hand on his shoulder to redirect his attention. With the little he was able to move, his eyes shifted as fast as he could manage to look at you, wide in subtle horror. You took your eyes off him for a second to push the nurse call button to alert them of his waking. “You were in an accident. You’re in the hospital.”

As he peered down at the state of himself, he only seemed more unsettled. You figured it was the mangled state he was left in that freaked him out, but what was going through his head was the mission he’d left behind, along with the curse that was likely still running rampant. Still, his inability to speak paired with his limited mobility certainly didn’t do much to settle his nerves. You watched him become more agitated as he attempted to move each limb to no avail, likely thanks to the arsenal of drugs coursing through his veins. 

“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You insisted, peering out the open door to see if the nurse was nearby. Looking around the room, you left his side for a moment to quickly snatch up a marker from the white board on the wall. You uncapped it and placed it in his hand, securing his weak grip around it before offering your arm. “Is there someone we can call? What’s your name?” 

As he stared incredulously down at your offered up arm, your questions were a jumbled mess in his disoriented mind. All that kept running through his head were questions of who the wide eyed, eager girl at his bedside was, and why her voice had been the only thing he could recall from his supposed accident. Megumi’s fingers trembled as they fought to lift up the marker. A muffled grunt escaped him as he tried to get a grip on it, and it clattered to the floor along with the last string of his patience. 

The sound of the marker clanking against the squeaky clean floor rang in his ears, taunting him in his weak state. Just as he began his attempted thrash against the scratchy sheets, the nurse finally stepped in, picking up her pace a bit as she saw the state of agitation he was in. In an instant, she was dialling someone for help, though you couldn’t be bothered to listen to her, desperate to get any answers out of the stranger. Once again, you offered up your hand to him, placing his fingers against your awaiting palm.

“Trace it on my hand, something—”

“Don’t push him.” The nurse urged as more staff members seemed to flood into the room. She was maneuvering over to the line of his IV with a syringe as she attempted to deescalate the situation herself. “He wasn’t supposed to wake up; if he becomes too agitated he can injure himself further.”

“Wait—” You attempted to stop her as she pushed what you assumed was something to calm him down into his line. Logically, you knew it was in his best interest, however your gnawing curiosity had you hoping he would stay conscious for the least bit longer to provide any answers. It only took seconds though, as the drug flooded his system, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to settle back against the flat bed. His eyelids moved torturously slow as he blinked hazily, and you knew the opportunity had found its way to evade you. 

“I-I’ll wait outside.” The dejected reminder fell from your lips, though you were sure the staff were too occupied to pay you any mind. Just as you moved to get out of their way though, the stranger’s weak fingers laced around your hand. With the waning of his already deplorable strength, you felt the pads of his digits press against you, urging you to stay. Looking up with a quiet gasp, you found his half-lidded eyes on you, a desperation in them that seemed so misplaced on his hard features— even if you didn’t know him. 

Megumi thought maybe if he held onto the now familiar presence that had been beside him all this time, that it would be the one thing to keep him alert enough to continue pushing through the haze of his unconsciousness. Whether it was your continuous, honied voice that pulled him from his drug-induced coma, or the fact that he’d pulled himself out of the depths of chains much stronger than the pharmaceuticals currently in his system, he didn’t know. What he did understand, was that your gentle fingers brushing against his knuckles was practically the only thing he could still feel, and it brought him a comfort he was not prepared to surrender just yet if he were to be pulled under again. 

So, you clung on to his hand as his eyes slowly shut, bleary irises focused on you till the very end as the staff bustled around the room and spoke with the doctors. Even as you felt your own lids growing heavy that night in the darkness of the intensive care room, you couldn’t bring yourself to untangle his fingers from yours. Unable to fight the gravity that weighed down your body to remind you you had been up since four that morning, your head slumped forward and rested on the edge of the bed beside your conjoined hands. 

You hadn’t the energy to think about how odd you may have looked clinging to a complete stranger as you snoozed. Instead, the embarrassment hit you when the kind nurse from the previous day, seemingly having recently clocked in for her shift, gently woke you the next morning with a prepackaged breakfast sandwich. With burning cheeks, you used your free hand to frantically smooth your disheveled hair down and wipe at your under eyes that were undoubtedly smeared with yesterday’s makeup before accepting the food with a shy but grateful smile. 

You waited for her to finish her morning checks on her patient before tearing into the sandwich as your rumbling stomach was demanding of you. In the meantime, she updated you on his condition with jargon that you tried hard to keep up with, but it was offensively early in the morning. Nodding along, you suddenly wished you had paid more attention to all those hospital dramas your roommate used to watch incessantly. A relieved sigh escaped you when she departed, letting you know to press the call button if you needed anything. 

“You’ve really gotta get it together soon, dude.” You commented through a mouthful of bread as you peered over at him thoughtfully. At the very least, you thought, his hand seemed warmer than it had yesterday, and you could only hope that was a good sign. “This hospital food sucks.”

Tossing the wrapper into the small trash bin nearby, you huffed out a sigh. Leaning in closer to him, you hesitantly pushed the thick, black hair away from his face, brushing it gently back against his scalp. A gulp forced its way down your throat at the sight of the thick scars that lined his eyes, and you found yourself carefully brushing against them with baffled curiosity. 

“Who are you?” You whispered, and for a moment you could swear his brows twitched into a furrow.  

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s bad luck to cheat death?” A smoothly amused voice beckoned from the doorway. 

You instantly flinched away from your hovered state over the stranger, the hand that was grasped in his tightening in surprise as you looked up. Leaning against the entry was a tall man that nearly took up the entire door frame. His hair was a striking white that almost rivaled the blinding lights of the hospital room. Though concealed behind dark-rimmed sunglasses, you caught a glimpse of his startling blue eyes as he seemed to tilt his head in amusement at the scene before him. What captured your attention most of all though was the uniform he donned— one nearly identical to the one the mystery patient had been wearing during the accident. 

“Geez, after all you’ve been through, and a truck is what takes you out?” The man’s quip was this time directed at the John Doe, shaking his head with a smile as he slowly strolled into the room. 

“You know him?” You breathed out in relief, watching the fond expression on the man’s face as he scanned over the injuries. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, he’s my student.” He responded casually, hands shoved into his pockets as he circled the bed curiously. “I assumed he was just ignoring my calls. Go figure, huh?”

The casual lightheartedness in his tone only served to confuse you. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that of all the people that came to claim this stranger, his teacher was the first? On top of that, how was he not brimming with concern upon finding the student he seemed so close with in intensive care? Your eyes skimmed down the strange uniform on his long body, lingering just a tad too long on the swirled button on his chest. 

“So, what’s the deal? You a girlfriend he didn’t tell anyone about?” 

Snapping up from your trance, you felt your face heat at his accusation, and you quickly shook your head. The corners of his lips twitched up in amusement. 

“I saw the accident happen.” You explained, allowing your gaze to drift back down to the patient. The edges of your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you recounted the events of the last twenty-four hours, and you were struck by the absurdity of it all. “He… he asked me not to leave— you know, before he passed out.”

“So you didn’t?” His question sounded more like a statement, you noted. You nodded with a soft sigh. Peering up at the teacher with a pursed lip, your free hand reached up to graze the oddly-shaped scars on your upper arm. 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just… was in a similar accident not too long ago. So, I empathized with him— that kind of fear, you know?” You felt the need to explain it to him, as you were sure you looked like some sort of stalker at the moment. The man didn’t respond, peering pensively down at you for long enough to make you squirm in your seat. “I guess I should go now.”

A wave of unnecessary guilt crashed in your chest as you slowly stood from the chair you had been in for countless hours. Giving once last, lingering regard to the unconscious man, you gulped down the confusing lump in your throat and smiled softly. 

“I hope you find whatever you were looking for.” You whispered, gently sliding your hand from his and placing it carefully over the blanket. Nodding respectfully at the man who had been silently watching the entire encounter, you began walking toward the exit. As you hand grazed the door frame, you turned around apprehensively to find the white-haired man already peering back at you knowingly. “What—What’s his name?”

With a fond smile, the man looked back down at his student as if to say we have a lot to catch up on when your ass wakes up before looking back at you. 

“Megumi.”

His name rang through your mind in the droning days that followed your fated encounter. With every order you rang up, his frantic entrance replayed in your head. Each unfruitful study session paved way for the cinematic replaying of his awakening, projected onto your imagination over and over until it became your favorite film that lulled you into relentless, insomniatic nights.

You wondered if his condition had improved, if he had left the hospital, if he was wondering about the girl who he clung onto at his most vulnerable. As the days dragged on, and you wistfully poured out a customer’s black coffee, you realized you had left those answers behind in the hospital room that morning. Still, the more logical part of your mind told you it was for the best given the concerningly curious circumstances of his accident. Additionally, the equally mysterious man that had come to claim Megumi only fanned the flames of your suspicions. 

Despite the impending sense of danger that came each time that supposed teacher’s words rang in your head—

“After all you’ve been through, and a truck is what takes you out?”

You weren’t sure if it was your concern over his recovery, or the gnawing curiosity about the life he led that had you walking back into the hospital almost a full week later. Whichever it was, it was strong enough to push down the nerves fluttering in your stomach as you walked up to the familiar reception front desk. It was the same woman that had you fill out the paperwork when he was first admitted, and, despite it taking her a bit, she remembered you. 

“Listen, I’m really sorry, but the process isn’t as easy now that someone signed his paperwork. I can’t disclose any information to you.” She explained apologetically as you slumped forward on the cold desk. There was a certain sorrow in her eyes as she watched you sigh in defeat. 

“I mean— could you just tell me if he’s okay?” You pleaded, already dreading the thought of having to leave that day with no answers. 

“I wouldn’t even be able to confirm or deny that that patient is still in our system.” It seemed it was upsetting her just as much to deny you, and it wasn’t your intention to make her job anymore difficult than it was. “I wish I could have been of more help to you.” 

You nodded in silent understanding, offering a grateful smile nonetheless as you pushed off of the desk to take your walk of shame out of the building. Perhaps it was a sign; the thought fleeted into your mind on what seemed like the endless trek to the door. This denial was the closure you needed to move on from this bizarre, chance encounter that happened to mimic one you witnessed firsthand just years ago. In stark terms, whatever seemed to be lying at the bottom of the mysterious well that was Megumi— wasn’t your business.

In the same notion though, maybe it was fate that that oddly large, white haired man was strolling into the very doors you were trying to exit, coffee and a paper bag clutched in his causal grip. Your mouth opened and closed as you looked up at him, unsure if he’d even recognize you or care enough to acknowledge your being there. As if sensing your silent stare, he glanced up from his phone for a moment, doing a small double take upon seeing you.  

“Pick up another straggler?” He teased, sliding his phone into the pocket of his uniform with a known smirk. His head tilted toward you. “What was it this time? Just so happened to be around when they mysteriously fell out a window?” 

Despite the fact that his seemingly playful nature was making you feel more comfortable, you still couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face. Attempting a breathless chuckle, you smiled nervously at the man. 

“The hospital should start paying me commission, huh?” You quipped with apprehensive amusement. A short but genuine laugh broke through his teasing facade, and he nodded for you to walk with him. Pushing past the slight shock of how easily this was going for you, you stumbled after him. 

“I’m assuming you’re not here to see me?” 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you watched the bright tiles passing under your feet as you followed him through the hospital. Once again, you were hit by the realization that you were meddling in something you seriously had no business in. Still, the nonchalant man leading you through the hallways didn’t seem to have any sort of reaction to your curiosity.

“I’m really sorry if I’m overstepping, it’s just been kind of eating me alive.” You confessed with a halfhearted chuckle.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, our little overachiever isn’t in intensive care anymore.” He informed with an almost proud smile. 

“Really?” You didn’t intend to sound so relieved, but it was an almost instantaneous reaction. 

“Yuuup. Officially graduated.” He confirmed as he wiped mock tears from under his sunglasses. “Go see for yourself, his room’s right here.” 

As he stopped in front of a cracked open door, you hadn’t even realized the man had been leading you to pay Megumi a visit. Glancing up at him unassuredly, you didn’t have a chance to ask if he was sure before he was waving you off nonchalantly.

“Actually, if you don’t mind taking my stuff in there.” The teacher requested, not giving you a chance to protest as he shoved the coffee and bag into your hands. “Forgot my phone in my car.”

Your brows furrowed for a moment, cause you could have sworn you had just seen him slip the aforementioned phone into his pocket just as you ran into him. There was no time to question it though, because in an instant, his freakishly long legs were traversing him back down the way you came in. With a barely noticeable huff of disbelief, your gaze drifted to the cracked-open door in front of you. You shook your head before pushing in anyway, trying to be mindful of the nearly overflowing coffee cup that was desperately trying to spill onto your hand. 

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath with a flinch as you felt a scalding drop offend your skin. 

“You’re not Gojo.” 

“Shit!” You repeated with a start, posture jolting up to face whoever it was that damn near just sent you to the afterlife. 

What you hadn’t expected to see was the very awake and very alert Megumi sitting up in his hospital bed. His mouth was free of the tube that once restrained it, though you could still hear the after affects of it in the rasp and crack of his voice. In fact, the only thing he appeared to still be connected to was an IV pole and what looked like a heart monitor. 

You could have killed the tall stranger, whom you presumed was the Gojo character he was talking about, for not thinking it important to warn her that Megumi was no longer unconscious before you waltzed into his room so nonchalantly. In truth, you expected to drop by, see with your own two eyes that the man hadn’t succumbed to his injuries, and be on your merry way. 

“Ow! Fuck,” You were babbling at this point, pacing around for anywhere to put down the damned coffee cup that had just scalded your hand in tandem with your startled jump. The black haired man watched you silently, almost moving to get up to help you before he remembered the brace that wrapped his right ankle. “I’m so sorry— I had no idea you were awake.” 

Your frantic apologies continued spilling from your lips as you ran your stinging hand underneath the sink that sat in the corner. You did it partly to soothe the pain, but another part of you just didn’t think you could face the poor man after completely invading his privacy. 

“That weird guy with the sunglasses told me to come in, but then he just—”

“You were the one that stayed with me after the accident, right?”

Unable to gage the flat tone in his voice, you slowly turned the faucet off before finally turning to face him. In the time you hadn’t been looking, it seemed he had pushed the hair out of his face, and he was sitting up a little higher in the bed than you remembered. The book in his lap laid open and forgotten, his large, dark eyes focused intently on you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You admitted softly, wiping your hands nervously on your bottoms. “You were outside the cafe—”

“I remember.” He stated flatly, making you bite down harshly on your bottom lip. Megumi was coming off as rude, guarded, irritated— he knew he was, but he couldn’t for the life of him gather his thoughts well enough to express the gratitude he felt for you. Even more so though, he couldn’t possibly bring himself to understand the curiosity and fondness that had been festering over the past few days in your absence. 

A silence enveloped the room, and you suddenly wondered where the hell his teacher was— desperate for anything to break the tension. 

“Well, I should probably go.” You finally mustered out, setting the bag and cup down onto the counter before turning to leave. “I-I’m glad to see you’re doing better. Sorry again to—”

“Wait,” Megumi urged, leaning forward so quickly it had him wincing with the pressure on his injured ribs. Your hair swayed as you whipped your head back at him in question, and you thought you saw the slightest pink hue on his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m… on a lot of meds. You don’t have to leave.” 

His excuse made your brow slowly quirk up, an amused smirk barely concealed on your lips. Attempting to push down your amusement, you pursed your lips and glanced out the door for any sign of Gojo’s return. Upon seeing only the hospital staff bustling around, you slowly made your way over and sat down on the chair beside his bed. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at one another in silence, both of you unsure of what to say next. 

In your brief study of his now conscious face up close, you noticed each sharp feature of his, from his straight nose, to the strong line of his jaw. Somehow, despite their dark hue, his wide eyes seemed to soften his face even if just minimally with every caress of his long, thick lashes against his cheekbones. You wanted to avert your eyes to stop the incoming flush in your cheeks upon the sudden realization that Megumi was incredibly attractive, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away.

In a last ditch effort to preserve any dignity, you were grasping at straws to say anything. 

“What were you look—”

“Why did you stay?” 

The both of you began simultaneously, but his question made you clam up. There wasn’t malice in his tone, but a raw curiosity instead, an urge to understand. His brows were slowly settling into that familiar furrow you remembered seeing on his sleeping form constantly. 

“I— You asked me to.” You answered simply, your voice quieter than it was before. A small huff of breath raced out his nose at your response. 

“So you just do whatever strange men you just met tell you to do?”

“I think I preferred you when you still had a tube down your throat.” You laughed breathlessly, a little shocked at the sass that emanated from the seemingly reserved man. Almost immediately, he rolled his pretty eyes at your comment, but there was a ghost of a smile threatening to assassinate the cool-boy persona he had built up. 

“Why did you stay?” Megumi asked again. There was more conviction in his rasped tone this time. Subconsciously, your hand creeped up to grasp at your scarred upper arm, and he followed the motion intently. His gaze narrowed slightly at the raised skin, a hint of recognition flashing in his eyes as he continued to stare. 

“Two years ago, I was in a similar accident. There was all sorts of hell breaking loose in the city, so I didn’t think anyone would help me, you know?” You recounted with a sad smile, feeling your breath tremble at the memory. “I still don’t know how they got me out— some guy that was around. He almost ran right past me. I never got to thank him, or ask him how he got me out from under the car. I was already in the hospital when I woke up.”

He processed your words for a moment, blinking slowly down at your scar as the puzzle pieces seemed to click together in his mind. It sounded too familiar— just as the marks on your arms were ones he’d surely seen before. 

“And that scar—  you got it from the accident?” He assumed, though he already knew the answer. You nodded, looking down at it yourself and allowing the tips of your fingers to trace each curve. The corners of his lips twitched up on their own accord, eyes softening with the revelation that fate had always been on his side. “Kind of looks like a bite.”

There was a subtly bemused tone in his voice. You didn’t quite understand where it was coming from, but as you inspected the mark closer with this perspective, you hummed in fascination. 

“I don’t really see it.” You mumbled. 

In an instant, his fingers had reached out to fold gently around your arm. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him in surprise, but he was still focused on your mark with a soft fondness. Swiping his thumb over the raised skin, the pads of his fingers mapped out the familiar canine marks of his demon dog. 

As if the feel of it ignited his memory, he could almost perfectly recall the sight of the large hound tearing through the wrecked car as Megumi exorcised the curse that had been at the cusp of the mangled traffic jam. Working on his command, the boy watched as the dog emerged, dragging a girl out of the rubble by her arm. The skin around the bite was already bloodied and bruised, but you certainly still had more of a chance of survival than you had before the damned bite. 

At once, there was an understanding in his still foggy mind that the machinery of right and wrong he had grown accustomed to over the years was far more prophetic than he ever cared to give it credit for. It didn’t matter what reason you gave him for staying by his side that night, because he already understood it wholeheartedly on a much different level than he had anticipated. Megumi had always been the type to search for reason in his own kindness while cynically picking apart the kindness of others. After all he’d been through, perhaps this was the final nail in the coffin of his nihilistic pattern of viewing his moral compass. 

“See, Megumi? I told you your knight in shining armor would come back for you!” That familiarly sarcastic voice that you had now been able to name Gojo, had the both of you flinching back from the unexpectedly intimate moment. Megumi’s face seemed to sour instantly as the man strolled into the room with a wide smile. “This kid was driving me insane, asking me about you as soon as they pulled that tube out of his throat.” 

The patient grumbled, and if he had more strength and less shit hooked up to him, he would have thrown a pillow at his teacher. Glaring dangerously at him, Megumi swatted his hand away as the older man began to ruffle at his hair in mock affection. Despite his clear mortification, you smiled amusedly at the scene before you. 

“Thanks for looking after the little guy for me.”

“I’m starting to think I should get a job here.” You joked back as you stood from your chair. You looked back at Megumi, who’s hard gaze was slowly melting into subtle confusion as he watched you rise. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

You bowed in thanks to Gojo before making your way to the door. 

“You’re leaving?” Megumi stopped you at the exit for the second time that day. Had you looked now, you would have caught the deadly glare he shot his sensei’s way for ruining the moment. 

With your hand on the door, you turned around to offer him a warm smile, one that had his shoulders slumping forward as if enveloped in the most welcoming of blankets. 

“Gotta get to work.” You explained regretfully, chewing on the inside of your cheek. In a spark of confidence that was surely spurred on by the fact that you still had endless questions for the man, you continued with a bashful grin. “But you know where to find me. Maybe you can actually stay for your order this time, hm?”

Gojo almost had to turn away to hide the laughter bubbling in his chest upon seeing the dumbstruck expression on Megumi’s face as he could only muster up a small nod. You found yourself nodding along with him. 

“I’ll have your order ready.” You teased with a wink. “Black coffee, right?”

The boy breathed out in disbelief, watching with pink tinted cheeks as your hair swayed behind you while you took your leave. He wished with everything in him, since fate seemed to be playing so mercifully with him these days, that his ankle would miraculously heal in time for him to chase after you to catch one more glimpse of your glittering eyes and incandescent smile. Perhaps he had already had his fill of fate’s luck for one lifetime though, because he could only remain seated dumbly on the hospital bed, jaw hanging down just a hair as he breathed out. 

“Right.”

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[paganminiskirt]

Like Frieza and Vegeta’s relationship was absolutely abusive and exploitative from start to finish but I think people write it wrong. Well not wrong, just in a way that I personally believe removes the deeper horror in favor of an easy depiction of what a relationship like that looks like. He’s not getting strung up and whipped or locked in a cell to cry, he’s getting his chin scratched by a person who uprooted him from everything he had ever known on a whim and destroyed the culture upon which he founded his most nascent sense of identity. And that person is only keeping him alive because despite it all, he’s useful, and kind of cute, especially now that all the other Saiyans are dead. Vegeta’s a small child being made to commit atrocities for profit an amusing little novelty, still using the honorifics & regurgitating the legends of a planet that’s been obliterated. DBS is not a perfect sequel by any means but it did this part so, so well. “All hail Vegeta, prince of no one.” “I always thought you shined the brightest when you were serving as my pet.”

Sickening, yes? And the intimacy is the worst part, the realization that Frieza seems to favor him; seems to like him. Who knows, maybe Vegeta reminded him of himself at some ancient, half-forgotten stage of life. King Cold did drop him like a hot potato as soon as he was proven weaker than Trunks. Maybe that’s the whole reason he made King Vegeta give up his kid in the first place. Frieza’s relationship with his father is shallow and dependent entirely on his value as a soldier, the underlying cruelty of which they’ve both silently agreed to use superfluous affection to cover up? Fine. He’s gonna make the Saiyan king give up his own militarized child prince. He’s gonna strip away the cultural justifications for what he’s doing to his son by making him treat it like the cold, spineless profiteering that it always was. He’s gonna rub it in.

But hey, he’s not mad at the kid. It was his dad who got too big for the barrel. Vegeta is still serving his purpose, Vegeta is still being good. Why wouldn’t Frieza treat him in accordance with his “station,” even after it’s been rendered an empty title because of him. All he has to do is keep spinning the wheel on the Cold Empire, vomiting out violence into the endless vacuum of space & never getting too uppity about his dead father or dead planet or about the fact that, even when reduced to the most baseline level of childish narcissism, the state which this arrangement has emotionally stunted him into maintaining well into adulthood, he never actually wanted any of this. He didn’t want to leave Planet Vegeta! He didn’t want to grow up surrounded by strangers! He didn’t want to have no claim over anything he ever achieved! He wanted to work for himself! It wasn’t his choice!!! For all of Vegeta’s dickswinging and hierarchy and “pride,” he is so, so helpless, “like a tiny insect glowing in a jar,” as Frieza so helpfully summarized for us. Overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on desperate, screeching fear and sadness and shame. Blow up a planet. Nuke a city. Wipe out a village. Fix It Again, Tony.

And that viciously indulgent cruelty that Vegeta used to comfort himself as he grew into a man is only emphasized by how blasé Frieza appears to be about the whole thing. He’s calm. He’s secure. He spends half the arc sitting down, just watching. He’s what Vegeta was in the first part of the Saiyan saga, and he slowly turns into what Vegeta slowly turned into in the second part of the Saiyan saga. An addled, wounded, unthinking mess, trying to put their self image back together as someone else’s superior ability causes it to crumble. Frieza was scared of the super saiyan. Under all that collected ambivalence, that whole time, he was scared.

Vegeta is Frieza’s heir. As gross as that incongruent, unwanted warmth is to witness, Frieza succeeded in establishing influence over & connection between himself and the child he orphaned. And the process of healing from that relationship involves Vegeta going back to square one and having to acquiesce to another foreign, combat oriented culture populated by vaguely hostile strangers. He gets new clothes. He gets a new place to train. He gets new tasks to perform. He gets called cute.

Like. It’s not physical torture, at least not as we usually imagine it. It’s this slow poisoning of a person’s ability to trust and connect with others, a process which is gussied up by regular assertions of fondness, so casual & consistent that you have to actively remind yourself that the guy who’s doing it sees Vegeta as a literal subhuman, and is only being good to him the way you’d be good to a valued piece of property. He tortured him to death, but he still thinks he was a good pet. Vegeta’s life was Frieza’s to end, but his feats of wanton destruction were also his to be proud of.

That’s the whole reason why Vegeta’s character development was slow, ugly and recidivist. Because it was his knowledge of how to grow, of how to exist any other way, that Frieza intentionally eroded for his own selfish, petty gain. And for a relationship between a man with a monkey tail and his pink-skinned alien overlord, the most uncomfortable part about the dynamic is that it’s realistic. Common, even.

[kraeted]

CONTAINS: hinata shoyo + fem reader + fluff

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” You say as soon as Hinata opens the front door to leave for his beach volleyball practice.

Your eyes don’t leave the laptop in your lap as you type away at your essay you should have finished days ago. The soothing buzzing of the ventilator in the corner of the living room serves more as white noise than its actual purpose, the wind it is producing just as warm as the summer heat intruding your apartment.

With furrowed brows Hinata stops in his tracks and he taps the pockets of his shorts to check for his keys and phone. “Check,” he mumbles to himself as he moves on to his backpack, throwing it forward over his shoulder and opening the zipper, “Cap, check. Sunglasses, check. Wallet, check.”

You softly shake your head with a smile in an amused disbelief. No matter how often you reminded him, somehow that one thing never made it onto his mental checklist. 

From the corner of your eye, you vaguely notice him looking up at you with a questioning gaze. Quickly his confusion dissolves as his face lights up. 

“Oh yeah!” You practically see the light bulb above his head turn on, before he rushes over to you, mindful of the coffee table his lower leg bumped into one too many times. He pulls his backpack against his chest to keep it from hitting you and he leans down to kiss your cheek.

“Well, that too.” His chest warming gesture makes you chuckle and you finally look up at him with feigned sternness. “But I was talking about putting on sunscreen.” 

The realization flashes across his face and he gives you a guilty, cheeky smile. 

The last time he forgot to put it on, the sun nearly burned him to the point of blisters forming on his shoulders. Pitying your boyfriend and ignoring the classes you had to attend the next morning, you went over to his apartment with aloe vera gel. You carefully applied it for him, but with every touch of his scarlet skin came a painful hiss, which you reciprocated with hushed “sorry”s.

“Where did you put it again?” The guilty grin is accompanied by his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“The cream tote bag in my room, it’s probably on the chair.” You answer and you turn back to the screen in front of you. Hinata puts down his bag next to the couch and disappears into your bedroom.

You don’t miss the faint noises of him pushing things around in your room that probably don’t need any moving, before he finds your bag and searches around in the endless sea of random items you carried everywhere.

Two sentences later, he’s back in the living room, with an orange tube in one hand and a mountain of sunscreen in the palm of his other hand. He hands you the tube. “Can you do my back please?” 

What is a few more minutes if your essay is already late? You push your laptop to the side and get up from the couch. Your strained eyes definitely need the moment away from the blue light of your screen, the slight burn evident of your exhaustion.

“Turn around.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hinata does as he’s told, his back facing you.

You squeeze a generous amount of sunscreen on your hand and let the tube fall from your hand onto the couch. 

“How much do you still have to do?” He asks, dotting white specks all across his face before rubbing his hands together to massage what remains to the rest of his exposed limps. 

“I’m almost done with the last chapter and then I just have the summary and the bibliography left, but I also have to go over everything one last time.” You sigh, the thought of it all overwhelming you.

You apply the white cream on the parts of his shoulders, back and nape of his neck, his tank top doesn't cover. After a good amount of healing and continuous protection (to no help of his own) the redness of his burned skin had faded into beautiful golden brown, his sun lightened hair close to his current skin color. 

“You actually do that?” He turns to you when he doesn’t feel your hands on his back anymore.

As he rubs the white streaks into his arms, you reach for his face and Hinata instinctively closes his eyes. “Good students usually do, yes.” A clear jab at the stories he used to tell about his academic past.

He chuckles and shoots back, “Don’t good students usually submit their work on time?” 

You smile, your fingers caressing the variety of freckles sprinkled across his face. “Don’t good athletes usually show up to their practices on time?” 

His eyes shoot open and he glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Oh, shit. I gotta go.” He steps out of your vicinity and scoops his bag from the floor. He heads for the door, only to turn to you again and give you another kiss, this time a quick peck to your lips. “Love you, bye!” 

He dashes out of your apartment and closes the front door with a powerful swing, the walls shaking on impact. His quick departure almost makes you miss his words, but as soon as you sit back down on the couch, your eyes widen.

He loves you?

[reaper2187]

Malenia x female reader

The battlefield lay in ruin, a tapestry of smoldering remains and broken weapons. The air was thick with the scent of ash and iron, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Amidst the desolation, the figure of Malenia, Blade of Miquella, stood resolute, her crimson hair flowing like a banner of war. Her presence commanded both awe and fear, a testament to her prowess as the mightiest warrior of the Lands Between.

Across the field, you pushed through the debris, the weight of your armor a familiar burden. As a soldier sworn to serve the Golden Order, you had faced countless foes, but none like her. Malenia was a legend, a figure whispered about in tales of valor and doom. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear, but from the thrill of the challenge and the undeniable pull you felt towards her.

You had crossed paths with her before, each encounter a dance of blades and blood. There was a respect that had grown between you, forged in the fires of battle. Today, however, the air was different. There was a sense of finality, a culmination of all the battles you had fought side by side, and against each other.

As you approached, Malenia turned, her golden eyes locking onto yours. There was a flicker of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft but carried the weight of authority.

"You are persistent," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

You couldn't help but smile beneath your helm. "And you are relentless."

Malenia's gaze softened slightly, the edges of her lips curling into a rare smile. "What drives you, soldier? Why do you continue to seek me out?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You removed your helm, letting the cool air brush against your skin. Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the battlefield faded away, leaving just the two of you.

"I seek a purpose," you replied, your voice steady. "In the chaos of this world, I have found none more worthy than you."

Malenia's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and contemplation. She stepped closer, her armor glinting in the dim light. "Purpose is a fleeting thing," she murmured. "But if you find it in me, then perhaps our paths are not so different."

The words hung between you, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between your worlds. You took a step forward, closing the distance, your heart racing with each beat. "Fight with me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not as enemies, but as allies."

Malenia's eyes searched yours, the weight of her decision clear in the silence that followed. Finally, she nodded, a single, decisive motion. "Very well," she said. "But know this, soldier: my loyalty is hard-won and easily lost. Prove yourself to me, and we shall see where this alliance leads."

A surge of determination filled you, and you nodded in return. Together, you turned to face the remnants of the battlefield, the promise of a new dawn glowing faintly on the horizon. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, you felt a sense of purpose that burned brighter than any flame.

The days that followed were a blur of motion and steel. You and Malenia fought side by side, your movements synchronized in a deadly dance. Each battle was a test, not just of your skill, but of your bond. Slowly, the walls between you began to crumble, replaced by a growing understanding and respect.

In the quiet moments between battles, you found yourselves talking, sharing stories of your pasts, your hopes, and fears. Malenia spoke of her brother, Miquella, and the curse that had bound her to an eternal struggle. You shared your own tales, the losses and victories that had shaped you into the warrior you were.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm, golden glow, you found yourselves by a small campfire. The flickering flames cast shadows on Malenia's face, highlighting the delicate features that belied her strength.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" you asked, your voice soft in the stillness.

Malenia looked at you, curiosity in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"To live a life without war," you replied. "To find peace, even if only for a moment."

Malenia's gaze shifted to the fire, her expression thoughtful. "It is a distant dream," she said quietly. "But perhaps not impossible."

The silence that followed was comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Malenia reached out, her fingers brushing against yours. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a spark through you, a connection that felt as real as any battle you had fought.

You turned your hand, entwining your fingers with hers. The gesture was simple, yet profound, a promise of something more. Malenia's eyes met yours, and in that moment, words were unnecessary. The bond you had forged in battle had grown into something deeper, a connection that transcended the chaos of the world around you.

As the night deepened and the stars appeared overhead, you sat together by the fire, your hands still clasped. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and dangers yet to come. But for now, in this quiet moment, you found solace in each other, a brief respite from the storm.

And in that fleeting peace, you dared to hope for a future where your paths would remain intertwined, where the bond you had forged in the fires of war would become a beacon of light in the darkness.

[theblueflower05]

Yawnyewla(Broken Heartedness) | Part Two

A/N: It has been a crazy month or so, real life has brutalized me. Sorry you guys are getting this chapter later than planned Avatar + the Omegaverse has been my comfort lately. @cinetrix you have been especially supportive and I lova ya bby. Thank you for making me some Mega Neteyam to keep my writing brain on! The art below is made by her and omg right?

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Alien sex. Alien Genitalia. Oral sex(female and male receiving), Fingering(female and male receiving) Cursing. Angst(it’s me, duh) and mild talks about past grooming. Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.

Summary: You’re the Metkayinan Olo’eykete in training, but sometimes even you buckle under the crippling pressure. Will Neteyam be there to comfort you?

Omega Neteyam x Female Alpha Reader

Series Masterlist

<Part One

Part Three>

You only ever touch me in the dark,

Only when we’re drinking can you see my spark.

And only in the evening would you give yourself to me,

Cause the night is your woman and she’ll set you free

-Lies, Marina and the Diamonds

Your life had always been ruled by carefully crafted routine. Early mornings as the sun rose on the glittering sea, and late nights after most were tucked away.

Being the eldest daughter in any family came with its own list of responsibilities. But for you, the eldest of the reigning Olo’eyktan and Tsahik who also happened to be an Alpha, it seemed like you had been born with duty running through your bloodstream. Burdened with glorious purpose.

It had been clear from an early age just what was expected of you. A life, lived for your people, was your destiny.

And at most times that was okay.

You were happy to serve, it was in your nature to care for others. Good Alpha’s, your mother had taught you, are not ruled by ego. Or violence. Strength comes from within, is a honed skill like fishing or net weaving. Strength is taking care of your family. Helping the elderly and the young. Making sure everyone has a full belly before they lie their head down for bed.

You we're a good Alpha, or at least you tried to be. You knew you could be if you tried. If you could just be calm for long enough to focus.

Ronal liked to say that you were more like the ocean than anyone she had ever met. She had birthed the sea incarnate- with its strong crashing, never faulting, waves. It’s vastness. It’s life-giving vitality.

And its wild nature.

There was something unsettled about you. Deep down, you would never be still. There was a need to learn. Explore. To fight and scream and run. An untamed side of you that Ronal and Tonowari had watched with equal parts amusement and hesitancy during your childhood.

From a young age you’d jumped from the highest cliffs. Sailed out past the reef. Engaged in fights with warriors twice your size, Limping away from tussles with a crimson tinged grin and your big blue eyes sparkling.

The older you get, the more you try to temper it. You desperately attempt to shove it somewhere hidden and out of sight. You can't be what anyone wants you to be with all of this restlessness inside of you. You can't support your father's throne or keep your people healthy-

There’s no room for it. For you, at your core. In your soul.

No one wants a wild woman.

You’d heard it before, it had left a bitter taste in your mouth and a stain on your heart.

In your younger years you were a bit of a trouble maker, but you’d like to think you'd reformed. If only a little bit. It’s not like you truly had the time to get into messes anyway.

Especially not at this time of year.

Though it’s sacred, a time for joy and festivity, it’s exhausting. To say the least. With the Iknimaya ceremony and The Return of the Tulkun looming in the very near future, the village of Awa’atlu was a buzz.

There’s preparations to be made. And endless list of duties to fulfill-

And yet, this migration cycle, you lag.

Usually, you run around like an austrapede(chichen like creature) with its head cut off. Heading to your parents every word. Not getting a moment to truly breathe, your sole focus on making sure that the ceremonies went smoothly-

Something else entirely has your attention. A certain golden eyed man that had bewitched you completely.

You thought you had known infatuation before Neteyeam.

You've certainly had crushes before.

There had been others who caught your eye, definitely.

But this? You’d never felt anything close to this. You think about him when you awake in the morning and before you fall asleep. When you’re not with him, you're aching for the moment that you can find time to slip away and get your hands back on his hard, muscle corded body. Your mind constantly assaults you with images of him. His broad shoulders and long braids. His mouth, swollen and puffy. His deep moans as you bring him over the edge-

“Look at you” Your good friend, Akime, grunts through a laugh. Breaking you from your reverie.

You’d been sat with a group, working on repairing weapons for the Great Hunt that would ensue after the Iknimaya trials.

But Neteyam had walked by with his father.

Doing something mundane, toting heavy woven baskets to the big main Mauri for dinner. His arm muscles bulging in a way that had you greedily tracing his form. He’d only given you a small nod in acknowledgement as he passed. An even smaller smile.

“Shut your mouth-and focus on your whittling. I pity the poor soul who ends up with that lopsided spear” you retort with a roll of your eyes.

You're not embarrassed about being caught ogling. You knew you weren't the only one. The Omiticayan transplant was one of the most gorgeous Omega’s that had ever stepped foot on the islands. Everyone was a bit dazed.

“He’s very pretty, I'll give you that. But he’s so stand offish- I could never see you with a mate like that, yawne(beloved)” Akemi was your closest confidant outside of your family.

A Beta who stood much taller than you and had the brawn of two men but was the kindest Na’vi you’d ever met. A gentle giant so to speak. He wore his dark hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of his neck most days and black ink tattoo’s swirled around most of his body. A decorated warrior and hunter with the tattoos to prove it.

Everyone had assumed the two of you would mate, until he met his husband. Another Beta Male from one of the smaller islands. The two had all but raised Akemi’s cousin, Roxto, after the abrupt and tragic passing of the younger boy's parents.

“He’s really not,” you sigh, shaking your head as you sharpen the blades.

“Oh? I don't think I've ever heard him speak more than a few words at a time. And he always has that look on his face- like he swallowed a Wonwon fruit(lemon like fruit)”

Neteyam has many skills, you’d learned as you’d spent endless hours training him. Being a social butterfly is surely not one of them. He clams up around big groups, gets nervous and awkward. You find it endearing, even though you know the Omega is really hard on himself for it. He’s actually really funny and easy to talk to when you get to know him.

“He’s shy, be nice” you chide your friend easily. “There is nothing wrong with him not wanting to gab all day with any and everyone”

“Hah! I guess your loud skxawng ass can talk for the both of you. You never shut up” Akemi dodges the small shell you throw at him “But really, he’s so different then what you usually go for-” Akemi goes on and if it was anyone else you’d shove them off. Tell them to mind their own business.

Neteyam had made it clear that he wanted to keep what the two of you had under wraps, at least for now. And even though that wasn't what you particularly wanted, you respected his wishes.

“And what is it I usually go for, pray tell?” your brow bone rises, confrontational and curious.

“People just as annoying as you” Akemi dead pans and you can’t help but snort “You like Na’vi who challenge you. Who are just as bold and loud and daring. Is he not too…soft for you, my friend?”

In the past you had been attracted to men and women who matched the spark in you. And it had always ended in misery. In yelling and fighting and you questioning if you're meant to be alone because in partnerships you seem to always chase away the other.

But with Neteyam it’s different. He isn't a challenge, he doesn't want to knock you down a peg or make you change…he only wants to be your equal.

“Just because he’s quiet doesn't mean he’s soft” you defend the Omega like he’s your own, because that’s all you want. You want to wear his bite “He’s actually the fiercest warrior I’ve ever trained. His skillset is unmatched. I mean, I can keep up with him. But just barely”

Akemi chews this over. Continuing to carve at the spear in his hands “It sounds like he’s impressed you” and that's not an easy feat. You both know. “I'm excited to see his performance for the Iknimaya”

You are too. You can't wait to watch Neteyam shine.

The ocean had not been his chosen terrain, but oh. How beautiful it had been to watch him master it. He rode Tsurak like he had been doing so for years. Uses the crossbow like it had been made just for him.

You liked your partner's competent, and Neteyam checked every. Single. Box.

“If he has you caught in his net, why don't you announce your courtship?” Akemi questions because he knows he can. That he’s your best friend and that you and those walls and that strong strong heart can be open with him.

You hesitate. Chew on your lip for a moment.

“He’s not ready for anyone to know yet” the words are hard. You get it. Neteyam’s not a fledged “adult” member of the Metkayina yet. But many court before their rites, before mating.

“Y/N…”Akemi sighs and it makes your hackles rise.

“It’s fine. It makes sense. He’ll come around after his Iknimaya- that’s the only reason why” you insist to your friend. To yourself.

Akemi purses his lips before he speaks. Choosing his words wisely “I hope that is the case, I truly do. But…you’re my closest friend. I only want your happiness, and investing your feelings into someone who doesn't reciprocate isn't the smartest move, yawne. I just don't want to see you fall into any old patterns”

He doesn't want to watch you pledge your love to another man who's going to stomp all over your feelings. It’d been devastating to bare witness to last time.

You don't like to speak of it. Try not to even think of it. But it doesn’t take from the fact that it had happened.

“I will be fine” You insist, a smile plastered on your face, fake as can be “I’d like to think i’m not that stupid anymore”

Akemi’s nostrils flare “You we’re never stupid, you were young. And vulnerable. You know that right-”

“Please” you interrupt him, head shaking firmly “I don't want to get into this now” or ever.

Most people know not to push you.

That you’d fight back tooth and nail when you feel threatened- but much like your family. Akemi isn't scared of your claws and slick mouth. He’s very much going to push the issue- but is interrupted before he can.

It’s Ao’nung and Roxto, coming down the beach.

Rough housing, tails bumping each other. Even if he hadn't been Akemi’s kin, Roxto would be your favorite of your little brothers friends. He kept Ao’nung in check.

“Y/N!” your brother calls as he approaches- “Sempul wanted you. Says he needs you to help with the Mauri renovations or something.”

He plops down beside you, all the way in your personal space, and you give him a look. Overgrown man-child. Whatever was he going to do when mother had the new baby and he wasn't the youngest anymore?

Roxto stays standing, greeting you politely like the good boy he was. Akemi had done wonders raising him. He turns to his cousin and speaks about plans for dinner for their grandmother.

“When?” you question. You really had hoped you’d be left out of that project, you weren't much of an architect and painting and plastering all day was b o r i n g beyond compare.

“This afternoon” Ao’nung continues.

“But I’m training Neteyam later” you push, your stomach dropping at the thought of not getting to spend your usual time with the Omega. It seems like these days the trainings were few and far between- and after his Iknimaya, he wouldn't need them at all.

“Not today. Tsireya’s gonna have all of ‘em, free diving practice I think” Ao’nung continues, as he reaches for your canteen. Taking big sloppy drink.

“But-”

“Fathers orders, not mine” Ao’ shrugs and you know that he’d had no part in the decision making. Was only an unfortunate messenger.

Still. You snatch your leather canteen with a hiss, standing up. “That's mine, you little freeloader. I hope you’re going to be helping Tsireya with her lessons, your still on thin ice from the Lo’ak incident”

“I am going to help!”

“Good, you better be nice to them” you warn as you gather your belongings and prepare for an afternoon of helping out with Mauris instead of with your sweet Neteyam. Your mood soured greatly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been nice lately, have I not? Roxto, haven't I been nice?” Aonung turns to his friend who does nod.

“As nice as Aonung can be, yeah” Roxto agrees and Neteyam punches his shoulder playfully, insisting that he had been a damn saint.

“Uhuh. Keep it up. Tsireya will tell me if you so much as whisper one sideways remark. You boys have a good rest of your afternoon” You give Ao’nung a pointed stare, ruffle Roxto’s hair, and pat at Akemi’s shoulder as you depart.

“We’ll continue our conversation later, Y/N!” Akemi warns, your back already turned.

You just wave at him without turning back- happy to have escaped the trauma laden conversation.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You end up crawling into your bed that night, dead tired. You don't even burrow under your bed mat- instead you lie atop the covers. You have splinters under your nails from the hay like palm that was used to construct the pods. The afternoon had been long and boring, just as you’d known it would be.

But the worst part is that you hadn't gotten the chance to see Neteyam. To taste his saccharine kisses. As you stare at your beamed ceiling you think of only him.

When you fall asleep his face is behind your eyelids.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After days and days of activity that had seemed to keep the two of you apart, you’re ready to snap. Antsy and eager and needy for just a moment of Neteyam’s time.

The Omega doesn’t seek you out- he just gives you those tiny little smiles and private glances across the fires during communal dinner. It drives you mad, your fingers itch to run through his hair. Your lips want to rerun that familiar path down his chest-

You know he has to miss you as much as you miss him…right?

You don't allow those seeds of doubt to plant. Instead, your brain, desperate for the chemical rush that came with being around Neteyam, begins to plot on how you’d get to see him next.

As you go through the motions of your day, there’s only one thing on your mind and that is the fact that you need to see the Omega.

You have to ask around to figure out where the eldest Sully sibling is- he’s helping out in the orchards. His expertise tree climbing skills of great use.

Hidden in the shadows of the tropical trees, you wait. Lurking like a predator. You feel like a puluakan stalking her prey as you watch Neteyam from a far. He’s helpful and polite, his usual quiet self as he works with the other Metkayina to harvest the ripe fruits and vegetables.

While everyone else starts to head back- he stays. Neteyam insists that can get the ones from the tallest trees on his own. He’s happy to be useful.

Perfect.

You’re a hunter, tried and true. The only place in life where you could hone in on your thin patience, be quiet. Take your time. You move quick and silent, closer to your target. Your heart flutters fast, visibly beating in your throat and your kuru tingling with excitement.

When he’s nearly within arm's reach, right there, you’re prepared to pounce-

-Of course, he pounces first.

A brutal flash of clashing blue as the two of you collide.

It takes all of your strength, years of training, but somehow it ends up with him pinned to the thick base of the Yovo tree. Panting and staring down at you with wide tawny eyes. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk.

“Hi” Though you’re a little breathless from the scuffle, you grin.

One of your hands on his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle there. The other pressed against his waist. So close to him that you can feel his body heat.

“Hi” he’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him for too long. Of course, what most don't know about Neteyam- is that he’s a smart ass “You suck at stalking. I could hear you coming the moment you stepped out of the bush”

“No I don't” You cajole, a bubble of laughter building in your fast expanding chest “We’ve barely spoken in a week, and the first thing you do is be mean to me? It’s almost as if you didn't miss me at all”

“How are you gonna know to correct your form if I don't tell you?” He jests, struggling a little in your grip for good measure.

You give him a warning hiss.

This little game the two of you liked to play was usually fun, the push and pull of it all. A teasing filled hunter and prey routine that more often than not ended with Neteyam spreading his thighs as he finally let you have him.

You hadn't kissed your boy in days. You didn't have it in you to wait.

“I was hoping you’d want to tell me something other than how shit you think I am at hunting” you sigh, deep, for dramatic effect.

“What kind of other things?” Neteyam’s eyes keep flickering from your own, down to your mouth. His pink tongue peeks out, runs across the plush of his bottom lip and your knees feel a little weak.

“Things like you’ve missed me” you disclose, because you just can't help it. “Cause I’ve missed you”

You can feel him loosen under your hands, the fight draining. His ears twitch, lowering a bit, and his gaze goes unbearably tender.

“I’ve missed you” he confirms after a moment and it's all you need to hear.

You lunge, groaning the moment you're able to feel his kiss. It’s warm and wet. Full of little nips licks that drive you wild because they feel way too good. An all consuming kind of good- you feel him in your bones. When you release him, your grip on his shoulder falters, his arms wrap around you strong and tight.

You pull away, lips tingling and shiny “How much did you miss me?”

He groans and presses his lips back to yours, annoyed as you keep the kiss shallow. Pecks and light presses while he tries to force his tongue into your mouth. You herd even closer, caging him against the bark. His snuffles, cool air through his snout in annoyance “Y/N, come on”

Instead of responding, your hands begin to drift, fingers dragging across his indigo skin as they take their feel. Oh, this body. How you adored it. His strong shoulders and broad torso, all of that rippling muscle so sensitive and clenching under your touch. Your lips leave his, kissing sloppily across his cheek and down the hinge of his jaw. Stopping only when you can press your face into the place on his neck, right behind his ear, where his scent gland was pumping out that hypnotic musk.

Neteyam’s pheromones are like nothing you’ve ever encountered. They’re knock you on your ass strong, for one. You’d been able to smell him from across the beach the first time you’d met him-back when the Sully’s had descended from the sky. For two they’re foreign and unlike anything you’d previously encountered.

He smells of pine, herby and sharp. Of honeyed tree sap. Of fruit you’ve never learned the name of and the dew that stuck to the foliage in the mornings. It tingles in your nose as you inhale deeply, getting greedy lungfuls of his essence. Very much the scent of a virile young Omega in his prime.

Neteyam gets all shivery when you scent him like this. His head lulls to the side as he presents his entire smooth neck to you like a fucking prize.

It’s heady, the way he gives himself to you. How are you not supposed to be in love with him?

“Missed you so much” he whimpers as you lap at the gland “You’ve been so busy. I- ah, oh-” his speech is broken up. Overwhelmed by your mouth assaulting him and your dainty hand attempting to slip under his tweng “I didn't want to bother you”

You don't pull away when you speak, can't manage to tear your mouth from its ministrations. Instead, your words vibrate right into his skin “Please bother me, paskalin(sweet berry). Bother me all the time”

His laughter is as sweet as his scent, and you want to bathe in it.

Neteyam is an indulgence and you're gluttonous for him.

Screw your duties, whatever was waiting for you back at the village could do just that. Wait. It’s a bit scary how quickly you’re willing to put everything on the back burner if it meant you could spend just one sun drenched afternoon with him.

He looks good, in the shade of the palms. His eyes closed and cheeks flushed as the two of you ravage each other. Your hips knocking into one and other as you desperately rub against him through the layers of your clothing.

You’re completely wrapped up in him. You don't realize how much time you’ve spent just kissing him. You know that you’re needed for just about a billion different things but as you taste his spit you can't remember to care.

When you begin tugging at the cords of his tweng he sobers a bit, squirming. “What if someone sees, the gathering group might return”

“Fuck them” you mindlessly mutter, working at the blasted knots. You want his cock. You need to taste him on your tongue.

Neteyam huffs in amusement, reaching down to undo them for you. He always makes it look so easy with those long nimble fingers.

When he’s freed from his confines, your quick hands are all over him. Pawing at his bare inner thighs, groaning when your fingertips run along his dripping slit. You can already feel his manhood, rock hard, and poking out from the protective sheath of his body.

Neteyam is gorgeous and so, so sensitive. He’s throwing his head back, braids grinding against the bark as you play with him. Getting him all wet and messy between his strong thighs.

“Oh shit- shit, Y/N” he wheezes as you grasp his member in your hand, stroking him until he’s standing proud and fully erect.

Neteyam’s very much well endowed. He’s got girth yes, but Eywa he’s long. You wonder what it would be like to take him inside of you. You’re so sure that he would hit places that no other had before. You clench around nothing, can feel your knot internally swell, just dying to contract around him and milk him dry.

You can't, sadly. Not yet. Or you’d lay him down and sit right on his cock this very moment.

Instead you give him everything else. He’s moaning low in his throat as he squirms, and his hands disappear in your hair. Your eyes fight the urge to roll when his fingernails skritch at your scalp just right.

You're sinking then, down onto your knees. You want to taste him and your eager mouth envelopes his mushroom cock head at once. His earthy sweet taste explodes across your tastebuds and you don't know who moans louder, you or Neteyam.

You enjoy giving oral pleasure, you always had. It makes you feel powerful. You control Neteyam as you suckle on his manhood. When your hands come to play, inching down towards his hole he grunts and bucks hard. Your throat constricts around him with a gag.

Its so sexy. The way he chases his release makes you burn.

His virgin hole is tight, the muscles tense as you circle it with your fingers. The sounds Neteyam gurgles above you make it clear that he doesn't want you to stop. It’s a beyond snug fit as you push a single digit in.

The darker man practically sings. His abdominals clench and you’re pretty sure he’s about to blow-

When suddenly his hands fisting your locks go from holding you close, to pushing you away. You’re only haughtily confused for a moment.

The two of you freeze.

Sensitive ears twitching as the sound of crunching footsteps in the distance.

The orchard is large and full of fruit trees and bushes, making an escape without getting caught is easy enough. You slip behind an enormous berry bush, hidden easily by the thorned shrubbery. You’re vibrating with the thrill though, as you and Neteyam avoid being spotted. Just barely.

You don't think you would have minded if anyone would have caught you on your knees pleasuring your beautiful Omega.

Neteyam on the other hand doesn't look as happy as you. He actually seems kind of spooked. Crouching low and alert as the voices hum in the distance he re-ties his tweng with shaky hands. He doesn't relax until they pass and even then his shoulders stay tense.

“It’s okay, I never get caught, don't worry” You press a comforting hand to his side, and he sighs. Leaning into your touch despite himself.

You can tell the moment of passion is over and you hate it, although it probably is for the best.

“I have to go” you’re mournful of the fact” I’m sure they’re looking for me, back at the village”

His face falls, a little frown that’s cuter than it should be marring his features “Okay…”

You cup his cheek on your palm, making him look at you “We’ll get to be together soon, yes? I’m going out of my mind, I need make you come again”

Neteyam bites the inside of his lip hard “Soon” he agrees.

It takes everything for you to leave him in the orchard and not drag him straight to your bed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

There are more moments like these as the weeks go on.

Stolen flashes of intimacy.

The two of you sneaking in kisses and groping touches wherever you can. It's always white hot, and over way too soon and somehow you feel even more desperate and strung out after them. Like you’re only getting a taste of what you so desperately want to savor.

You think you’re handling it pretty well. Hiding your split attention-

It all comes to a head at dinner.

The Inknimaya celebrations are only days away and the largest Mauri, the communal one right in the center of the village is packed to the brim with buzzing Na’vi.

You’re sat with your family and a group of high standing village leaders at the head of the meal. Tsireya on one side of you and your very pregnant mother on the other. Your Father sits, right in the middle, and Ao’nung to his side.

There is discussion of the rites and who will be present to officiate them and witness them.

You’re barely listening, so exhausted it’s hard to keep your eyes open. You could blame it on your busy day but really, it's because you and Neteyam had spent last night tangled in each other until the early hours of the morning eclipse.

You meet his gaze from across the crowded room.

Neteyam looks as tired as you feel. And still, he grins. A barely there thing just for you. When his hands move it’s subtle movements while no ones paying attention.

He signs, just the way you’d taught him. Only one word.

Tonight.

“Y/N- are you listening?” It’s your mothers voice, firm and cutting and breaking you from your own head.

“Of course” its an automatic lie as you pick at a piece of fish from your plate. You hadnt heard a thing she’d said.

She gives you THE look. A severe one that could make children cry. Good thing you aren't a child anymore.

You try not to feel too embarrassed by her obvious chiding as you rejoin the conversation.

“We were speaking about the First Hunt- there’s been many Nomura(giant man o war style jellyfish) just beyond the reef. Y/N, what is your stance on this matter?” An elder says, voice weary and weathered.

“This is not out of the norm for this time of year. All will be fine, we can set up a perimeter around the young hunters performing their rites” you nod, affirming him while not feeding into the hysteria. Elder Makiao was an anxious man after all.

“Are we sure that’s smart?” The cutting comment is made by the person you like the least.

Vaeyu is an Alpha and vetted warrior from a good family. He has high standing in the clan, and sits on your fathers council. Tall and broad, with dark ink splashed across his angular face and his meaty right arm almost blacked out with intricate tiny tribal markings.

He’s always got something to say and you sincerely wish that you could tell him to shut the fuck up.

Politics don't work that way, unfortunately. “Why would it not be smart? It is tradition, we will perform the rites as we always have, will we not?”

He nods, mulling it over, his lips pursed “Of course I would like to see them performed as they should be but we have…different members attempting this cycle. I would hate for any of our new Omiticayan friends to be put at even more of a disadvantage then they already are”

A surge of protective anger rages through you- years ago you might have lunged at him. But you’ve learned better, about controlling your own feelings. And about dealing with scum like Vaeyu.

You try to keep the appearance that you’re unaffected, for you know it will only fuel him if he can tell that he’s bothering you “I’m assuming you’re talking about Neteyam?” and you want to kill him for doing so.

“The eldest of the Forest children, yes” He goes on and really. The disrespect is dripping from his tone like venom. The fact that he hadn't even had the decency to refer to Neteyam by his name makes

“Neteyam is not a child” you speak slowly and control your tone. Not allowing your pheromones to spike with your annoyance “He’d already passed his rites back home, and is only repeating the process here out of respect”

Your father, ever observant, can see right through your attempt on staying civil and cuts through the tension with his deep timbre “She is right, he has shown nothing but competence since arriving. And from what I have seen, has excelled in training. I trust my daughter's abilities as a karyu. The boy will be given his chance as all others are”

Tonowari is cheif; he’d always given his people the freedom to question him. The openness to have meaningful conversation.

But everyone knew that directly challenging him is off limits.

“Ah. I see” Vaeyu deducts, using his sharp bladed knife to peel the skin of a fruit “Of course, Olo’eyktan. I trust your judgment. We will just have to hope he can keep up; you know the smell of blood draws those nasty creatures in”

The talks stray onto different topics and you try to get over the bitter taste left in your mouth.

You never want Vaeyu to speak of Neteyam again. If it was up to you the older warrior wouldn't even be able to look in his direction. Neteyam was too good for the likes of him.x

You’re more than happy when the man gets up and makes his leave, retreating for the night with his pregnant mate. Once upon a time the sight of his hand on her lower back and her cradling her stomach would hurt you. Now you’re just relieved as you watch them leave.

Your sister gives you a sympathetic pat on the hand.

The dinner on your plate is picked at, you can barely eat with the excitement of seeing Neteyam again bubbling. Tonight is going to be special. You’re going to give him the necklace you’ve been working on. He liked to act bashful, but you knew he loved your gifts and this one was the most important yet.

You offer Ao’nung the rest of your food, not wanting to waste, and try to make your exit.

“You have been very far away as of late”

Of course it can never be that easy.

Your mother is Tsahik for a reason. She is all knowing, with her keen eye and sharp senses, the tribe likes to say she has special Eywa given powers and you believe it. You just absolutely hate when she uses them on you.

Of course she’d notice you being off, even when you we’re trying so hard to keep it hidden.

“I am not sure I know what you mean” you feign innocence “I have been tired, and very busy, yes”

“No” she continues in that tone of hers. Her eyes that are more green than blue boring into you “That is not it. You have been distracted, and if you do not wish to tell me I will not pry, but I need you to recenter”

“Sanok-” you start with a grumble.

“During the festivities, there will be Metkayina from neighboring islands coming in. I want you to think about what we’ve spoken of, about you finding a mate this cycle”

Your ears pin to your head and you can feel your face get hot. No, she’d spoken and when you’d try to insist that you are not going to go through with an arranged marriage she’d dismissed you.

“I am not interested-”

“In performing your duty? You will be Olo’eykte, you will pass the title down to your children. You need heirs, Y/N. By the time I was your age I was already pregnant with Tsireya” Ronal softens, she can tell how uncomfortable you are but this conversation is vital “I want to give you the space to choose. There will be many eligible Na’vi, all looking to court”

You’re tense all over. By the ways she’s speaking you’d think you were an old woman and not one who had just celebrated her twenty first name day.

“Tell me that you’ll at least think about it- Tonowari, please. Help me here. This is important is it not” Your mother plays dirty and calls your father in for backup.

There is not much on Eywa’Eveng that you could deny your father. You are dedicated to him. Closer to him than anyone else.

When he speaks its gentle and encouraging “We just want you to be happy. You are at the age where you should be starting your own family, I want to meet my grandchildren”

You feel trapped, impossibly so.

Mating had been the one thing that you’d refused to surrender to your chosen destiny. Being the next Olo’ekyte could have everything else but you so deeply wanted to find someone who loved you.

You want to tell them that you think you’ve already found a mate. You’re sure your mom wouldn't like it, wouldn't think Neteyam is suitable but your father would support you. You just know it.

It’s not the time.

Instead you just not tersly “I will consider it. Am I free to go?”

“My daughter…” Tonowari frowns, wanting to reach, but keeping his hands at his side anyway.

“Please. I am tired”

Your father just nods. You dont stay around to hear the worried words your family shares.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The moons are high in the dark, star speckled night sky as you lounge in soft grass. You’d never spent much time here, in the little island forest, before Neteyam and yet now it’s become your oasis.

The hidden spot where you could come and release everything. Your fear and doubts are harbored by the trees. They’re good secret keepers.

“You’re distracted tonight” Neteyam remarks as he meets you in the meadow. It always takes him a little longer to get there, he has to wait for his family to fall asleep before he takes his leave.

“Sorry”

You try to put on a brave face, but when he lies down next to you, both of you on your sides facing on another, and places a large, callused hand on your hip you melt.

He doesn't have to say much to make you soft for him, he’s spent months tenderizing your heart.

“Talk to me” Neteyam urges softly as his thumbs rub patterns into your hip bone. “What happened?”

You close your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the comfort. “I’m just tired, Tey. I feel like- I can never really satisfy anyone, you know? And I try really hard to.”

He hums in understanding “I do know what that is like. Is this about your parents?”

Your silence is the only answer he needs. You, after all, are rarely ever silent.

“Back home I was going to be Olo’eyktan and while I accepted it, I was always kind of dreading it. Counting down the days until any semblance of my life being my own was over” you don't know it, but he’d never told anyone this. You listen raptly “The responsibility of making sure everyones taken care of, its alot”

You smile, because yeah. Alot is an understatement.

“I’m just letting you know that I know how it feels. Truly. And whenever you need to; we can talk about it, one eldest sibling to another” Neteyam’s kind words go straight to your head. They make you feel dizzy, so cared for and adored.

He’s what you’ve always wanted. All of your fantasies and desires rolled into one. You’re convinced that Eywa had brought him to you. Carried him to you by ikran back on the strong east wind.

You want to mate with him. More than anything, you want to bond him. Would it scare him off if you told him so? You don't want to lose what hasn't even had it’s chance to fully develop.

“I made you something” Your words seem to shock him, if only for a minute, and he groans and rolls his eyes.

“Another gift? Really, Y/N?”

“Don't pretend you don't love them” you tease as you reach for the small satchel you’d brought with you. You grab at its contents and hold it tight in your hand. You’re nervous, terribly so, as you present the jewelry to Neteyam.

This isn't like the spear, or the blanket or the fruit. For Metkayina, this is serious business.

“Oh” he says as you hand over the necklace that you’d spend countless hours working on. “It’s is gorgeous, wow”

He takes it from you and marvles at the care you’d put into it. The necklace is made of leather, and adorned with pieces of carefully polished dark blue seashells. In the center dangles a single pearl, black as night and rare. You’d shucked an endless amount of clams to find one that felt right.

“Do you accept it?” you question as his eyes trace the piece of jewelry.

“Well, I have not rejected any of your gifts yet” Neteyam jokes dryly “I’m not about to start now.”

He doesn't know then. That if he accepts it then he will be accepting your hand. That he will be agreeing to be your mate. In Metkayina tradition, he’d give you a necklace back, one that would sit right where his bite would on your delicate neck.

He requests that you help him put it on but you decline.

This isn't something to adorn tonight, if he still wanted to wear it in the cold light of day you’d be happy to help him fasten it. Once he puts it on, he can never take it off. You’re sure he isn't aware of the fact and you wont trick him- but also don't have the energy to tell him in that very moment.

“Well I can't wear it because your being weird” Neteyam starts, brows knitted “But I still wanna thank you for it”

“Thank me, huh?” you smile as you reach to pet at his braids. Sweet, sweet man.

“Mhmm” Is all Neteyam says as his hand travels from its place on your hip, down, To play with the hem of your pink skirt. It's very clear what he wants, so you roll over onto your back and spread your legs, making it easier for him to get it.

He works you out of your coverings with ease.

Your needy pussy is sticky- strings of wetness stretch between it and your tweng as Neteyam peels it off. He groans at the heady sight. His nostrils flare and his mouth waters.

“You talk so much about how good I taste” Neteyam grumbles into your skin as he presses deep kisses into the skin of your belly, sinking ever lower. Over your naval. He traces the pretty swirling ink of your tattoos, the ones that cradle your hips and lead him right where he wants most.

He mouths at that tender crease between thigh and labia “But your cunt is Eywa sent, I swear. So sweet”

You're panting, chest concaving intensely as his face disappears between your thick thighs. You feel no shame at him staring at where you’re drenched and throbbing for him. If anything you spread wider, showing him the pretty blushing insides of your light blue gash.

Neteyam dives in, nose first. His snout rubbing at your lips, inhaling your essence eagerly. You can't help but smile, happy that he loves the way you smell. That it’s reciprocated. Two of you so compatible.

When his wide tongue laps over your puffy slit, catching on your swollen nub you cry out. Your hands fly to the back of Neteyam’s head, holding onto the braids for support. Tugging ever so slightly, just on the right side of painful. You hump at his face, shoving him closer.

Neteyam’s a messy pussy eater, he dedicates his whole being to getting you off. He uses his entire face; his mouth but also his nose and his chin and cheeks. Soon enough hes completely messy, covered in your slick as he sloppily feasts on you.

“Oh, Great Mother!” you wail when he sits up a bit, hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders, before digging back in. He’s everywhere, there's not one part of your sensitive core that he’s not licked against. “Neteyam!”

When you come for the first time, it's with a violent arch of your back and a squeal. The pleasure makes you seize and shake as it washes over you in a tidal wave. Neteyam rides it out, his mouth following your arching pussy- drawing your orgasm out beautifully.

As you start to come back down, his chin is pillowed on your inner thigh and he's looking up at you with pleased amber eyes. So shy and proud of himself for being able to get you off. His face is sticky and gleaming with your cum. You never want to forget this image of him, you want to engrave this memory somewhere deep and timeless. You think that you will need to visit the Spirit Tree soon.

“Felt good?” he verifies and you grin, nodding, still coming down.

“So good, I love it when you tongue fuck me” you sigh, still spread out for him. Your pussy aches- from over sensitivity. From the need to be touched again.

Neteyam just blushes a little at your vulgar words, sometimes you forget that he’s still very new to all of this. Each time you guys are intimate, he explores a bit more of his sexuality.

He holds your gaze as his fingers begin to toy with your folds. There’s something so erotic about it all, the way that the two of you never break eye contact. Communicating silently as Neteyam rubs at your hard clit. Sharp jolts of pleasure make your hips twitch. But still, you try to be still. Encouraging his tentative touches. When his digit swirls around your hole for a moment before sinking deep your eyes roll until they close and your head presses back into the ground.

You’re meant to be filled, your body designed to squeeze around whatever enters it and not let go. It doesnt care if its a cock or fingers or tongue, your pussy is greedy.

Neteyam bites his bottom lip bloody as he watches your core hungrily eat his fingers. First one, and then two, and then before long he's pumping all there in and out of your wet snatch. A part of him wants to tuck his thumb against his palm and shove his entire fist inside-

He’s rock hard in his tweng, undulating against the ground as he watches your hips chase his hand.

“Knot my fingers” he begs over your pathetic sobs “Please, I wanna feel it.”

It’s too much.

His eager words paired with the constant perfect rhythm in which he’s pumping his digits in and out of you. It’s not hard to grant his request. You cry out as you come, again. This time, you don't stop your body from doing what it instinctually needs to. You reach down between your legs to grab his wrist, firmly pressing his hand to your pulsating pussy. If he wants to feel, you’ll let him. Your knot swells inside of you, impossibly tight, as it locks around Neteyams long fingers.

His wide eyes stare up at you in unfiltered awe as he feels you from the inside. It’s wondrous, like nothing he’s ever experienced. He feels very special in that moment, that he gets to share this with you. Very special and very fucking horny.

“Holy shit” is his clumsy, blunt response to it all. You giggle fondly and shake your head.

“Do you like it?” You inquire as you rhythmically pulse.

He groans and presses his head, his entire face into the safe plush flesh of your thigh “I do” he admits “I want to feel it around my dick so bad”

That starts a whole new round of neediness and the two of you go at it like animals under the bright moonlight, surrounded by fluorescent flora and fauna.

You’d sworn that you’d be smarter- wouldn't stay out as late so that you could go through the upcoming day a little less exhausted but by the time the two of you are done, the sky is painted pinks and purples and the morning eclipse is dawning.

You’re lying with your head pressed to his chest and your leg thrown across his both of his. You know you should get up but you don't want to make the long trek back to the village. You whine about the decided meeting spot as the two of you sit up, knowing that you need to get ready to return.

“Why do we have to go sneaking around in the bush? I do have my own Mauri, you know” you’d sassed him, as you look for your top in the grass.

“And what if someone catches me coming in and out of your place? Yeah, no. I don’t think that is a good idea”Neteyam had protested, flustered at even the thoughts . It would be so obvious.

A frown tugs at your lips at his words. “Would that be so bad?”

There's a pregnant pause before he speaks again “I mean…I thought we had agreed to keep this private. If people start seeing me sneaking in and out of your home at all odd hours it’s not going to be hard for them to put together what’s going on”

Your heart drops a bit at that, and you feel more naked than you had moments before. “What are you…ashamed of what we’re doing?”

“I’m not ashamed…I just don't want that label, Y/N” Neteyam sighs like you’re being unreasonable and it’s like ice water in your veins. “I don't want people to look at me differently because of this”

It's hard to speak around the lump in your throat “Because of what? Me courting you? Why would that cause anyone to feel differently about you?”

“It's just, it’s different for you. There are different expectations in place. You’ve done this before.-”

“As you love to remind me” the laugh that escapes you is humorless as you locate your top and slip it back on. You already feel vulnerable, there's no need to psychically be so too. “ I’ve never once held it against you or made you feel bad about being a virgin, but you constantly throw the fact that I've been with other people in my face.”

“That’s not it-” Neteyam insists as you stand, he tries to reach for you but you side step in and grab your tweng instead. He looks so lost, like he’s trying to untie the knots in his head. You know that Neteyam has a hard time transmuting his thoughts into words and usually you’re patient with him but right now? Right now you’re too hurt to wait for him to find the words to insult you with. “I dont- I dont care if you’ve been with a ton of other people, It doesn't matter to me. That’s not why I feel uncomfortable with the village knowing”

“The mere fact that you’re so eager to call it a ton tells me that it does” you're wrapping the ties of your covering around your tail and ignoring your shaking hands as emotion bubbles up violently “I’ve only ever been intimate with three people, including yourself. Did you know that, Neteyam? I’m not the huge whore that you think me to be”

Neteyam looks down at the ground shamefully. He hasn't even reached for his own tweng yet. It’s like he’s stuck, his head going a mile a minute. Too fast for his body to catch up with.

“When I told you I wanted to court you I wasn't lying. I’m not sure what that means to you, or the people back in the forest, but here it means that I see you as a potential mate. I didn't realize that you’re too embarrassed of me to see me as the same” you’re going to start crying, you can feel it.

This moment had already happened to you, years before. You’d already been rejected by someone you thought wanted you- you never thought you’d allow yourself to happen again.

Eywa, how fucking stupid can you be?

The familiar feeling is devastating. You feel soiled and used.

“If you can just be reasonable- If we can-can talk. I don't know how to make you understand that this isn't all about you” Neteyam is stuttering, finally reaching for his own tweng but you’re checked out.

How does one be reasonable when their heart is breaking?

“It’s fine. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m sorry that I misread this whole thing. My mistake.”

You’re off before he can get another word in, storming through the foliage as fast as your feet can take you. The tears that had been building only fall once you’re out of eye sight.

You can hear him calling for you, pleading for you to come back.

You leave him there, half naked in the woods.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Iknimaya ceremony comes all too fast.

The days since you and Neteyam’s fight in the forest had all been a blur. You were too busy to focus on your fractured feelings. No one had even truly known about the two of you, so it’s as if life moves on as though it had never even happened.

That might be what’s most painful about it all.

You have duties to fulfill, and you’d like to pretend like they keep you from focusing in on that pain. You help where you’re needed- and even where you’re not. It’s left you drained and bone tired, but distracted enough to maintain.

As you and your sister get ready for the long day, she notices how sluggish you are. Dragging yourself through the motions.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tsireya asks as she watches you dress.

“I’ve been busy as of late, Reya” You take care as you ready yourself. Donning traditional Metkayinan ceremonial drab- your blood-orange tweng is intricate and the shell headpiece you wear connects with your barely there top. You brush your long midnight hair until it’s glossy and bouncing, the ends of it reaching the base of your tail as it falls down your back in waves.

You’d always had a healthy dose of vanity.

You know that you are attractive, pretty. Shockingly so, as you’d been told. Blessed with thick eyelashes and feminine features. Your whole life,many have spoken about how favored an Omega, to which you’d never taken offense. You’d inherited your mothers looks, as had Tsireya. Small. Compact. Unexpectedly vicious.

You use your looks as a weapon, just as everything else, your little sister is well aware of the fact. She knows that you’re overcompensating with appearing attractive for the fact that something has happened.

“I’m worried about you. You can try to fool everyone else, but you’re not fooling me, sister. I know that somethings wrong” Tsireya is sweet, but firm. She’d always had that air around her.

Caring yet severe. She was all Alpha no matter what people might think about her docile temperament.

“It’s not like speaking about it would change anything” you mutter, if anything, it would bring the pain front and center.

“Don’t be a coward, Ma Y/N. You know better than anyone that the only way over something is through it” Tsireya’s blunt, but without an ounce of malice.

She knows how to handle you and knows that tough love is oftentimes better than coddling like comfort when it comes to you.

It works.

“Neteyam rejected my courtship”

“You lie” she accuses in a gasp, and you just glare at her. “But- he’s so interested in you”

“Obviously not” it’s flippant. You don’t even want to meet her eyes. You’d been under that impression too.

“Something is being lost in translation here, sister. Neteyam likes you. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I can feel it everytime the two of you are around each other” your sister insists and it’s like salt in the wound.

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem. It’s not as though this is the first time I’ve been wrong about someone’s intentions for me” the words are hard to admit and taste like acid in your mouth.

“Neteyam couldn’t be any more different than Vaeyu. The two might as well be night and day- this situation can’t be the same” Tsireya insists and you bite your tongue.

“No they’re not the same. But their feelings, or lack there of, are”

Vaeyu had never been particularly kind to you but there had been a time when you naively believed that he truly cared about you.

Before your Iknimaya, which should’ve been the first warning sign, the older warrior had courted you.

He, like Neteyam, had wanted to keep it a secret.

Vaeyu took your virginity before telling you that as an Alpha himself, he would never mate with another Alpha.

You were too much for him. Not at all a suitable mate. He’d be embarrassed to be with you…

The scene that had played itself out just nights before in the forest with Neteyam had been all too familiar.

“Just once” you start, voice shaky as you focus on holding back all the hurt you've felt “I’d like to be wanted back. Truly. By someone who sees me as I see them”

“Oh, Y/N” Tsireya breathes as she grabs your hands and holds them tightly.

You don’t have the time to weep, but it feels nice, standing in your Mauri with your sister for that fleeting moment.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Metkayinan Iknimaya is a difficult and dangerous task to achieve.

The Akula hunt is fierce. An entire team of warriors working to bring down the wild beast. Many had died in their efforts. The massive sharks are armored with very few weak spots. They’re extremely difficult to kill.

Today would be no different. There would assuredly be some injuries- you give a brief prayer to the great mother for no casualties.

The to-be warriors line up on the shore and your mother, Tsahik Ronal, passes each. Chanting over them, and drawing a line across their face- from temple, over the bridge of their noses- to other temple, with white paint.

May the Great Mother take you into her arms. The Sea is your home before your birth, and if you should die, you will return to it in the afterlife.

You try to keep from staring at Neteyam, who’s tall and fierce and armed with the spear you’d given him.

The two of you only meet eyes briefly as he mounts his Tsurak. Right before he sets out. There’s so much unsaid and there’s no time to say it.

Instead you give him a firm nod.

You’d trained him. Had seen him in action. He could do this. You have full faith in him.

He only nods back.

The hunt makes you jittery, lights your blood on fire. You love this. Watching hunters draw first blood and make a clean kill. A primal part of you is dying to get in there. To join the fight.

It all happens in a rush- one minute the warriors are out on Tsurak back, headed for the deep. It’s harder to see where what’s going on as you stand with the crowd on the beach but you know from experience the energy filled pursuit that is going on right under the surface.

This year- it’s quick.

So much quicker than the years prior.

The crowd murmurs, almost confused, as the hunters return to the beach in record time.

They are no longer children.

Behind them, they haul the large carcass of a fully grown male Akula. Ropes secured around the body, netting and the waves helping transport with the sheer bulk of the creature. Sticking out of his left eye, perfectly launched, is the spear that you had crafted for Neteyam.

“Our hunters have returned, as fully blooded men and women of the Metkayina!”

Your father booms in pride, his warm cries whooping along the people as they join in. They’d made it back, all of them, with minimal damage. In record time. With one of the biggest catches you’d ever seen.

There’s hugs and tears. Everyone seems to be embracing one another. The pride is felt village wide and it’s a communal high.

“We will feast tonight!”Varyu cheers, and hoots follow “Tell me, who made the fatal blow? It is as clean a kill as I’ve ever seen”

You already know. You’d known since you’d seen the carvings on the wood- but the newly fledged Hunters push Neteyam forward and confirm it.

Vaeyu’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. It’s comical to say the least.

Neteyam is humble, as he always is. It was a team effort, he claims.

His family beams at him. Jake whooping and Neytiri’s misty eyed. Lo’ak is grinning from ear to ear and Kiri and Tuk clap and cheer for their brother.You remember Lo’ak telling you about how his older brother had been the youngest in their village to ever make a clean kill. You’d been impressed then.

Right now? Right now you are stunned. So proud that you can barely speak. All of those training sessions where Neteyam had doubted his ability to adapt had paid off.

He’s a warrior, as he’s meant to be. Neteyam has reclaimed his place in the world.

Your father goes to Neteyam and places his hands on his shoulders. Beaming. “You have done well and proved yourself amongst are people. I am proud to call you Metkayina”

You want to cry. You’ve never felt such emotion. You know how much this means to Neteyam and all you want to do is go over to him and embrace him.

“As the hunter who solidified the kill, you have first choice during Fertility Season. Tell me, son. Is there anyone who you want to lay claim to?” Your father speaks of the tradition. If the kill can be traced back to a single warrior- they earn the honor of having their pick of mates.

It’s ancient, dated, and most decline. You’re expecting Neteyam to do the same.

Instead, he focuses on you.

It doesn’t feel real. This must be a dream. The docile introverted Omega you’d gotten to know would never lay a claim on you, so boldly. In public. To your father much less.

And yet, he does.

“Ma Y/N” Neteyam calls to you clear and true. He’s chosen these words carefully; they don’t stick to the roof of his mouth “I am yours if you’ll still have me.”

Only then do you notice that the black pearl necklace that you had strung together for him hangs around his throat.

A clear symbol of his acceptance of your courtship.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I’m so sorry to end it there on that cliffhanger but guyssssss. We all know she says yes. She’s down so bad for him lmfao

To my omegaverse besties @tru-blubelle @imperihoe @tiredmamaissy and Cinetrix thanks for all of the inspiration and support!

Omega Neteyam is my fucking religion now. I swear. I’m never getting over how perfect he is. Ughhhh. Sweetest bby boi who deserves the actual world. I love writing the juxtaposition of someone who is so incredibly physically attractive- and yet so socially awkward. He really doesn’t know how gorgeous he is. People expect him to be more suave because of his chiseled features and he’s really just an introverted guy who hates being the center of attention.

Okay so lots to talk about here! I introduced some OC’s! I feel like whenever I get to read about a Na’vi OC I’m like instantly in deep because it’s such an interesting culture and they’re such an interesting people!

I adore Akemi. He’s just an all around good guy who stepped up to the plate and took Roxto in when he had no one. Akemi’s husband is also a fun colorful character and I can’t wait to introduce him to you guys in the next chapter!

Vaeyu fucking sucks lmfao I wanted to write a smarmy Na’vi for the realism of it all. He’s everything bad about Alphas. He totally groomed the reader, if that wasn’t clear enough in the story. Tonowari would have him banished if he knew about it because he’s a protective dad and also a good man who hates creeps.

If you need a visual guide to how I picture Na’vi Male Omega’s genitalia you can find that here!

And if you have any questions about my A/B/O Head Cannons or the way that I’m structuring secondary gender in this story, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Neteyam goes into heat next chapter(I had to split this one into two because it was at 18K words long) so get ready for some wild ass smut😂

Please remember that interaction is key when it comes to fanfiction! I'd love to talk to you guys! Let’s escape to Pandora together!

My Taglist for this story is currently OPEN, but full disclosure that if I take the time to give you a tag, I am going to be expecting some sort of feedback.

@thehoneymushroomhealer @persy-the-nugget @tallulah477 @sakurayuki8655-blog @cumikering @adaiasafira @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @akkibear @a-blog-name-2023 @weasleytwinwheezes @siimiasoi @blueslxt-primary @haji-me-mashite @mightyneteyam @kiri-tuk

[justallihere]

Hi there! Welcome - I'm Alli (she/her). I like concerts, books, and science. My favorite color is pink and my favorite band is Fall Out Boy. At this time I'm writing fics for The Empyrean (Fourth Wing) series, but someday in the future I might expand that list. Thanks for joining the chaos!

Most of you probably know me from AO3 by the same username. Below you can find my entire masterlist of fics as well as some frequently asked questions. If there's something you'd like to know that isn't addressed below, my ask box is always open 🫶🏻

✨ masterlist:

storm in the quiet (E)

Xaden/Violet, arranged marriage AU, 342k words, complete

It took only a few minutes for Violet to figure out what purpose she served. No one said it out loud—not yet, but they’d get there—but they kept throwing out words like formalizing alliances and uniting two groups, and she understood. Violet was a sacrificial lamb, and Xaden Riorson was the wolf, and her slaughter would be their marriage.

(find sitq deleted moments here, here, here, and here)

all resistance wearing thin (E)

Imogen/Garrick, one shot set in the sitq world, 7.3k words, complete

It was a dangerous thing to be alone with Imogen Cardulo.

simmer (E)

Xaden/Violet, one shot, 4.1k words, complete

The night that Tairn began channeling to Violet, she didn’t stumble upon Xaden in the snow. She found someone else to take care of her, and when Xaden realized, he was less than amused.

violence in my veins (E)

Xaden/Violet, one shot, 4.1k words, complete

The Riders’ Quadrant had something of an obsession with piercings. The only person Violet Sorrengail knew without any was, of course, Xaden Riorson. Or so she thought.

invisible in a violet sea (E)

Xaden/Violet, one shot, 2k words, complete

“It’s just me here, love. Tell me what you need so badly, Violence.” There was something about the way he said the private nickname in this context, with his voice low and husky, that made it feel entirely different from every other time he called her that. Like it was reverent and special and it, like her, belonged only to him. “You,” she said. “I need you, Xaden.”

void of all composure (E)

Liam/Violet/Cam, one shot, 2.8k words, complete

Liam Mairi figured it couldn’t be that hard to keep Violet Sorrengail out of trouble. Unfortunately, he didn’t account for the fact that her version of trouble was Cam Tauri, and Liam was certainly going to go down with her.

flower bud in concrete (T)

Xaden/Violet, pregnancy fic, companion to somehow i still love you more, 7.5k words, complete

There was nothing Violet wanted more than to complete her family with Xaden with a child of their own. It took longer than they thought, but the wait was worth it.

somehow i still love you more (G)

Xaden/Violet, kid fic, companion to flower bud in concrete, 800 words, complete

Xaden’s favorite time was the middle of the night, when his wife slept peacefully and he got to hold his daughter and watch the snow falling.

come together, come apart (E)

Liam/Violet/Xaden, one shot, 12.4k words, complete

Following the battle at Resson, Violet felt out of control in the wake of so many lies revealed. Xaden and Liam offered her a way to take some of it back.

✨FAQs:

Do you have an update schedule?

Nope. Fanfic is a hobby for me—I have other responsibilities and a full-time job. I write because it’s fun, and in order for it to stay that way I write and post as I’m able, and sometimes I step away for a week or two to maintain my own sanity. Unless I specifically say it, I promise my fics aren’t abandoned just because it’s been a few days or even weeks without a new chapter. Please don’t ask me about updates!

Do you take requests for fics?

I do not. I write things that I love or am inspired by. Trying to conform to specific requests kind of sucks the joy out of writing for me.

Can I write or draw something inspired by/based on/in the same universe as one of your fics?

Yes. Please just let me know once you post and link back to my work in some way!

Can I bind your fics?

Yes, for personal use only. You may not commission any third party that would make a profit off binding the fic to do the work for you. You may not sell bound copies of my fics. Everything I’ve written has been done for free, as my own personal love letter from me to fandom. Keep fanfiction safe and legal. And send me pictures—I’d love to see your finished projects.

Can I translate your fic to another language?

I would be honored! Please keep all translations to AO3 only and use the “this work is a translation” feature to link back to the original. I do not consent to my work being reposted to other sites in any way.

Will you ever write your own book?

I'd love to one day! I have lots of ideas floating around at all times, even though I don't talk about them much. I promise if I ever publish any original works, you'll know.

Will storm in the quiet have a sequel?

Nope.

✨ other info:

Find some of my favorite book recs here

Some great Fourth Wing fic recs here (my own faves and a lot of other good ones that I missed in the comments)

If you’re interested in what I might be currently reading, click here

[eccentricgrace]

juice jam || IronDad

summary: peter and tony go out for smoothies, they get interrupted by some annoying paps.

tags: fluff, protective tony stark, banter, paparazzi, tony stark acting as peter parker's father figure

wc: 2,563

cross-posted to wattpad under the same name!

"Your pick is fine, I'm not saying it's not!" Peter argued back quickly, his eyes wide. On his own tongue, the cold icy fractals of his far more delicious Pink Starburst smoothie. "I'm just saying it's not the best one on the entire menu, that's all."

Tony held the foam cup of his Chocolate Moo'd in a protective vice grip— which is basically blended chocolate frozen yogurt —and screwed up his face. He lowered his shades with an inelegant poise and a good serving of disgruntlement. "Pete, you're drinking a smoothie that is literally called 'candy in a cup'. I think I'll take my own advice and hold off from the type two diabetes diagnosis for a few more years."

"Okay," Peter said. "Okay. Okay. But you haven't even tried it. I bet you'll admit mine is better if you try it. Ned did. He didn't believe me at first either, he refused to say anything was as good as the strawberry banana one."

"I'm inclined to agree with him just to tick you off."

Peter huffed and put the half-guzzled cup on the table. He pushed it towards Tony. "Just try it. You're so grumpy, Mr. Stark. For no reason."

"'No reason,' he says," Tony mumbled, reaching for the bright pink smoothie. "As if you didn't come into my smoothie haven, my church of juice, and begin spewing— spewing blasphemy."

Peter hid back his smile.

Tony had picked him up from school today. Plans were to have sitcom-takeout night with May, but as they were getting into the car, Peter had gotten a message about her having to work late. With their plans changed, and both of them damp with the autumnal rain that was nasty and cold the way New York rain usually was: of course the best way to waste time and beat the cold was even colder smoothies.

They were at the Jamba Juice at Rockefeller Plaza, which in itself was a feat considering the company he was in. Tony was wearing his "disguise", which really only consisted of his shades, a hat, jeans, and a hoodie pulled over his head. Nobody had noticed them yet.

Peter couldn't help but wonder what people saw when they looked at them in the corner of the store. The way they bantered sometimes, the ease of which they moved in each other's company— they'd been referred to as "father and son" more than once by cashiers and waiters alike. It was a nice compliment, to be seen that close to someone he looked up to. He could keep it tucked very secretly under his sleeve, for no other purpose than to keep him warm.

(And maybe sometimes he wondered how Tony felt whenever someone said something like that. The casual "I'll get a table for you and your son" or "you and your son look so alike!")

Tony took a sip of the pink smoothie, staring blankly ahead of him. Peter watched expectantly for something dramatic— his eyes to light up, his brows to raise, his hands to be thrown in the air with the angry astonishment of being proven dead wrong.

Instead, Tony sighed, put the cup down. Indignantly went to his own drink, furiously sipping at the straw. Peter's smile grew.

Then, finally:

"Fine."

"Yes!" Peter burst with victorious laughter, reaching over the table and taking his smoothie back. "I told you! I told you so. I would never lie about this. It's too important."

"Oh, so this is too important for you to lie, but when you had that little injury the other day, it wasn't?" Tony asked, a dry smile plastered on his face. "Is that what you're saying to me right now? Your poor old man?"

Peter's grin turned guilty, and he quickly went back to finishing the second half of his smoothie.

"Geez," Tony commented with amusement. "Ease up on that straw, you're gonna go into one of your spider-hibernation things. The middle of a Jamba Juice is not the time or place, kid."

"I think it's the perfect time and place, actually. Really truly. I can feel myself getting sleepy just thinking about it."

"Har har. What a comedian you are," Tony said, sliding out of the booth. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "You ready to go?"

"Yep!"

Peter wiped his hands of the sticky, watered-down juice that had dribbled down the side of the cup, and stood.

As he did so, the back of his spine began to buzz. He heard a series of shuddering clicks, and he narrowed his eyes to look around the small space.

"What's going on?" Tony asked casually, but there was an undertone of something distinctive in its quality for fixing things. He had clearly taken notice of whatever changed in Peter's face, because this was the voice he only used when they were dealing with Spidey extracurriculars.

Peter forced his shoulders to relax. He scratched at his face, half-covering his mouth, and lowered his voice to say: "Dunno. Someone's watching us."

Tony hummed impassively, but Peter saw his eyes sharpen, he saw the way the heads-up display of his glasses lit up faintly from behind the dark lense. He subtly scanned over the joint, like Peter did, and finally landed on something outside the window.

"Paparazzi," Tony said simply. He sighed deeply and began to shuck off his hoodie and hat. "Alright, kid. Pop quiz, listening? Trade."

"Uh," Peter helplessly let the trash in his hands be taken, and instead grabbed hold of the hoodie that was tossed into his hands. "I guess?"

"Put those on." Tony walked over and threw both of their cups and napkins in the trash. He walked back and smoothed over the wrinkles on his dress shirt. "Do you smile at the camera people?"

"Yes?" Peter guessed, his voice muffling through the fabric of the thick hoodie he was wrestling over his head. (Funnily enough, Tony's old clothes were all slowly becoming his size. It's crazy what a growth spurt and benching the equivalent of like, forty trains on a daily basis can do to a physique.)

"Wrong. Never smile at the paps," Tony shoved the hat over Peter's head, a baseball cap of the Yankees, which he as a proud Queens born-and-raised local would pretend not to be personally offended by. "They're gonna ask you a bunch of questions, are you gonna answer them?"

"No," Peter said, more sure of his answer this time.

"Good job." Tony reached over and fit the hood snuggly down on his head, drawing the strings in a little. "Are you gonna look at them?"

"No—" Peter squirmed as Tony started to mess with the hat to further cover his head. "Mr. Stark, is all this really necessary? I mean, they already got a picture of my face earlier!"

"Believe me, they're not gonna have that picture by the end of the day, and I don't intend to give them anymore." Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Alright, you're all set. Listen, this part is important: stay close to me, don't get lost in the crowd, and absolutely don't listen to anything they say. They're gonna try to provoke a reaction from you. Don't buy into it."

"Okay," Peter gave a smile, while a weak, uncomfortable laugh bubbled out from his chest. "I think I got it. I still don't get why you think they'd care about who I am, though. I'm not the celebrity, you are. They're not gonna care about some—"

"Spider-baby-asking-questions time is over," Tony said, raising his eyebrows. "The more we stand here, the more cameras there's gonna be when we finally get out on the street. Time to go."

"I—" Peter blubbered for a second, and then followed Tony quickly as he turned to the door. Stay close.

Peter learned quickly that Tony walked very fast when paparazzi were involved. He also learned quickly that paparazzi were the closest human equivalent to mosquitos in the summer heat. They swarmed, an entire bloodthirsty group that materialized out of seemingly nowhere, and they were so loud, all buzzy and everything.

He clumsily dodged through bright flashes of the most cameras he'd ever seen, never less than two feet from Tony at all times. If he wanted to, he could count maybe seven different people shouting questions at him, even more shouting at Tony.

"Kid! Look here! Hey! Hey, over here— Hey! Give me a smile! Can you smile for us? Hey, Tony!"

"Mr. Stark! Few questions for the record? What are you doing with a kid?"

"Hey, look over here! I've got a few questions for— Can you spare a minute of your time?"

Tony was valiant as he weaved through the mob, only glancing back every few seconds to make sure Peter was behind him and in sight. The occasional sarcastic comment that brought Peter back to watching YouTube interview compilations way before all of this.

Anyways, he made it look so easy, all of it practiced and seamless, which made sense after Peter remembered that his mentor practically grew up in all of... this. He wondered if Tony would tell him any horror stories of dodging this when he was a kid— he wondered if he even wanted to know.

"Tony, just a second! What happened with the Accords? Have you heard from Captain America?"

"Look over here! Here! Mr. Stark, who is that?"

"Kid, what's your name? Look here for us! Hey!"

He and Tony had almost made it to the car, and Peter was following all the rules. It was harder to not smile than he thought, solely because this whole thing had rapidly become increasingly intolerable, and Peter had a habit of smiling when he was nervous, but he was doing well so far.

In fact, it helped a lot to focus on how miserable it all was, really. When he felt a nervous smile coming on, he just redirected his attention to the cacophony of camera shudders that were assaulting his very sensitive eardrums, or the people yelling over each other, or even the general sound of several shoe pairs scraping over asphalt and concrete. Sensory hell. Don't even get him started on the flashing lights.

"Hey kid, get his attention for us!"

Peter's whole body buzzed loudly, and then he was yanked back by the wrist.

He was fine. Obviously he was fine. Maybe shaken, maybe even the tiniest bit impressed by the audacity, but he was Spider-Man, and he was capable of simply jerking his arm back— which he did.

The facts above apparently didn't matter in the slightest to Tony, because when Peter met his gaze again in the crowd, there was something in it so angry that his lungs went tight with alarm.

"Did you just grab him?" Tony said dangerously, staring at the offender with a blazing fury in his eyes. "Did you fucking grab him? You do that again you're getting amputated by the fucking limb, you hear me?"

He pushed back through the crowd and took hold of Peter's sleeve. Cameras flashed. Peter's face was a bright, embarrassed, cherry red. Tony was breaking his own rule, mortifyingly, just because of him. Oops.

"I'm sorry," came the voice of a man who absolutely didn't sound sorry. "I apologize sir, I just wanted a few lines for an article—"

"Oh, yeah, you wanted a few lines? I'll give you a few lines, buddy. What's your name? What company do you work for? Huh?"

Tony was yelling. Yelling like Peter had never seen him yell before, and the cameras continued to rattle and blind his peripheral vision. He tried tugging at his arm down to get Tony's attention, because the grip Tony had on his sleeve was firm enough to make his knuckles white and he'd surely notice the slightest movement.

"Mr. Stark, we gotta go," Peter tried. "C'mon."

Tony, his face still snarled up like the protective thorn of a blackberry bush, hesitated then. He schooled his expression into something tight-lipped and lock-jawed, and then steamrolled forward to the car.

As soon as they got in, Tony quickly locked their doors, and Peter let out the breath he'd been holding. He reached up and pulled the hood off, then tossed the hat to the backseat.

"Wow. That was—"

"Are you okay?" Tony asked, the stiffness never leaving his posture.

His eyes were darting all over Peter for any other signs of injury or distress. They lingering especially on his wrist for a moment, then Tony reached for his arm gently and scanned over the area with stressed meticulousness. His eyebrows furrowed, his trembling thumb trailing lightly over the skin.

"I'm all good," Peter promised, his eyes wide. "Really, I'm totally okay, no bruises, no breaks."

Tony looked... bad.

His eyes shot back up to Peter's, and there was a lot of guilt in the way they narrowed. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Tony even looked misty. Admittedly, that was horrifying; like it always was watching a trusted adult break down a little.

He always hated it when May cried, but she did cry— after a bad shift, or a sad movie, or one of those pet commercials on television, Peter always heard the tell-tale sniffle at his side, and the way she always would look up as if it would stop the tears. (It never did.)

But that was May, and Tony was not May. This just was different. Tony Stark didn't cry. Tony Stark was Iron Man, he was invincible, surely he wouldn't shed a tear just because some stranger grabbed his wrist a bit too tight.

Peter frowned. "Mr—"

Tony let go of his arm, then turned the key into the engine. He sniffed once, and didn't look back at Peter. "FRIDAY, I want all those articles and photos deleted as soon as they hit the web. Kid, seatbelt on."

"Yes, sir."

The car went silent, except for the anxious drumming of Tony's hands against the steering wheel. After a few long moments, even that had subsided. Tony seemed calm enough now that Peter's curiosity sparked up again.

"You looked at them," Peter spoke up. He looked at Tony through the corner of his eye. "You, uh... talked back to them too. Kinda broke your own rules."

"Yeah." Tony shrugged. "Well, rules kind of mean jack to me if I think you're in danger. Part of the job."

"The job?"

"Taking care of you. Making sure you're safe, protected, happy, healthy, learned, and whatever," Tony said, one hand coming off the wheel to make aimless gestures as he spoke. "You know, the job."

Peter's definitely heard of all of those responsibilities. The thing is, he heard them in some health class lesson, listed as the job description for a parent.

"The job," Peter repeated quietly.

Tony shrugged again. He turned at an intersection. "Yeah. Whatever, I read mentoring books. I'm a good student."

"Right."

"You sure you're okay?" Tony asked again, glancing over, giving him a quick scan. "Adrenaline should be worn off by now, huh? Still nothing hurts?"

"No," Peter said, feeling like he was in some kind of accidental-pseudo-father-acquisition daze. He blinked a few times at the sudden alarm in Tony's expression. "I mean—No, nothing hurts. I'm all good."

The relief again, palpable in the air as Tony relaxed in his seat. He nodded quickly and finally turned onto the Queensborough bridge. "Good. That's good. Alright. Great. This was fun, kid, huh? You had fun?"

"Yeah, definitely," Peter agreed easily. He let himself smile. He felt light. "It was a lot of fun."

"Good," Tony returned his smile. "Let's get you home to Aunt May, then."

"Yeah," Peter sat back in his seat. He turned the radio on and smiled comfortably. "Okay."

[mamuzzy]

Hey dear :D can you tell us about your headcanons on Jango training the Alphas ? :D

I finally got here to answer this ask. <3

And ooooh boy do I have??? Only angsty ones, love.

I use RepComm lore as a base of my headcanons, just to make clear in what continuity I'm creating in. And that means: NO INHIBITOR CHIPS.

The whole idea of the Clone Army revolves around one thing ultimately: to completely exterminate the jedi. To create an army that is ready for the decisive moment of taking down the enemies of the Sith without the jedi even noticing what is coming at them.

The trainers of course didn't know that this is the ultimate goal of the army, but they knew they had to train a whole army for a future war that who knows when will come. They had be loyal. And they had to be effective.

Every trainer had different approach:

Kal Skirata used love and insisted on the importance of comradeship which ultimately didn't necesserily made his commandos loyal to the Republic, but to each other.

Walon Vau used harsh discipline and insisted on the importance to make his commandos remember: they are superior than others and they have the most important mission in their life. Nothing awaits them outside because they have everything they need: their duty. Vau's trainees remained loyal even after the regime change.

And then we have the Alpha ARC Troopers trained by Jango Fett.

The Alpha ARCs in their mind are the unaltered version of Jango Fett. 100 copy of Jango Fett with their brain remained untouched (compared to the Nulls who's brain was tampered with). Meaning, the Alpha's undying loyalty to the Republic is not pre-programmed, it is not in their genes. It is conditioned with traditional methods: And that is FEAR.

More under the cut

Jango Fett didn't care about the clones and I will sparta-kick everyone from this hill who tries to fight me. I don't have a single worldbuilding where Jango was a "good daddy" for the Clones. He was a great, loving and caring father to Boba and Boba alone.

For him, the clones are products, but also they are part of his agenda: Even he dies, there will be millions of Jango Fetts who will fulfill his revenge of killing off all the Jedi.

The books often mention that Jango was a sociopath (meaning he is on the spectrum of ASPD), and this template was able to make the clones to be so effective. His brain is just built different and wasn't cluttered with moral based inhibitions. That's why I think that Jango wasn't actually a sadist who enjoyed tormenting his trainees - The Alphas - out of joy and personal amusement. It served the purpose, it was all pragmatic.

There wasn't any more description what was Alpha's training like on Kamino but these little snippets of lores made my brain go brrrrrrr about the theories. If the Alphas - THE ALPHAS!!!! - were scared of Jango it could mean that their training included something that gave a reason to fear him.

We know that he installed his own commands into the Alphas such us destroying the Clone Facility in case of Separatist attack on Kamino which Alpha-17 almost fulfilled. But also, being unquestionably loyal to the Jedi. For me, these commands weren't installed. I truly love the unaltered brain-Alphas.

-- Physical pain --

When you are in the military and under training, the line between educational violence and actual physical abuse is very thin. Insubordination had to be punished. Jango had to make sure that the Alphas remain loyal despite not having the same inhibitions like the rest of the clones, so there must have been exercises where he tested how far the Alphas would go to fullfill their duties, achieve victory, enforce an order, AT ALL COST.

They had to put through physical hell, pushed over their limits, pushed over their thresholds and beyond. If caught crying, if caught showing pain, if caught showing the single muscle of questioning Jango's orders, they had to be punished. They weren't made to compete with each other, but they also couldn't protect each other publicly when Jango punished the Alphas for insubordination. They had to watch. They had to learn from it.

The Alphas found secret ways to communicate with each other. To find comfort in each other in one way or another. Oh they knew the concept of love and caring. They watched Jango and Boba from the distance. The reassuring words. The caring touches of a father. They watched how the Nulls were running to their precious sergeant for comfort when hurt. They were very much aware that this is not something they would get.

-- RECONDITION: THE ULTIMATE DEATH --

The Alphas needed only one case of serious insubordination to learn their places and that was Alpha-Ø2. He was truly an independent mind and free-thinker, a true inspiration to thrive for individualism in the sea of Jango Fetts. Spar refused to comply and refused to sworn loyalty to "a republic" which he didn't knew.

And one day Alpha-Ø2 disappeared. Only to return without his memories. Returning without his fiery temper, without his free-spirit... and without any knowledge of how he used to love his Alpha-brothers dearly.

The brainwashing of the Alphas were so much successful later in time, when Alpha-Ø2 - called now Spar - actually deserted at age 8, two years before Geonosis, most of the Alphas felt disgust just by thinking about him - they had to.

Alphas had to believe that Spar was the utter disgrace to the Republic, otherwise it would mean, that they were actually treated wrong.

They had no idea that Spar's desertion was orchestrated by Mij Gilamar and Jango Fett himself after Spar regained his memories - probably the only mercy Jango showed for a clone.

-- Jango had to find the perfect balance --

The Kaminoans wanted soldiers who are independent thinkers but still loyal. Completely supressing their individualism wasn't an option, learned from Spar's case.

What the Alphas did in their non-existent freetime wasn't his business. But the Alphas had to drop everything that is them, when Jango ordered them to do so.

Jango hated every form of authority and realized that the Alphas inherited this trait for his disdain. So he used this train in them to be more effective as advisors for the Jedi. The Alphas had to make sure the Jedi survive until the critical point after all.

Alpha-17 is the smartest of them and the closest thing they had for Spar, which made him always walking on thin ice.

Tavo and Sull, lovebirds.

Maze had knowledge of wide variety of things due to reading forbidden literature that wasn't their in their curriculum.

Fordo communicated only through sign language due to trauma, and his closest friends learned too so they can speak to each other. He only spoke when Jango ordered him to do so.

They were smart enough to know what is was truly considered disobedience. And that was going against the Republic and Jango. If they comply to these rules, they will be safe.

-- ALPHA vs NULL conflict --

Jango always had to remind the Alphas that they were expected to be better than their precedessors, the Nulls. If they fail to meet with the standards, they won't have "a kal skirata" to save them from recondition.

Alpha-Ø2 sure didn't have.

The Alphas after a while didn't need outside motivation to be obedient and loyal. Because they were meant to be everything the Nulls couldn't be. Seeing the examples with their own eyes, how chaotic the Nulls were, how the Nulls as children were actually unruly and sadistic toward the kaminoan technicians, how they disobeyed everyone who was not Kal Skirata, they finally saw what is expected from them: BE BETTER THAN THEM.

And they finally found their positive reassurance on their own. How to take pride in being the true servants of the Republic. Only the Nulls didn't give a shit about this rivalry. They didn't care about Jango or the Alphas or being better than the Alphas.

Being obedient without question was totally against he Alphas nature but they tried. They tried fucking hard.

Alphas: We are the perfect soldiers of the Republic because we are obedient, well-behaved, and we don't cause trouble to our trainers unlike you.

Nulls: We are perfect soldiers because Kal'buir said so, nyenyenyeeeee!!!

Indeed. That Alpha's didn't have "a kal skirata" in their life to tell them they are enough. That they are perfect. That they do the best. Because their best was never enough.

And they weren't enough.

The Alpha ARCs deemed to be failure in the end and their template genes weren't put in to mass-production. When the deployment to Geonosis began, they realized that they weren't meant to be used in the battle and it almost broke them.

Despite their effort and hard work, the Alphas still deemed a failure. Unpredictable, unruly, and because they didn't have any inhibition in them, the Kaminoan didn't trust that they would fulfill their roles. Alphas had to watch the Nulls leave to Geonosis while they were put into stasis.

They didn't have "a kal skirata" to save them from this fate. They didn't have Jango Fett, he wasn't there at all.

They were all alone.

-- Did Jango's approach work? --

My answer is: no.

Despite the conditioning, the Alphas had wide-variety of reactions to the Republic, to the Jedi, and Order 66.

Some were able to shake down the effects of the conditioning, and realized that this dead man won't come after them from the grave to punish them for disobedience.

Some Alpha deserted and died by the hands of Clone Assassins sent after them during the Clone Wars.

Some Alpha remained loyal to Jango's orders, the Republic and then the Empire, training the new generation of soldiers.

Some Alpha went into hiding and became bounty hunters.

Ultimately, how they interacted with the world around them as individual and how the environment treated them decided their own fate.

[presumenothing]

post-aa2 brainrot, etc // on ao3

The lines of the closure paperwork have liquefied to dance merry chaos across the page; Miles can only attribute the next moment to such, should he be pressed upon it in any court of law. "I stand by my words, you know."

Wright has been sitting motionlessly silent on his office couch for what feels like an eternity of hours now, not that Miles can blame him. It's a minor miracle that the man can still scrape together enough cognitive resources to squint in his vague direction with a furrowed brow.

"Saving lives," Miles says in answer to the unvoiced question. "An admirable goal, but hardly a tenable one. You should have taken up firefighting instead if you desired heroics."

The thought of Wright shouting objections at a house fire from atop a firetruck comes as sudden as it is hilarious to his exhaustion-addled mind. Miles blinks away the mental image and turns back to tackling the next section – fortunately or otherwise, a year away has not erased enough memory to hinder him from completing it on autopilot, if only the words would just hold still for more than three darned seconds.

Wright's response comes then, belated and uncharacteristic: a halting half-mumble. "It's not arrogance, or anything. I don't think."

Taking the accidental bait left out on the latter half of that would be too easy, true as it would be. Wright is hardly an intellectual slouch, much as his usual behaviour leaves Miles occasionally loath to admit it, but his true brilliance lies in reacting; it is how he has gotten as far as he has against opponents far worse.

(And worse then only in magnitude, not the precise devastation of the recent days. Miles has been conscientiously avoiding unbidden thoughts of the likenesses between his office and Lana Skye's, both left like untouched scenes in absence of their former occupants, but that has hardly been necessary over the witnessing of Wright falling apart in slow motion. If – when he gets his hands on de Killer, it will assuredly not be a pretty sight.)

The temptation to rub at his eyes is increasingly strong, tempered only by certainty at the uselessness of it. "Semantics. The reasoning hardly matters, only the outcome."

Though it is doubtlessly true, that he cannot imagine an accusation of hubris against Wright, of all people. Sheer belief, on the other hand, or bloody-minded stubbornness… perhaps therein lies the reason why Miles had to walk away from court to find an answer that Wright could only have found within it.

And lucky for them all, that he had. Miles has not fully shaken off the chill of hearing his own letter thrown back at him during that very last recess earlier, nor the cold surety that it would be far more permanent a departure than his had proven to be.

Wright huffs in something approaching amusement. "Objection."

The prosection briefly considers balling up the paperwork and tossing it at the defence. Miles settles for the light duvet still neatly folded in the last drawer of his desk; slightly musty from disuse, yes, but serving well enough the purpose of covering up that singular annoyance of a face.

"Overruled," he intones over the satisfyingly indignant yelp. "And you have already saved someone, should you insist on such lofty goals."

Phoenix emerges with his hair resembling a hamster habitat even more than usual. "Whazzat?"

"Nothing," Miles says, flatly, instead of me, you fool. "Get some rest, I'll wake you when I'm done for the day."

("Hypocrite," Phoenix yawns in response, but any smugness is rendered moot by the way he goes out like a light promptly after.)

[decadentpostnachos-evil-twin]

Tamlin was a double agent to the king of Hybren. Please re read that bit again .

Let's unpack :)

Because I did read it again, and guess what? My opinion hasn't changed.

As we all know, Tamlin allied himself with Hybern in acomaf. Refreshing your memory on why he did that:

Feyre went to the Night Court in maf. Then sent a letter to Tamlin, who most likely still thought her illiterate at that time. So Tamlin went to get her back, not necessarily for his own interest and gain, but because he was genuinely in love with her, and might I remind you, Rhysand hasn't done much to look like a good guy in front of quite literally anyone outside of his Inner Circle. Tamlin was concerned for Feyre's safety and desperate enough to bargain with Hybern to get her back from the man who's known for his cruelty throughout all of Prythian. The same guy who served under Amarantha, tormented Feyre for his own amusement under the Mountain and sends chopped-off heads in favour of postcards, just to name a few. Tamlin thought Rhysand bad enough that he'd take a bargain with Hybern just to free Feyre from his clutches.

He admits to his attempts at trying to find a way to break said bargain after, as you can see in the text above.

Furthermore, Tamlin's alliance with Hybern had definite advances for Prythian, seen as he could provide intel on Hybern, which is vital in a war.

This right up there was the High Lord's meeting. Where, I'm gonna repeat myself to really drive that point home, Tamlin provided insider information on Hybern. Who else could have done that? Right, nobody.

This right here is Tamlin saving Feyre's ass. Just putting that out there. And risking his life going against the King of Hybern in the open. Did Rhysand do that under Amarantha? Break his "cover" to help Feyre out? I don't think so.

And last but not least, Tamlin joining the final battle:

And bringing Beron with him, might I add. Oh, and what's this? Another crumb of information Tamlin might have given?

The chance that it was him is 50/50 on that, but I'm still putting it here.

Summary:

In acomaf, Feyre was presumably abducted by Rhysand who is the villain of the story to quite literally everyone except for six people (himself included) at that point and really doesn't put any effort into redeeming that. So what does Tamlin, concerned lover do to help her? Well, first he goes to the Day Court, hoping for help to break the bargain Rhysand struck with Feyre. But that doesn't work out fast enough, and thinking Feyre might live in constant agony, he grasps for straws and turns to the only person he knows could break the bargain: The King of Hybern.

So this alliance came to be for the sole purpose of saving and protecting Feyre. He planned to break it off after. As we know, that did not work out, but Tamlin used it to his advantage by collecting information and providing the other High Lords with it.

Then he risks his life to save Feyre.

And then, he comes to their aid in the battle too, bringing the human army and Beron with him.

And then he saves Rhysand's life in the end. Literally.

So yes, Tamlin was a double agent. But no, he was not a double agent for Hybern. Not when he worked against them in favor of Prythian.

And last but not least:

Rhysand was a "double agent" too, under Amarantha. The difference being that he commited several atrocities during her fifty-year-rule.

Tamlin's ambivalence was helpful in the war against Hybern, possibly even vital. He served a purpose.

Rhysand? He did it for no further reason than to protect a city that had been hidden from everyone for millenia before. A city that did not need more protection, as opposed to the rest of his court. So him playing whore for Amarantha served no purpose. Literally none. Other than giving him an opportunity to play the martyr, maybe.

In conclusion, I would therefore recommend that you read it again. :)

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Masquerade ball

This is my initial entry to Lyra's 1k follower/Halloween event taking place through @blackclover-emc

I welcome interactions to this post~!

Entry length ~1.1k Pairing: Fuegoleon x Solara (OC) Summary of entry: Just some flirting on the way to the ballroom Picture: From pinterest Art (at the end): My own

Sun was setting behind the horizon, which painted the sky in various hues of red and purple that turned into the blue that would eventually become the canvas of the night sky. Eventually this canvas would bring out the lights of the castle out far better than they were now, in this dim light of autumn dusk. The light that was illuminated by the chandeliers and candelabras; the sea of candles in the hallways and the staircases, even before they way lead to the ballroom itself; the place where the Halloween ball would take place.

Each guest had been instructed to wear a mask, which was perfectly on theme with Halloween, and masquerade balls weren’t unknown to nobility. If anything. It was a novelty, which was approached very differently by various individuals.

Some sought to choose their masks and outfits in a manner that deemed them unlikely to be themselves, while others… continued to thrive in the palettes and motifs that they wore every day. But no matter the approach, it was a welcomed twist to a regular function.

A night away from duties and reports and paperwork and worry.

Something both Solara and Fuegoleon had been looking forward to. Even though the evening could have been spent in resting. But. Evening such as this didn’t come around too often, so it’d be worth it.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” She asked as they climbed up the stairs, as she was holding onto the hem of her golden dress with her left hand, and kept her right hooked with his.

He replied with a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps… the cocktail hour after dancing. The sun has set by then, and it serves a good moment to sit down, have a drink, enjoy the delicacies and…”

“Just be?” She gave him a glance as a smirk decorated her lips.

“Precisely,” he nodded with a smile of his own.

“And here I thought you would have been most interested in the treasure hunt. Or the dancing,” she half teased, as her heels clicked against the marble floor of one of the landings on their way up.

“The dancing is marvelous as well,” he chuckled. “But… I prefer alone time with you,” he stopped in the middle of the landing, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips.

Her head turned to him, and found his eyes, which stayed locked in his as he pressed a gentle kiss onto the back of hers. The gaze; the eyes, which were filled with intent and devotion, as if it was the only thing he saw. A rather ravenous gaze best given out of the ballroom.

“And here I though you enjoyed showing how well we dance together,” she teased again, while leaning a bit forward; the words falling from her lips like decadent, soft, silk, or perhaps rich taffeta. Or a bit of both. Something he wished to taste on his lips, despite the taste being very familiar to him.

But. It was a taste that he could never get enough of.

“I do,” his tone was hushed but low, almost a growl. “There is a purpose to it,” he added. “And the purpose is to show who is my wife, and who is mine out of her own volition.”

“So ‘don’t get in the way’?” She teased again, while placing her hand onto his cheek.

He nodded, blinking as he did.

“As if I’d have eyes for anyone else,” she said while taking half of a step closer, and pressed her forehead against his.

“I know,” he told her with a whisper, as if a pledge. “But I’m-“

“Territorial, I know, I know,” she told with amusement. “Easy there, lion.”

He leaned back and let out a laugh. “Never did I think there’d be a day when you tell me to behave, my love.”

“I think it to be only fair,” she stroked his cheek with her thumb. “After all, you’ve started completing my sentences more, so perhaps it ought to be my turn to tell you to behave.” There was joke in there, in the gentle, amused, affection of her tone. But it was wrapped in the tender emotions that still vibrated through the gilded threads of fate, now spun into ropes.

“Don’t I always?” He mused to himself as his hand moved to tuck a nonexistent lock of hair behind her ear.

“Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Most of the time,” she nodded. “And when you don’t, you’re defending something or someone, so… I can’t condemn you,” she uttered and leaned forward to place a kiss onto his lips.

A single, refined kiss. Her lips took a hold of his lower one, as if to assure him, that she wasn’t going anywhere. That she’d stay there, and adore him the best she could. Through the thick and thin. Not that life could throw anything more their way than what had already passed.

And throughout it all, they had worked through it. Chosen to love each other, despite the adversity. Because being in love was a choice, as much as it was the feeling of love itself.

“We’ll be late,” she noted while leaning back, but her eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes, speaking of what she wished for more.

“One more before we go?” A careful wish.

And she would have deemed herself cruel, had she not granted him her wish.

Which is why she leaned closer again, and pressed another onto his lips. One that was more secure in its grasp than the previous.

But as she leaned away, he stole one more; a quick peck onto her lips.

And she smiled.

“It’s a good thing you’ve hidden a part of your handsomeness behind that mask,” she teased as she ran her fingers along the lapels of his coat.

“I would return the sentiment, but there is no hiding your beauty, even under that mask,” he told her. Without missing a beat. Without a shadow of a doubt.

“You’re going to have to stop being so charming for a moment,” she smiled.

And he chuckled.

Just chuckled and pressed another kiss onto the back of her hand, before offering his arm out to her.

“Shall we?” He inquired as she linked her arm together with his again, and nodded.

And so, they continued to ascend the stairs towards the ballroom, to meet whoever they’d come across.

~~~~

[vivid-vices]

hello hi, wanna go off a bit about mori-san? whatever you want to say, just have fun~

hi :) i always wanna talk about mori!!

i can't stop thinking about the disconnect between mori and dazai that comes from mori projecting onto dazai so hard. like when they first met dazai was very much like mori - obviously much more disinterested in life but he didn't have any close human connections and was able to follow mori's commitment to the ideal solution because of it. but through chuuya and ango and especially oda, he came to develop strong bonds with people that mori simply doesn't have. and mori didn't predict that.

dazai's words to fyodor about not trusting anything you can't control could apply equally to mori. he's a chess master and the city of yokohama is the board and the mafia members are his pieces. he treats them well, doesn't carelessly throw away lives, but at the end of the day, they have a purpose to serve. and oda - he was barely a pawn. he was so underutilized. mori doesn't have the kind of relationships that would allow him to prioritize true friendship, to value people outside of their usefulness. he expected dazai to follow his logic and ultimately understand the purpose of the sacrifice.

except dazai loved oda. and oda threw a wrench in all of mori's careful planning by telling dazai to escape to the light.

because maybe, maybe, mori could've predicted dazai going off to sulk and be angry for a while before ultimately coming back to the mafia, because what else did he have in life before oda gave him a purpose? but when he first heard that dazai joined the agency, it had to be a complete shock. a slap in the face, honestly. his greatest tool, his most competent executive, the boy he trained and taught and led for four years, now part of an enemy group because of his own actions.

that had to sting a bit. not even close to enough to regret getting the permit, of course, but for mori as a person, it had to be painful.

but mori would probably never acknowledge that emotion. it was for the good of the mafia, of yokohama as a whole, after all, and that's the only thing that matters. outwardly, at least.

i think mori is a deeply lonely person and dazai was one of the few people who made a dent in that loneliness - part of the reason why elise now copies some of his personality traits. (and i could make a whole post about elise, i love her so much. elise is such a reflection of his loneliness. you don't create an entire person if you have healthy relationships and aren't a control freak, but i digress.) but his biggest failure was in thinking that dazai was equally lonely, equally alone, and equally willing to put the organization over everyone and everything.

because mori has nothing else other than the mafia. it's both his home and his prison. like he said to chuuya, he's both a leader and a slave to the organization. that will never change.

and as silly as it sounds to blame the difference between them on the power of friendship, it's the only thing that separated dazai from ending up just like mori. except dazai has a capacity for cruelty that mori doesn't and if oda hadn't told dazai to leave the mafia, i think we would've seen the results of that immediately after his death.

anyway. i'm insane about mori and dazai. i think about them so much. their dynamic is one of my favorite relationships in bsd because of the range and ambiguousness of it - it's never even close to familial, way too casual for typical boss/employee while still definitely not friendly, dazai was a complete brat to him most of the time while mori was just amused, and now there's this one-sided absolute hatred while mori holds zero resentment towards dazai so you can't really even call them enemies. there's no label for whatever they have going on. and i'm not normal about it. at all.

[talon-dragonbeast]

Now that I've posted about it I can send you this ask without worry: I've absolutely adored your enderkin posts for some time, to the point that I started questioning if I was otherhearted but it just felt very wrong/like there was more to the picture. Turns out I'm plural, and one of my headmates is Enderfolk/an Enderman. Much to my amusement, I followed you for draconic content and now the enderkin content is suddenly MUCH more relevant.

That part was just because I think it's silly and might entertain you to know, but I did actually want to ask- are there any ways in particular you affirm that part of your identity? We're looking for ways to sort of affirm each other as individuals and I'd love to see what you have to say!

akdfjsjdh it makes me so happy to hear that, you have no idea!!! i'm always blown away when people tell me that my posts helped them realize things about their own identity; i never ever thought that my little blog could have such a big impact on others. so thank you!

and congrats on the headmate(s)! another enderman friend, yay!!

oh, good question. well youre in luck because today is what I call an "enderman day", which just means that im more enderman than dragon today (having two kintypes means that one will inevitably be more prominent than the other from time to time, and that's okay), so here are some tips that may help you!

okay this may seem a little obvious but, wear clothes that affirm your identity. on enderman days like today i like to wear darker clothes and tall shoes (black converse or platform boots are my go-to for enderman euphoria). i also have purple sunglasses that i wear from time to time, that also serve the purpose of protecting my eyes from the sun as they are pretty light sensitive. padded fingerless gloves are great if you have paw pads, and you can paint your nails black if you have claws (you can sharpen them as well, but i personally prefer to keep them short for sensory reasons). you can also wear jewelry as that feels very enderman-y to me for some reason; i personally love earrings and rings (especially if theyre golden!).

appearance aside, other things i love to do as an enderman are walking and people-watching; you can even combine them for maximum effect. if i know one thing about endermen is that we love to watch, especially humans. i personally like going for a walk with some music or a podcast, and just look around to see what i can find. i sometimes pick things up from the ground and carry them around, or even take them home. it sounds silly, but wandering around is an activity i really enjoy. endermen are wanderers, after all.

another behavior that i like to do are vocals. i make enderman-like sounds such as vwoops, little clicks and purrs; these are the ones i like the most and are easier to do with my human mouth, but you can experiment with the ones that work for you!

and finally, just playing Minecraft on my tablet is a very good source of comfort. i like to visit my hearthome, the warped forest in the nether, and just chill there with the other endermen.

thanks for the ask, and good luck with your plurality (is that something people say? no idea :D). have a good day!