#years from now when i can just churn out skulls

[lyriumsings]

the most effort i’ve ever put into drawing a skull actually lmaooo

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap 

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut. 

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).  

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take. 

Forty-two…  

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.  

Forty-three…  

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth. 

Forty-four… 

“You are with child.” 

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.  

“A boy.”  

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.  

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.  

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;  

‘She won’t make it out alive!’; 

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.  

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.  

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.  

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?  

Does Ralak… even want this?  

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?  

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.  

And there he is, in all his glory.  

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I  

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.  

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.  

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.  

How do I say this?  

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.  

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop. 

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.  

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.  

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.  

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.  

But… nothing.  

“I’m pregnant.” 

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.  

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.  

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?”  You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.  

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.   

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear— 

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?” 

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.  

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.  

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”  

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”  

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”  

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.  

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”  

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”  

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”  

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.  

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.  

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.  

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy. 

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”  

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.  

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”  

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.  

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”  

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.  

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.” 

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.  

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.  

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?” 

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.  

Right?  

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”   

—— 

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.   

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.  

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.  

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.  

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.  

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.  

—— 

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”  

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.  

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space. 

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.  

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness. 

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”  

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.   

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.  

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.  

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.  

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”  

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?” 

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.  

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.  

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.  

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.  

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.   

Mortified is an understatement.  

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.  

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.  

“She is pregnant.”  

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.  

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”  

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.  

More at stake. 

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.  

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.  

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?” 

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.  

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.   

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.  

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.  

All to no avail.  

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.  

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.  

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.  

The night Ralak took your virginity. 

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.  

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.  

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.  

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”  

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.  

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”  

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”  

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.  

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.  

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”  

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.  

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.  

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.  

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.  

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”  

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering— 

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”  

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’ 

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”  

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.  

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.  

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.  

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.  

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.” 

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.  

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.  

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.  

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”  

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”  

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.  

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.  

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”  

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.  

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”  

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.  

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.” 

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.  

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.  

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.  

——smut warning—— 

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.  

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.  

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.  

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”  

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?” 

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”  

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.  

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.  

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away,  unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.  

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.  

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more  

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.  

But he’s been patient.  

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.  

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.  

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.  

For a while, he lost trust within himself.  

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.  

Ruthlessly.  

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.  

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.  

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.  

Just like now.  

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.  

Fuck. 

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.  

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.  

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’. 

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.  

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.  

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.  

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and— 

Eywa. 

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him. 

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.  

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.  

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.  

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.  

If they’d even fit.  

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.  

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.  

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.  

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.  

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.  

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.  

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.  

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.  

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.  

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.  

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.  

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.  

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.  

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”  

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.  

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.  

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.  

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat. 

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still. 

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.  

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.  

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.  

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.  

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air.  He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.  

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.  

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.  

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.  

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.  

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.  

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.  

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.  

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.  

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.  

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb. 

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.” 

Ralak chuckles.  

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”   

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.  

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”  

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.  

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.” 

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.” 

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.  

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.  

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.  

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—” 

Smack. 

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.  

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.  

But you want him to lose it.  

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.  

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily. 

Smack. 

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.  

Right?  

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.  

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”  

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.  

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.  

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”  

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.” 

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.  

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”  

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].  

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.  

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.” 

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”  

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.” 

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.  

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.  

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.  

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.  

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.  

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.  

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride— 

You carry his child yet still take him so well.  

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]” 

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.  

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.  

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?” 

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.  

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.  

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.  

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.  

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.  

—— 

[beenbaanbuun]

hierarchy w/ poly hohong

words - 3.1k

genre - smut

warnings - dom!yunho, akita hybrid!yunho, soft dom!hongjoong, human hongjoong, sub!reader, unknown dog hybrid!reader, mentions of past abuse, mentions of scars (from fighting), reader is a brat, cunnilingus

i wrote this ages ago and idk if i like it or not but rather than sitting and stressing about that, i decided to post it instead 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

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your dinner looks entirely unappealing as you push it round the plate with your fork. the peas are an unsettling shade of green and as they float upon the thin layer of gravy at the bottom of your dish, your stomach can’t help but churn a little. it’s nothing like the instant ramen and microwave meals your old owner used to feed you, and for that reason you simply won’t touch it.

there’s a sigh from across the table and you lift your gaze to see where it’s coming from. you’re met with two pairs of eyes, both of them equally as fed up at the other. there’s hongjoong, staring you like you’re the sole reason for everything bad in his life, and there’s yunho, watching with a tight jaw and hungry eyes. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that the giant akita-hybrid is more seconds away from jumping your bones and taking you right there and then. you’d be lying to yourself if you said the idea doesn’t appeal to you. it just so happens that you are an exceptional liar.

“you haven’t touched your food,” hongjoong sighs as he lifts a hand up to brush over his tired expression. the so-called ‘experienced hybrid trainer’ is clearly losing his patience with you, although you’re not entirely sure why. you’re not even trying to be a nightmare; he should see you when you’re not on your best behaviour.

“i don’t like it,” you reply, putting your fork down just so you can fold your arms petulantly over your chest. yunho scoffs, his muscular arms shifting until his position mirrors yours.

“how do you know you don’t like it if you won’t even try it?” he says in the same tone he’d use if he were talking to a child. you can’t help but scoff that that; you’re not a child.

hongjoong reached over to place a hand on yunho’s arm. it’s a silent direction for him to be quiet and let hongjoong do the talking. he is your owner after all; a sentiment that fills you with a strange mixture of sadness and annoyance. you were perfectly fine in your old home. you didn’t have to be ‘rescued’ from them and you certainly didn’t have to be rehomed here.

“i know what i like,” you spit as you push the plate away from you, not even blinking an eye as gravy spills over the edge onto the mural painted upon the top of the wooden table. you’d found out on your first day here that yunho had painted it for hongjoong upon his one-year anniversary of being adopted; you hope you won’t be around here long enough to even think about doing something so utterly pathetic.

honestly, as yunho growls and lays his fluffed up ears flat against his skull, you can’t imagine him doing something so pathetic. all you see now is a highly trained attack dog, nothing like the precious puppy that hongjoong makes him out to be. you almost cower in your seat as he glares at you, but you’ve faced far worse than being pinned by an overgrown akita—you have the scars to prove it too.

“please, hyung,” he begs, voice far too soft to be coming from such a dangerous looking individual. “please let me put her in her place,” his eyes flicker down your form as another growl makes it way up his throat, “pups like her need structure; they need to know their position in the hierarchy.”

hongjoong hums, clearly contemplating it. obviously they’ve had this discussion about you before and whilst the thought of them talking about you behind your back makes you more than a little moody, you can’t help but feel like this has some deeper implications. does it mean that they’re planning on keeping you around? if they want to establish your place in this made-up hierarchy they seem to have, then surely they’re not planning on getting rid of you any time soon. your tail flicks in annoyance at that revelation.

“are you sure, yunho?” the hybrid nods and hongjoong resigns all too quickly for him to not have already been considering it. “fine; we can try it your way.”

and just like that, yunho’s expression transforms. the snarl on his lips changes from one of annoyancs to one of authority. you feel like a disobedient pup getting put in its place by an overbearing adult; one that doesn’t know the meaning of the word mercy. you suck in a shaky breath, the anxiety of facing the unknown becoming far too apparent. you’re the only one at this table who has no idea what’s going to come, and that frightens you to no end.

yunho stands up and stalks his way around the table. it takes an annoyingly short amount of steps for him to reach you, and once he does he wastes no time in grabbing your jaw with one huge hand. it tugs at your face until your neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle and your gaze is on his face. his pupils flicker over your expression, searching for any signs of discomfort or fear. you’re anxious, sure. uncertain, absolutely. but scared? not at all. you’ve been through worse and once you’re out of here, you’re almost positive you’ll go through worse again.

he leans down until his face is mere inches from your own. the smirk has fallen, morphed into something far more serious. he inhales, deep and calm and you can’t help but try and mirror it. it never twigs that his intention is exactly that; to soothe you before whatever is yet to come. if you were more aware of what he was doing, perhaps it would’ve made you spiral further. why would he want your defenses lowered?

“puppy,” he says in a tone deep enough to send a shiver down your spine, “i need you to remember that what is going to happen isn’t out of your control; if you don’t like it, you tell us. it shouldn’t be difficult for you. you’re good at telling us exactly what you don’t like, hm?”

“what’s going to happen?” you ask, your voice probably the least defiant it’s been since stepping through the doors of hongjoong’s home.

“you’ll find out sooner or later ,” he says with a soft smile, “now be a good puppy and wait upstairs in hongjoong’s room, alright?”

you furrow your brows. hongjoong’s room? you’ve never been allowed in there before. it was one of the rules that was set in place when you first arrived here. ‘hongjoong’s room is his, your room is yours. stick to your own space unless it’s an emergency.’ you remember it very clearly and it’s one of the ones you’ve tried your hardest to stick to. privacy is something you appreciate and hongjoong respects yours. the least you can do is return the favour.

“i’m not allowed in there,” you state the fact as though it’s law. to you, it practically is, “i’d be breaking the rules.”

“says the little brat who’s been stealing our possessions for her nest since the first day you got here. what, you’ll steal my ratty old sweaters but you won’t go in my room?” hongjoong’s smile is apparent in his voice. he sounds fond, for some reason, as if he hasn’t just—rightfully—accused you of stealing from him. “it’s okay to break the rule this once, sweet thing. i give you my explicit permission, okay?”

yunho gives you a smug smile. it’s a small ‘i told you so,’ even though you hardly think the situation is worth it. it’s not like you were trying to avoid whatever fate awaits you in hongjoong’s room—although maybe a little—you were simply trying to stick to the one rule you actually believe in! in a childish huff, you stick your tongue out. that ought to show him…

“cute,” he chuckles, “now do what you’re told, alright? go upstairs and wait on hongjoong’s bed,” a few seconds tick by as you contemplate whether or not you want to resist him even more. on one hand, you’re still anxiously unaware of what’s to come, but on the other, you’re almost positive things will get worse if you don’t comply. sure, yunho told you that you’re the one in control, but you really don’t feel it. no, this time it’s better to obey than to be a brat.

you push yourself to your feet, slowly enough to allow yunho to straighten up too. there’s a pleased hum fall from his lips as he scans you up and down, honing in on the small details. the way your speckled ears twitch nervously atop your head, the way your fluffy tail tucks itself between your legs, and most importantly, the way you subtly bare your neck in a subconscious show of submission. he knows it’s more of a safety thing than anything; the scars that litter your body tell him that you’ve learned how to stay safe the hard way. it hurts a little, but it’s a start. it shows him that you know you should submit; now he just has to make it so you submit because you want to, not just because you feel it’s necessary.

you side step him, careful not to brush past him accidentally. shaky legs guide you to the stairs, the anxiety of what's to come mixing with the knowledge that you’re being watched, studied, by the two men that are in charge of your fate. it’s safe to say that you’re grateful to finally get your hand on the banister that leads up the stairs. without it, you can almost guarantee that you’d have tripped and fallen.

the seconds tick by as you climb them and make your way towards the room at the end of the corridor. perhaps it’s your nerves that make it seem as though the door is getting endlessly farther and farther away with each step you take closer. it seems so far, almost like you’ll never reach it. step after step and still you’re not there yet. it gives your brain too much time to think, filling itself with ‘what if?’ questions and worse case scenarios.

until, of course, you do reach it, and then everything seems like its come to fruition all too quick. you suck in an anxious breath, placing your hand on the doorknob and counting to five before pushing it open and forcing your feet to carry you to your doom…

but it doesn’t feel like you’ve reached your doom in here; it’s far too cosy for that. in fact, it’s safe to say that you’ve probably never seen a room quite like this one, littered with soft colours and warm blankets, plants hanging from every surface and some even dangling from the ceiling. it’s a far-cry from everything you’ve ever seen before and yet it makes so much sense. hongjoong had been so eager to fill your room with things when you first arrived, none of which you’ve bothered to unpack. you told him you didn’t need them since you were certain you wouldn’t be around for long. the man had insisted upon buying you more and more until the pile of unused blankets and soft furnishings in the corner of your room could be arranged into some sort of seat that you sometimes use as a change of scenery from your bed. you didn’t understand why he wanted your room to have ‘warmth’ but now you see it; you’d be happy to spend an eternity in this room.

in some sort of giddy haze, you stumble to the bed and sit upon it, just like yunho had instructed. that pit at the bottom of your stomach is still very much there, but as your thighs sink into his soft quilt and your fingers spread themselves across the soft cotton, you find that the awe you feel is far more prevalent than your nerves right now. again, if you took the time to think about it, it might have made you panic more. the odd sense of security you feel from this room should have left you utterly terrified, and yet there you sit, a small smile upon your lips as you let the comfort of the room wash over you.

but just as fast as you made yourself at home, it’s all torn away from you. the door clicks open once more and everything positive you'd briefly felt is torn away in seconds. socked feet fall heavily against the wooden floor, followed by a softer step that you can only assume to be the smaller of the two men. your breath shudders as they grow closer, hitching when a large hand once again finds its way to your chin and pulls at it until there’s nowhere to look but yunho.

“you’re a good puppy at heart, aren’t you?” he purrs as he strokes your cheek. in your peripheral you see hongjoong crawl his way onto the bed and up to the headboard. “i know it’s hard when all you’ve known is neglect, but you deserve to have a family. you just need to learn your place.”

the hand slips from your cheek down to your shoulder and with a gentle shove, pushes you back against the mattress. your body is pushed and pulled into position until you’re lay exactly where they want you, head resting on one of hongjoong’s thighs and your legs spread just wide enough for yunho to slip between them on his knees. hongjoong wastes no time in lacing his fingers through your hair, nails catching against the base of your ear. it’s been a long time since anyone has scratched your ears like that and the sensation has your eyes fluttering shut. he chuckles at your satisfaction and while normally that would earn someone a harsh nip to whatever exposed skin you can access, you let it rest for now.

“remember, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he scratches your scalp, “this is all up to you,” yunho’s hands make their way to the waistband of your shorts, fingers dipping just below the hemline. it’s enough to have your breath hitching in your throat, and while you know you can stop this, you don’t. not because you feel like you can’t, but because you don’t want to. not yet, anyway. perhaps curiosity killed the cat, but it’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this.

besides, satisfaction brought it back.

yunho hums in agreement as he begins to tug gently on the fabric, catching your underwear with his fingers as they make their way down past your hips. “if you want me to stop, you tell me,” the air of the room is cold as it hits your exposed pelvis, and it sends a shiver down your spine as yunho lifts your hips to pull them past the swell of your ass. it’s a little uncomfortable when your wetness is uncovered but yunho is quick to remedy that with a swift kiss to your clit. it’s enough to make you moan a little, but it’s gone just as soon as it’s there. half of you is tempted to buck your hips up in a silent request for more, but you figure your safety is more important than your pleasure. you press your hips back down to the bed.

it takes him very little time to completely tug your shorts free from your legs, tossing them somewhere vaguely behind him. they thud as they hit the ground, but he has no interest in seeing where they went; not when your naked lower half is spread out on the bed for him. he tries to ignore the scars on your thighs, simply smoothing his hands over the remnants of your previous life. they don’t matter anymore, anyway. you’ll never have to fight ever again.

he lets his hands travel to the apex of your thighs, your pussy waiting, ready for him to take as his own. he must be doing something right since it’s already practically dripping. all he wants is to lean forwards and taste it, but he hesitates, gaze travelling to your face first.

“can i?” he raises a brow in question.

“can you what?” you respond.

“taste you, puppy,” you eye him up suspiciously, not quite sure why he’s asking you that. he wanted you to submit, didn’t he? so why is he asking for permission to take what he wants from you? “i want to taste you.”

“yes, but—”

“the answer’s yes?” yunho cuts you off, hands massaging your thighs heavily. there’s a sly look on his face, one that tells you you’re in for more than you you bargained for; more than just saying ‘yes’ to a simple question. you swallow thickly as you nod. “good,” he says, “now ask for it like a good puppy.”

you tip your head to the side curiously, your ears flopping as you shift your position on hongjoong’s thigh. there’s a chuckle from the otherwise quiet man, and with a quick flick of his wrist, your ear is back where it’s supposed to be.

“ask?” he nods.

“like a good puppy,” you feel a shiver run down your spine as his hand brushes against the length of your tail, not stopping until it reaches the base. he tugs upon it gently a couple of times. it’s annoying and anyone else wouldn’t have gotten away with it. you’re not exactly in a position to fight, though, so you let him tease you in the most childish of ways hoping that when all this is over you find an opportunity to tug on his tail instead. “like hongjoong always tells you; don’t tell,” he tugs, “don’t take,” he tugs again, “ask. politely.”

you grit your teeth, “can you?”

“can i what?” he leans in close, breath fluttering against your wet folds as he spurs you on. he’s so close to giving you what you want; a single buck of your hips would brush your aching clit up against his nose. you could get what you want if you really tried hard enough, but somehow you know it won’t end well for you.

“can you eat my pussy?” your words come out defeated and sad, and you have the expression to match. hongjoong coos from behind your head, fingers moving swiftly against your scalp to try and help you feel better about your surrender to yunho. it doesn’t quite work as well as when the hybrid lays his tongue flat against your slit and obscenely slurps up your juices.

“now you’re getting the hang of it, puppy,” hongjoong says, voice sweet and caring like it always is, “all you ever have to do is ask.”

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, violence, angst

A/N: I have very little knowledge of the NYC subway system, or the NYC landscape, really (I've only been there once). Just use your imagination lol it's fiction!

Chapter Nine

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You sat perched on a couch in the living room while Joel tended to the body in the kitchen, but only after he confirmed you were alone. You felt numb, like there was an aching hole in your chest about to destroy you. Staring at the ground with your jaw slack, you rocked back and forth with your knees pressed to your chest, reliving the murder you just committed. His blood was warm and sticky over your face and chest as you drove the heavy statue into his skull repeatedly, brain matter spattering out on the floor. You remembered slipping in the blood when you had to shift your weight and get better leverage. You remembered the helpless moans and gurgles the man made in the beginning, before the fourth or fifth strike put an end to him. But you had kept going, kept crushing his face until he was unrecognizable. You had no idea you could do something so savage, so brutally unhinged, and you were terrified. The only other time you could recall feeling that type of rage was in Joel’s office a week ago. But even then, you were just mad. This was different. This was violent and sick. You felt your stomach churn and you glanced around frantically under the light of a lantern to find a receptacle. You spotted a garbage can under a desk at the side of the room, and you made it just in time, kneeling on the floor and heaving into the basket.

Hearing the noises from the kitchen, Joel reappeared in the living room, quickly wiping his hands of blood before you saw. Once you had stopped and leaned back, Joel took a few tentative steps forward. “You alright?” he asked, fully aware how ridiculous the question was, but he didn’t know what else to say.

All you could do was shake your head, then you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the next wave of tears. Joel picked up your canteen from the side of the couch and brought it over. You took a small sip before screwing the lid back on. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I’m going to jail,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What am I going to do, Joel?”

He shook his head, sitting down on the floor next to you. “You ain’t goin’ to jail. I don’t think that’s the world we live in anymore.” He finally got a good look at you for the first time. You were covered in blood, your clothes were ruined, your face only clean where your tears washed away the carnage. He stood up and headed back to the pantry, which now was home to two dead bodies shoved against the far wall under a sheet. He reached down to the packs of unopened water bottles and grabbed as many as he could carry. Joel stood up and was about to exit when he remembered the gun. He put the water bottles on the kitchen island and dug the gun out from under the groceries on the floor. He opened the chamber and confirmed it was fully loaded before tucking it into the back of his pants.

He returned to you with the bottles of water in his arms. "Why don't you go wash up and change your clothes? I got some water here, and I'll get you some towels, then you should really try to get some sleep."

You didn't feel like moving, but Joel was right. Smelling the coppery blood and feeling how tight it made your skin as it dried was a sensory nightmare. You stood up wordlessly and headed back towards his bedroom, while Joel followed behind you with the water. You walked into the bathroom and stood in the middle of the huge room you once envied, but now you were struggling to feel anything at all. Joel brought the lanterns in for you and opened the shower door, setting the water bottles down on a bench. He turned around and opened the linen closet, pulling out a few towels, wash cloths and a basin. He set all the supplies on the counter and faced you, still standing and staring.

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you need help, or...?" He trailed off, unsure what to do for you. He just hoped getting clean and some sleep will help.

You shook your head, but before he left you asked quietly, "Can you bring my pack in here? My clothes-"

"Right, 'course, yeah, hold on," he hurried out to the bedroom and brought your pack to you. "Holler if you need anythin'." And he shut the door behind him.

You sighed, dragging your weakened form over to the basin, grabbing it along with the washcloths and putting them alongside the water in the walk-in shower. You peeled your shirt off, soaked in so much blood that it made a wet noise as it lifted from your skin. You weren't sure where to put your clothes, so you balled them up and put them in one of the two sinks. You stepped into the shower and filled the basin with a few bottles of water, deciding to dip your hair in first to scrub the dried blood out. You reached up and grabbed Joel's shampoo that smelled clean and fresh, like oranges. The scent lifted your spirits a small fraction until you moved one of the lanterns over to the basin of dirty water and saw just how red it was. You felt your stomach roll again, but this time you held it together and moved the light away, dumping the water down the drain and refilled it to rinse your hair.

You completed this process as you made your way down, scrubbing your face and ears until you felt raw, then your arms, chest and hands. Your lower half wasn't in bad shape, but your fingernails were the worst part. You did your best, but there was still a little bit of blood stuck under them when you had finished.

You wrapped your hair up in one of the big towels Joel gave you and wrapped the other around your body. You stood there for a few moments, staring at yourself in the mirror under the light of the lanterns, feeling numb and tired. You didn't think you would be able to sleep earlier, but it turned out your body was exhausted. You felt weak as you picked some clothes out of your pack and pulled them on, quickly drying your hair and hanging the towels up before opening the bathroom door.

Joel was waiting at attention on the other side of the door the entire time you cleaned up, in case you needed something. He stood when you opened the door, pleased to see you had scrubbed all the blood off and looked more like yourself, but when his eyes met yours, he didn't see the light in them anymore. His chest tightened, hating himself for putting you through this. You stood before him, unsure of yourself, glancing around the room.

"Let's sleep in the living room, would that make you feel better?" he asked you. You nodded, and he grabbed the pillows and blankets off the bed before heading down the hall back to the couches. He made a makeshift bed on a couch for each of you, and you eagerly buried yourself under the blanket, your eyelids getting heavy. Before you fell asleep, you remembered your clothes in the bathroom.

"Joel?" you whispered, your voice crackling from disuse. He immediately sat up from the couch across from you.

"What d'you need?" he asked.

"My clothes, they're in your sink, I wasn't sure what to do with them."

"Oh, right, I'll get rid of 'em, you go to sleep I'll be right back."

You didn't have to be told twice, sliding your eyes shut as a restless sleep overtook you. Joel got a trash bag and a few more bottles of water from the pantry. He got to work bagging up the empty bottles of water and your bloodied clothes, then did his best to wash the shower and sink of any remaining blood so you didn't have to see it in the morning. When he returned, after throwing the bag of garbage in the pantry with the dead bodies, you were fast asleep.

He laid on his couch, berating himself over and over for letting this happen. Had he not been so goddamn distracted with thoughts of fucking you, he would have heard the intruders and maybe got the jump on them before you even woke up. Or maybe his distracted thoughts keeping him awake was what saved you both. He would never know, but what he did know was you were put in that position because he wasn't careful. He should have been quieter, he should have grabbed the gun, he should have expected a second intruder. When he inspected the apartment after he calmed you down, he saw they had jimmied open the lock on his door. He had no idea how they did it so quietly. Maybe had he gone right to bed, he wouldn't have heard anything, and you would both be dead.

He rubbed his hands up and down his face roughly, agitated, feeling helpless and riddled with guilt. These feelings for you had to stop. Tonight was a close call, and he wasn't going to risk anything happening again. His sole focus had to be just on your safety and survival going forward.

He shut his eyes, desperately trying to get a few hours of sleep before another long day tomorrow.

Both of you woke up a little later than you had intended, but given the events from last night, Joel figured you both could have used the sleep. You still weren't saying much, but your face looked like it had a little bit more color to it, and he hoped that meant you were coming around. Joel grabbed another armful of water bottles from the pantry, the smell of the bodies beginning to fester in the closed room, and used them to refill your canteens and wash up once more before your long journey. He unpacked the clothes he had stolen from your neighbors and repacked clothes that he picked out of his closet, in the process also grabbing a few smaller t-shirts that didn't quite fit him anymore to offer to you, since you had to get rid of one of your own. When he walked back into his living room, he saw you leaning over and examining some framed photos on a sofa table against the wall, running your finger over the frames and faces in the photos.

Joel cleared his throat to announce his presence, and you jumped back guiltily, spinning around to face him.

"Those are all old pictures, like I said before, I'm terrible at changing 'em out," Joel said, trying to draw you out more. You gave him a weak smile.

"You and Tommy looked so young in some of these."

He smiled, pleased that you were warming up a bit, and walked over to look at the pictures. He frowned slightly when he saw the same picture from the rodeo that he had hanging in his office, completely forgetting he still had it out. But you pointed to an older portrait instead.

"Are these your parents?"

Joel nodded and picked the picture up to look at it more closely. It was his parents on their wedding day. The picture was faded but he could still see the warmth and happiness in their eyes.

"They passed some years ago," he said, placing the picture down gently, "heart attack and lung cancer. Within a year of each other," Joel said softly.

You hummed apologetically, your eyes glancing over the rest of the frames before landing on the one at the rodeo. You opened your mouth to ask but remembered what Colleen had mentioned about an ex-fiancée, so you stopped yourself, but Joel saw where your gaze landed. He picked up the picture and looked at it wistfully.

"That was a fun night, rodeo up in Dallas. Tommy got so drunk we had to keep him from goin' down in the ring and jumpin' on one of those bulls himself," Joel chuckled.

You smiled, and still avoided bringing up the third person in the picture, but he answered the question for you anyway.

"That's Amy," he began, smile faded from his face, "we, uh, we were engaged. Didn't work out. Caught her cheatin' on me." He placed the picture back on the table.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you whispered, genuinely apologetic for feeling like he had to share that with you. He shook his head and turned back to the kitchen.

"Let me get you somethin' to eat before we head out, I'll bring out different things to pick from," he said.

Joel headed towards the kitchen, not realizing you were on his heels. He did his best to clean up the blood from the night before, but it was dark, and his resources were limited. There were still some stains in the grout of the tile and on the oak cabinet. You balked when you entered the room, somehow momentarily forgetting you killed a person less than 12 hours ago.

"I'm sorry, I did the best I could. Go back in the living room, I'll bring you somethin' to eat." Joel said, turning you away by the shoulders and giving you a gentle push in the opposite direction.

"Don't be sorry, Joel. You saved us last night," you said over your shoulder.

He paused, not sure how to approach the topic with you for the first time, worried he would upset you further.

"No, you saved us, and you shouldn't've had to do that," he said firmly.

You turned back around to face him, this time unphased by the blood stains he had tried to hide, looked him right in the eye.

"Us or them, remember?"

The two of you stared at each other for a minute, something shifting. There was a mutual understanding before, but now it had been solidified with your actions. It was one thing to say the words, but another to follow through. You had both killed somebody yesterday in order to save the other.

You each ate handfuls of trail mix, peanut butter crackers, and dry cereal before Joel restocked your packs with whatever food could fit, making sure to jam in a couple cans of Beefaroni in his own pack. Before hitting the road, he went to the spare closet where he kept his gun safe. You hadn't noticed it in the dark when you arrived the night before. He unlocked the safe, and pulled out a rifle, a shotgun, and a small handgun, the latter of which he handed to you. You offered to hold one of the long guns as well, not wanting Joel to be burdened, and he reluctantly agreed, handing you the rifle. When he leaned forward into the safe you saw he already had a revolver tucked into the back of his pants. You almost asked him about it but figured it out on your own: the men you killed must have been armed.

"I didn't realize you were a hunter," you said, shouldering the rifle on your back.

"I'm not. Well, not really. Some of the clients Tommy signed tended to be more the "outdoorsy" type, so we would take 'em on hunting trips or shoot skeet," Joel explained, pulling the shotgun over his shoulder before adding, "Didn't bother me much, I'd rather shoot than play golf."

Joel didn't have much ammo, but he packed whatever he had into both of your packs, which were now filled to the brim. Grateful he was able to trade out his borrowed sneakers for his own boots, he laced them up as you slid your hiking boots back on and headed out towards the stairwell on your journey.

The pair of you made your way back down into the subway without any issue, feeling a bit more confident now that you were armed. You stopped for just a few minutes to check in with Josie and Peter's group. They were happy to see you had made it. Neither of you mentioned the events that took place the night before, both eager to put it behind you.

It took you a few hours to walk all the way to the end of the subway, as far as it would take you this time so that when you emerged, you wouldn't be on the streets for too long. You didn't speak much, and Joel was becoming a little worried, but he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do to fix it. He just kept trying to pull you out of your thoughts, asking you a question here or there, but your replies were quiet and short.

You decided to take a break before emerging from the tunnel and sat to eat on the last platform. You kept your eyes glued to the grimy subway tile floor as you munched slowly on a protein bar and some dried fruit. Joel sat next to you watching your unwavering gaze and mechanical movements while you ate, and he couldn't take it anymore. He dusted his hands on the side of his pants and sighed, getting your attention briefly before you returned to your food.

"I think we should talk about it," Joel said, and you paused your chewing, considering a response before ultimately deciding to ignore him.

"Listen," he sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat this for you. Once we get out there, it's only gonna get worse. I can't promise somethin' like that won't happen again, but I'll do my best to keep you safe and get you to your parents."

You weren't sure why that angered you so much. It was probably all the pent-up emotions from the past several hours that boiled over, but you didn't care, so you shot your eyes up to glare at him.

"You think I don't know it's going to be worse, Joel? I'm not stupid," you snapped, furrowing your brow. "It doesn't mean I'm going to be okay with killing people."

"And you think I'm feelin' good about it?" he shouted, making you jump. "This ain't exactly what I had in mind a week ago."

He stood, his jaw clenched and his hands combing roughly through his hair as he paced around the platform. You stood up now, too. You realized the anger coursing through you had replaced the sadness, and in an effort to keep it at bay, chose to keep spurring Joel on.

"Don't put words in my mouth, that's not what I said!" you yelled back at him, finally feeling a spark breaking through the numbness inside, like ice being cracked. "No one appointed you to be my guardian, I can take care of myself. You think I don't know you're just helping me because you feel bad? I don't need your fucking pity, Joel, I can do this myself!"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your hands began to shake, but most importantly the numbness inside was breaking up. Your face felt hot with anger, and you trained your gaze onto his when he whipped around to glare at you as you continued to shout.

"You have no obligation to me; we hardly even know each other!" Your breathing was picking up and you watched him flinch at your words, then his eyes flashed with fury, and he scowled at you.

"Oh, I think we know each other a little better than that," he shot back heatedly, nostrils flared. You gasped in shock, glaring at him, trying to come up with a good response to his vague reference to your kiss a week ago. You didn't think he would ever bring it up again.

He looked at you smugly now, crossing his arms over his chest. He was still pissed, but he was pleased to see you were at a loss for words. He was about to put an end to the argument and suggest you get moving when you charged right up to him and gave him a hard shove against his shoulders, making him stumble backwards.

"What the fuck?!" Joel uttered in surprise, swinging his arms out to his sides to regain his balance. You ignored him and shoved him again, this time only causing him to stumble back a little bit. He was about to reach out and grab your arms to stop you when it dawned on him. You needed this. You needed to yell and scream and push. He could see in your eyes that you were less distant, even though they were still filled with anger, you were looking more like yourself again. So, when you leaned forward to shove him a third time, he let you, standing strong and tall with his arms resting at his sides as you shoved him again and again. He would stumble back a little each time, but he kept his gaze pinned on your eyes, watching how they would soften and clear with each push to his chest.

You finally grew tired of shoving him, so you stood there, trying to catch your breath. You could feel your body again, the numbness that overtook your body last night finally was floating away, like taking your anger out on Joel was what made it crack and melt, like thick ice over a pond on the first warm day of sprng. You tilted your head back and sighed, wondering why Joel was the only person who managed to bring out this side of you. Last week in his office, you told him off without shedding a tear. That was so unlike you, you had never acted like that before. Then last night you had killed somebody to save him, and not just killed him but savagely and relentlessly bashed his skull in. And now today, he figured out how to draw you out and heal you. He was safe, he made you feel safe.

You brought your head forward to look at him, seeing the heat and intensity behind his eyes. He didn’t look mad anymore, but he regarded you questioningly, desperately trying to see underneath the veil, imploring you to take what you needed from him so you would be yourself again.

You felt this inexplicable surge of warmth and desire, your gaze darkened, and you licked your lips. You didn't know why, but you felt like he would do anything for you at that moment, so long as it made you forget the horrors you went through. You took one step forward hesitantly, keeping your eyes locked on his, and you reached out to run your hand up and down his arm, feeling his muscles jump under your gentle touch. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you murmured, taking another small step forward. “I didn’t mean any of that, I’m sorry.”

He gulped and let his gaze flick down to your hand rubbing his arm. When you stepped forward, he saw the look in your eyes, and his breath hitched. What were you doing? He shook his head and stepped back.

"It’s alright. We should get a move on, we gotta find somewhere safe for the night," he said, clearing his throat.

“Why don’t we just stay here?” you asked.

It was an innocent enough question, but the way you said it and the way you were looking at him said otherwise. He was struggling to keep up with your mood swings. "We got a lotta ground to cover, and there’s still daylight left, we shouldn’t waste it.”

He told himself his feelings for you were done, and he meant it. He had to focus, he had to keep you both safe. You clearly were still processing all your emotions and he couldn’t trust anything you were implying. So, he stepped away from your touch and headed for the stairs that led up to the street. You halfheartedly followed behind him, feeling more like yourself again, but also feeling something different, like this world was beginning to change you. You weren’t sure if it was for better or worse, but you knew you had at least come around to adapting to your environment. You killed somebody to save Joel’s life. You rose to the occasion, and you did what you had to do, and you didn't hesitate. You no longer felt like you were useless, and as fucked up as that sounded, it made you feel good.

You spent the rest of the afternoon trapsing through fields and forests on the outskirts of the city, trying to stay out of sight and quiet, taking very few breaks. Joel wanted to cover as much ground as possible and get far away from the city. You were still reeling from your argument, or whatever it was, in the subway. You weren’t sure what would have happened if he had leaned into your advances, but as more time passed, you knew it was for the best that he rebuffed you. You couldn’t remember if you were about to get your period, or maybe this was a normal reaction to murdering someone, but your emotions were all over the place. The longer you walked, the more at peace you felt with what happened. Joel was right – things were not going to get better, you had to toughen up, or else.

The sun was getting low, and Joel still hadn’t found a good place to set up camp. You kept walking as the evening turned to dusk, your eyes squinting in the small forest when Joel let out a frustrated groan. You looked up at him curiously.

“This is a good spot, there’s a stream nearby and it’s quiet but there’s not enough coverage. I don’t like how thin these trees are,” he explained, motioning to the young, skinny oak trees surrounding you. You sighed and sat down against one of the trees to take a break, opening your canteen as Joel remained standing and looking around as he considered building up some fallen tree limbs into a makeshift shelter.

You tipped your head back to drink, and that’s when you saw it: a treehouse, at least 40 feet above the ground, right above you. You stopped drinking and stood quickly to grab Joel’s arm, pointing up towards the top of the tree. He chuckled when he saw it, a smile spilling across his face.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” he said, turning to look at you happily.

You smiled at him, then looked back up at the treehouse above you. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough for the two of you and it had a roof. It was better than the alternative.

You went around the other side of the trunk where the ladder had been nailed into the wood and climbed up. Once you got to the top, Joel did a full sweep of the area surrounding you, confirming that no infected or people were nearby. He could see the stream from about 20 yards away. He couldn’t contain his smile again; this was perfect.

The contactor in him reviewed the construction of the treehouse to make sure that it would be sturdy enough to sustain two adults. He walked around to each corner, hunched over because the roof was maybe 5 feet from the floor, and gave the walls a firm shake to test their strength. There were three small windows sawed into each wall, the door being on the last wall, which meant Joel had a full view of your surroundings. The windows and door did not have any coverings, so it would be cold, but the waterproof sleeping bags you had should be able to keep you warm. He turned back to you, satisfied you'd be safe for the night.

"I think this used to be a hunting stand, then some kids turned it into a treehouse. See how the wood looks older in this part, and some of the roof is made from different material?" he said, pointing around to the spots in the shelter. "They added the walls themselves, matches the rest of the wood on the floor," he mused out loud. You had stopped rolling out your bag to listen to him and found it kind of amusing he was discussing construction with you after the last few days you've had, as if the world wasn't ending and it was just another day.

"Do you think we'll be safe here?" you asked, sliding your boots off and setting them next to your bed. Joel unrolled his bag on the other side of the treehouse, the side closest to the door. Without looking up at you, he nodded.

"As safe as we can get, yeah."

You couldn't shake the guilt for the way you treated him earlier. What you said was exactly right: he had no obligation to you, but he stayed by your side anyway, and saved you a handful of times. You had already apologized, but the way you went about it didn't come across as sincere. You had nearly thrown yourself at him, completely confusing you both, so you wanted to try again.

"Hey, listen, about earlier," you began, making him pause from rooting around in his pack, but still didn't look up at you. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean it. Any of it. I think I was still in shock; I don't know what came over me." You took a moment to let your words settle before continuing. "I'm really grateful for everything you're doing, I would already be dead if it wasn't for you." You held your breath, hoping you came across as genuine as you felt.

Joel tried to hide his disappointment. It was hard to hear you didn't mean any of it. He knew you didn't mean what you said, but he couldn't help but wish you had meant the way you looked at him in the subway, with a heat behind your gaze he never expected to see again after the way he treated you. But maybe that was what he needed to hear so it would help put a stop to the overwhelming feelings he was struggling to contain on his own.

He brought his gaze up to finally meet yours, trying to hide the sadness as he gave you a warm smile.

"I know, you don't got to apologize, it's alright," he said quietly.

You looked at his face closely. You didn't fully believe it, you could tell something still bothered him, but you chose to let it go.

After you had settled in for the night, each of you tucked into your sleeping bags, you whispered out into the darkness.

"Us or them, right?"

You thought maybe he had already fallen asleep since you were met with silence, until you heard his voice, thick with emotion, reply.

"Us or them."

Chapter Ten

Taglist: @chiogarza

[misstrashchan]

So... Please tell me I'm not the only who has Thoughts. About Hayward's plan to recruit Shrue and specifically Carpenter's involvement in it because. Adjudicator Shrue has been working to legalise the Trawler-Man's people and was working with Mason and the current Katabasions. Before that they were trying to eradicate them, being the one to hire and send out Mercer and Gage with their own platoon of soldiers.

Which brings us to Faulkner and his murder of Mason and Thurrocks, his opposition to the Katabasions plans to legalise them and let the Withermark and their people be used as a weapon of war, and the story he spins pinning the murders on Carpenter, painting her as a traitor who was working with the legal authorities (aka Shrue) and undermining them:

FAULKNER:

I could never have imagined that the Legislatures could have won her over to their cause.

It was Sister Carpenter who alerted the government’s forces to the location of the Paraclete’s Gulch. 

(With a weary finality)

But they had, and of course her return was no coincidence at all.

It was Sister Carpenter who attempted to undermine our defences from within.

And after their attack failed, thanks to the combined strength of our disciples…it was Sister Carpenter who waited for a moment when the entire Gulch was gathered below in joyful celebration, and she assassinated Katabasian Mason and poor Sister Thurrocks.

(3x01 Something Dreadful Shall Arise)

And we know how strongly Carpenter feels about the idea that she would ever work with the government legislatures against the people who were once her family, how angry she is that Faulkner has written a story that has made that lie true:

CARPENTER:

You think I’d ever make peace with the people who did it? You think I’d work with them against my own family? 

Against my brother, my parents, my grandmother?

You think I wouldn’t have put a bullet in my own skull already if I had that weight pulling me down?

And I think it's important to point out that Carpenter has no idea why Faulkner killed Mason and Thurrocks. She doesn't know anything about Mason and the other Katabasisons plans to legalise their god by proving themselves useful as a tool in the war. But we do know that in the past, when the idea of legalising the Trawler-Man was brought up before in S1 by Paige as a more peaceful way forward, she loathed the idea as much as Faulkner:

PAIGE:

But this is what's absurd, isn't it? We're talking about ancient history. Laws from 50 years back, long dead legislatures.

They're accepting new faiths back into the canon all the time now. You just need to get your god's name on a petition and-

CARPENTER:

Listen to her, Faulkner. "Our god's name, on a petition". Well. Why shouldn't we be reasonable about all this? Now that the Peninsula is ready to hear our case?

Why shouldn't we go through the proper channels? Why shouldn't they be allowed to get away with it?

FAULKNER:

Carpenter, let's keep this quiet...

CARPENTER:

My parents were dragged in shackles to the Saints hydroelectric dam, a year after I was born. They were dragged there, they were sentenced, and they were tossed off the side into the churning waters.

And the last words that they ever heard were that they were to be devoured by something that they did not understand. Because the dam was new, and on unconsecrated, and because a god must feed, and because these false faith renegades from deep in the fens made for the easiest sacrifices.

I will not hear that the world is a better place than it was because there is process. I won't and I can't.

(1x12 And To Fight Is Just to Choke)

And now Carpenter is with Hayward, and are headed towards Adjudicator Shrue to try and work with them so they can help the Woundtree seem more sympathetic and have someone who can better tell their story, as it were.

Carpenter is still being hunted by Faulkner's schism, only being given a break by being in a no man's land, only now she won't be, as she's heading into Glottage.

CARPENTER:

(Staring out of the window)

If we stayed on this road heading south, we’d make it down to Marcel’s Crossing by nightfall.

Another day’s driving, and we’d be at the Paraclete’s Gulch.

(3x06 The Wise Man Knows the Taste of Rot)

So the next time Faulkner hears about Carpenter, it's going to be about how gosh, you were right all along Katabasion Faulkner, that devious Carpenter is working with the same government official who tried to eradicate us and who is now trying to legalize us to use as a tool in their war! (that's not even mentioning she'll be seen with Hayward as well, who as far as Faulkner is aware is the cop who was hunting them down back in S1) And Faulkner is just gonna be like

Wondering if he told his lie about Carpenter working with the legal authorities undermine the Parish of Tide and Flesh so convicingly that he made it into the truth and what's that? IT'S THE FOILING TO VAL AND THE LAST WORD WITH A STEEL CHAIR READY TO BEAT ME SENSELESS-

[vsenyatargaryen]

High Tides ( 1 )

Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Female Reader

You’re the eldest daughter of Corlys and Rhaenys but your return to King's Landing is disrupted by your past.

warnings; mentions smut and murder, swearing, Daemon being himself

“Get up!”

Daemon groaned sleepily when he felt a kick against the sole of his foot again, this time with more force than the first. His stomach churned, having lost count of the amount of wine he’d drunk the night before. Gods, his head was throbbing and his mouth felt like it was full sand.

When he slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light bleeding into the room from the window of the brothel, he was surprised to see you standing there.

Even though you were wearing a cloak and the clothes of a commoner as a disguise while you scowled down at him, it still made his pulse race.

“Oh, he lives,” you mocked.

A sleepy smirk crossed his face. “Hm, I must be dreaming.”

You scoffed, picking up the shirt that was lying on the floor and tossing it at him, “get dressed. We need to talk.”

The prince reluctantly sat up and pulled the nightshirt over his head, mind still a little hazy. If he were less hungover, he would have argued about even needing clothes on, especially around you - given your history together. All those late, long nights spent fucking in the bowels of a pleasure house, or wherever else you could hide out together.

You swore you could sometimes still remember how it felt - to be touched by him, to feel him inside of you, to be seduced and consumed by him. Right now, it feels like only a curse.

“You saw Aethan in the city yesterday,” you stated, trying to jog his memory, but it just made Daemon frown.

He vaguely remembers seeing your teenage son. That was before ending up in a tavern, then the pleasure house.

“It's a big place, ñuha riña [my lady]. I see a lot of people.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You told him how to get out of the keep unnoticed.”

Daemon sighed, running a hand over his face. That he did remember.

The boy was curious and had an eye for adventure. Aethan reminded Daemon of himself at that age. The Red Keep was dull at the best of times, he could hardly blame anyone for wanting to escape being stuck within those walls.

“He was bored,” he reasoned. “We didn’t stay locked inside when we were younger, why should he?”

“You told him you were his father,” you gritted out, glaring at him.

Oh.

“Did I?” Daemon managed to get up on his feet, leaning back against the wall to aid his balance, “As you can tell, I was drunk. I have little recollection.”

“You have an excuse for everything, don’t you?” You spat back, disgusted. You wished there was something, anything, nearby you could throw at his damn head. Preferably a sword you could just run through his skull.

Daemon smirked, a dark humour behind his eyes. “This isn’t just about Aethan. Say what you really want to,” he challenged.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, the memory of the night your Lord husband died still fresh in your mind. You remember that cloaked figure, the blood, the lifeless body he left in his wake. You remember Daemon. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you were just imagining things, you knew, deep down, Daemon had the ways and means to do such a deed.

“I saw you the night my husband died. You killed him.”

Daemon responded with an exaggerated eye roll, “You do not need to act so bereft. He was a useless cunt.”

“You fucking ruined everything!” Your voice rose as you approached him, prodding a finger at his chest, “ I’m without a husband or a home and Aethan now thinks he is your son!”

Daemon grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer until your chest was pressed up against his, abruptly reminding you just who had the upper hand in this situation. Reminding you he wasn’t someone to anger. He had the blood of the dragon. But so did you.

“I may have been drunk when I saw him, but it was the truth. I know he is my son and you kept him from me all these years,” he hissed, his grip harsh as he glared back at you.

In all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen this kind of fire behind his eyes. You were sure it wasn’t just because he’d missed out on the fatherly duties of having Aethan in his life.

“You wonder why I kept him from you all this time? Just look at the example you set for him,” you scoffed, unable to hold yourself back. “Whoring, murdering and drinking your way through Westeros. Skoros kessa ziry inherit hen ao, dārilaros?” [what will he inherit from you, prince?]

With a grunt, Daemon moved his hand to your jaw, gripping you tightly as he seethed, “Nyke could emagon aōha ēngos syt bona.” [I could have your tongue for that]

“Do it,” you managed to grit out just audibly enough.

Daemon bit his lip and loosened his hold on you, giving you just enough leeway to step back from him, glaring daggers.

“Take my tongue if you wish. It will finally give my father a reason to kill you.”

He simply smirked at the threat. “Corlys respects me. We are both second sons and I helped defeat the Triarchy,” he reminded you, making you roll your eyes.

“I’m sure if I proposed the offer of marriage between you and I, he’d be thrilled,” the prince added. “As would Viserys.”

You shook your head with a scoff. “You’re clearly still drunk.”

“Not that drunk.”

“This isn’t one of your twisted games! You cannot just propose on some whim, Daemon,” you snapped.

“You said it yourself, you’re unwed, as am I. You and Aethan need a home. As my son, his place is at Dragonstone with me.”

“His place is with me. I’m done wasting my breath on you.”

You turned to leave, hearing Daemon’s voice call out as you walked out of the door,

“You’ll change your mind, ñuha riña!”

[i-dream-of-libraries]

Boredom was one of Harry's greatest enemies. He was so used to his full days of classes, Quidditch practice, hanging out with friends, and now - DA meetings. Even though Umbridge was gone and they'd all start his 6th year at Hogwarts with some new Defense professor; Harry was less than optimistic at this point about the competence of whomever was hired. DA meetings would likely continue next term. Harry just had to make it til then. The problem though, again - was the boredom. It led to him napping during the day and lying awake most of the night.

His mind was not kind to him at night. It churned nauseatingly between memories of his hand splitting and dripping blood from that damned quill and Sirius falling through the veil. Every now and then he'd also see himself (unsuccessfully) Crucio Bellatrix and berate himself for not being able to properly avenge his godfather. Or would Sirius be ashamed of him for using an Unforgivable curse in his grief? Harry wished he could just sleep until school started and he had some distraction from these pointless and painful night-time thoughts.

It was then that things - rather on brand for his life - got worse. Harry Potter a sibilant voice hissed through his mind. Great. Just fucking great. "Good evening Voldemort. What brings you to my skull tonight? Also; how?" He said aloud. There was a beat of silence where Harry felt a shadow of something like surprise before the voice answered.

I have already been inside you once; it is not very difficult to slip in again as I please. Particularly when you're in such a vulnerable state.

"Oddly sexual explanation, but ok. What can I do for you tonight, nemesis-mine?" He tucked his hands under his head and considered whether he was hallucinating this whole thing. He really did need to look into mind healers.

Your anxious flurry of emotions are and have been disturbing my work. I use these hours when others are asleep to attend to delicate matters undisturbed. Go to sleep. Use a Dreamless Sleep potion if you must.

"Ah, no can do, I'm afraid. I live with my muggle relatives without access to magic of any kind. I guess you'll just have to live with it like I've learned to live with the massive headaches I get whenever you're having a tantrum." His reply was probably a bit too flippant and was going to result in the aforementioned headache, but a vindictive part of him was glad to be causing difficulties for Voldemort. The man caused plenty for him.

- Stress Relief by Possession

[evolutionsvoid]

I know I have said before that oceans get all the clout and legends when it comes to water bodies, with maybe swamps coming in at second place. There are many obvious reasons for that, but I want to remind folk that there can be fascinating and dangerous things lurking in any water body! Lakes were brought up in some previous entries, with mentions of the Glutwort and Berberoka being terrors found within. I mean, it could be said that lakes and ponds are just mini, salt-free oceans, and that the largest of these types can net the same horror stories and tales of mystery as the sea. But what about rivers? Certainly they deserve some mention as well! There are some neat things found in their depths and rapids! However, I feel the most I see on rivers and streams is them blocking paths and sweeping away fools who dare cross unprepared. The river is an obstacle, and less so a place of intrigue and discovery. What incredible legends are told about these water bodies? What tales of adventure and monsters are centered around such a location? None! None at all, and it is an absolute shame! (Bold claim for someone who doesn't read anything besides dusty tomes and research papers. Maybe one day you could stomach the idea of enjoying some different literature.) There is plenty to be found in these serpentine roads of water! Don't think the sea is the only one that has the monsters people crave! I know some folk in a certain region would happily inform you that the river can, indeed, harbor frightening beasts.

Below the white water and churning current, waiting in the dark muddy depths, is a great pale serpent. Its body can reach over three meters long, and its width is like that of a tree trunk. It has two powerful teeth that it uses as deadly weapons, dooming all it sinks them into. Now it may sound like a vicious viper, a truly monstrous water snake! However, this is no reptile! The beast I am describing is the Indus Worm, which is....well, a worm! And one of impressive size! The description I gave to you earlier was no lie, it is truly that big and it is a pale thing that lives in rivers. The two teeth I mentioned, which you probably envisioned as "fangs," are actually much thicker and broader. Like sharpened boards or a hefty beak, these nasty teeth are not known for venom but sheer strength. A single chomp can punch a hole through your body with ease, and bone turns to pathetic shards when met with this force. What a set of chompers! Wonder what they use those for?

In their early years, these hefty teeth are not really used for carnage. Their diet is mainly algae scrapped from rocks, eventually growing big enough to start gnawing on mussels and hard-shelled foods. At a small size, the teeth also serve as tools for carving holes and grooves into stone, which serve as a good place to hide from the current and predators. Though not big at devouring flesh at these stages, they are still capable of a nasty bite when threatened. Fishermen who haul one up from an accidental snag are sure to keep their fingers clear of their snapping jaws, lest they lose them. When the Indus Worm becomes an adult, that is when the diet gets more meaty. They are ambush hunters, slithering through the mud and murky water in search of prey. Shellfish are still on the menu, and help keep the belly full til something nice and big comes by for a drink. When a large animal stalks close to the water's edge, the Indus attacks. It bursts from the water and seeks to sink its massive teeth into the flesh of its victim. Unless the prey is quick to react and fast in movement, if the bite lands then it is typically over in an instant. Skulls are crushed, organs are punctured, and an entire limb may go missing if the assault misses its mark. Losing limbs and chunks of meat are the "lucky" option if you are able to move vitals out of range in time. Yes, dodging the bite entirely is preferable, but if you are being ambushed at such close range, you don't really get a say if that happens or not.

When the teeth latch on, prey is either dead or mortally wounded. From there, the Indus Worm drags them back into the river with it, where it may dine. With such powerful jaws, the Indus eats everything it can, gorging quickly before scavengers and unwanted guests show up for a free meal. If you are caught by an Indus Worm, just know that there will be nothing left to bury. Unless in your struggle it happens to lop off an arm and leave that behind at the scene. Due to bodies being reduced to paste in their jaws, some wonder how many disappearances near the river are from being washed away versus being taken by a worm. Honestly sounds like a scary story for the saplings already! Stay away from that river or else the worm will get ya! But in this case, the tale isn't a fictional one that conjures a boogeyman to be a stand-in for real life dangers. Seriously, don't go near the river because there actually is a worm!

Their presence makes these water bodies dangerous to those who live nearby, as any muddy shore could be hiding an Indus. They not only attack people, but are perfectly capable of dragging down camels and cows. So when your livestock or beasts of burden stop by for a drink, you have to be on your toes! You fail to secure the area and you could be losing an animal, or yourself! So to avoid this fate, folk will carry ropes with large hooks on the end, and throw them into the waters they wish to use. The movement may trigger an attack, or the barbs being pulled back to shore may snare a hiding worm. In most cases, the thrower will not have the strength to haul in such a catch, and merely cut the line to let the angered worm go. Its writhing and rage will spoil the hunt and make it leave, while also giving a brief window of safety for this section of water. It certainly isn't a perfect system, but I suppose it is the best they got at the moment. Nets are occasionally used, but that way is pretty costly as they are always torn to ribbons in the struggle. Some advice suggests seeking very shallow and clear waters, as it makes the worm easier to spot.

Now it may seem like people want nothing to do with these giant worms, avoiding them entirely. However, Indus Worms are actually hunted pretty frequently, as they fetch a high price! While the huge teeth may make fine trophies or carving material, what people actually want is their oil. What oil you ask? Well, you see, the Indus Worm is a pretty squishy soft thing, which makes it vulnerable to sharp rocks, toothy predators and parasites. So to protect itself, they possess bulbous glands running alongside their body that secretes an oil that coats their form. This oil easily survives water, is pretty bitter and is thick enough to ward off jagged points and hungry parasites. The coating is great for protection, but there is one detail that really gets people's attention: it is flammable.

Indus oil burns intensely, creating a potent flame that sears through anything caught in it. Due to the oily nature, it clings to people, armor and siege weapons, and is even capable of surviving water! The flames cannot be doused with water, they must be smothered, making them very hard to snuff out during battle or chaotic situations. This makes it a highly prized substance for war, sabotage and arson. Indus Worms are caught, killed and strung up above clay vessels, so that they can catch every drop of oil that falls from their sliced bodies. The demand and difficulty in obtaining this oil makes it very expensive, said to only be affordable for royalty and nobles. This oil also gives the Indus Worm a fatal weakness: stick it with flame and the whole beast will go up like dry tinder! However, this obviously consumes the oil, which renders the whole hunt pointless. With how much hypothetical money goes up in smoke when you burn one of these worms, I think folk may throw you in the river with the dying serpent in anger if you choose this method.

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

[nathanbatemanfucker]

SPRITE: Savior

summary: the one where nikini knowingly saves marc’s life, and marc unknowingly saves hers.

pairing: marc spector x forest nymph!oc (nikini)

contents: 18+/NSFW/MATURE, mental health struggles, suicidal ideation/contemplation

wc: 2.6k

an: posted in honor of my favorite person to smoosh’s birthday <33! tough stuff here in the beginning so make a wise decision on if you want to/should read! this is so so so self indulgent and i’m not sorry.

series masterlist | moonknight masterlist | requests open

There’s the smell of moss and dirt in the air, a hint of salt from the lake. Marc sits dangerously on a cliff, feet dangling off the edge as he stares down into the water.

Contemplating.

It’s so loud today. That voice that sounds like his mother rings in his ears, bouncing off the walls of his skull. Most days he can endure it. Steven can talk it away but today Marc’s shut him out. It’s been a long time since he’s so forcefully taken control, but he’s tired. Life is not worth living even with the truths he and his therapist rehearse and rehearse. Even with Steven by his side, the loneliness he’d endured for so long cut like a knife by his companionship.

Their mother, her voice, and her actions are just so loud. She’s dead– lost to illness and addiction just a year ago. She’s dead and she was wrong and Marc was just a child. But, the memory of her deafens any rational line of thought.

So he sits here under the shining sun, staring into reflective water that churns. It beckons to him. A siren’s call of no more. Of peace. If he would just push off and slip away this could all be over. There would be nothing more to fight for.

His breath grows shaky, and shallow as he continues to contemplate. He can feel himself succumbing to that wretched fog, the one that wants him dead. His mother is in it, her voice floating through the mist but he can’t stop. He wants this with or without her. There is always torment. He’s almost done this once, he could do it again. He leans forward, peering harder at the water, unknowing of the presence behind him.

She watches him, perched high up in the tree that she calls home, its trunk hollow and spacious. He frequents this stretch of forest often, and every time as if something in him calls to her, she’s here waiting for him.

Sadness radiates off of him. It seeps from his pores and oozes into the soft forest floor beneath him that is now crying for help, begging to be set free from such melancholy. She is about to step off the branch to go to him when a hand reaches out, wrapping around her wrist.

“Don’t, Nikini. It’s not safe, you don’t know him,” A voice comes from beside her, and she turns to see her friend Lunette. The redhead looks at her with concern, her brow set in firm disapproval.

“He is gentle. And so very sad, the grass can feel it,” Nikini turns back to look at him, seeing him lean forward to look further over the edge. “He wants to die, I must stop him.”

“He is human and not our responsibility. We care for the forest and all it holds. You of all should…know,” The last word comes in a scared whisper when Nikini glowers at her.

Ignoring Lunette’s upsetting words she says, “And right now it holds him.”

“The elders won’t be happy about this. Neither will Kiko.”

“Kiko is pleased with nothing I do, I don’t know why we were paired together.” When Lunette stays quiet, Nikini raises a brow at her, “Will you tell them?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps they will never know,” Nikini suggests.

“Nikini—“

“I will make sure he is safe and then I’ll join you at the waterhole. Tell no one. Promise?”

“Promise,” Lunette sighs reluctantly before materializing in a flurry of leaves.

Despite her eagerness, she is cautious, knowing that Lunette’s warnings could be true. He could be dangerous. He could know of them and want to hurt them. But this sadness he exudes? There’s no way a sadness this deep could be faked.

She closes her eyes and focuses on him, on his aura, and begins to extend her own to him. Marc feels something strange happening to him immediately. The soft but intense smell of jasmine wraps around him, and he leans back, eyes growing heavy. That demeaning voice in his head is smaller, and his brow knits in confusion.

Is Steven fighting? Is he trying to break into the headspace to stop him?

He shakes his head, taking in several deep breaths as if it will clear his head, unknowing that her power isn’t something he can will away. His eyes return to the deep water, to the task at hand and she frowns.

His will must be stronger than she’d hoped it be. This will take more than simple control, it will take companionship and convincing. She steps off of the branch and into the air, floating down to the ground.

Her steps behind her are undetectable, so delicate in the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t,” She calls out to him.

Marc flinches, letting out a soft shout as he turns around and stands. His stance is defensive, fists raised until his eyes land on her. A woman? His head tilts as he squints at her, fists falling to his sides.

He’s not sure that she is a woman, but something more. He can’t dismiss it, what with Khonshu and his biddings as his avatar. There’s more to this world than he thought, and the sight of her reinforces that for him.

Her hair is short, a stark ashy blonde in comparison to brown skin, and adorned with a crown made of ferns. Her skin is freckled and looks painfully soft under the streams of sunlight— she is wrapped in a white dress that is more akin to a sheet, though it is opaque. She smiles at him, and his eyes zero in on her fangs; they make his heart race. She makes his heart race. She is exquisite. Incomparable.

What is she? Who is she? Something otherworldly for sure.

“Who are you?”

Her throat goes dry when their gazes meet. His eyes are guarded but not unkind. She has seen him time and time again but never this close. She blinks slowly as she tries to take in every detail about him; the furrow of his brow, the slope of his nose, the softness of his lips. There’s the worn sadness on his face— despite it, she finds him captivating.

She clears her throat, chin tilting up, “Nikini.”

“What are you?” He asks, voice full of wonder. His eyes can’t leave her, getting lost in every detail of her.

There are rules. She’s not supposed to discuss anything about herself with humans. She wasn’t supposed to tell him her name. Her gaze falters.

“I— I am…Nikini,” She repeats again cautiously.

His mouth raises in one corner at her answer. He nods, taking a step towards and something warm spreads through his chest when she doesn’t step away. She isn’t afraid of him, isn’t put off by his large stature or furrowed brow despite her small stature.

“I’m Marc. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” He gestures around as if there’s something that had he’d interrupted. But, there’s just them. Them and the forest.

“You come here often.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Protecting you,” She amends. “You should stay away from the edge. It is dangerous.”

He snorts a humorless laugh, “That’s the point.”

“The grass, it says you are very sad.”

“The grass?” Marc asks, confused. He feels like he’s going insane…it doesn’t feel so bad with her standing here in front of him.

She points to where he sat, “The grass, it absorbs the aura around it. Yours is…I’m sorry. For whatever happened, I am sorry.”

Marc swallows, looking down at the grass, clearing his throat, “It’s fine. I have it under control.”

She blinks at him, confused by his words. It’s clear he doesn’t have it under control. “But you were going to…I stopped you. The feeling you felt, it was me.”

“Why? Why would you stop me if you know how much I wanted to—,” He cuts himself off, letting out a sigh of frustration. How he feels so entitled to speak to her this way he doesn’t understand, shame bubbles in his belly. “Why?”

She opens her mouth to answer his question and promptly closes it because she is not sure. She doesn’t understand why she’s so drawn to him. In all her years, she's been curious about humans and the way that they live. But she’s never been fascinated by one. So protective. Everything she’s done since seeing him for the first time has been instinct— as if she had to. That’s what she’ll say.

“Because I had to.”

She had to? Maybe it was part of her life, to save pathetic humans like him in her forest. She looks as if she could be the queen of it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She says with a smile.” “Come back here. Anytime that you feel this way, come back to me. Yes?”

Seeing her again? This feels like a dream, his head filled with sweet fog. Or maybe he’s already dead. Maybe he’d slipped off the cliff and this was his afterlife. Maybe she’s stationed in the field of reeds— but would an unworthy man like him have made it to a place like that? To a…being like her?

“Alright,” He says mildly.

“Now that I have appeared to you, the forest will try to confuse you to protect me and the others. But this will help.”

The others? Marc thinks to himself. There are more of her?

She holds out her hand, and right before his eye, a piece of gold appears in the cup of her palm. Engraved into it a flower he’s unfamiliar with. He looks up at her in disbelief and then back at the charm. Yes, she is certainly not human but he can’t bring himself to be afraid.

“What is it?” He looks at it skeptically.

She takes his hand and places the charm into it, curling his fingers around it, “A talisman. It will guide you to me. That is my symbol, Jasminum, the flower. It’s what you could smell.”

Marc bites back the sigh that raises in his throat when she touches him. Her skin is like cool, soothing water against his warmth. And so incredibly soft.

“Guide me to you?”

“Just listen to it. It will work. I must go, they will come looking for me. But, will you come back?”

“I’ll come back,” He reassures her before he can think better of it. He shouldn’t come back here, he doesn’t know what she is or what she’ll do to him. But he wants to. He yearns to.

The smile on her face makes Marc’s heart flutter. And then she’s gone, disappearing in a gust of white flowers. From the scent of them, he can tell it’s jasmine.

—

Nikini appears just on the edge of the waterhole. She’s late, the elders have already started their talk about the upcoming summer solstice. She slips behind trees and through branches to where Lunette is with her mate— Riffie— and Kiko. She lets out a silent sigh as she comes to stand beside her. Kiko, taller than both Lunette and Riffie looks over them at her with a disapproving look.

All nymphs are assigned a mate, usually a satyr that belongs to a different faction with different responsibilities. There is no love, no practical compatibility, just an elder who claims that each pair is meant to be together. Nikini couldn’t be more sure that this elder has lost their touch or perhaps they never quite had it. Kiko is in the faction of human control and extermination. She and Kiko…well it will be difficult to lead their lives together with such differences— especially now that she has had contact with Marc.

“You’re late,” Kiko whispers, his hooves shifting in the mud.

“There was an injured fawn, I couldn’t just leave her,” She lies easily, looking away from him and to the elders as she tries to listen.

Lunette and Riffie share a look but say nothing, taking a step inward toward each other. They’ve been privy to many of Nikini and Kiko’s disagreements and prepare for the blowout to come after the elders are finished.

It’s the same talk they give every single year. Except this time, pollution has risen to an all-time high, and with the summer solstice, humans will be their most active in these woods.

“Nature is shifting. The warmth and abundance of summer will be upon us soon and so will droves of them who claim to love the earth and destroy it with their best interests. More than ever we must be dedicated to nourishing and protecting our land.”

“Hear that? I was being dedicated,” She quips to Kiko.

Nymphs, fairies, and satyrs alike scatter once the elders are done speaking, off to do their part for the forest and it’s longevity. Nikini decides to walk home, to see if she can’t run into Marc before he is gone but Kiko has other plans.He calls for her, and when she doesn’t stop for him, he follows after her.

He bends so that his mouth is near her ear, able to whisper, “You smell of human.”

“I know not what you speak of,” She says cooly.

“Do not lie, Nikini. For once, please do not lie to me,” He begs, and though his face is set into a frown she can see how tender his eyes are when she looks over at him.

Sometimes, she wonders if she’s too hard on him. There are times when she finds herself considering giving him a real chance at courting her. She knows that her heart could never truly belong to him. Especially not now.

“The fawn, she was a little girl. She was lost, I simply guided her back to her parents,” She lies again.

“Her scent is intense for a little girl,” Kiko suggests.

“Perhaps she has a strong spirit.”

“You know that it’s against the rules to do something like that.”

“She was a child, Kiko.”

“It does not matter. You heard the speech of the elders, and the humans have become more and more careless. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

Yes, sometimes she sees herself giving him a chance, and then words like those leave his mouth.

She glares up at him, pointing her dainty finger into his chest, “We are eventually supposed to raise children together and you do not even hold empathy for them.”

“They are not our children, they’re the children of a species who seek to destroy themselves.”

“And who are we if we don’t try to save younglings regardless of their species?

“Your head is in the clouds, Nikini. One day you will learn that given the chance to save us, they would pillage and use us for all we have. Every single one of them.”

Marc’s existence, his wonder and sadness sit on the tip of her tongue. If Kiko could just see him. Understand him. If they all could, maybe they wouldn’t be so afraid.

“Do not follow me any longer.”

“Please, Nikini, I’m just trying to open your eyes.”

“My eyes are open and sadly they are faced with the sight of you. Let me amend my statement, do not follow me, and do not talk to me.”

Kiko tries to reach for her, to attempt his best try at an apology but it is too late. His hand is met with white flowers, his nose with her telltale scent. He sighs and heads back towards his faction, heart sinking into his stomach.

She didn’t need this to go so poorly to know that Kiko can never know about Marc. But now more than ever she is concerned if he ever does return. Though it causes her heartache and goes against her want to see him again, that night she lays in a soft pile of moss and prays to the gods that he never returns.

moonknight taglist: @angelfxllcm, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @whatthefishh, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @minigirl87, @campingwiththecharmings, @juneknight, @pastelbabygirl19 (and @inklore bc this a woods au)

[chaotic-on-main]

Hey! May I request a Drabble of some Levi fluff? Whatever you want, just something that’s comforting :)

I am SO SORRY this took me 25 days to get to l;askjdf I promise I was trying but nothing was coming to me. THAT IS until I heard Yuck by Charli XCX and I got so inspired and ended up getting this done in an hour. This turned out a little differently than what I initially had in mind but I think it turned out okay. I might do another part to it with what I initially had in mind, lol. pls no one @ me for writing yet another modern au a;lskdf

Curveball | ModernAU Drabble

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ teeth rotting fluff I guess??, meet-cute, coffeeshopAU

☾ Word Count ➼ 631

When you and Levi had initially started dating, he went into it knowing he had no idea what he was doing. He had spent a lot of his formative years and then some scoffing at relationships because he had better things to worry about, or so he thought. You came into his life at the worst time possible, but that was just like you. Unpredictable, unorganized, and messy.

Both of you had been regulars at this one coffee shop in the center of town for a while now. He felt your glances from over your books that seemed to change with every visit. Levi also noticed early on how you were always there when he was, but was that a coincidence? He didn’t know. Your mutual visits continued for a while, neither of you saying anything to each other besides the quick nod of acknowledgment that you started throwing his way a month into them.

Then one day, Levi glanced up from his work laptop only to realize quickly you weren’t there. He didn’t know when or why it started, but he felt a pang of worry churn in his chest from your absence. Did he get the day wrong? Were you okay? These questions festered in his thoughts as he got up to refill his cup only to bump into you on the way to the counter.

"Can we talk?" That voice of yours coming out of your soft lips made his stomach ache with butterflies. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him and the way it made him feel dumbfounded.

"Sure" He mutters back, sitting back down as you take the opposite seat.

It felt like bees were buzzing in his skull the whole time you talked. You rambled on about something that had happened on your way here. Levi was convinced this was your way of procrastinating on what you really wanted to talk about. It was annoying, but you were so endearing about it.

"I don't really have all day..." Levi trails off, making sure to do his best to drop his usual cold tone. There's a long pause.

Your face was as flushed as could be, but you swallow your anxiety before blurting out, “Will you go on a date with me?” You probably didn’t mean to, but it came out loud and reverberated off the next to empty café walls.

Levi spent his whole life learning to expect the unexpected. But this was one curveball he was not prepared to be hit with. Silence ensued as you both stared at each other for a moment.

Levi was so caught up in trying to piece together what you had just asked him that he didn’t notice fast enough that you had launched yourself out of the chair and through the main door with a slam. His brain couldn’t process why, but he was already shoving everything on the table into his work bag then throwing himself into the fresh air and bright afternoon sun.

Levi would have missed you had you been faster, but fortunately for him, you weren’t. He was able to clock your figure disappearing around the corner. He didn’t have to go far because as he rounded the same corner, he ran straight into you. It seemed you had stopped to catch your breath and assumed Levi wouldn’t have chased after you. The first of many things that he would prove wrong to you.

He grips onto your arms to keep you both steady before letting go quickly. Your eyes are as big as saucers as you realize who it was. Levi would be lying if he said they weren’t the most gorgeous color he’d ever seen.

“Yes.” Just a simple yes. And it was music to your ears.

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[dandelions-could-never]

Brother dear

———

You are there

In every vignette memory I can recall,

If it takes place in that house you are there,

Laughing just around the hedge,

Building Lego on burlap floors in honey-thick light,

Wrestling in the dark,

Proudly displaying your miniatures to me,

Bursting though my bedroom door to ask my advice on some esoteric problem,

Sat, spine twisted in one of those awful grey block chairs as I cruelly remind you that I’m not the only one trying to escape,

I don’t remember your face when you tell me that running away is something that only happens in films,

But I do remember the quiet terror in your voice as you imagined loosing me.

By the time I have the worst night of my life you have disappeared from that red brick hell of a home,

And I bid your bedroom goodbye before running farther than I ever have before.

I recall that night I told you what happened with the adrenaline clear memory of a disaster,

No blurry vignette here,

You couldn’t breathe and I’m sorry she pushed me away when I tried to help.

I’m not sure I’m sorry I told you though.

That secret churned in my gut like too much beer on an empty stomach,

And I couldn’t live without you knowing any longer,

Because although you are no longer a few steps away in the other side of a wall that may as well be paper for all it obscures sound,

You are in the earth of me,

You are the worm-rich dirt from which flowers grow,

Confidently dripping pen-ink pollen onto the white pages of their petals, and you are there in the soil that I grew from,

The echoes of your laugh reverberating in my skull when I lay down to rest,

I didn’t know you for the longest time,

Spent years believing you hated me for no good reason I can recall,

But I’m learning you now,

Like the words on this page,

I am learning what loving you means again,

In a more complex way than Lego at midnight or games of adventures and kings,

It was simpler,

In that vignette past,

But messy things are often more interesting,

They give you time to work though the tangles and knots,

To straighten out mistakes

And re-coil ropes (and relationships) sans problems.

You are there in my memory,

And you are there when I need you,

You are the halyard in my rigging,

And the soil of my roots,

You are the apple-sweet memory of my childhood,

And the salt stinging my cheeks as I watched the car pull away,

You are my brother.

And everything I’ve written on this petal-white page is wrapped up in that word,

Seven letters not enough to hold the enormity of your existence,

But that is all I have to describe you,

My brother.

[tropes-and-tales]

Rescue Me

Characters:  Benny “Borracho” Magalon and F!Reader

WC:  5576

Other Pieces:  The third part to this and this.

CW:  Angst; idiots in love; reconciliation; smut (PiV, unprotected).  18+ only.

Benny wakes up in a strange bed.  It’s not his bed, not his spartan bedroom in his spartan apartment.  He wakes up to strange sheets, a strange dark room with strange smells, and it’s like breaking the surface of water—of swimming up from the depths of sleep to wake and come to his senses.

It’s not a strange room at all.  It’s your room.

He feels like he’s been hit by a train.  Every bit of him aches, and some parts—his knees, his lower back, an elbow—hurt more, like he fell at some point last night.  Nothing hurts more than his head.  It feels like his brain has been scooped out and replaced by broken glass that jangles and scrapes against his skull when he sits up.

But it’s your bedroom.  The more he wakes up, the more he recognizes:  the soft, satiny sheets, the ghostly scent of your lotion that you rub into your skin before you go to bed.  The same gentle alarm clock that lights up slowly, softly.  The pile of pillows, the ones you tuck under your head and between your knees and the ones you cling to when you sleep.

You’re not there, though.  It’s just him.

The night comes back to him in pieces.  He drank so much.  He smoked so much.  The night…the moment with the hired girl…he had thought she was you, realized too late…

How did he get here?

He only has pieces.  Someone putting him in a car, probably Z.  Him thrusting his phone up at the driver, showing an address.  Your address.

He can’t remember much more.  There’s only flashes, sensations.  Your face twisted into a tight mask of concern.  The cool tile of your bathroom floor.  A sick taste in his mouth, your hands on the back of his neck, tilting his head forward.  Then later, your hands again helping him into your bed, turning him onto his side.

He sits up and winces against the headache thundering behind his eyes.  His stomach churns, but he can’t tell if it’s the hangover or the shame of crashing your evening after having sex with one of Nick’s hired girls—

“Fuck,” he mutters softly, and then he stands up and sighs.  He can hear movement beyond the bedroom door, and he goes to take his punishment.

-----

There’s no real punishment to be had.  You’re not one to yell.

You’re standing in your kitchen with a mug of coffee, and Benny’s stomach turns to see how tired you look, how wan.  He glances at your couch and sees the pillow and blanket, and he knows you had an uncomfortable night because of him.

You hand him an empty mug and move so that he can pour his own coffee.  He takes a sip, tests his stomach.  He’s queasy but he thinks he’ll be fine.  And anyway, you always make the best coffee:  just the right amount of strength to it.  One of many things he’s missed about you.

He clears his throat.  “I’m sorry about last night,” he says, and it comes out a rough croak.  

You shake your head, once.  “This can’t happen again, Benny.”

“I know.  I…I didn’t mean to come here.  I—”

Another shake of the head, cutting him off.  “No, you can’t get that wrecked again.”  You fix him with a gaze, and he can see how bloodshot your eyes are.  You look exhausted…and sad.  

“I thought you were going to die,” you continue.  “I kept thinking I should call for an ambulance.  You weren’t making any sense.  You were all over the place.”

He hangs his head.  He stares into the dark oil slick of his coffee and says nothing.

“I haven’t seen you in almost a year, and you turn up here so drunk that I spend the night checking on you.  I put you on your side, because I was afraid you might throw up in your sleep and I…”  You trail off and he glances at you.  You’re biting your lip, gnawing at the softness there until it’s ragged and chapped.

“I was scared,” you finish in a whisper, and he can hear now how close you are to crying.  The slight wavering in your voice.

Now he feels like throwing up.  He hates that he has done this to you, especially hours after fucking a stranger and pretending she was you.  He hates that he scared you, hates that he lied to you all those times before.  Hates that he caused you so much pain.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and you exhale, shaky.  He sees it—the single tear that courses down the side of your nose, and he hates that he’s standing in front of you but still so far away that he can’t reach out and brush that tear away, can’t pull you against him and let you cry.

He’s had his low moments, but this is the lowest that Benny Magalon has ever been.

-----

He wallows in that low moment for days.  For a week.

But then you call him.  You don’t text—you call.

Of course he answers.  He answers as fast as he can, fumbles with the face of his phone, his hands suddenly slick with sweat—

“I thought maybe we could talk,” you tell him, and you sound uncertain.  “Maybe we could get a coffee and talk?”

Of course he says yes.  

-----

It doesn’t go the way he thought it might.

You get there before he does, because of course you do.  You are always fifteen minutes early to places, and you secure a tucked-away table in the café where the two of you can talk with some privacy.  

You’re already sitting with a coffee when he comes in, and he catches sight of you first:  he knows he looks like reheated shit, but you don’t look like yourself either.  You look a little deflated, like the past eight months have taken some of the shine off of you, and Benny feels that constant feeling of shame flare up bright in him.

You see him and offer him a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and he nods at you.  Points at the counter, indicates he’s going to order first.  You nod back and wait for him.

Benny is rarely flustered, but he has to take a beat by the counter before he gets his coffee and joins you.

-----

It doesn’t go how he thought.

It’s awkward at first.  He’s never been good at small talk, and you’re only marginally better.  Half the reason he fell for you, the first time he met you:  how the two of you skipped the boring bullshit and immediately fell into a deep conversation where the hours bled away like minutes.

But you don’t let the awkwardness linger for too long.  You hit some internal marker of courage, square up your shoulders a little, then look him in the eye.

“You talked a lot, when you came over the other night,” you tell him.  “A lot of it was just gibberish, but you said some things…”  You trail off, and Benny’s heart sinks at what he may have said.

“I thought about it a lot, and I wanted to apologize,” you continue.  “The way we…I left things, it wasn’t fair.  To you.  So I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, vehement.  “No, sweetheart—”

“I just walked out without discussion,” you interrupt.  “There was no closure, not for either of us.”

His heart sinks at the word “closure.”  Some tiny part of him, some stupidly optimistic part of him, hoped this coffee date was an opening into reconciling with you.  But closure…

“I’m sorry, Benny.”  You look him square in the eye, and he can see the regret there, plain as day.  “I shouldn’t have just walked out on you like that.  You didn’t deserve it.”

He shakes his head again.  “I hurt you.  I don’t blame you for walking out.  I would have done the same.”

It makes the corners of your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.  “Liar,” you say, a hint of teasing in your voice, and you don’t even realize what you’re calling him—how you’re laying the cardinal sin of your breakup right out in the open.  Benny, the liar.  Benny, the man who lied to you and broke your heart.

“You wouldn’t have just walked out,” you continue.  “You’re too patient for that.  You would have sat and had the conversation.”

“We can have the conversation now.”

The faint smile drops from your lips, and you nod, serious.  You take a sip of your coffee, and then you start.  You talk and Benny listens, and it makes him feel better and makes him feel worse.

He never had any specifics on your exes, only the broad strokes.  You only ever said two of them—the two most serious ones—had cheated, and you hadn’t offered more up and he had never pressed.  He only ever had the sense that you were in deep pain about it, that you were insecure, and that’s how the whole web of lies started—with the best of intentions that quickly spiraled out of control.

You tell him the specifics now.  The first ex, your first everything.  How he cheated and lied and gaslit you into thinking it wasn’t happening when he came home smelling like another woman’s perfume, when his phone pinged at all hours of the night and how he tilted the screen away from you when he texted his replies.

How extricating your life from his got so ugly that you had to call the police (LAPD—at least it was the sheriff’s department) and got brushed off and dismissed by the officers.

The second ex, the one right before him:  so serious that there had been a ring on your finger, that there had been the beginning plans around a wedding.  Benny is startled to hear it, and you drop your gaze to the table when you tell him.  

“You weren’t the only one who didn’t volunteer the truth,” you say sadly.  “Looking back, I should have never dated you.  I was just out of that relationship when I met you, and I liked you so much, but I wasn’t ready.  I should have gotten a therapist, not a new boyfriend.”

“I liked you too,” he replies, just as sadly.  “I would have waited until you were ready.”

You lift your gaze and smile at him, sardonic.  “Honestly, Benny?  You wouldn’t have waited.”

“I would have.”

The look on your face says you don’t believe him, and he guesses that you know he hooked up with someone that night.  That he came stumbling to your place after he had his dick in another woman, her lipstick still smeared at the corner of his mouth and at the hinge of his stubbled jaw.  

You take another sip of your coffee, and there’s a long moment of silence, so he takes it as he cue to say his piece.  He explains the slippery-slope of promising himself that he’d tell you the truth…then chickening out, being a cowardly shit.  The truth always seemed more promising for tomorrow, never today, and how it spiraled out of control so quickly he didn’t know what to do.

And he explains that fucking voicemail, the misdial that made you think he had hooked up with one of the girls.  You have no reason to believe him, but he finds you nodding as he talks.

“I know,” you tell him when he finishes.  “You…told me as much the other night.  And you…well, you told me about your hookup, that night.  You were so upset, even though we were broken up, so I guess…”  You shrug, give a sad laugh.  “I guess if you were that upset having sex with someone when we were broken up…”  You don’t finish, but he catches your meaning.

And he feels a flood of relief, that you believe him.  Underneath the shame of confessing his hookup with a hired girl, there’s relief.

-----

But the coffee meetup remains about closure, not new beginnings, and Benny’s relief is short-lived.  As the two of you finish your coffees and go to leave, the message is clear:  this was to offer closure for the two of you.  Nothing more.

Outside the café, you hesitate, take a stuttering half-step towards him and then pause, but he is more decisive.  He bridges the distance and holds his arms out, an invitation, and you step into them.  Benny folds you into a gentle hug, and it hits him then that this is the last time he’ll get to hold you like this.

He thinks he’s hiding it, but you seem to sense the quiet desperation that floods him.  You shift, from the polite hug around his shoulders, barely touching, to wrapping your arms around him properly.  You strain onto your toes enough to hug him tight, the side of your face pressed against his.  Benny shifts too; he wraps his arms around your back, lays one palm between your shoulder blades to hold you steady against him—

If he weren’t so closed off, he’d cry.  If he weren’t so good at burying this shit deep, he’d well up with tears and fucking beg you for that second chance.

Even if he would, he’s already too late:  you’re already pulling away, gently untangling yourself from him, telling him in your soft, sad way to take care of himself.

All he can do is nod and tell you the same.

-----

He tries to move on.

He’s got a shitty track record.  One failed marriage behind him (high school sweethearts, married way too young), he’s drifted ever since.  Hook-ups and short-term things until you came along, and for once, he could sort of envision a future beyond his spartan, lonely life.

His brother sets him up with a coworker, and it’s a bad idea from the start because Benny’s mother gets her hopes up, thinks her middle son is finally going to settle down and make a family for himself.

It’s that family pressure—subtle as a fucking heart attack—that makes him stretch the entire relationship out for longer than he should.  It’s a bad match:  there’s a lot of passive-aggressive fighting, and she has a very strict timeline for life’s milestones.

When they pass the five-month mark, Benny feels like he’s running a fucking marathon, exhausted and winded and cramping badly, so he mercifully ends it and feels nothing but relief to give her back her stuff and delete her number.

When he deletes her number, he has to scroll past yours.  He’s never deleted yours.  He doesn’t have the heart to.

-----

He’s never deleted your number, which is a problem.

Your birthday falls on a Tuesday this year, and Benny has nothing going on that night.  Just another night at home after a grueling day at work, and over his dinner of take-out, he remembers why the date tugs at his memory.

Is it creepy to reach out?  Is it intrusive?  You’ve probably moved on, and even if you haven’t you probably don’t want to get a text from your ex when you’re out celebrating.

He’s done so well at leaving you alone.  It couldn’t hurt to reach out, right?

Happy birthday, he types out, and his finger pauses over the send button.  He lets the message sit unsent while he goes to the kitchen, grabs another beer.  Halfway through it, he adds Ben thinking about you, then hits send before his courage fails him.

Then he catches the typo.  “Fuck,” he groans.  

But you’ve already read it, and you’re already responding.

Thanks, you text back.  

And then, Me thinking about Ben.

It’s been so long but he can picture the teasing smile of your face when you typed it out.  He’s a terrible texter.  The keyboard is too small.

Such a dumb exchange, and yet he falls asleep that night with the dead ember of hope coaxed back to fragile life.

-----

It’s a foot in the door, because on his birthday only a month later, you text him too.  You wish him a happy birthday too.

-----

Then a few weeks after, he wraps up a terrible case:  one that makes sleep evade him, one that gets into his head and lays him low.

He sends you a text.  Just finished a tough case, he types.

A few minutes before you reply:  Quit your job.

An inside joke from when you dated:  he’d tell you a little about the difficult cases, sketch out the broad strokes, and you’d shrug and tell him to quit.  When he’d reply that he had no other way to earn a living, you’d spin out an entire alternate reality fantasy life for the two of you:  him as a kept man while you earned for the household or him in ludicrous second careers.  Benny Magalon as a baker or a professional golfer or one of the artists who sketched along the pier in Venice Beach.

Just small moments between you, usually him with his head in your lap as you fussed with his hair.  Small moments where he showed you a little of the darkness he dealt with every day, and how you diffused it for him.

I gotta earn a living, he types back.

Ben Magalon, lipstick test subject, you reply, and he gets honest-to-god butterflies, that lightly queasy feeling in his stomach at the memory.  That you remember it too.

Pays more to test lip stain, he replies, and you reply to that with a smiley face.

-----

There’s not a great big moment that brings you back together.  He doesn’t know any details about your life now, and you can’t know any about his.  You have these moments where you text two or three lines to each other every few weeks, but that’s the extent of it.

Until the next hotel party.  Until Benny sits there, half-buzzed but nowhere near where he was in his lowest moment.

Until that same hired girl saunters in behind Nick, and half-buzzed, Benny cannot fathom how he thought she was you.  She has the same skin tone, the same hair color and that’s it.  Her smile is artifice, plastered on for the money Nick pays.  There’s no ease to it, not natural blossoming across the face like yours.

He sets down his half-empty bottle of beer, and he heaves himself off of the couch to go get a water.  To sober up.  

And he slips out of the room onto the balcony, and the cool air helps clear his head too.

He pulls out his phone and looks at the conversation with you, across months, back and forth.  

It’s never gotten any easier.  Even after the talk where you apologized to him and accepted his apology to you, where you ostensibly each got closure.  Even after months and months and him dating another woman for a while, he’s never stopped missing you.  

He takes a long drink of water and feels bit of his buzz slough off of him.  He calls you.

And you answer.

“Hey, Ben,” you say, and you sound happy to hear from him.  He’s only buzzed, not drunk, and he swears he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hey.”  He glances through the glass door into the hotel room, sees the party in full swing now that the girls have arrived.  “What are you up to?”

He can hear noise in the background of the call, but you answer, “just watching T.V.”

“What’s up?” you ask when silence stretches over the line.  “Everything okay?”

He watches the party proceed without him.  Nick finds his girl for the night, takes her hand and leads her into one of the bedrooms.  The guys, on cue, clap and wolf-whistle, as if they haven’t seen the same sorry sight a hundred fucking times:  Big Nick, the asshole with a sweet wife at home who gave him two sweet daughters.  Big Nick the cheater, the manipulator, the broken dude who holds his detectives as his captive audience to his shitty behavior.

“Can I come over?” Ben asks.

-----

It’s not a great big moment that brings you back together.  It’s not a near-death experience or one of you seeing the other out on a date or any big realization.

It is only this:  Benny leaving the hotel party early, the dredges of that guilty night stirred up.  All those bad feelings.  He still misses you, and he’s tired of missing you.

He has no way of knowing it, but you miss him too.  You’re tired of missing him too.

So it’s not some grand moment, in the end.  It’s the toe-in-the-door of that coffee date, those handful of friendly texts, and months of each of you being absolutely miserable without the other person.  

It’s you answering your door to him, and the two of you misreading the other’s intention:  you go to step past him to deadbolt your door once you let him in, he thinks you’re stepping in for a hug, and you gently collide with each other.  

“Sorry,” you each say, speaking over the other, but he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close, and you sigh as you hug him back, as if you’re exhausted and finally can rest.

-----

It’s not a great big moment that brings you back together in bed either.  That night, the two of you sleep together, but there’s no sex.  The moment is too fragile, too new and fraught and easily ruined.

And you are both exhausted.  When he holds you near your front door, you start to cry, but it’s weak and thin—more the crying of someone with a bone-deep fatigue who is too tired to really put much energy behind the tears.

Benny feels the same.

So he takes you to your bedroom, and he kicks off his shoes, and he curls up in bed with you.  

It’d be a cliché if he slept well that first night back with you.  Truthfully, he doesn’t sleep at all:  he spends the entire night with his arms around you, listening to your deep breathing.  Terrified that he’ll mess it up again.

-----

Things progress slowly.  You have to get to know each other again.

A lot of things are the same.  You still like your quiet Friday nights in, but you do more on non-Friday nights.  You took the opportunity to try new things when you and Benny were broken up, so you have more commitments:  rec league softball on Thursday nights, a pub trivia team on Wednesdays.

He tries not to be jealous.  He hates the implication that he loved you before because you were slightly introverted and were almost always home, waiting for him.  

-----

He tries not to be jealous when the two of you finally try to have sex again, but it turns into an argument, and Benny realizes the fallout from your first time around together hasn’t settled.

It starts as a nice date night:  he takes you out to a nice dinner, and you get tipsy on margaritas, and he feels the delicious tension of possibility when you take his hand in yours and lead him into your bedroom, when you push him backwards until he falls onto the bed.

This is new, you being pushy.  He finds he likes it.  Just like you’ve found some hidden-away extroversion, you seem to have found some nascent dominance.  

But when he reaches into your nightstand, there’s a different box of condoms there—a brand he has never used before…and the box is half empty, and he must pause or make a face because you still and then peer at him.

“You can’t be mad about that,” you say, and you seem stone sober now.  You cross your arms and watch him.

“’m not.”

“We were broken up.  For months.”

He breathes out through his nose.  “I said I’m not.”  

But it’s a lie, or halfway a lie because he is jealous and he’s mad, and he’s even more mad because he has no right to be.  You were broken up for so long, but Benny thought maybe you were pining for him the whole time, had pictured you worn down and weeping, not crawling into bed with some random dude or worse, several random dudes, or maybe they weren’t random at all, maybe it was the guy on your softball team who sits too close to you in the dugout, or maybe it was the guy on your trivia team who high-fives you like a fucking toddler every time you get a question right…

“Because you seem mad, Ben.”  You uncross your arms and gesture at him; he’s moved to the side of the bed and crossed his own arms, his jaw flexing as he clenches it.

“Were they better than me?” he asks, the mean question slipping out so easily that he winces the second it does.

“About as good as any of the women you fucked,” you spit back at him.  “Hired or not.”

“Yeah?  Great.”  He uncrosses his arms, grabs his phone from the nightstand and leaves.  

He makes it to his truck before he pauses, takes a breath.  Before he takes a minute to just wait and not act.  He breathes it out, drops his head.  He feels the shame again, layered with more now because he tried to shame you for doing exactly what he did.  Hell, he actually dated another woman while you were broken up, played around at imagining some future with her, and here he is getting on your case about…what?  Four or five hookups based on the number of condoms missing from the box in your nightstand?

“Shit.”  He breathes it out, then turns to go back to your apartment, but you’re already outside, walking towards him.

“I’m sorry,” he says as you reach him, stand in front of him.

You shake your head.  “I’m sorry too.  It was a low blow.”  There’s a long moment as you peer into his eyes, trying to read him.  “Do you still want this, Ben?”

“I do.”  He pauses, then asks, “do you?”

“Yes, I do.  I still want this.  I still want you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.  “I’m an asshole.  I shouldn’t get jealous—”

“It wasn’t anyone you’ve met,” you interrupt.  “So don’t start getting all scary-eyed staring at people when we go out.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a near-smile.  “Got it.”

You reach out, lay your palm on his chest.  You toy with the button right at his throat, and add, a little shyly, “you know, if you’re jealous, there’s a better way to work through it.”

“What’s that?”

You lean into him, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against him.  “You can take me back to my bedroom and fuck me senseless.  Make me forget about that other guy.”

He feels the jolt of desire, low in his belly.  “That so?”

“Mmm-hmm.  Because the other guy, he was pretty good after all and—hey!”

He cuts you off by getting under you enough to throw you over his shoulder, and you squeal as he does just as you’ve asked—he carries you back to your apartment, back to your bedroom, and he swats your ass, once for good measure, before he tosses you onto the bed.

And yes, he’s still jealous.  The jealousy burns in him, but every time he starts to picture what this other guy looked like, how he may have fucked you, Benny snarls and pushes through it.  Focuses on fucking you senseless.

Maybe if the fight hadn’t just happened between you, your first time back together would have been soft, gentle.  Maybe you would have stripped each other tenderly, fell back into the familiarity of each other.  But the jealousy unlocks some feral side of him, and you respond to it in kind:  pushier, more forceful then you’ve ever been before.

He fucking loves it.

It’s all the frustration, the lingering hurt—worked out in the battlefield of your bed.  An exorcism of remaining pain from your time apart and the issues that caused it.

He kisses you hard, hard enough to bruise your lips, maybe, but then you bite down on his lower lip, harder than a playful nip, almost hard enough to draw blood.  He growls, fists your hair in his hand, steers your head back until he can look in your eyes.  The pupils are so lust-blown that your eyes glitter black, and then you’re tearing yourself out of his grip and kissing him again.  Just as hard.  Just as needy.  Your tongue pushes into his mouth and he pushes his own back, tangles with yours until you’re both breathless and panting.

He paws at your dress, pushes it up over your hips until you shove him aside and handle it yourself.  Then he’s tugging at your bra, your panties until they are balled up and tossed to the side of the room, and you attack him with the same desperate ardor, tugging against his shirt so hard that two of the buttons go flying like shrapnel, undoing his belt so fast that your fingernail scratches his belly, just at his waistline.

And maybe if the fight hadn’t just happened between you, he would have slotted himself between your spread thighs, dismantling you with his lips and tongue and fingers until you close your legs around his head like you used to do, legs trembling, body arching off of the bed as you come.  Because he wants to taste you; he has every intention of feasting on your pussy, but as he pushes you back against the bed, you grab his arm and pull him off balance until he’s part of the way down too, and his thigh brushes against your core, and he feels how hot you are, how slick and swollen you are, and every single planned thought goes right out of his head as he spreads your legs wider, grips himself at the root of his cock, then pushes himself into you in one smooth, firm motion.

And the way you mewl when he does, when he buries the hot length of himself inside you, the way you breathe out his name and gaze up at him, stunned, eyes glittering black from the wide pupils, lips parted and kiss-swollen, he wonders how he ever thought Nick’s hired girl could be you, because this is you, right here, underneath him and surrounding him, rescuing him from the worst period of his life, moving past all the hurt, your hand soft against the back of his head as you pull him down for a kiss, finally gentled by the feeling of having him inside you again, and it’s your lips against his, murmuring his name, saying “please, Ben, please” and he wonders if you pretended that other guy was him the way he pretended the hired girl was you and the jealousy flares up again so he fucks you senseless, as you asked him to, fucks you deep, fucks you into the mattress.  

He gets a hand under your ass, tilts you up towards him until he’s fucking down into you, the crown of his cock nudging against the end of you, and he knows the other guy never got this deep, that he’s touching parts inside you that no one else has or ever will, if he can help it, if he can keep from fucking this up again, and he tells you so, pants out in time to his thrusts that you’re his, you belong to him, and he’s yours, that he’ll only ever be yours, and some Neanderthal part of him grunts out too that he’s gonna claim you, gonna fill you up, and that’s when he realizes he never put on a condom yet he’s so far gone he can’t even care.

And you don’t seem to either.  He feels how you clench against his words, how your breathing quickens.  You wind your fingers in his hair and tug, hard, and then pull him back to you.

“Do it,” you hiss.  “Come inside me.”

And then you kiss him, as brutal and stinging as before, but you also wrap your legs around him, hold him tight to you, and it pushes him right there to the edge.

“Shit, are you—”

“I’ll get Plan B.  ‘morrow.”

“You sure?”

“Come inside me, Ben.  Mark me.  Make me yours.”

He’s already there, right at the edge, but he manages to reach down between the two of you, manages to get the pad of his thumb against your clit.  Manages to roll a sloppy circle against it before you cry out, then bear down on him hard.

He has no idea how he thought Nick’s hired girl was you, because this is you too:  no drawn-out, bad porn actress moaning or panting…just the choked off cry, muffled against his shoulder.  Just your voice, weak and trembling like the rest of you, as you cry out his name.

He’s already there, and your orgasm is the shove he needs.  He comes a beat later, buries himself deep.  Does as you asked, does as the jealous caveman part of him wanted:  he comes inside you.  He marks you as his.

[bluemoondust]

Hey...here's some WIPs from a while ago. I actually want to finish them because god damn I still remember the direction I wanted to go for each one.

There will be a poll at the end of this!

WIP #1: Yuuya Kizami (Corpse Party)

Note: This was a knife play piece because...it fits him.

You've known Kizami since your last year of middle school, so you can confidently say that he is displaying some odd behavior. It started off small; points of isolation, irritation, slight bursts of impulsive behavior, and it goes on. He certainly was acting out of the ordinary when you and other fellow classmates were trapped in Heavenly Host. Especially in terms of reacting to said classmates meeting their demise. You understood the indifference towards Kai, but Kurosaki? It unnerved you.

The two of you had managed to figure out a way to escape the school, with the aid of other students from a different school. You are immensely grateful to them for their help and give them your condolences for their lost friends.

Now that you think about it, Kizami was unusually quiet at that point and only spoke here and there when they were around. When the two of you were alone, he spoke more; albeit in short sentences. You figured the atmosphere of the school was getting to him. That was the explanation you gave yourself for the general behavior he had been displaying. You were determined to make sure the two of you don't lose your sanity.

Now that the two of you returned, it seemed like you were out of place in the world. Felt... Crazy. No one remembered any of your dead classmates. It felt like a cruel prank the world was playing on you. How could they forget? They were real! All of them! You're sure you've made these friends over the years. Now you're not sure... No. Everything that happened did happen.

It worried your parents that you were in such a mental spiral convincing them these people existed. Though, you gave up after some time. The only person you could turn to now was Kizami. He's the only one left who's faced such horrors and someone you could truly speak to about everything. You have no idea where the other students who escaped are, but you planned to search up the school they went to.

Despite having the same experiences, talking to your friend now made you tense. It wasn't the same anymore; like you were complete strangers again. His presence didn't bring any form of comfort. It just felt like you were back at that accursed place again. But how could you think that? It didn't make any sense and it only made you more fearful. Especially when he started to talk about them again.

Kizami asked how you felt about each one of them. You thought maybe this was a form of coping, but soon the conversation took a sinister turn. He asked how you reacted when you discovered their corpses. Your stomach churned as he further questioned you.

"Yamamoto was slashed on her back, you know? She probably was still alive until she eventually bled out. You saw her face, right? It was like she was frozen in time."

"Two of them got pummeled on the head by the man with the hammer. Must have been instant. Wonder if their skulls caved in..."

"Kai... Those damn kids stabbed him. What a shame..." There was no remorse in his tone.

"It seems like Kurosaki fell from one of the floors. Must have tripped and one of those kids found him. His insides... Ripped out of his body and splattered—"

"Stop it Kizami."

His head slowly turned to you. There was a brief pause between the two of you as tension filled the air. He only chuckled, "Am I scaring you?"

WIP #2: Sebastian (Stardew Valley)

Note: This was a somnophilia piece and I know Sebastian hasn't made an appearance, but this had become a slow burn sort of piece while I was writing it.

The window was open again. 

You sighed, turning over on your bed as the cool breeze from the fall air seeped into the house. It was no wonder your skin felt cold when you woke up. Maybe you were just tired, but panic didn't settle within your being when the sight of the open window greeted you this morning. 

The first time it happened, you tried to find a way to install better locks on the windows, especially since they did not come with them. To which unnerved you greatly. Much to your frustration, there weren't any window locks available in Stardew Valley, but you do remember seeing some in Zuzu City. It was only a matter of ordering some online. As life preferred to torment you further, it was a while until the locks would arrive which meant more time spent sleeping with one eye open. 

Maybe it was the paranoia of someone actually breaking into your home, despite nothing being stolen, but— no, that was actually just it. The knowledge of someone doing this keeps you up at night, leaving you sluggish in the morning and delaying your progress on the farm. It probably wasn't anyone at all. You couldn't see any of the townsfolk ever wanting to break into your home. There was no way. So your best bet was simply some creature. 

The days seemed to drag on... Even if only four days have passed by. Or was it five? Your perception of time must be leaving due to the lack of sleep. Naps here and there weren't cutting it. 

"So, I was thinking maybe for the next song— (y/n)? You listening?" 

Sam jolted you from nodding off, and your breathing slightly picked up as your gaze reached him. He had his head tilted slightly while he waited for your response. "Um, yeah... What was the question again?" 

Your friend frowned softly. "Man, you look worse than me after doing double my shift at Joja Mart." You lightly nudged him. "I'm serious! Are you getting enough sleep?" 

Something between a sigh and a groan escapes you. You closed your eyes to relax them, a hand reached up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "It's just been... Exhausting. The last few days." His hand landed on your shoulder. 

"You know you can stay with one of us until the window locks come in, right?" Sam gives a warm smile. "I'm sure Abigail or Sebastian wouldn't mind. You shouldn't push yourself too hard." 

You waved him off but didn't push his hand away, "It's fine. I don't want to burden your parents or anything. Just nerves." Your hand settled onto his to offer reassurance. You knew Sam can be stubborn in these types of situations, especially when it came to your well-being. I mean, that's what you get when you have a golden retriever as a friend, right? He meant well and he'd just come up with something to get you to accept the offer. 

His eyes moved with his thoughts, as scattered as they were, "Alright, how about this: you come to the salon with us on Friday. You haven't really hung out with us for a while so why don't you just, ya know, kick back?" 

That... Sounded nice. 

Despite your hesitation to accept the invitation, you knew deep down there was no way you could possibly refuse Sam. Especially with his puppy dog eyes ready in case you had second thoughts. He knew damn well you wouldn't be able to resist the cheeky little shit. It was better to just let things be. Besides, having fun and easing down your stress was tempting.

WIP #3: Pantalone (Genshin Impact)

Note: This was from a prompt and I accidentally made it longer than I initially wanted to...and it's not even done—

The prompt was: ♡Cherry♡: "I want you all to myself. Every inch of you...I crave you so much that it hurts."

You were starting to wonder if taking on your family’s debt was for the best. It was not because they were a burden on you, but now it was questioning as to how they even ended up like this in the first place. Maybe it was bad luck to be in debt with the Fatui of all people, but…you just couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. That something more sinister was behind all this. There was nothing so far to prove it, but you told yourself to be cautious.

Your parents seemed tense when you asked them what had happened. It was as if they were walking on eggshells when the topic was brought up, but you managed to get some information out. Some trouble had arisen…gambling and you already put together the situation with just that. You couldn’t lie that you were slightly disappointed as you firmly spoke to your family that this would be the only time you would assist them.

Meeting with the man who had this power over them was peculiar, to say the least. It was like he knew you were coming before you even approached him. Your parents might have informed him that someone else would be handling the debt. His words came out like silk as he spoke of the situation as if it would help ease the fact that your parents could potentially be facing losing so much. You couldn’t help but wonder if he found this all amusing as he spoke lightly with no sense of worry. Of course, a man of his status is free from such concerns with how much he makes.

You wondered why your parents did not wish to accompany you to see this man. Well…no matter. You just wanted to get this over with and never see him again.

What caught your attention was the price. That was…far more than what your family owed and you would know it. Everyone listed off everything as you listened carefully. There was no way any of you made a mistake. Unless someone lied or Pantalone himself was the liar.

“Sir, I’m afraid you might be mistaken. This is not the amount my family owes you.” You did your best to keep your voice from wavering as you spoke. 

Pantalone raises an eyebrow before chuckling in response. He shook his head, “Oh no, that is not the case at all. Such a small detail would never pass by my eyes. This is exactly what they owe. Is there something wrong with that?”

Something felt wrong with the way he presented his question. Hell, nothing felt right about this whole ordeal. 

“I understand that it must be shocking to hear such a price. Your family has been avoiding the inevitable and yet they send their precious child to fix their mistake.” His voice remained the same tone since the beginning, but there was something else that came with it. “Aren’t you quite the savior.”

You ignored his statement and asked, “Is it out of the question to ask if it would be acceptable to pay for half and the other another time? I…do not think I can afford all that.” You weren’t poor, but you were not rich either. Managing money was simple when it was only for your necessities and living conditions. However, to pay off this debt immediately would mean sacrificing a good chunk of mora that could get you by for months. 

Pantalone gave a heavy sigh, disappointment laced upon his features. "I'm afraid you can't do that, my dear. Unfortunately, your parents have been reminded countless times of this debt and yet it just kept piling up as the days went by. I simply can't cut any corners at this point."

You either have the money now or you don't. That's what he's basically telling you. 

[writersvaguelybrickshapedrock]

My Real Body

CW: mild gore, body horror, body dysphoria, concerning medical practices

After years of training, fighting, living and bonding with the giant suit of mechanical armor designed to guard humanity at last the threat is defeated. In a final battle that destroyed the enemy so too was the mech that I had been in for so long. Every cell of my body ached, not only from pain created by the neural link that connected me to my mechanical body, but also from being human again. No longer was I suspended in the oxygenated fluid with wires plugged into every limb and artery. No longer did I wear the headpiece that joined us. And no longer was I myself.

I was in the mech for so long it had become the only place I felt I could truly live for long. I slept in it, lived in it, depended on it in almost every way. Even when I took breaks outside of it to eat and breathe real air again, it was always near. I had to be close to it, to feel the cold steel in my hands and the life I left inside of it through my skin. When I was outside I could never get comfortable. Everything hurt when I left my body. My wires, my nerves, my arteries had to be ripped out with different, unfamiliar ones shoved into other places to help expel the liquid from my lungs and adjust me to normal life better. My brain was disconnected from my spine without the headset. Walking with my old legs was almost unnatural to me. They weren't as long or sturdy as they should be. Breathing burned like a throat that chain smoked for decades. The air of the world was nowhere near as fresh as the perfluorohexane that filled our comfortable pod. We were two halves of one body and tearing me out to be human again was like tearing a starfish apart. It could survive, yes, but it would have to learn how to for a long time. It would have to regenerate a second half and only had so much time to do so before it would be destroyed by another creature. Life outside of my body was not life, not to me. That’s why another tube was added. Poked directly to my stomach through my navel. It didn’t even hurt putting it in, just a little pressure. I was so whole, so perfect without needing to eat outside of us I couldn’t even imagine feeling pain when the reward was so wonderful. The best moment of my life, even better than winning the war, was knowing I would never need to go out again. I know I was shaking, even without my wires, my real nervous system, every limb and finger of mine inside the pod and out was trembling in excitement. We would never need to part again. Our pod, our skull could be sealed forever like a real one.

But when the war was over and my body was destroyed beyond repair with no need to be repaired, I was a shell. I was nothing. Perhaps you could survive with only your brain stem, but it is not life. It is not living. You are but a mere husk driven only by pure survival instincts. That is me now. I am nothing. I am only a husk. Waking up was awful but the time before was worse. I could feel it. They were tearing me out, ripping apart my veins and arteries and nerves and spine to get me out of our body. I could feel a pain worse than the pulverizing of our metallic skin and steel hydraulic skeleton. It was like peeling skin off, pulling my muscles and tendons out. I can see them again now, the holes left behind by my true vascular system that is now rotting in the lab to be taken apart and cannibalized for future experiments. Looking at “my skin” was awful. My stomach churns looking at the holes in the flesh. If they left me in my real body, these holes would never have to painfully close. I wouldn’t need these stupid bandages and plugs. I still hear the soft whirring of the electrical elements that surrounded me. This hallucination is my only comfort. It is like hearing the sound of your heart pumping in near silence. It is like checking your own pulse to see if you are alive. I imagine the feelings of being in my pod, my wires still attached, my thoughts still in tandem with the pieces of my soul still in my corpse, the pleasant coolness of being constantly submerged in liquid, and the wholeness I felt. It is a memory I cling to, for if I were to lose it I do not know if I could go on.

I tried to soak in water to retain that feeling of the fluid I used to float in but not being able to breathe it in only reminded me that nothing will begin to be the same. No matter what I do, I still cannot walk. These legs are not mine. No matter what I eat I have no appetite. These are not my teeth, this is not my esophagus, these are not my intestines. No matter what I see it does not look right. Everything is so much bigger down here, so much more detailed it’s overwhelming, so much less fragile. The gentleness I used to treat my surroundings with is now a struggle to interact with normal things using strange hands. I am so weak in this wretched flesh. The metal served me better than meat ever will.

The world seemed to spin around what little of “myself” I could focus on. These hands were so small. They were a color I didn’t recognize. This was “my skin tone”? Where is the vibrant paint? Where is the rubber of my fingertips and palms? It’s so soft, so grotesquely fleshy. Where is the metal? Where is the smooth coldness I know? Where are the seams of my plating? Where is my armor? These ridges, “fingerprints”, are so small. There is oil on the tips. Oil should not be coming out of me, especially not my hands. There is water coming from my eyes. This doesn’t happen in my real body. My skin is warm. It has real blood under it. Disgusting. Where are the scratches and scars that pepper me? I should not be so pristine. These holes were not in my real body. I should have grooves and seams in my skin. Where are they? What is this? If I lived in this body for so long before, why is it so foreign to me?

Take me back to my body. I would rather rot in my carcass than survive as this insufferable thing. This is not my body. This is not me.

Inspired by this post

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Where we come from (Issue 28)

Moon Knight, Issue #28: Spirits in the Sand. 

Damn fine cover. 

And I always get excited about desert stories because it means we’re GOING BACK TO EGYPT! (or in this case Sudan because in OG comic lore, that is where the temple of Khonshu is located. Which is just south of Egypt and makes sense in ancient times) 

We open on a beautiful picture of a thug taking Moon Knight's fist to the side of his head. 

"Six blocks of a leg-aching heart churning lung-burning run have gotten this thug exactly nowhere. 

He still comes up empty on the wrong end of a silver fist." 

I'm just picturing this guy running SIX CITY BLOCKS with Moon Knight on his heels getting angrier and angrier the more he has to run and it brings a smile to my face. 

"His two buddies fare little better, here in scenic Riverside Park, six blocks from the still inviolate warehouse, and all under a bright big moon. 

Furs, they thought-- mink, erming, sable-- enough furs to make a whole stinking zoo shiver, and to cover the good life in luxury for years. 

Sure, crime pays --sometimes. 

But not when a scrupulously moralistic whacko like this guy Moon Knight is casing the scene." 

We see Moon Knight beating up two gus under a blood red moon. 

"Shadows and darkness or the blaze of a moontime nova, it don't matter --the sound of crowbar applied against lock is a brittle snap indeed, and a distinctive sound certain to bring Moon Knight on the swift swoop. 

And from then on, Kiddies...

Your skull just aches. And aches some more." 

And Moon Knight continues to just beat the heck out of these guys. 

Frenchie calls Marc in the cowl radio asking if he's down there and if he can hear him. 

Moon Knight takes a kick to the back while he responds then turns and delivers his own kick to the head. 

Marlene has called Frenchie saying she has urgent news. 

Mid battle, he takes the call. 

"Steven? I just received a call from one of my father's former colleagues... He wants me to deliver a lecture on Dad's work--How I helped him on this various archeological digs and so forth... Why not come along and we'll make a vacation of it?" 

"Sounds good, Marlene. Right about now I could use a vacation." 

And you know what? Moon Knight could use a vacation. These men have been through a lot lately. 

And I’m curious to see who goes. Historically, Jake doesn’t like to leave New York and often will disappear for any Vacation trips. Steven usually goes as front man, enjoying luxury. But Moon Knight is always itching to prowl a new location. Then, depending on where they go, Marc has usually been there before in some mission or war and the memories are hard to look away from. 

"Wonderful, Steven. We leave tomorrow --for Khonshu's home land, no less--The Sudan. And don't worry, I already checked --Khonshu is smiling upon the entire enterprise." 

Clever girl. 

"No, no--There's no use in scoffing. Khonshu and I have developed something or a relationship in these past few months --That's what you get for leaving us here alone while you stay out till all hours of the night. See you soon, Steven." 

She turns to the statue. 

"Now, Khonshu, my love...You ARE smiling, aren't you?" 

Side note: I love the “?” from the statue. 

I also wonder if Marlene is worried about taking Marc back to where he died and was resurrected by Khonshu. Does she think it will be good therapy? Or does she think he might break down? 

“Good thing you’re traveling as Grant, Steven… With a name like Spector–And especially after Sadat’s Waltz with begin–I doubt if Sudanese costumes would welcome you with open arms.” 

HISTORY TIME! 

Sadat and Begin and their diplomatic Waltz of the flowers. 

Let's go back to 1978. Anwar Sadat was a president of Egypt and was assassinated in 1981 by Fundamentalists. Menachem Begin, a former prime minister of Israel. 

I’m going to focus more on Sadat’s side, since this particular comic has them going to Sudan and Egypt. 

Back in 1950s, Sadat started to form a revolutionary group in an attempt to overthrow the British rule of Egypt. 

As you can imagine, Britain didn't enjoy this very much and he landed in jail more than a few times. 

They helped take down the Monarchy and abdication of the King of Egypt at the time. 

England, France, and the new nation of Israel attacked Egypt in an effort to gain control of the Suez canal. In a stunning turn of events, the war ended when USA stepped in and told England/France/Israel to back off. 

This was a huge victory for countries opposing Colonial powers and rule. 

Unfortunately, the war left much of their forces in ruin and many dead. The strain led the president (and good friend of Sadat) dead and Sadat succeeded in rule. 

He offered peace to Israel in exchange for the lands that had been taken during the war. 

At the time they were friends with the Soviets (desperate for big friends against the colonists). When Soviet Russia proved to be unhelpful after the war when the nation needed aid, Sadat told the Soviets to fuck off. 

This gained international support for Egypt. When Israel refusesd to return the lost lands from the war, Sadat broke peace and attacked in 1973. 

Political unrest and the huge gap between the poor and the rich started to become a problem in Egypt, on top of the new war. 

Of course the USA stepped in again, worried that their new friend Sadat might be overthrown for a more radical ruler. 

Sadat again made a peace offer to Israel, convinced if they could become allies it would benefit them. 

Sadat was invited to speak at the Israeli parliament in a ploy for peace. This lead to the 1979 peace treaty with Israel and Sadat won the Nobel peace prize. 

While internationally, this was a huge thing, back in Egypt there was still great issue with the Fundamentalists. 

Sadat attempted to help with internal economic issues by taking out loans. He also outlawed protests. Mubarak succeeded him. (But that's a different story) 

So, while a great movement to help establish Egypt as an independent nation free of Colonial rule and in an effort for peace with Israel, there was also a lot of conflict on how he ruled his own people and the plight of the Palestinian people that got left out of negotiations. (See current events for reference). 

Who says you can’t learn anything from comics? 

AND THIS HAS BEEN ANOTHER HISTORY LESSON!

So… Marc Spector was a mercenary for hire that specialized in the overthrowing of governments and wars. He was not always the good guy. In fact, in previous issues it is mentioned that he often was hired to work for the Israeli special forces. HMMMM…. 

I’m willing to bet that Mr. Spector crossed a Suez canal or two… 

Yeah, Spector is not a name that would be welcome in Sudan in 1982. 

They arrive in Sudan. 

Steven: "All right Marlene, so we've established they're not interested in a lecture on the Judaic High Holy Days. So what do they want?"

Marlene: "Uh...Well, they want me to focus on one dig in particular--They took great pains to make sure I knew about it." 

Steven: "Oh? And which dig, pray tell, would that be?" 

Marlene: "All right, so it's about this Seti tomb--Where we found the statue of Khonshu, and where you--" 

Steven: "The Seti tomb. And why didn't you mention it until now?" 

Marlene: "I...I didn't know how you were feeling about Khonshu these days...If you still believed..." 

Steven: "If I still believed the Moon God brought me back from the dead? Look, Marlene, I told you I'd gotten over that. If Khonshu exerts supernatural powers and if I sometimes benefit from them... Fine. If not, also fine. In the meantime, I go about business as usual." 

Marlene: Such psychological equanimity these days, Mr. Grant. Then there's nothing to argue about is th--" 

They are interrupted as Jellim Yussaf from the department of antiquities finds them. 

He escorts them to their hotel (and past customs, which was probably a relief to Steven). 

Marlene is also relieved to have not had to tango with Customs over the Grant identity. She turns to Steven only to find him staring out the window in a trance. 

"Steven? Your eyes are focused far, aren't they?" 

"On the desert, Marlene. Just looking where it all began--Where a ruthless mercenary named Marc Spector diet...And where I was reborn as Moon Knight..." 

Yeah, I'm not sure how any of them thought bringing them out to THIS particular place was going to not be triggering. 

After a little playful snogging, Marlene tells them it's time to get changed for dinner. 

"Smiling to himself, inhaling the alien warmth of the desert night, enjoying a certain freedom in his distance from New York, and feeling very good indeed about Marlene...Steven Grant unbuttons his shirt... And is forced to twist the smile into a wry grin. 

He is both rueful and amused with himself--Even on a vacation, he has --subconsciously?--come prepared." 

He finds himself wearing the Moon Knight outfit under his clothes. 

Good thing, because he suddenly hears Marlene crying for help. A dagger is embedded in the wall. 

We find that Moon Knight himself has far more faith and belief in the will of Khonshu than Steven does. 

He tells Marlene to wait at the hotel and lock the door as he gives chase. 

But back in the hotel, Yussaf breaks down the door. He claims he heard her scream. 

She tells him that she's fine and that 'Steven' went after a man that attacked her. 

She goes to call the authorities, but Yussaf stops her. 

Moon Knight has lost the suspect and finds himself alone in the barren wastes of the desert. Again, he finds himself gazing out into the waiting desert that lurks just past the city limits. 

"On the desert's barren fringe...Eerie sounds, chased by quickening winds, issue from far wastes. Jackals, demented under silver light...Or praying, perhaps, to a shared God of the Moon. The effect on Moon Knight is immediate. Chilled and stridently aware of the brittle bones within his flesh, he races back to the hotel. 

Call it premonition; call it a message from Khonshu; call it thunder in his blood--He simply knows he must reach Marlene's side fast. And he is right, but too late." 

He finds a trashed hotel room with no sign of Marlene. 

He tries to think it through. 

"They invited her alone--No one knew I'd be accompanying her. Now...What if the dagger wasn't thrown by an assassin? What if it was merely a ruse to get me out of the hotel...They could get Marlene alone and..." 

He finds a mark by the door, painted in blood. "K" 

Drawn in haste, he deducts that it is a message left by Marlene in an attempt to tell him something. K for Khonshu? 

He figures that they took her to the tomb of Seti. 

Moon Knight finds a jeep and heads to the desert. 

"It's been years since I was at the tomb--And besides, I was delirious..." 

One can only imagine what returning to the desert is like for Moon Knight. 

Unlike Steven and Jake and Marc, Moon Knight was born there. We can mark the moment Moon Knight felt the first call of the moon and first need for justice and vengeance. 

He finds fresh tire tracks and follows them to an abandoned jeep. Finding footprints in the sand, he fights against time and the wind before they disappear. 

"They sly sand whispers secrets to him, in a delicate voice soon to be silenced by surging wind. But either by the grace of fate or Khonshu, he is --this time--not yet too late." 

There is a scuffle in the tracks, indicating a point when Marlene fought back and was forced forward. 

"He digs his gloved hand into her footprint and lets the sand sift through his fingers, to be carried away on the awakening wind --and he sees symbols in it... Of the melting past and the changeling called Fate. OF shifting tides of fortune, trickling time and inconstant space -- The eternal metamorphosis of the landscape itself.

And, standing on the back of this great and slowly writhing monster called the desert, strangely spellbound by the moon above, he holds the last trace of his Love's passage...And stares at it. The wind stiffens. 

Where was this grain of sand, for instance, when the tomb of Seti was built so many thousands of years past? Was it five miles away? Or a hundred? Was it then at this very spot, preparing for a thousand mile journey which tonight, has brought it back here?

Was it at the very peak of some then nearby dune, or at the very bottom of an ocean? Lodged, perhaps as a grit of blindness in the eye of the tomb's architect, spoiling his otherwise magnificent vision?

How much has it seen in its interminable span of being? And how much will it see now, under the ghostly glow of the desert moon, before this night is ended? 

Surely, if the sand embodies so much--and embraces so many ancient mysteries--It must be imbued with a form of life...Ghosts in the ground...Spirits in the sand..." 

(I love when Moench goes off on these long tangents. No one writes like him. It’s so beautiful.) 

Marlene and her captive party have reached the tomb of Seti. 

Apparently they believe there is a hidden treasure buried somewhere in the tomb. 

Perhaps, this was the treasure that Bushman and his group were initially seeking when they took the architects hostage all those years ago. 

Marlene has no idea what they are talking about. Her father never found any hidden chambers and neither did the REAL department of antiquites that took over excavation after her father was killed. 

The man laughs about her being stubborn and difficult to frighten. (He has no idea). He was banking on kidnapping a lone woman far from her country and unaware of the danger. 

I'm going to come to Marlene's defence for a moment: We've seen time and time again that she is NOT a damsel in distress. That's the biggest thing I actually like about her. She knows how to handle herself. She knows how to handle guns and knows self defense thanks to Marc. She traveled dig sites in dangerous locations with her father before that. 

This guy has no idea. 

Marlene stays cool and comments that she didn't come alone. 

The man laughs about 'Grant, the American Millionaire'. 

She just smiles to herself and comments that he is also a stubborn and difficult to frighten man. But he doesn't yet know his own danger. 

Outside, Moon Knight comes across the tomb of Seti. 

The last time he saw it, it was just a half buried ruin that was poking out of the sand. 

Now it lays fully unburied and restored. 

I think we all picture just a little thing when we picture the tomb where Marc died and the Statue of Khonshu watched over him. But this thing is MASSIVE. This is the tomb of Seti. Fun fact: There is a real Tomb of Seti I located in the Valley of the Kings. It's...It's massive...And SO impressive. Go check out the images and youtube walkthroughs for yourself. It's so pretty. 

Moon Knight intentially spooks one of the lone guards by the fire. 

Here, we get a taste of Marc's talents as he speaks in the guard's native language. 

He lets the guard think he is a ghost and demands to know who the intruders are and what they are doing there. 

The scared guard explains that they are a group called "The Sons of the Jackals. A cult of thieves and Yussaf is our leader..." 

They are seeking a hidden treasure of Khonshu that is believed to be hidden in the tomb of Seti. 

He asks Moon Knight if he is the spirit of Khonshu. 

"Yes... But I guard many tombs. Why do you think my treasure is here?" He presses the guard. 

The guard tells him of a hieroglyphic recently uncovered that pointed Yussaf to the tomb and they needed Marlene to tell them where the tomb was and where to find the treasure. 

Moon Knight knocks out the guard and heads inside the temple. 

He finds the very place where Marc died and Khonshu revived them. 

This is a place of great trauma for them. A place where the life of Marc and all his trauma and fears and despair came together as he lay dying in the sand. A place where Marc became Moon Knight and Moon Knight walked away into the night. A place of ghosts and regrets. 

Moon Knight recognizes this is where he came into being. Where he was given purpose. 

“He freezes here. His thoughts first oppressed then lost. Scattered like sinuous smoke sucked into a thicker more tangible ether. The trance unreasonably chills him, conjuring fragments of inexplicable dread from childhood dreams.” 

Moon Knight just walked into a trauma memory. One he isn’t supposed to have. A past that isn’t his is struggling and past traumas are shifting just beneath the surface and being whisked away again by their coping mechanisms that come with having DID. 

The villain holds Marlene just in the dark and she manages to break free just enough to yell out and warn Moon Knight. 

Moon Knight's trance is broken and he whips around in time to avoid an attack. 

Narration: "Neatly done, for a man who only moments earlier felt himself slipping into a ghost..." 

Moon Knight may have had his first case of trauma processing and dissociation. Usually he’s the brick house and not affected by these things. But being back there in the temple where they suffered and died is really doing a number on him. 

The attacker gets away down a long tunnel. 

Moon Knight asks Marlene is she knows where the tunnel leads and she says it's a deadend. 

Moon Knight tells Marlene to stay behind but she isn't about to repeat that mistake. She follows him down the tunnel.

At the deadend, they are attacked by the assailant again and stumble into a booby trap! 

A large block falls from the ceiling, blocking off the tunnel and crushing Yussaf! 

The block starts to slide down the tunnel towards Moon Knight and Marlene and they make a run for it (Indiana Jones eat your heart out). 

They dive out of the way just in time and watch as the block crashes through a wall. 

But wait... The wall doesn't lead to outside! 

The Secret chamber! Hidden underground behind the wall. 

And it is indeed filled with Khonshu's treasure! 

Ah, but Yussaf wasn't crushed after all! He sneaks up on them and pushes them down into the chamber, a startling drop into blackness. 

Marlene falls and busts up her ankle, but there is no sign of Moon Knight. 

Yussaf starts to descend into the chamber. 

Marlene panics, unable to stand and defend herself. She cries out for Moon Knight but gets no answer. 

Moon Knight wakes up in a daze to find himself cradled in the arms of Khonshu. 

Marlene points out that he's in the hands of Khonshu and that he needs to "Take strength from him and do something". 

In the dark, Moon Knight throws a single crescent dart, guided as if by fate, it severs Yussaf's rope and he plunges the ramaining ten feet down. 

Yussaf rolls and bounces back. Moon Knight is too far away to do anything to protect Marlene. 

Outside, the wind picks up. 

"....Khonshu seems to smile... As outside the wind screams...And a savage storm of eternal sand--Invades the ancient tomb.

His cloak bells and cracks under the fierce force of it... And now, from deep within his cowl, he answers with a bigger smile of his own..." 

Moon Knight uses the sudden and unlikely wind to glide down at intense speed and tackle Yussaf. 

Yussaf fears that the Ghost of Khonshu and spirit of the Moon is real and there to stop him. 

The moon lights up the hidden room then plunges it back into darkness. 

As soon as the fight is over, the wind stops. 

Yussaf gives up. 

All present are more than a little shaken. 

"It could have been just the wind from outside, you know... Then again, maybe Khonshu simply wanted to make sure that his treasure was found by the right people..." 

"Perhaps the wind itself is the spirit of the sand, granting it a life of swirling, dancing, dimensions... 

ANd right now, as they depart the tomb, that life suddenly finds voice--A strangely distorted sound of either laughter or tears. 

They freeze in its grasp, exchanging looks of dread. Their shoulders and necks prickling. 

The mirth or lament of faraway jackals, trapped and tumbled in an invisible case of sand and wind...? 

Or, perhaps...The real and reigning authority of this ever-shifting land...And the true spirit of the sand?

They shrug and trudge on...And five thousand miles away, in the Moon washed bloom of a mansion foyer....A statue tells nothing, not a single word, as it dreams of lost sand...And the restless spirits therein." 

Again, we are left with the open ended questions of if Khonshu is a real entity or just a powerful belief around happenstance. The early comics really try to paint it either way with a leaning on Khonshu being the spirit of a god from long ago. Ambivalent and really on the side of just, but in morally questioning ways. It isn't till much MUCH later that Khonshu starts to take on a much more sinister role.

All in all, a pretty stellar issue. I always love going back to where it all started. Seeing how they react to the place where Marc fell and Moon Knight stood up. And seeing how Moon Knight himself reacts to facing his own trauma. 

It will be covered up, washed away by his own sands of time. It’s not Moon Knight’s place to deal with this. Moon Knight has his use and this isn’t it. Moon Knight himself was born out of a severe trauma and I don't think he's ready to face that down.

But I also love seeing Marc going back to his old grounds. Places where he did good or bad. Glimpses of Marc being forced to face the product of his wars. I love seeing how well traveled he is, the languages he knows, the skills he’s picked up, and how truly he was a UNIT and a man to be feared. Something I think gets lost in the lore the further from the OG comics we get. The tales of “Crazy Moon Knight ripping people’s faces off” start to outweigh the times Marc almost single handedly took down nations. 

(On that note, I think the one person that truly respects and appropriately fears Marc and Moon Knight is going to be Task Master. The man who can watch someone fight and completely adopt and understand their style. One battle against them and Task Master still has nightmares.) 

And at the end of this issue, we have some extra art that I just can't leave you all not seeing. 

From Kevin Nowlan, an at the time upcoming Comic artist. He has since gone on to do some AMAZING art for all sorts of comics. He has done penciling, inking, coloring and lettering. His first comic was Doctor Strange #57 in 1980 and he was commissioned to do some work on Moon Knight shortly after. (He is also credited for work on Batman: The Animated Series and helped to design the Penguin, the Mad Hatter, and the Man-Bat). 

Fantastic! 

[thenewnio]

Kenny of the Sea (Kenny the Shark AU Fanfiction)

Inspired by this post: https://lokomotives.tumblr.com/post/622306870590308352/that-one-discovery-kids-cartoon-kenny-the-shark

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Tiburon, California, and 14-year-old Katarina "Kat" Cassidy was bored nearly out of her skull. That boredom was what drove her to visit the beach that day. Upon her arrival, however, the place seemed completely empty. No one she knew was there.

At least I can draw in peace, Kat decided as she made her way to the small secluded cove near one end of the beach.

It took her a few minutes for her to get settled and remove her sketchbook and mechanical pencil from her tote bag. The gentle scratch of pencil against paper combining with the rhythmic splash of waves against the rocks was soothing.

And yet, something seemed off. Kat had just figured out that it was that the rhythm of the waves was being interrupted, as if something else was splashing in the water. Whatever it was sounded close.

Frowning and setting her sketchbook back in her bag, Kat carefully picked her way across the slick rocks near the edge of the water, trying to figure out where exactly the sound was coming from. At last, her eyes caught movement in a nearby tidal pool. She moved in closer. Sure enough, someone or something was thrashing around in the water.

Kat sped up her pace, each step bringing her closer and closer to the moving shape. It seemed like whatever it was was tangled in a fishing net. She hurried forward despite her apprehension, gut churning with nerves, thinking that regardless if it was a person or a weird animal, they needed help.

By the time she reached the pool, the thing had ceased its erratic movements long enough for her to get a better look.

What the...?

The creature abruptly jerked its head up, finally noticing Kat, and they both froze as they catch sight of each other.  

It was a young man, mostly. He seemed a year older than her, and his hair was the color of silver. However, it wasn’t the fact that a boy was tangled in a net which stunned Kat. It wasn’t even the fact that he was shirtless that made her pulse quicken.

As her gaze traveled the length of his body down past his navel, Kat saw that the boy’s flesh appeared to seamlessly meld into that of a shark’s tail. She let out a noise of utter shock. “Ah...”

That shock vanished when the merman screamed and increased his struggles to free himself.

“AAAAAAHHHHH!!! NO!!! DON’T EAT ME! I’M TOO YOUNG! I TASTE LIKE FLOTSAM! HEEELLLP!!!”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Kat put her hands up to show she meant no harm. “I’m not here to hurt you; I just want to help.”

The merman just whimpered fearfully, chest heaving in panic. Kat kicked off her sandals and stepped into the pool, inadvertently causing the merman to nearly jump out of the water with a loud yelp. He tried to squirm away from her, to no avail as she took hold of the net entrapping him. “Just let me get you out of this, okay?” She said soothingly.

He stopped struggling to get away and looked at her, terror leaving his blue eyes and giving way to confusion as she set to work untangling him. At last he was able to completely slip free from the net.

“There!” Kat smiled, tossing the net onto the shore. “Now to get you back into the ocean.”

The merman stared up at her with wide eyes as she bent down to pick him up, letting her take him in her arms. Luckily, he wasn’t too heavy.

She carried him out of the pool, setting him down where the land met the sea. “There you go.”

“Uh... Thanks?” he stammered.

“You’re welcome, shark boy.” Kat replied. “Better get going before someone else sees you.”

The merman slid back into the ocean, never once taking his eyes off of her until he was in deeper waters, at which point he dived underwater.

Only after he was gone did it occur to Kat that she had just saved a mythical being. Well, supposedly mythical, anyway. She exhaled, feeling pure excitement at that fact.

But who would believe her? If she told anyone, they would think she was either lying or crazy, at best. At worst, they would set out in boats, trying to capture the merman.

She decided to keep the encounter to herself. It would be her little secret.

---

“You’re about as brainy as a jellyfish, ya know that?”

Kenny turned to glare at Dan. “Hey, how was I supposed to see that fishing net coming? Oh, by the way, thanks for coming to my rescue back there.”

“That ‘aint it.” The hammerhead merman shook his horned head. “You owe a human for saving your tail! A land human, for Neptune’s sake!”

“I know! It’s so weird!” The tiger shark merman moved the knee of his tail up to his chest. “Didn’t you say that humans cut us up into little pieces and eat ‘em?”

“Okay, so I was wrong about some humans,” Dan shrugged. “Point is, you know we’re not supposed to let them get a look at us in our true forms! We’re not even allowed to owe ‘em anything! Once people find out about this, they’ll wanna knock your teeth out! She didn’t feel you up or anything, did she?”

“OH, NO!” Kenny held his head in his hands, knowing that she did, in fact, touch his tail when she carried him out of the tidal pool he’d gotten stranded in while trying to escape from the net.

“Yeah, she knows you’re real. I think it's about time to move to a new city and change your name.”

Kenny thought for a moment before moving off the rock formation he was sitting on. “You’re right, Dan.”

“Huh?”

“I am gonna move. I’m gonna live on the surface!”

Dan blinked in surprise. “Wait, seriously?”

“That’s right! No more being the runt of the pod,” Kenny declared. “If I’m gonna find that human and repay her for saving me, I need to risk everything by living up there with legs!”

“...Well, good luck with that.” Dan deadpanned, swimming away from him.

Kenny watched him go, before swimming in the direction of his grotto. I’ll show him, he thought.

The grotto in which Kenny made his home lay on the outskirts of the merfolk’s city of Hylis. It was where he collected things from the surface that had either fallen from ships or had been found in shipwrecks.

The first thing that Kenny did once he arrived there was to grab a trolley bag and start packing his things, determined to see this through.

---

Everyone at the beach that day was preoccupied in doing their own thing, so no one noticed a teenage boy, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and an oversized coat and dragging a trolley bag, emerging from the sea and hiding behind some rocks.

Once Kenny had pulled himself out of the water, he focused on drying his tail off in the hot sun. Slowly but surely, the shark tail began to change shape. Soon, in its place was a pair of functional legs. This transformation into a human being was something that every mer was able to do when completely dry, as a natural defense mechanism to survive on land while remaining undetected by humans.

The transformed merman opened his bag, taking out a pair of boxers and shorts. Wringing the seawater out of the cloth, he pulled them on, following by slipping on a pair of boots. This done, he closed his bag and leapt off the rock onto the sand, gaining a few odd looks from those who had just noticed him.

He was off to see the world.