jjllmx

[jjllmx]

on the hook - Young!Silco x f!Reader (Vander's sister)

Notes: AHhhhhhh I LOVE this one. It is one of the longest I have written in a very long time, with every divider being a small time skip. This also has a bit of young Benzo in it! I never see him mentioned, eve though is is in the art book with young Silco and Vander. I thought he would make a fun addition. Warnings/Rating: Fluff, mild angst, mentions of pregnancy, reader is Vander's sister (female pronoun used), reader has hair long enough to tie up, swearing, confrontation | E for everyone Wordcount: 4.5k Synopsis/Request: HI POOKS!! could you pretty please write something with young silco where him and reader are like crushing over eachother and one thing leads to another and BOOM reader gets pregnant. And also the reader is VAnders younger sister THANK YOU!! -- AN: NO, Thank YOU for this request!

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | PT.2

“Janna help the poor bastard that falls in love with her,” Benzo laughed, taking a large swig of his drink, nodding towards the ruckus behind the bar. “They wouldn’t see the morning.” 

Silco inhaled deeply as he lifted his gaze, watching as Vander swung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, ruffling your hair as you tried to escape his grasp. Your laugh sounded more like a song to his ears as you cackled and fought against your brother's bicep.

“Why do you say that?” he enquired cautiously, “she’s a big girl now, she can make her own decisions.” He took a slow sip of his drink as his eyes wandered back to you, fighting back a grin when you managed to slip out of Vander’s grasp using a trick he had taught you in case you ever needed to escape a rough enforcer. 

Benzo laughed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he lowered his beer to the bar again, “She might be, but he doesn’t see that. She’ll always be the little sister he had to drag up.” He sighed as he shook his head, grinning. “Oi!” he called over to them, “If you are quite done, your patron’s are going thirsty over here.” He joked, laughing as you rolled your eyes exaggeratedly and threw a towel over your shoulder, heading over to the two of them. 

“Another of the same, I presume?” you asked with a smirk, already reaching to pull a fresh beer for him without waiting for a response. 

Silco tuned out Benzo’s reply, watching you closely as you laughed at something he said, turning a little to glance at your brother over your shoulder and rolling your eyes again. 

He snapped out of it when he realised you were looking right at him, reaching up to snap your fingers in front of his face as he came back to himself with a sudden inhale of breath. 

“Another for you too, Sil?” you asked with a dopey smile, gesturing to his near empty glass. “Or has it all gone to your head already?” 

He fought the urge to scoff, downing the dregs before handing the empty glass to you for you to refill. “You know I could drink all of you under the table given the chance,” he brushed it off, hoping his skin wasn't flushing as red as it felt. 

You huffed another small laugh as you passed the glass back to him, leaning over the bar a little to glance at his notebook. 

“What are you working on this time?” you asked softly, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as you stayed leaning over the bar top. 

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. It wasn’t often that he found himself at a loss for words. He was known as the silver tongue of the under-city for a reason, after all, but there was something about the way you batted your lashes and smiled oh so sweetly that had his resolve crumbling. 

He turned the notebook around for you to see better, “just some ideas I ‘ve had lately.” He let you read over them for a moment, eyes fixed on your face as you nodded, pulling your cheek between your teeth as you mulled them over. 

“I like them,” you smiled up at him again, one corner of your mouth ticking up a little more than the other as you huffed a laugh. “You’re wasted in those mines, I tell ya. You’re a secret genius.” 

He watched you push back over the bar again, straightening yourself as someone else called for you on the other side. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you turn, sitting dumbstruck for a moment longer. 

“Oh you poor bastard.” Benzo’s cackling laugh from beside him pulled his attention back, his brows creasing into a frown as he turned his notebook back around. 

“What?” 

Benzo raised a brow above his glass, dropping the tankard back down again with a sigh. “It was nice knowing you, Silco, but you’re gonna be dead by the morning.” 

“Secret genius or not, you are going to wear that brain of yours out if you work any longer,” you huffed a laugh as you glanced up at Silco still hunched over the bar where you left him earlier, his drink mostly untouched. You were the only two left in the darkened bar by this time. you carried on drying out a glass as he huffed, starting a fresh page. 

“Someone has to get the work done around here,” he quipped, flinching when you threw the towel at his head playfully, dropping his pencil to peel it off his face, some of his hair falling out of place as he did so. 

“And what do you think I do all day?” you pressed, a grin still splitting your cheeks as you pushed over the back wall to grab the towel from him again. He held the towel tight for a moment, smirking when you tried to pull it out of his grip and failed. You forgot just how strong he was from working in the mines, despite what his slender frame suggested. 

You paused your efforts for a moment, an idea brewing in your head. You tugged the towel again suddenly, forcing him to put more effort into keeping a hold of it and used it as a distraction to swipe his notebook from the bar top instead, dropping the towel so he nearly toppled backwards off his stool as you took a few steps back. 

You brought the diary up to your face, peering over it jokingly at him as he regained his balance, eyes widening when he realised what you had done. 

“Give that back!” he ordered, his voice more of a cautious laugh as he stood, moving to round the bar as you started flicking through the pages, grinning ear to ear. 

“I just want to read a few more of your ideas!” you protested, turning away from him and trying to bury yourself in the corner as you flicked through the pages as quickly as you could, eyes skimming them as he trapped you, trying to reach around you to grab it. 

“This isn’t funny,” he pressed, his voice growing a little more desperate as you ducked under his arm, closing the book as you darted out, rounding the bar again to put it between you. 

“You seemed so eager to share earlier!” you laughed, waving the book casually to the side. You paused when a folded piece of paper fell out of it, stooping to pick it up.

Silco’s eyes widened and he froze as he saw it dangling from between your fingers, “Do not open that.” he warned lowly, all playfulness suddenly dropped from his tone. It was fun riling him up, though. This back and forth you had with him was nothing new, you teased him, he teased you. It was the natural order of things, even if it set your heart fluttering whenever that teasing leaned a little more towards flirting. 

“What is it?” You raised a brow as you started to unfold it slowly, grinning as you started reading aloud – ‘Vander, I know–” you were so focused on not dropping the book and reading that you hadn’t realised that Silco had reached you again until his cold fingers wrapped around your wrists, holding your hands still. 

You glanced up at him in shock, eyes widening a little as his eyes pierced through you, a silent warning that you shouldn’t go any further. Your heart sped up in your chest, but you knew it would be a lie to say it was with fear. No, it was just how close he was standing. You don’t think even he realised your proximity, his breath fanning over your face as he puffed small, fast breaths through his nose, eyes flicking between yours quickly. 

“For both our sakes, don’t read any more.” It came out as little more than a murmur, his voice low as he glanced back down at the unfolded paper before back at you. 

“Why?” You knew it was foolish to ask, but he had you hooked. Your eyes dared to glance back down at the paper, flicking through enough words to catch ‘love – hate me – sister…’ before he ripped it away from you. 

Your eyes widened as the paper tore, your heart starting to thunder and you put two and two together. Your jaw fell slack as he paced away from you, screwing up his half of the letter and tossing it across the bar, keeping his back turned to you as he exhaled slowly, fists clenching by his sides. 

“Anything you read, forget it.” He warned quietly, starting to collect up his bag and sling it over his shoulder. 

You stuttered for a moment in complete shock, your brain racing a million miles a minute as the gravity of the situation came crashing down on you. 

“What if I don’t want to?” You called after him as he crossed to the door. He stopped once again, refusing to turn to you. “What if I feel the same?” You asked more quietly, clutching his notebook and glancing down at the scrappy remains of the letter to your brother. The final words staring back at you - ‘I think I love her.’ 

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.” He turned slowly, something akin to hope flickering in his eyes. 

“I do.” 

His bag thudded to the floor as he let it slide from his shoulder, crossing to you slowly again, eyes never once leaving yours until he was sharing your air again, his breath fanning over your lips as he glanced at the remains of the letter, his handwriting staring back at him cruelly. 

“What about your brother?” He asked, still not looking back up to you. 

You had to scoff, “why, are you planning on asking him out too?” You teased, laughing under your breath when he rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what he thinks. And you shouldn’t either, even if this is kinda cute.” 

He lifted the book from your grasp gently, screwing up the rest of the letter and shoving it in his pocket.  

“If you ever mutter a word about this I’ll have no choice but to shut you up.” He warned playfully, eyes glinting. 

“And how, exactly, would you do that?” You pressed, lips ticking up to a smirk. 

He huffed a laugh through his nose, holding your eyes with his as he leaned forward slowly, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips pressed to yours cautiously, moving slowly as you caught up, pressing forward into him as you steadied yourself against his shoulders, your fingers bunching at the fabric of his jacket when his arms draped themselves around your hips. 

“Like that, if I must,” he murmured as he pulled away, leaving his arms around you as he regarded you with what you could only describe as admiration. “Can you promise me you won’t tell your brother? Not yet, at least?” he added, his voice a little more tense.

“He isn’t going to do anything,” you tried to brush it off, chasing his lips again only for him to pull back again, looking at you pointedly. You sighed, “Fine,” you drawled, grinning when he leaned forward again for you to reach your lips. 

You were spaced out as you finished putting the glasses away, your eyes unfocused as you stared at the bar floor, polishing the same spot on the cup without realizing it. 

Felicia’s news was rattling around your head. The way Silco and your brother had instantly looked at one another as if to say ‘oh shit’ while he switched out her drink. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“Rub any harder and that glass will turn back into sand.” Silco’s teasing voice called out from the stairs as he came down from the office, the bar door keys jingling in his hand. 

You snapped out of your daze, breathing in sharp breath as you put the glass down and tossed the towel to the side, untying your apron and hanging it up as you rounded the bar. 

“What is it?” His eyes narrowed a little as he took you in, brow creasing as he turned back from locking the doors for the night, lowering the keys to the bartop slowly as he reached you. You paused just out of his reach, leaning against the sticky wood. 

You swallowed thickly, “I have some news of my own,” you started tentatively, eyes locked on his. 

He stood frozen for a moment longer before his gaze flicked down to your stomach and back up again, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncertainly as he pieced things together. 

The two of you stood in silence for a beat longer, almost as if time had frozen around you – the only thing giving it away was the gentle ticking of the clock behind the bar. 

“Are you sure?” His voice was worryingly level, eyes flicking back down and resting on your abdomen, almost as if he were afraid it was going to start morphing and stretching before his very eyes. 

You nodded slowly, pulling your lip between your teeth as you too looked down at yourself, suddenly feeling alien in your own body. 

“Yes.” 

Another pause. 

Silco breathed out slowly, air rushing lowly between pursed lips “–fuck.” It was little more than a whisper. 

“We already did that, that’s the problem.” you tried to joke, your lips ticking up into the ghost of a smile when he laughed, the tension finally shattering as he sat back down slowly on his stool, hands resting on his knees as he glanced back up to look at you. 

“I hope you’re okay being a single parent, because Vander is going to kill me,” he chuckled uneasily, turning on his stool and leaning over the bar to fish a bottle out from under it, uncorking it and taking a slow sip. “Then, I imagine he’ll bury me in the river, just to be sure.” 

You rolled your eyes, coming to settle on the stool beside him, instinctively reaching for the bottle yourself, only for him to pull it away roughly, shooting you a cold stare as he corked it again. 

“We could always not tell him,” you shrugged, rubbing at the back of your neck. 

SIlco barked out a laugh, “I think even if he was too oblivious to notice your sudden weight gain, the screaming baby that arrives at the end of it all might be enough for him to catch on.” 

You laughed softly, now rubbing at your eye tiredly. “No, I mean not tell him that it’s yours.” 

You felt him tense beside you, turning your head to watch as his face fell, his lips down turning at the corners. He reached for the bottle again as his features suddenly hardened, almost as if he were shutting you out. 

“If that’s really what you want.” His voice was clipped and curt before he downed another sip – much larger this time, before nearly slamming the bottle back down on the counter. 

You watched him confused for a moment. Hadn’t he been the one to want to keep you a secret in the first place? Your skin suddenly felt clammy as he pushed himself up and away from the bar, the bottle still in hand. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you called after him, feeling your heart flutter anxiously behind our ribs. 

He scoffed, turning back to you slowly, eyeing you up carefully before his eyes naturally seemed to rest on your abdomen. “Well, for a moment there, I was ready to do this with you. A part of me might have actually been excited by the idea. But if that is not what you want, so be it.”

He went to turn away again, hand resting on the stair rail as he went to pull himself up to the office above. Your heart was pounding now. 

“But–” you started, thankful when he stopped on the bottom step as you clammered for a coherent thought “– you were the one who wanted to keep us secret. I thought that maybe I was…” you trailed off, the thought hurting you too much to voice. 

He turned his head slowly, eyes piercing through you. “That you were what?” 

All confidence left your body as you tried to find a kinder way to word it. “I thought that perhaps this didn’t mean as much to you as it did me,” you started slowly, your voice growing quieter as he stepped back down towards you. “We’ve only been dating for a month, I���m–” 

“—a fool. That’s what you are.” He stopped you, his voice worryingly level as he neared the bar again, dropping the bottle back down on the top carelessly. Your lips parted a few times, completely at a loss. 

“The key is in your words, dove,” he warned lowly, turning back to you with his cold eyes, commanding you, somehow, to stay quiet. “I wouldn’t have asked you to be mine if I was not smitten with you. I would have used you, your brother be damned, and you would have known it. And it hurts, quite frankly, to think that you don’t think I care as much about you, when I would do anything to keep you by my side.” 

You stared at him dumbfounded as he continued to close the gap between you until he was practically between your thighs again.

He reached up, cold fingers brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, eyes flicking back down from it to hold your gaze. “I didn’t want to tell your brother yet because he would take time to come around to the idea his precious little sister isn’t entirely his to take care of anymore, and the last thing I wanted was for you to fall out because of me.”

Your jaw fell slack as he monologued, your breath coming in small huffs as your anxiety melted into quiet adoration, your gaze fixed on his as he flicked over your face, as if mapping each feature and committing it to memory, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took you in. 

“That is why I fight,” his voice was little more than a low rasp. “To make this a better place for you, and now, for them.” His hand came to rest against your lower stomach, pressing assuringly against your skin as he looked up at you again, holding your gaze firmly as he flicked between your eyes. “So, will you let me take care of you? Both of you?” 

You nodded quickly, swallowing roughly as he pressed a reassuring kiss to your forehead, releasing his hand to reach for yours and tangling his fingers between your own lazily. 

“Good, now, don’t forget again.” 

“Hey I heard–” Vander stopped dead in the bathroom doorway, eyes widening when they landed on Silco holding back your hair as you emptied your stomach of your breakfast, clutching at your abdomen as you sat doubled over the toilet. 

Silco’s spare hand ran soothing circles across your back as he shushed you, cringing a little as you sobbed through your gags.

“What’s wrong?” Vander pushed his way into the already cramped room, moving as if trying to take Silco’s place for a moment instinctually, only for him to hold his ground, 

“I got it,” he pressed, eyes raking over the side of your face worryingly as his hand stiled on your lower back, fingers curling round your hip a little. He didn’t miss how your brother’s eyes narrowed at the touch. 

“If you tell me you got her drunk again in one of your games last night, I swear–” Vander started, anger bubbling in his chest as you wretched again before sitting back on your heels slowly, letting Silco drop your hair only for him to pull it back out of your face again, pulling out his hair tie and using it to bunch yours out of your face instead. 

“He didn’t,” you assured your brother, glancing up at him as you wiped at the corner of your mouth with a bit of tissue, accepting the glass of water from you boyfriend with a small thanks and cringing as you rinsed out your mouth. “I’m fine.” 

Vander scoffed above you, crossing his arms angrily. “You’re throwing up at,” he checked his watch, “10 a.m. Either you went way past your limit again, you’re sick, or you’re pregnant. And seeing as it can’t be the last one, you must hav–” 

He stopped suddenly, his jaw clenching as he caught you glancing at Silco nervously, the subtle uptick of your eyes easy to miss – unless you had grown up with you, that is. 

“Talk. Now.” Your brother’s voice had the ability to truly terrify you sometimes, the low warning rumble rattling through you. 

Silco wet his lips anxiously, itching to grab your hand and comfort you again as you continued to tremor from being sick. “She is fine, sh-”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Vander stopped Silco quickly, not even bothering to look in his direction as his eyes remained fixed on the side of your face, your own eyes focused on the cracked tiles in the bathroom floor. 

You swallowed thickly, fighting the bile again. “I’m not sick. And I’m not drinking at the moment,” you confirmed quietly, picking at the skin beside your thumbnail. 

You could feel the waves of anger radiating off your brother without having to look at him, sensing the way he seethed. 

“Whose is it?” his voice was still worrying low, nothing more than a growl escaping from behind clenched teeth. 

You didn’t trust your voice, instead looking up at the man sitting across from you anxiously, finding his shockingly calm eyes watching you carefully already. 

“We were going to tell you…” Silco started cautiously, eyes widening as you darted forward again, bringing up the rest of your breakfast. He instinctively rubbed at your back again, thankful he had managed to tie your hair back already as you coughed up. 

“How did you get my Sister pregnant?” Vander’s voice was growing louder, his arms unfurling as he stepped towards your boyfriend. 

“Come on, Vander, you’re not that thick. You know how.” Silco spat back, growing more agitated as he turned to look at your brother over his shoulder. 

“You fuckin’ –”

“Can we not do this right now, please?” you coughed out, leaning your head against your arm as you heaved in a shaky breath. 

Vander hesitated for a moment, fists clenching by his sides before he stepped backwards into the corridor again, eyes never leaving Silco’s. 

“Out,” he ordered Silco, leaving no ounce of space to argue. 

He tried a scoff, but you glanced up at him softly, “Go, it will be easier. I’m good here, I think,” you assured him weakly. He sighed, pressing his lips into a firm line before daring to press a soft kiss to your hairline as he stood, unfolding his long limbs before pushing past your brother, intentionally barging his shoulder as he passed. 

You sighed as the door was pulled shut behind you, reaching forward to flush the toilet as you sat back against the wall again and ran your hands over your face. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but a small part of you had hoped that your brother would be pleased that, out of everyone in the undercity, you had fallen for his best friend rather than some creep. 

You pressed yourself up to stand slowly, running the cold tap and splashing it over your skin to try and drown out the sound of shouting from downstairs, coming to lean your palms against the cold, cracked porcelain as you looked up at yourself in the mirror. You could have sworn you were supposed to be getting a pregnancy glow right about now, but you looked and felt like death. 

The shouting suddenly dulled beneath the floorboards and your head perked up. You turned off the tap cautiously, opening the door and poking your head out to try and hear better. Your stomach dropped again as you stepped out and made your way to the stairs, something deep in your chest immediately fretting that one of them had knocked the other out cold…

You breathed out slowly when the two conscious men came into view, Vander sat with his head in his hands at the bar as Silco leaned against it a little further down, both of them somehow looking physically exhausted. 

Both of their heads lifted when the stairs creaked as you hovered at the base of them, leaning against the bannister cautiously, none of you saying anything for a moment. 

“Is what he says true?” Vander twisted in his seat, running a hand through his newly-grown out hair. 

“It depends on what he’s said,” you tried to break the tension with a laugh, only for it to fall a little flat. You coughed awkwardly, swallowing thickly, “If it's that we have been seeing each other for a while, and I’m in love with him-” your eyes met your boyfriend’s over your brother’s head and held his gaze, smiling softly back at him as his lips curled into a soft smirk, “-then, yes. It’s true.” 

Vander let out a heavy breath, turning his attention back to the scratched worktop of your old family bar. “I don’t like it,” he started, turning back to you with a pointed look when you opened your mouth to protest, “But I’ll allow it, if only for the sake of them,” he gestured vaguely to your stomach, the emerging bump hidden behind a large sweater. You scoffed, stepping down from the stairs slowly.

“Quite frankly, I wouldn’t have cared even if you didn’t ‘allow’ it,” you pressed, reaching over him to ruffle his hair as you passed him, evading his attempt to bat your arm away. 

“I suspected as such. You never have taken no for an answer,” he grumbled, eyeing Silco warily as you leaned into his side, rubbing a hand over your stomach instinctually. 

“Put it this way, you’ve always called him your brother, think of me as starting the long process of making it official,” you shrugged with a smirk, feeling Silco bite back a laugh beside you. 

Vander shook his head, sitting up straighter, “dating is one thing, marriage is another,” he warned, eyes narrowing as Silco rounded the bar to get you another water. You slid onto a stool with a chuckle,

“We’re having a baby, V, I think we are past that.” 

Your brother cringed beside you, “Don’t remind me.” he sighed, watching as his best friend handed you your drink carefully, diligently making sure you had a good grasp on it as your hand still shook from being sick. For a moment, he almost relaxed, the sight of someone taking care of you that wasn’t him still unsettling, but somewhat comforting to know you were in safe hands. 

He sighed heavily, crossing his arms on the bar top and pulling Silco’s attention again. “Well, we’re really on the hook now, aren’t we?” 

Your boyfriend nodded slowly, humming as he wet his lips nervously – “blisters and bedrock.” 

[jjllmx]

do you have any silco x reader fic recs? both on ao3 and tumblr?

Oh boy do I.

I have zero time for reading these days (sob sob) so I'm sadly not at all familiar with any new fics post S2 being aired. But let me lay before you a sumptuous feast; lovingly prepared by the old guard of the Silco fucker society.

Reader's responsibility applies - please check tags etc etc..

Flawless - @a-gal-with-taste

An apt title, for Gal's writing is, indeed, flawless. Silco x Sex Worker!Reader. Absolutely brutal and beautiful - to me, Gal is the Angela Carter of the Silco fandom.

Here be Dragons // Hic Sunt Dracones - @sherwood-forests

This will always be one of my top recommends for a Silco x Reader fic. It's unlike anything else that I've seen in the fandom, and it reminds me of one of my favourite books Uprooted by Naomi Novik. Gives me the cosy feels.

Penance - @astudyincontrasts

Hands down the hottest, sexiest Silco fic in my opinion. If you enjoyed Fleabag or want to bang that priest from Midnight Mass then you need to get on this fic ASAP. To this day I cannot set foot in a church without getting horny. Thanks Study.

Secret Ingredient - @sweatandwoe

This is the Silco fic that made me want to write my own. DWM exists because of Sweaty. Domestic romance and drama of the absolute best kind.

Come Morning - @chickenparm

Parm has so many Silco fics and they are all incredible and required reading for the fandom. But I've chosen this one because it's so incredibly real and human, and will rip your heart to shreds.

Swapped - @silcoitus

I love seeing my blorbos in Situations™ and this is one hell of a Situation™ to find oneself in. Fun, funny, and full of tension. I get the pleasure of beta-reading this one, and I always have the best time squawking at Coi in the comments bar on google docs.

Go, Team! - @vasiktomis

This is actually Marcus x Reader x Silco and it's fucking genius. Vas is a genius and a pervert and I love them and they're my role model. Everyone absolutely has the right not to engage with content that they're not interested in but also if you don't read this fic then you're a coward.

Bend But Not Break - @constantfragmentation

This is a Jane Eyre retelling in the form of a Silco x Reader fic. Yeah that's right. Regency Silco. Emotional constipation cranked up to the max and coats with tails? Yes please. Ensure that you're near a fainting couch whilst reading because you will swoon.

Art in the Heart - @juniper-sunny

Juni was out here giving Young Revolutionary Silco his time in the spotlight long before he was ever animated. If you're a new to the fandom and have come here specifically because of young Silco then AITH is required reading. Head over to Juni's you'll be fed good.

To The Depths - @cognacandlilac

Full disclosure, I haven't actually had the chance to read this fic yet. But it has been on my TBR for an embarrassingly long time and every time I see a snippet I'm like "hot damn I need to get on this pronto" because I just know I'm going to be totally obsessed and consumed by it.

I've only picked one fic for each of the above but I would honestly recommend just tearing through the entirety of their fic lists because there are some absolute masterpieces in there. This is also far from an extensive list - there are so many incredible writers in the fandom and I'm so sorry for anyone I've missed off. I say this with my whole heart - the Silco fandom is easily one of the most talented and skilled corners of the internet. We may be fairly small in numbers compared to other characters/fandoms, but by God the art and stories we have are platinum quality.

[jjllmx]

omg idk what it is about you writing creatively inclined readers but i LOVE IT, and i’m not even musically inclined ;^; . i had an idea, what about silcoxreader where the reader is a relatively famous musician that jinx really LOVES, like her music really speaks to her and the loud sounds and stuff. soooo silco being the good father he is takes her to one of her gigs under his and sevika’s surveillance only to realize that they both know her and that he kinda had a thing with her in his youth, maybe they can go out for a drink after the show? reminiscing on the past, and questioning the present? idk feel free to change this to whatever fits your ✨creative self✨the best. love your work :333🫶

ᴄʜᴏʀᴅꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ

ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 3138 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

The bass was pounding through the old walls of the venue — a run-down warehouse tucked between layers of Zaun smog and forgotten alleyways. Once, it might’ve been a shipping depot, its bones made of rusted steel and reinforced concrete, the kind of place that saw too many hands and too little care. Now it pulsed with life. Fluorescent neon strips twisted like vines up the metal support beams, casting violet and crimson shadows over the sea of moving bodies. Smoke machines hissed in the corners, sending plumes into the rafters where old signage still clung, chipped and stained with time and ash.

The crowd was wild. Unapologetic. Youthful, furious, desperate. They danced like they were trying to shake the world loose from its hinges.

Jinx was already lost in it, her boots grinding into oil-stained floors as she bounced to the rhythm. Her manic laughter burst through the strobes like lightning. She swayed like a live wire, her blue hair whipping in time with the snare hits, arms thrown up like she was trying to catch the sound itself.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Jinx shouted, turning to Silco with wide, dilated pupils and a grin that carved straight through the noise. She clutched her face in mock-reverence. “Her tracks sound like a bomb going off in your soul, right?! Like—like everything's on fire and it’s beautiful! Gods, I think I’m in love.”

Silco said nothing.

He hadn’t said anything for the last two songs.

He stood rooted to the edge of the chaos, his black coat dragging like a pool of shadow, absorbing the flash and frenzy around him. The crowd flowed around him without touching him, like they could feel the gravity he carried—like something coiled inside him might snap if disturbed.

But he wasn’t looking at Jinx. Or the crowd.

His eyes were locked on the stage.

On you.

You emerged in a blaze of light and sound. Not as someone he recognized—not at first. No. You were a storm given flesh, backlit by crimson strobes and framed by digital flames. You hit the first notes like they owed you a debt, voice cracking through layers of distortion and synth like a war cry. Hair damp with sweat, eyeliner smudged into sharp wings, you gripped the microphone like a blade, like it was your only weapon in a world too cruel to yield.

Behind you, the projection screen exploded with your name in graffiti-style lettering—sharp, jagged lines that pulsed with every drop of bass. The visual shattered, rebuilt, morphed. The letters danced, burned, faded into cityscapes and glitching stars.

Your music was pure defiance. Anarchy and art stitched together with neon thread. You didn’t just perform—you claimed the stage. Claimed the room. Commanded every wandering eye like gravity incarnate.

And Silco… Silco had been staring for nearly three minutes before he realized he wasn’t breathing.

Not fully.

There was a tick in his jaw. A subtle tilt of the head. The slow narrowing of his eye as something clawed its way up from the depths of memory. Familiarity. Disbelief.

“No,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

He took a step closer to the edge of the crowd, ignoring how Jinx kept dancing, shouting her praises with abandon. Ignoring Sevika’s side-eye from where she leaned against a pillar, cigarillo glowing faintly in the gloom.

Another spotlight arced across the stage. You spun with it, caught in the light.

And then you smiled.

That crooked smile.

The same one you used to flash him across low-lit tables in bars that reeked of sweat and electricity. The one you wore when you sang him your unfinished songs, barefoot and drunk on possibility. The one you gave him the night before he walked away—for a cause he chose over you.

His blood ran cold.

He didn’t hear the crowd anymore. Not the static of the speakers, or the thump of the bass, or Jinx yelling something about “murder-synth soulcore.” He didn’t hear Sevika stepping closer, or the hiss of smoke at his shoulder.

All he saw was you. You, alive. You, still burning. You, not a ghost like he’d convinced himself.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered beside him, exhaling slowly. “You didn’t know, did you?” Silco’s jaw clenched, the muscles twitching.

His voice was barely audible. “I thought she was dead.”

Sevika scoffed, dry and bitter. “You thought she would die quietly?”

The memory hit him like a punch.

You, throwing your boots up on his table, demanding he listen to your demo. You, shouting at him in the rain outside the Last Drop, tears mixing with stormwater. You, laughing in bed, half-naked and strumming your guitar with chipped black nails. You, gone before the war started in earnest—vanished without a goodbye.

He’d told himself you ran. Got out. Got lost. But part of him had mourned. Quietly. Privately. He’d never expected to see you again.

And now here you were, standing under a sky made of smoke and lasers, electric and untouchable, and singing like you had a score to settle with the gods.

Your last note rang out like a scream in the dark. The lights faded. The crowd erupted.

Jinx was still howling, now practically vibrating with excitement. “That was insane! I wanna die and come back as one of her guitar strings!”

She was halfway through tackling a merch girl for signed posters and a guitar pick when Silco turned away from the stage, his expression unreadable. He nodded once toward Sevika, who took the gesture without question.

“Deal with the crowd,” he said, his voice low and tight.

Sevika grunted. “You going to talk to her?” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he could. Because there you were—his past, his what-if, his Y/N—very much alive.

And walking straight toward the green room at the back of the warehouse.

The corridors behind the stage were narrow and hot, the walls stained with decades of grime and layered graffiti. The air was a cocktail of ozone, sweat, and the tang of electrical burn. Overhead, exposed copper wiring pulsed like veins beneath flickering overhead fixtures, casting sickly light across the concrete floor. Every few feet, speakers mounted with duct tape and rusted brackets buzzed with residual feedback, a ghost of the music still echoing.

Silco walked slowly, footsteps silent on the worn metal grating. His presence made people part around him, even back here—stagehands, lighting techs, and a bassist vomiting into a bucket. None of them met his eye. None of them dared to.

He moved like a shadow, a storm wrapped in black wool and leather. His coat brushed the backs of his calves, weighted at the hem, and in his gloved hand he carried nothing but time—measured and heavy. He passed cases of battered equipment, tangled cords, a cracked amp with your name stenciled on it in peeling neon ink.

Your name.

He hadn’t seen it in years.

And he hadn’t known—not truly, not until the lights hit your face—that it was you.

His Y/N.

He had stood still in that pulsing warehouse, like someone sucker-punched him clean in the gut. Watching you—alive, electric, on fire beneath a sea of ultraviolet chaos—had made the rest of the world drop away. Gone was the thrum of bass. Gone was Jinx’s delighted shrieking. Gone was Sevika’s voice in his ear.

All that remained was you. Like you always had been, in the places that mattered. In the quiet corridors of his mind that shimmer hadn’t touched.

Now, as he approached the dressing room, the air thickened. The hallway narrowed like a throat. He could hear the gurgling pipes in the walls, the hiss of an ancient ventilation system wheezing above him, the buzz of a half-dead neon arrow pointing toward your room.

He stopped in front of the door. Chipped paint. A faded sign that once said “Talent Only” now read “Ta__nt O__y.” He didn’t knock.

He pushed it open.

Inside, the room was a cluttered shrine to noise and heat and memory. A cracked mirror stretched across one wall, its corners yellowed and rust-specked, ringed with old band stickers and torn setlists taped in crooked lines. A string of coloured bulbs hung haphazardly above it, only three of them still working. A vanity littered with makeup, empty bottles, guitar picks, cigarette butts.

And you.

You sat on a worn leather stool, elbows on your knees, head slightly bowed. A towel hung around your neck like a medal from battle, damp from the performance, curling at the edges. Your eyeliner was smeared down your cheekbones in the way Silco remembered—effortless chaos. A chipped ceramic mug steamed between your hands.

For a second, you didn’t see him. Then your eyes lifted—and found him. The tension hit the room like a dropped amp. Your whole frame stiffened, knuckles going white around the mug. The moment stretched like a guitar string pulled too tight.

“…Silco.”

The name escaped you like breath punched from lungs. Quiet. Staggered. But unmistakable.

And it did something to him.

His spine locked, his fingers curled slightly at his sides. You saying his name—it echoed in him. Like it always had. Not a greeting. Not yet. But recognition. Memory.

“You remember,” he said, and his voice was lower than the room, smoother than the ruin in his face would suggest.

You scoffed. One corner of your mouth quirked upward, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hard to forget the man who gave my sound system its first explosion. Literally.”

That smile. Still dangerous. Still sharp enough to draw blood.

Silco huffed, just a shadow of a laugh. “You always said the acoustics in The Sump were shit.”

“They were,” you said, standing slowly, the towel slipping from your shoulders. “You didn’t have to detonate a bass amp to prove it.”

His eyes traveled over you with something like reverence—haunted, careful. You looked older. Hardened. But not broken. Never broken. Your boots were still scuffed, laces fraying. Your jacket was patched with mismatched fabrics, sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal forearms inked with soundwaves and jagged lyrics. Your hair was wilder than he remembered—longer, streaked with fresh color—and your eyes had that same molten fire behind them.

“You’ve changed,” you said finally, voice softer, not accusing—just noting.

“So have you.”

“The world forced us to.”

You walked past him then, slow, deliberate, and tossed the towel over the back of a folding chair. The room felt too small for the two of you now. Too cramped with unsaid things, shared ghosts. You picked up a half-smoked cigarette from the edge of the vanity and lit it, exhaling toward the ceiling.

“It nearly killed me. Twice,” you said after a moment, voice bitter around the smoke. “But the music? Still mine. Still loud. Still me.”

Silco didn’t move. Just studied you in the mirror’s fractured reflection.

“I looked for you,” he said, eventually. Your gaze snapped to him. He continued, slow and honest. “After the Undercity burned. After the refinery riots. I searched for months. I asked everyone.”

“And when they told you I was dead?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched. “I believed them.” You turned away, shoulders rising and falling with something held back. The smoke curled around your fingers. “That night,” he said, “the fire by the old rail yard—”

“I made it out. Barely,” you cut in, tone clipped. “No thanks to you.” Silco took the blow without flinching. He deserved it. You both knew it. “But I stayed gone,” you continued. “Let people think I didn’t make it. Easier that way. Cleaner. No attachments.” He let the silence settle.

Let you have your breath.

“There’s a bar not far from here,” Silco said finally, voice quiet. “Quiet. Safe. I’d like to talk. Just… talk.” You didn’t respond right away.

Instead, you looked at him—really looked. Your eyes moved over his face, the scars, the strange stillness in his frame, the ache in his expression he probably didn’t realize he wore so plainly. The silence stretched again, this time different. This time uncertain.

Then—your shoulders lowered. Just a fraction. The wall cracked, only slightly, but enough.

“…Ten minutes,” you said, reaching for your bag. “I pack fast.” Silco nodded once, turned to go—but your voice stopped him again. “Silco.” He glanced back. You met his gaze. “I thought you were dead too.” Then you turned away.

And Silco stood there a second longer, letting those words sink deep into the place in him that still burned, still bled, still remembered you.

The bar was nestled deep in the industrial underbelly of Zaun, tucked behind a set of rust-flaked freight containers and a chain-link gate no one bothered to lock anymore. It wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled into by accident. No neon sign blared its name; only a dangling green bulb buzzed above the door like a half-dead firefly. The door creaked on its hinges when you pushed it open, reluctant to welcome guests. The interior was a dim sprawl of shadows and amber light, with low ceilings and peeling wallpaper the color of dried rust.

The few patrons inside didn’t look up. Regulars, mostly—men with oil under their fingernails, women in soot-smeared coats, the occasional Shimmer-burnt junkie curled in a booth like a warning. Smoke hung in the air like old memories, clinging to the warped wooden beams overhead. A radio in the back crackled low, the signal warped and static-laced, playing some jazz tune that had no business surviving down here. It was a place for ghosts and those who hadn’t realized they were ghosts yet.

You slid into the cracked vinyl booth across from him without a word. The seat hissed beneath you. The table between you wobbled slightly when you leaned your elbow on it. Silco was already seated, his coat draped neatly beside him, shoulders tense beneath the clean lines of his black suit. He hadn’t touched his drink.

You glanced down at his glass—brown liquor, ice long since melted—and then to your own. Whiskey. Cheap, warm, but sharp enough to hold your attention. You took a sip and let it burn down your throat before you spoke.

“So,” you said, casually, as if the question didn’t ache behind your ribs. You tapped a slow rhythm against the side of your glass, just three knuckles brushing the rim. “Is this nostalgia… or guilt?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite denial.

In the amber light, Silco looked smaller somehow. Still sharp around the edges—those knife-like cheekbones, the molten scar that split his face like a broken seam—but the years hung on him now like extra weight. He looked tired. Older. Not just in the grey at his temples, but in his posture, his eyes. In the way he sat like the world still had teeth.

“Is it wrong to say I missed you?” he asked, voice low, barely rising above the hum of the bar.

You studied him for a long beat. Watched the way his fingers curled around the base of his untouched glass, the way his gaze stayed on the table like it might crumble if he looked up. You remembered that voice. That silence. The way he used to speak only when the words truly mattered.

“Not wrong,” you said softly, “just late.”

Your fingers never stopped moving. They traced a lazy beat on the rim of your glass, a sound only the two of you noticed. You always tapped when you were thinking. He’d once called it your metronome—your way of keeping time in a world that never stopped trying to take it from you.

“I waited for you once,” you said, the words heavier than the glass in your hand. “Back when you disappeared after the refinery raid. Everything went to hell, and you just… vanished. No note. No word. No body.”

He flinched, barely perceptible. But you saw it. Felt it like a drop in pitch.

“I thought you were dead,” you went on, quieter now. “Or worse—that you chose to walk away. To let go of everything we built.”

“I didn’t think I had a future to offer you,” he said, voice frayed at the edges.

You watched the shadows move across his face. His eyes flicked up, met yours. Still sharp. Still unreadable.

“And now?”

There was a pause. A beat in which the world seemed to lean in, listening.

“Now I have a kingdom of ash,” he murmured, “and a daughter who only smiles when she listens to you scream into a microphone.”

You blinked, startled. Not at the metaphor—Silco had always spoken in poetic ruin—but at the word.

“…Daughter?”

He gave a single nod. “In every way that matters.”

You sat back, brows furrowed. “The girl with the grenades and the warpaint?”

He exhaled, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. “Jinx.”

You let out a low breath, almost a laugh. “She’s… electric. Beautiful, in a terrifying way. I didn’t know she was yours.”

“She isn’t,” he said. “Not by blood. But by choice. I took her in when the world abandoned her. Or maybe she found me. Hard to say anymore.”

“And my music?” you asked, softer now. “She listens to me?”

“She memorizes your lyrics. I hear her singing them in the dead hours of the night. When she thinks no one’s listening.” He paused. “It’s the only time she’s truly calm. Your music gives her something that isn’t rage. That isn’t pain.”

You stared down at your drink. Your hand had gone still.

“That means more than you know,” you whispered. And it did. More than applause, more than credits or fame. That it reached someone.

A silence settled then. Not the brittle kind that comes before a fight, or the aching kind that follows regret. This was heavier. Thicker. Full of things unspoken—of years lost and moments too fragile to touch.

Silco leaned forward. His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Stay. Just for a while. Play more shows here. Let her have this. Let me have this. Even if it’s only a flicker of what we lost.”

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. You looked at him—really looked—and saw not the man you’d once loved, but the remains of him. Scarred and shrouded, built of ash and fury and compromise. But somewhere under the soot… the ember still burned.

You slid your hand forward, fingertips grazing his.

“For one drink,” you whispered, “and one song.”

He didn’t smile. Not fully. But his eyes lit with something old. Something vulnerable. And you both knew.

There would be more.

[jjllmx]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTAR MANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Platonic Alexander Sartorius x Child Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What If He Become Obsessed With a Lonely Little Girl?

☆⁠ NOTES : I already wrote that but yet again, it's a pure platonic fic. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It started with a cough. Yours.

You were just a little thing — no older than eight or nine. Scrawny, wide-eyed, draped in a secondhand coat too big for your shoulders, wandering around Gotham’s decaying hospital district with a ratty backpack and a box of chalk. Drawing hearts and cats on the sidewalks. Coughing a little too hard. Breathing in too much Gotham air.

That’s when he saw you.

Not clearly. He was hiding — always hiding — behind shadowed alleyways, behind vents, behind his own damn curse of a body. Dr. Phosphorus: a man more ghost than flesh, a body lit from the inside out with a radioactive hellfire that never dies.

You should’ve screamed. But you didn’t.

You stared at him. Big, unblinking eyes. Tilted your head. Like a child seeing a bonfire flicker in the cold. You didn’t run. Didn’t cry. You just said:

"You look like the stars."

And that was it.

He told himself it was just curiosity.

A child's innocence. A one-off encounter. He wouldn’t linger. Couldn’t. He was a monster, a pariah — rejected by science, abandoned by Gotham, burned from the inside out because of corporate betrayal. His body melted and fused into something no longer human. He hated children. Hated their purity, their softness, their loudness.

But you came back.

Every day. Drawing chalk suns and moons. Sometimes you brought flowers and left them by the rusted fence where you’d seen him. Sometimes you talked to the shadows — asked if he liked kittens. If he liked candy. If he was lonely.

He never answered. But he listened.

Then he began to follow you.

Silently. Carefully. Never too close. You had no one. No mother. No father. Gotham chewed people like you up and spat them out. But you were different — a tiny sunbeam in this diseased city. You shared your food with pigeons. Hugged stray cats. Drew wings on the sides of old buildings. You had such hope.

And somehow, he started to believe that if he watched over you… if he kept you safe… maybe his life wasn’t entirely without meaning.

It got worse when you got sick.

A fever. Nothing serious, but your little body was weak. Maybe from the Gotham air. Maybe from the cold. He hovered outside your squat shelter all night, watching you shake under the threadbare blanket. He couldn’t touch you. He’d burn you. His very presence was toxic.

So he left food. Medicine. Blankets. Stolen, yes — but necessary. The next morning, you smiled weakly and whispered to the shadows:

"Thank you, star man."

He didn’t sleep for days.

He started killing again.

Only people who hurt children. Only abusers. Dealers. Monsters. People who looked at you too long when you walked down the street. People who would’ve hurt you if he hadn’t stepped in.

Their corpses burned to ash, leaving no trace. No witnesses.

He told himself it was justice. A cleansing fire. But truthfully?

It was because you were the only thing in this world that hadn’t flinched at the sight of him.

He became obsessed with your laughter.

You didn’t do it often. But when you did — when a dog licked your face, or a balloon flew into your hands — it was music. Something pure. Something human. Something that made the burning inside him rage with something that almost felt like life.

He’d do anything to protect that sound.

He began following you everywhere. School (when you went). Stores. Shelters. You never saw him, but sometimes you left chalk drawings where you’d seen him last. Stick figures of a girl and a man made of flame. You named him "Mr. Star."

Then one night, someone hurt you.

A mugger. Just a kid himself, desperate, shaking, holding a knife. You were trying to give him your sandwich.

Alexander burned him down to the bone.

You saw him. Glowing, radioactive, his skull lit like a lantern, fire rising from his ribs — a creature from hell. You screamed, this time. Fell backwards. Cried.

He froze.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at your tearful, terrified face.

And then you reached out with a shaking hand and whispered:

“Please don’t go.”

That night, he began speaking to you.

Just once. Then again. And again. Always at night. Always hidden. But you got used to it. You told him about your day. He told you stories from when he was still human — about science, about the stars, about how he used to dream of curing cancer. He spoke like a ghost trying to remember what it was to be a man.

He warned you never to touch him. He was fire, poison. A living reactor.

But you called him your guardian angel.

Now he lives for you.

You are his redemption. The last flicker of light in a world that turned him into a monster. He doesn’t care about revenge anymore. Not really. Not when you’re smiling. Not when you’re safe.

He watches you sleep from rooftops. Follows you like a shadow. Whispers your name in the dark when he thinks you can’t hear.

You call him “Star Man.”

And though he knows he’ll never be human again…

He thinks, just maybe, he can be your star.

The nights in Gotham are always cold. Even in summer.

The shadows are long, the air tastes like smoke, and you’ve learned to recognize the scent of ash that trails behind him.

Even when you don’t see him, you talk like he’s listening.

And he is.

He always is.

You sit on the edge of an abandoned apartment building roof, legs swinging off the side like you don’t know gravity exists. There’s a blanket around your shoulders — he left it there yesterday. It doesn’t smell like fire, like the others. This one smells like him.

Ash. Sulfur. Ozone. Burnt electricity. You tell yourself it smells like the inside of a thundercloud.

You like it.

"You know," you say to the night, mouth full of a peanut butter sandwich (also him), "they say the stars are already dead when we see 'em. But you're still here. So… maybe you're not really a star. Maybe you're a ghost."

Silence.

A pause.

Then — behind the smoke pipe, in a corner of the rooftop where his burning body won’t light up the world — his voice rumbles low, tired, sad.

“Would it matter?”

You smile. You always smile when he talks. You swear his voice makes your ribs feel warm — but not from heat. From something softer.

You hug the blanket tighter.

“It matters to me.”

He doesn’t know why that makes his chest ache.

There’s no blood left in his heart. No muscle. Just fire. So why does it hurt?

Why does he want to cry when you look at him and don’t flinch?

You keep coming back.

Every night. Same rooftop. Same little rituals. Chalk drawings. Rooftop tea parties with stolen mugs and boiled rainwater. He never drinks. He can’t. You know that. So you pour his into a metal bowl and tell him to pretend.

He always does.

You tell him about school — the weird girl who eats erasers, the mean boy who pushed you, the teacher who called you “special” because you always stare out the window during math.

“I stare because I’m waiting for you.”

You say it so easily.

And his hands tremble — glowing bones, flickering like dying coals.

One night, you fall asleep on the roof.

Just curl up, hoodie tucked under your head, arms around your stuffed rabbit (you named it Phos — after him).

He can’t leave.

He sits there, a few feet away, hands clenched so tightly the flames flicker out for a moment. He watches your chest rise and fall. Your nose scrunch. The way you call for him in your sleep.

“Star Man…”

No one’s ever said his name like it matters before.

He almost touches you.

Almost reaches out a hand.

But he stops.

He can’t. He’ll burn you. Poison you. Ruin you.

So he stays the night, like a gargoyle — monstrous, glowing, immobile — guarding you from a world that never gave you what you deserved.

The next day, you don’t come.

Or the next.

Or the next.

He panics.

Wanders Gotham like a ghost on fire. Flickers through alleyways. Leaves scorch marks on pavement. Murders a man who tried to snatch a girl who looked a little like you in the dark.

He doesn’t care.

He just keeps searching.

Until finally—

He finds you in a hospital.

A free clinic. You’re in bed, cheeks flushed, IV in your arm, a mask over your nose. Pneumonia. Weak lungs. Doctor says you need a home. A real one.

You’re half-conscious. Mumbling in your fever dream.

“Did Star Man leave me…?”

He stands outside the glass, unseen, untouchable.

And for the first time in years, Alexander wants to pray.

But no gods answer men made of fire.

That night, the clinic’s corrupt landlord is found charred into a skeleton.

The next morning, all your medical bills are mysteriously paid.

A nurse finds a stuffed rabbit on your pillow and a note that smells like ash.

“Don’t forget me when you’re big.”

You smile in your sleep.

You get better.

You come back to the rooftop.

He’s waiting.

You scream his name and hug the air because you still can’t touch him.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

But his light glows brighter than usual.

You tell him about your dream — that one day, you’ll become a scientist. You’ll fix broken things. You’ll build a suit that lets him touch the world again.

He doesn’t laugh.

He never laughs.

But he says, softly:

“Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

You leave flowers for him on bad days. You don’t know if he can smell them. You draw little chalk comics of you two flying through space. You wear gloves even in summer and ask if maybe, just maybe, you can touch his hand one day.

He never says yes.

But he never says no.

He’s not your father.

Not your friend.

Not even human anymore.

But in this quiet little corner of Gotham, where a man made of fire lives in shadows and a tiny girl brings him laughter and chalk stars…

He is yours.

And you are his.

Forever.

Even if you grow up.

Even if you leave.

Even if you forget.

He never will.

You don���t flinch when you see him. You never have. But now you run to him — skipping across the rooftop like you’ve got wings, like you’re trying to fly straight into his arms.

He panics every time.

Because you’re getting closer.

Your little shoes almost step into the scorched circle he makes on the concrete.

He always backs away.

Even now.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

Even though every time you look up at him with that round, shining face, he aches.

Aches for a version of the world where he can reach out and just… hold you.

Just once.

You sit down beside his usual spot, breathless and excited.

You’re wearing gloves today. Big, fluffy winter gloves. Blue with little white stars. You wriggle your fingers at him.

“I know I can’t hug you. But maybe I can still try, right? If I wear these?”

His silence stretches out like night.

You tilt your head. "They're super thick. Triple layers. I checked with a blow dryer."

Still, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t answer.

But the flames in his chest flicker — like something caught in his throat.

You take a deep breath, scoot forward, and hold your gloved arms open.

Your voice is soft. Barely a whisper.

“I just want to hug you…”

And in that moment, he thinks:

So do I.

God, so do I.

He wants to drop to his knees. Wrap his arms around you and curl his entire being around the little light you’ve become in his hell.

He wants to believe he won’t burn you.

Wants to believe you’re strong enough to touch a monster and not come away scarred.

But you’re not.

You’re just a girl.

A good, bright, precious thing.

And he…

He is dying ash and radioactive dust.

So instead of stepping forward, he lowers himself — slow, heavy, quiet — to the ground across from you.

A few feet apart.

Same as always.

“I’m sorry.”

He says it like a confession.

Like a sin.

You smile. But your eyes are wet.

You’re not stupid. You’ve always known.

Still, your arms stay open, trembling just a little.

“…You think maybe someday, when I’m older, I can fix you? Maybe I can build something. A suit. Or a shell. Like a robot hug-machine or something.”

You laugh through your tears.

“Then I can hug you and you won’t be alone.”

He wants to tell you the truth. That even if you did… even if you built a suit, or a miracle, or a whole new body — he’d still be burning inside.

But he doesn’t say that.

Because you don’t need truth.

You need hope.

So he says, “Maybe.”

And you beam.

That night, you fall asleep on the rooftop again. Curled under your coat, arms wrapped around your rabbit, cheeks pink from crying and cold.

He doesn’t leave.

He stands there, silent, flickering.

He doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe.

He just watches you sleep like you’re the last star in his sky.

He lowers himself beside you, careful not to get close. Careful not to let the wind blow his heat your way.

And for the first time, he whispers:

“I wish I could hold you.”

The flames dance like candlelight.

He doesn’t think you hear.

But then, half-asleep, your voice murmurs through the dark:

“…I know.”

He almost breaks.

The next morning, you're gone when he wakes.

Left a note.

A crayon drawing.

Two stick figures: one glowing like a star, the other with big gloves and pigtails.

They’re hugging.

You wrote: “One day. I promise.”

And under that, smaller:

“I love you, Star Man.”

He keeps it.

He keeps everything.

The cough started again.

Tiny and dry at first.

But it lingered.

Your voice cracked when you laughed. You had to sit down after climbing the stairs to your rooftop. You stopped running to him like before. Now, you walked slow, your hand over your chest, as if it hurt to breathe.

He noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

Alexander saw everything.

But he didn’t say it.

Because when he asked you how you were, and you smiled and said, “I’m okay, Star Man,”—

He wanted to believe you.

It got worse in November.

The Gotham chill crept deep into your bones. You were wrapped in three sweaters and two blankets, a scarf, gloves, and thick socks — all from him. The things he couldn’t touch. The only pieces of himself he could give.

And still—

Still, you shivered.

You try to smile, even when you’re hunched over, your hoodie soaked through with rain, your fingers stiff and blue.

“Star Man… I brought marshmallows. They’re kinda wet, but—”

Your sentence breaks into a coughing fit that doubles you over.

He’s at your side in a second — not touching, never touching — but his fire flares violently. Glowing so bright you can barely look at him.

You wheeze between coughs, grinning with bloody teeth.

“Don’t be mad.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t move.

Just watches as you crumple, small body trembling from cold.

The next day, he goes to the clinic.

He doesn’t knock.

He just stands outside the glass, burning, waiting, looming.

The same doctor from before steps out, calm and frowning.

“You’re the one paying her bills, aren’t you?”

A nod. The faint crackle of fire. No words.

“Her lungs are… destroyed. The infection spread. She needs warmth. Real food. Someone to take care of her. A home.”

So he did something.

He found a place.

An old greenhouse. Abandoned for years. On the edge of Gotham’s industrial zone, far from the city’s heart. Glass roof shattered in places. Ivy curling through cracks. Rusted benches, shattered flower pots.

But it was warm.

With him inside, it was always warm.

His touch melted the frost from the windows. Burned away the mold. Cleared the air. Every step he took lit the greenhouse like a lantern.

He made it a home. For you.

A tiny bed in the corner. Soft pillows. A heater (even though he was the heater). Drawings hung on the walls — yours and his, clumsy and glowing with chalk. Shelves filled with books, blankets, tea cups. A nightlight shaped like a sun.

He stayed in the center. Always a few feet away.

Always watching.

Always glowing.

Your Star Man.

And you got better.

For a while.

Your cheeks flushed again. You danced with your stuffed rabbit. You made little games — “Don’t step on the cold tile or you’ll freeze!” You’d giggle when he’d tell you stories in that dry, crackling voice of his.

“Tell me again how you caught on fire.”

“No.”

“Pleaaaase?”

“...I glowed brighter than a star. That’s all you need to know.”

You lived inside warmth. His warmth.

You slept like a kitten, curled up in layers, with the soft light of his bones painting golden shadows across your skin.

And some nights — some rare and quiet nights — he would stand by your bed, motionless, watching you breathe.

And whisper—

“Don’t leave me.”

He never said it loud enough for you to hear.

But the greenhouse always flickered, like a candle in the wind, whenever he did.

You start keeping a notebook full of inventions. You wore your little goggles around the house like you were already a scientist.

“I’m gonna make you a skin one day,” you told him.

“A real one. With nerves and pores and freckles. And then I’ll give you a jacket. And gloves. And I’ll brush your hair. You’d have hair, right? If you weren’t… y’know…”

He didn’t answer.

His hands twitched like maybe he wanted to hold you.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

You spent every day together.

Mornings were for sunlight. For tea you didn’t let him drink. For sitting on the porch and pointing out clouds. For playing board games you cheated at just to hear him grumble.

Afternoons were science time. You made model atoms out of candy and toothpicks. He taught you how to build a safe Geiger counter. You wore a lab coat two sizes too big and called him “Professor Star Man.”

He built you a little suit to go outside — warm, air-filtered, stitched with gold thread so you’d look like a star too.

“Now we match,” you beamed.

And he almost smiled.

Almost.

But nights…

Nights were for stories.

You’d crawl into bed and make him sit on the floor, the glow of his body washing over the room like a ghostly candle.

You talked until you fell asleep.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna cure radiation.”

“When I grow up, I’m gonna build you a heart.”

“When I grow up, I’ll fix everything. And then you won’t be lonely anymore.”

Every night, the same phrase.

“When I grow up…”

And every time, something inside him cracked.

One day, you bring him a drawing.

It’s of you, all grown up. In a lab coat. Goggles. Holding a beaker. He’s beside you — but his fire is gone. His body looks whole. He’s smiling.

You look proud.

You whisper:

“This is the future.”

He takes the picture in shaking, flaming fingers, careful not to burn it.

And for the first time in decades…

He cries.

Not tears — he can’t. But the fire in his chest sputters, trembles, collapses inward like a dying star.

Because he knows.

The winter came fast.

So did the coughing.

And the blood.

And the nights you couldn’t get out of bed.

He tried everything. Built filters. Bought machines. Even stood outside hospitals and threatened surgeons into doing house calls.

You still smiled.

You still told him about the future.

Even when you were too weak to hold a pencil, you kept talking about the lab you’d build. The star maps you’d draw. The future you’d give him.

“You’ll have a room with a window. You’ll watch the world without hiding.”

“I’ll name the first element I discover after you. Sartorium. It’ll be warm, but not deadly. Like you.”

He wanted to scream.

But he couldn’t.

He never left your side.

Not for a second.

He melted snow to pour you water. Boiled cloth to lay across your forehead. Sat in the dark while your body broke down piece by piece.

He begged — silently, to the stars that no longer knew his name.

“Please don’t take her.”

“Please.”

“Take me. Not her.”

But they never answered.

And neither did you.

The next morning, the air in the greenhouse was too still.

You weren’t breathing.

Your fingers were curled around your stuffed rabbit.

There was no pain on your face.

Just a tiny smile.

Like you were dreaming of something warm.

Like maybe, you’d built that cold suit after all.

And hugged him.

He didn’t move.

Not for hours.

Then, gently, slowly, he stepped forward.

His flames didn’t flicker.

His body didn’t glow.

He bent at the waist and laid something on your chest.

His glove.

The one thing that had touched you.

And then he whispered, voice hollow and cracked:

“I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

The greenhouse still glows at night.

People say it’s haunted.

But the kids on the street leave drawings by the door. Stuffed animals. Crayons. Little chalk stars.

They say there’s a girl who once lived there.

A girl made of warmth and laughter.

And a monster made of fire who loved her more than life.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[jjllmx]

Slide - The Series [Masterlist]

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?.

Type: Drabble Series

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: extreme angst, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of depression, so much pining, unrequited love au, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: here is the masterlist. the story is gonna to back to the past and then come back to the present. hence, I have classified it. Hope it makes things easy to understand. also, this is gonna be very fragmented. I will not go into detailing much - as in the details of their jobs, family and stuff like that. this story will mainly revolve around Yoongi and reader's feelings towards each other and their bad decisions. That's all. AND please tell me if I have missed anyone's name in the taglist despite being requested. thanks <3

Taglist requests are closed for now

One time for the present ~

1. Slide - The Beginning

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

2. Slide - The Ultimate Decision

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

3. Slide - The Other Side

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

4. Slide - The Consequence

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

5. Slide - The Dream

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

6. Slide - The Regret

For the first time in his 31 years of life - Min Yoongi is regretting.  And the reason behind his regret circles around you.

7. Slide - The Trial

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

8. Slide - The Vacation

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

9. Slide - The Realization

Yoongi dreams of you... dreams of a family with you.

10. Slide - The Reconciliation

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

11. Slide - The Finale

Tonight when he kisses you, it’s not a goodbye, rather it’s a promise of forever.

Two times for the past ~

1. Slide - The Prequel

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

2. Slide - That Night

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Special Chapters ~

1. Slide - The Christmas Gift [Meant for Patreon only]

The third Christmas with Yoongi turns out to be something unexpected.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown @armystay89

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii

[jjllmx]

Yoongi x Female Reader. Arranged Marriage AU.

Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, slight mention of bullying and abusive relationships

Word Count: 2,306

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Yoongi was in kindergarten the first time he saw you. One of the bullies was making fun of you for having a Barbie lunch box. They took it and threw it down into the mud while laughing and pointing. He saw your lip begin to shake and it broke his heart. He knew what it felt like to feel alone and hurt. He walked up shoving the biggest of the bullies to the ground knowing he would probably get suspended for fighting, but he didn’t care. Silently he picked up the bag and took it to the bathroom where he washed off the mud the best he could. You thanked him with a shy smile and gave him your last sticker before you went on your way. He stared down at the glittery star and he didn’t know it yet, but that was the beginning of his crush on you.

In the sixth grade he went to every one of your basketball games. Your team was named The Shooting Stars, fitting he thought. His friends would tease him about why he wanted to waste his time watching girls play. He would laugh it off and say that he had to be there for volunteer hours or something. His friends weren’t really quite bright enough to question it so they let it go. Secretly he watched you with admiration and cheered every time you scored a basket. After every game he would be waiting by the exit where he would hand you a bottle of water and congratulate you either for the win or for trying your hardest if you lost. You would always get giggly and blush even harder making his stomach fill with butterflies.

In high school he tried to ask you to the senior dance, A Night Under The Stars. He bought the biggest bouquet of roses he could find and wrote a cute little note sticking both of them in your locker. He stood just a few feet away pretending to be busy rearranging his own locker. You pulled the roses out with wide eyes shocked at how beautiful they were. Yoongi was shaking with nerves as he peaked over seeing that you were reading the note.

“Ooohhhh who are those from?”, your best friend asked.

“I don’t know.”, you shrugged, “Theres no name.”

Yoongi felt like he was going to throw up. In his nervousness he forgot to sign his own name. A dumb mistake.

You never did figure out that it was him that placed the roses in your locker. He went to the dance with some girl he can’t even remember because he spent the whole night staring at you.

After high school the two of you went your separate ways. You went to college. He heard from a friend of a friend that you majored in early childhood education and were now a preschool teacher at Little Stars Academy. That suited you.

Yoongi on the other hand was put through the wringer. His parents worked hard to turn him into a successful and feared businessman so that he would be primed and ready to take over the the family company one day.

He didn’t know if it was the cutthroat business world or the fact that he realized he was nothing more than a pawn to his parents, but over time he became cold, hardened, and distant. He didn’t have much of a care for anyone in the world other than himself. He lived and breathed for business and making money. That was it.

Then on his 30th birthday his parents invited him over for a dinner. A small part of him got excited that maybe they actually did care about him as a son and not just an heir that they needed. But instead of balloons or a cake or even simply a card, he was handed a contract by his parent’s lawyer. Yoongi was required to be married by the end of the year or he would forfeit over all of his rights to the company and they would pass it on to his oldest cousin. They were kind enough to include a clause in that contract that he could either find his own bride or marry the woman they had picked, Kim Aera. Yoongi’s head started pounding at the thought of being married to her. She was loud, obnoxious, and pretentious. He would rather be married to a grizzly bear than her.

So after a couple of months and with much pestering from his parents without really thinking he threw out your name. It was the only one he could think of.

To his surprise his parents were okay with it. Of course they only saw the headlines though, “CEO Marries Sweet Preschool Teacher.” It would make people fall in love with him and that meant more money. An even bigger surprise was that you also agreed to it. The two of you hadn’t spoken since high school so he fully expected you to not even remember him.

He had heard from his friend of a friend that you were in a tough spot. Your mom passed away shortly after you graduated. Your dad became an alcoholic and you went no contact. You were struggling financially and stuck in an unhealthy border line abusive relationship. So when Yoongi offered you an out you took it.

Things moved pretty quickly after that. The two of you met for dinner quite often and then to go over things for the wedding a few more times after that. You wanted the colors to be navy and white with hints of gold. It reminded him of the stars in the night sky. Yoongi liked that. You wanted the cake to be a lemon cake with a raspberry filling. Yoongi hated raspberries, but he agreed because the way your face lit up when you tasted the sample made his heart race. You wanted no alcohol thanks to the bad memories it gave you about your father. Yoongi thought that a wedding without alcohol was blasphemy, but agreed and even stood firm when his parents tried to argue. He wanted to be your safe space and your comfort and he was going to make sure that happened.

As the months went on and he spent more and more time with you he could feel his cold heart starting to warm. The two of you would often sit outside on the balcony of his penthouse late at night staring at the sky.

“If you were to wish upon a star right now what would you ask for?”, you would question him.

He would look at you with a raised eyebrow, “I thought that the wish wouldn’t come true if you told someone?”

“That’s for birthday candles. Stars are different.”, you would laugh.

Yoongi would reach for your hand and smile, “I would rather not risk it.”

After you came back into his life he smiled and laughed more. Greeted his employees good morning much to their confusion. He didn’t drown himself in work because he actually looked forward to going home to you and hearing about your day. In a few short weeks he would be getting married, something he never imagined doing. For the first time in a while he was genuinely happy.

But things started taking a turn. He had to work up until the day before the wedding. His company had lost a major bidding war to buy a smaller lesser known although important company. It was not only a financial loss, but also an embarrassment. His parents were livid and taking it all out on him calling him stupid and useless and wishing they had a son to be proud of. On top of that the venue called wanting to know where to store the fifty cases of whiskey and wine his parents had ordered behind his back. The florist called and said there was a shortage on hydrangeas so all of the arrangements would need to be redone and they weren’t sure if they could do it on time. And to top it all off the baker called and cancelled last minute and no matter how many bakeries he called he couldn’t find one able to make the lemon cake with raspberry filling in time for the wedding.

When he finally he got home he was frustrated and angry and hurt. You came to greet him with a nice warm cup of coffee like you usually did, but this time your foot got caught under the rug sending you flying forward. The dark brown liquid spilling all over his favorite suit. That was enough to push him overboard. The old cold, hard Yoongi had returned and he didn’t care who his words hurt. It was like his brain blacked out for a moment.

“Cant you do anything right?!”, he spat, “You are such a waste of space. What benefits do you bring? All you’ve done is mess everything up. I can’t believe that out of all of the people in this world I have to marry someone like you tomorrow.”

Yoongi watched as your lip began to shake just like it did in kindergarten when the bullies threw your lunch box in the mud. Back then he was your rescuer, but right now he was no better than the people that hurt you.

“Y/N…I.”, he tried after realizing what he had said, but you pushed past him and into the bathroom locking the door behind you.

After a sleepless night of tossing and turning he entered the venue fully expecting ti find out that the wedding had been called off. But to his surprise you were there in the back room getting ready. He tried to apologize then, but was whisked away to get his own hair and makeup done loosing the chance.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. The vows were said, a kiss was shared. The entire wedding party took photos and then it was time for the reception. That’s when Yoongi noticed things felt off. You were distant. You stood off to the side trying to keep space between the two of you. Rarely did he ever see you smile or laugh. It killed him inside to know he was the cause of that, but he couldn’t blame you. He was a heartless jerk and said hurtful things to the one person he cared about.

As the night was winding down he saw you head outside to the terrace area and he took his chance to finally get a few minutes alone with you. He found you leaning against the ledge staring down at the city below. You looked gorgeous standing beneath the stars of the night sky.

“If you could wish upon a star right now what would you wish for?”, he asked after walking up next to you.

You remained silent. It hurt, but he knew he deserved that.

He continued on anyways, “I would wish that I could go back to that day in high school and actually write my name on that stupid note I put in your locker.”, he chuckled, “Then maybe we would have gone to the dance together. And then we would’ve gone to college together. I would have proposed to you on Christmas morning while sitting next to the tree watching the lights sparkle. We would’ve had a small ceremony, just our friends. Bought a house in the countryside. Got a dog maybe a cat too. Maybe even a couple kids if you wanted. I would make you breakfast in bed and dessert by the lake. I would have taken you on vacations all over showing you the world and showing the world how lucky I was. Then when we were old and gray I would take care of you until our last breath making sure you were warm and comfy. And then in my last days I would wish to do that all over again with you by my side.”

He looked over at you noticing you gently wiping underneath your eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/N.”, he said, “I’m sorry for a lot of things. I’m especially sorry for how I spoke to you last night. That was uncalled for and I didn’t mean any of it. You are perfect in every way and just by being here you light up the world. In a world full of darkness you’ve always been my bright star Y/N.”

Softly you leaned in and rested your head on his shoulder as you stared out at the sky. Yoongi thought he might have a heart attack.

“You know what I would wish for?”, you finally spoke after a while. He hummed to acknowledge that he was intently listening.

“I would wish to go back to high school. To that day I saw you putting the roses and note into my locker. I would wish that I would have had enough courage to go up to you in person instead of pretending I didn’t know where they came from because I was too scared to say anything since you didn’t leave your name for me to be certain. Then maybe we both would have turned out differently.”, you said wrapping your arms around his neck. He moved his own arms around your waist squeezing you tight.

“I really am sorry.”, he whispered in your ear, “I promise I’ll do better from now on.”

In the back of the limo on the way to the hotel Yoongi had you tightly pulled against his side. His right arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both looked out the window watching as the night sky passed by.

“Yoongi look!”, you gasped, “A shooting star. Make a wish!”

He watched as you closed your eyes wishing for whatever it was that your heart desired. He knew he didn’t have to make a wish of his own. He already had everything he could ever want and ever need. But he did it anyways. He closed his eyes and thought of his wish.

“What did you wish for?”, you questioned once you opened your eyes.

“I can’t tell you.”, Yoongi smirked, “If I do it won’t come true and I’m not taking any chances.”

[jjllmx]

I cant wait for more im so in love with this 😭😭😭

Rapture (Alastor x Ex-Partner!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: ANGST.

Word Count: 3,000

Previous Part: Ritornello

Next Part: COMING SOON

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Rhapsody Master List

A/N I got a request a while ago to continue this so here is the next part!! Sorry for taking so long. When you guys request things,, it lets me get to them quicker which I appreciate (esp when its about my own projects) :)

It had been about a month since Alastor had joined the hotel staff and things were going smoothly. Well, as smoothly as they could go when trying to rehabilitate sinners but, some good things had occurred. The best of them had been the addition of their newest guest: Sir Pentious.

Y/n had been suspicious of him at first, as had Vaggie and Angel Dust. They had heard of him before, fought with him in the past according to Pentious himself. Y/n knew the demon had a desire in him, a want to become what they despised most. It became quickly evident that when he had joined the hotel, Pentious had not only given up his war machines but that dream of his as well.

Settling in to the new pattern had been... difficult. It was such a strange thing for Y/n to be around Alastor. There had been a time, a long time, when they had known his every affect, the essence of his being. That time was gone. He was not the many they had known just as they were not the demon he had known. However, there was something that lingered between them still -- the memory. It filled the silent spaces, consumed the air. It was large and complicated.

The first week or so after his arrival, Y/n had been a wreck. They didn't cry, they didn't yearn for him, but they still suffered. It was so hard to escape the old patterns. Each demon found themselves nearly doing things, saying things, experiencing things that belonged in the lives they had once led, not the ones they were involved in now.

Y/n had stopped missing Alastor when their relationship with Charlie had solidified. Suddenly, despite the fact that he was right before their very eyes, inhabiting the same places as they did for the first time in three decades, it was almost like they were loosing him all over again.

Slowly, the need to stop themselves faded. There was no longer the necessity of catching the words in their throats, of pinning their hands to their sides, of burying questions or requests in the recesses of their minds because the need, or habit perhaps is the better word, began to fade. New routines came into being. The world kept turning.

Still, there was the odd awkward silence. Still, Y/n felt a tingle in their spine, butterflies in their stomach, when they ended up alone together. Alastor just smiled through it all, like he always had.

The only real step Alastor had taken that showed any emotion at all towards his former lover was that he blocked any contact Y/n had with Husk and Nifty. Y/n was intent on interrogating them, seeing what sort of a master he was, learning their stories and working to free them from their contracts. Alastor must have sensed this, must have guessed, drawing on his own experience with them, that they would want to do something like that. Every time Y/n managed to come even close to a moment alone with one of them or the appropriate environment for a more personal, private conversation, he appeared and shut it down.

If Y/n were younger, they would have thought it was a game. Perhaps some part of them still saw the competition in it all but, if they did, Alastor couldn't tell. They had changed -- god had they changed -- but, so had he. Change was what time did to a person. He couldn't blame them.

Alastor spent a lot of time watching Y/n. He wasn't sure why, for what he was searching. It was a compulsion. He searched for the bits and pieces he remembered of them, tried to fill the gaps between who they were, and the person standing before him now.

There had been some things he was able to observe. Firstly, Y/n's diet had changed. While before they had eaten whatever was available, now they seemed only ever to eat raw meet. Alastor had absolutely no idea why and the only plausible reason he could come up with was simply that they liked it. Second: where Y/n used to spend hours composing, messing around with various instruments and musical genres, they were rarely found with even their lute in their hand nowadays. Alastor knew that a busier schedule provided by Charlie and the hotel could be at fault but, that answer was unsatisfying. Y/n loved music more than anything, more even, Alastor was almost certain, than they had loved him.

There were a handful of other small details, minor things about the way they held themselves, the musicality of their voice as they spoke. Then there was the biggest change, the cloud looming over his head. This was the way Charlie had changed them.

The days of Y/n running off, rushing away mid conversation, were gone. They regulated their emotions with much greater ease now, Alastor had even caught them doing breathing exercises a few times. There was a certain sense of freedom he hadn't seen them hold within themselves in a long time, not since they had first gotten together. While on the one hand he was happy for them, grateful beyond belief that Charlie had managed to help them regain that sense of themselves, it hurt on the other. It hurt so much because he had tried and this was the evidence that the failure had been his, not theirs. He had tried, he had given them his all, and it hadn't been enough but somehow, in some way, Charlie had been.

Charlie had been enough for Y/n. Charlie had... had... Alastor hadn't.

Something had happened. Alastor didn't know what because it had happened without him. If he had had the chance to talk to Y/n about the interim, the time they had spent apart, he would have. The thing was, Y/n didn't seem too keen on the idea of a private chat.

They were never rude to him. No, they always kept a friendly lilt to their voice, said hello to him when their paths crossed. Alastor could tell they weren't avoiding him either. He knew that if they were, he would never see them at all and he saw them all the time so it wasn't that. Still, every chance he had, every spare moment they shared just the two of them, Y/n found a way to quickly and kindly exit the conversation.

Alastor could force them to engage with him, he knew that, but that had never been their style. There was no precedence for it. He lied to himself, saying it was just that he knew how Y/n would react if he tried to capture them, to force them into any situation they didn't want to be in. He needed to be at the hotel and Y/n had the power to remove him from his position. He told himself that, again and again, while the real reason lurked under the surface.

The truth of the matter was: Alastor did not want to force them. He never wanted to force Y/n to do anything, whether physically or through mental manipulation. Even the consideration of such action felt like a betrayal of them, of himself in a way, of what they had.

What had they even had? Alastor had been in love, loved Y/n still in an odd and nostalgic sense but, he was also angry with them. The newfound regret of having failed them mingled with the decades old infestation of anger, of feeling like they had failed him. At the end of the day, they were the one who had left first. Alastor might have said the words, pulled the trigger, but they were the one that left. They had withdrawn from him long before that conversation on the hill. Y/n committed the murder, allowing the corpse to dry out in the sun, to be picked apart by birds and wild animals. Alastor had just buried the body. It had been the right thing to do, it had been necessary.

Slowly, the silences between them lost most of their tension, became a bit more comfortable. Slowly, they each learned to inhabit their new roles in one another's lives. There had been something and, yes, that something was gone, but there was a new something growing in its place. Alastor had thought the ground was barren. He was grateful anything grew at all.

They were gathered in the lobby, Y/n running a workshop on how to properly wrap presents. Alastor, like the rest of the hotel staff, had been invited to participate but, he had opted to watch. It was a skill he already had, one he had no use for. There was no need to learn what he already knew, but watching Angel, Husk, Pentious, and Nifty struggle was entertaining.

"Okay, well..." Y/n put a finger to their chin, gazing at the box Nifty was holding up to them with pride.

It was perfectly wrapped in white paper with a big black bow on top. Beside the bow, Nifty had drawn a detailed picture of a cemetery for all the bugs she had killed in the hotel thus far.

"You did a great job." Y/n finally settled, patting Nifty on the shoulder, "Well done."

Nifty squealed in glee, turning to present the box to Angel for him to examen. Angel had managed to get tangled up in his project and, realizing this, Nifty quickly dropped her own in order to help him. Witnessing this, Y/n smiled.

Alastor felt the place where his heart would have skipped a beat if things weren't so complicated. He felt the lack of an emotional reaction almost more deeply than if he had had one.

Just as Y/n moved to help Nifty untangle Angel, Charlie bolted into the room.

"Y/n! Y/n Y/n Y/n! I figured it out! I finally figured it out!"

Y/n turned to Charlie as they came to a stop before them, breathing heavily. Their brow was furrowed, their head tilted slightly to the side in confusion.

"Figured what out, Sunshine?"

"Your curse?" Charlie replied as if Y/n should have known.

Y/n tensed. Charlie didn't notice, but Alastor did. He knew them too well not to. It also did not escape him how actively they were avoiding looking at him.

"Y/n, if you get redeemed, wont it go away? Curses can't exist in Heaven, can they?"

His mind was absolutely reeling. What curse? In all the years he had known them, Y/n had never once mentioned a curse. The others gathered seemed equally as surprised and at a loss as he felt.

"I..."

At last Y/n looked at Alastor. Though only a few seconds had passed since Charlie's revelation, it had felt like an eternity. Charlie followed the path of their gaze, the smile falling from her face immedeatly.

"Fuck, wait, I... fuck. I'm so sorry, I-"

Y/n took a deep breath, turning back to Charlie with a smile fixed firmly upon their face.

"It's alright."

"No!" Charlie insisted, "I swear, I di-"

"No, Charlie, it's alright. I told you, I stopped looking for a cure years ago."

"But you cou-"

"I don't want a cure." Y/n shook their head, taking Charlies hands in theirs, "I want to stay here, at the hotel. With you."

Almost as soon as Y/n had spoken, Charlie's eyes filled with tears.

"I... I..." she stuttered for a moment before throwing herself into Y/n's chest, "Thank you!"

Y/n patted Charlie's back with a comfort that was unexpected to Alastor's eyes. The look on their face as they pulled Charlie from them, wiping the girls tears, was a sort of kindness Alastor had never seen.

A curse? What curse?

A million questions flooded through his mind as he continued to watch the pair.

"I have some business to deal with, are you okay with me leaving?"

Charlie sniffed, nodding her head slightly.

"Do you want to help finish the workshop? We're wrapping presents."

"You're wrapping p-pr-presents? That's so sweet!"

Charlie's tears started anew and Y/n chuckled, ruffling her hair comfortingly.

"You sure you're okay if I go?"

"Just go." Angel advised, getting up and walking over to Charlie, "we can handle this."

Y/n shot him a grateful smile before turning on their heel and walking up to Alastor. He looked down at them, his expression unreadable.

"I'm ready to talk." they stated.

Alastor nodded.

"Let's go."

----

When the shadows released them from their grasp, Y/n half expected them to be on the hill, their old haunt. It would have been fitting for Alastor to do something like that and he had every right to be so cruel in their mind. Instead, he had brought Y/n in to their studio. The anger radiated off him, the confusion, and still he had thought to offer them such a kindness.

Y/n, their back to Alastor, balled their hands into fists. They could feel the panic rising in their chest, the fear. They took a few deep breaths before turning to face him.

"Do you want to ask me anything? Or do you just want me to talk."

Alastor crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised as he tapped one foot impatiently on the hardwood floor.

"Stupid question." Y/n nodded, "Right."

They took one final steadying, breath and then, they began to speak.

"So, curse. Um... fuck."

It wasn't that they hadn't thought about what they would say before. They had. They had played this moment out in their mind in a hundred different ways a hundred different times. Nothing had ever seemed right, felt right, gone right. Even if it had, they had no idea of where to begin now. The memory of all that practice had been ushered out long ago by the anxiety.

"Some overlords got mad at me and cursed me?" they said at last, their words coming out as more of a question than a definitive truth, "I..."

"Is this why you always left? Is this..." Alastor ran a hand through his hair, looking away, "is this what your secret was? The curse?"

Y/n nodded and Alastor sighed.

"I know you must be furious." Y/n began, trying to keep their voice steady, "Angry that I was so foolish as to allow-"

"That's not why I am angry, Y/n." Alastor cut in, "That's not why..." he shook his head, "I am angry because you didn't tell me."

The breath caught in Y/n's throat. They took half a step back.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Halfway between an accusation and a plea. He was begging them, he had only done that once before. Y/n hadn't been strong enough then, but they were now.

"Because it was my burden to carry, not yours."

"I carried it anyways! I knew something was wrong, for years! I just had no idea what, no... no... frame of reference. Why didn't you tell me!?"

"I... I..." there was no hiding the truth, Y/n looked away, "I was scared that you would leave."

Alastor watched them in disbeleif.

"And you left anyway." they finished.

"I left because you didn't tell me. We could have stuck together, figured it out. We could have..."

It was Y/n's turn to be angry now. They turned back to him, their eyes alive with fire.

"We could have what?! You could have what?!" the scoffed, "You think I don't know it was all my fault?! You think I don't... don't blame myself for everything?! Didn't know why you really left?! Didn't... didn't realize?! I fucking know that you left because I didn't tell you! I know I caused... that I..." they let out a frustrated little scream, their hands tangling into their hair, "I. Know."

"You could have told me then, why didn't you? Why didn't you stop me if you knew you could!?"

"Because I was scared!"

Their eyes began to grow dark, their skin shifting and writhing like there were bugs crawling beneath its surface. Seeming to notice this, Y/n closed their eyes, taking a few deep breaths before opening them once again.

"Is that the curse?"

"Part of it." they admitted, "If I don't stay calm, I don't get to stay... well, stay me."

The reality of the situation hit Alastor like a ton of bricks, like a moving car. He did his best to calm himself.

"Whats the rest of it?"

Y/n said nothing and so, he tried again.

"I could have helped."

"Helped how, Alastor?" they asked, their voice coming out tired and nearly desperate, "How?"

"I could have found a cure."

"There is none." Y/n shook their head, "Believe me. I can do things to stave it off, keep it at bay but, nothing will take this beast away from me."

"You could try being redeemed."

They raised a fist to their chest, holding it over their heart. A pained expression had taken over their face, their body curling slightly in on itself.

"I don't want to. Not anymore. It... this thing... it's a part of me now. Besides, I couldn't leave Charlie."

"She has lots of people who care about her, people to take care of her. I am certain she would be fine."

"No, you don't understand." Y/n shook their head, "I can't leave her. I know she'd be fine on her own. She is such a wonder, such an incredible person. I need her."

"I wanted you."

Y/n straightened up, their eyes meeting his as their hand fell back to their side. They stared at one another in silence.

"I am sorry."

Alastor had never expected to hear those words. Not from them, not from anybody. He wasn't worthy of apology.

"I am too."

----

NEXT PART -> coming soon

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @kahlan170 @wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007 @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa @gabile18 @slytherin4ever @skyeliteratures @zombiesnips-blog @cannibalcoyote @moonmark98 @luzzbuzz @snowlotr @randomuser-89 @fakeguysarehot @xdolls-crownx @sassycasy8467 @i-like-potatoes12533 @huskersbooze @idontreallyexistyet @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune  @peterpankat @mcueveryday @corvid007 @luxky-aish @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa

[jjllmx]

Alastor x Reader Master List

My Alastor list is getting crazy long so I am giving it it's own post just so my big Hazbin Hotel Master List doesn't get too confusing.

Other Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

List of Things I Won't Write

Series are marked in purple

Requests are marked in pink

Suggestive are marked in orange

NSFW are marked in red

Make You Wish Master List -> Y/n has known Alastor since she first ended up in Hell. When he disappeared? She thought her life was over. Seven years have passed since then and slowly but surely, the 1950s housewife turned murderer has made a life for herself, full of good decisions and some bad ones. What will happen when Alastor turns back up again, sending the world as she has made it into chaos once again?

What Can I Do For You (Alastor x Reader) → What if the deal Alastor made that is controlling his power was with Y/n?

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

→ Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) -> Reader wakes up in Alastor's room at the Hotel after the events of Understand.

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader) → Y/n’s anger in finding that after seven years, their husband has returned to Pentagram City and decided not to tell them.

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader) → It is too late for him to change things now. It doesn't matter what else has happened, that he's gotten to know her, seen her light. Some broken things can never be fixed. 'You came' 'you called' but make it sad.

→ Unrequited Pt. 2 -> Reader steps in when Alastor is attacking Husk.

→ Unrequited Pt. 3 -> Alastor refuses to let Y/n be present for the battle against Heaven and will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if she hates him for it.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have a deal with Lilith where until a soul is redeemed at Charlie’s hotel, Y/n is under her control. Alastor will do whatever it takes to get his wife back, but that doesn’t mean he won't get a little sad a lonely along the way.

Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Valentine's day special :) The story of how Alastor and Y/n realized they had feelings for one another.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader) → Hurt//comfort. A random demon insults the reader and Alastor comes to comfort her, later dealing with the demon in a typically Alastor way of handling such a crime.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader) → Fake dating trope. Y/n and Alastor met when they tried to kill one another, how could they not end up at least a little bit in love?

-> Cover Up pt. 2

→ Cover Up pt. 3

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader) → Y/n just wants to watch the world burn. Being married was a boon at first but later, rather inconvenient. When she died, she did everything she could to avoid her husband and continue her work but fate had other plans.

→ Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

→ Till Death do us Part pt. 3

Prepare for Battle (Platonic!Alastor x Platonic!Cat Demon!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have been engaged in a prank battle for decades. What happens when just a few days after Alastor reappears in the Pride ring, Y/n joins him at the Hazbin Hotel?

Rhapsody Master List → Gn!Reader. Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it. They each go their separate ways because of this but what happens when years later their paths intersect once again. Loosely inspired by Raine and Eda in The Owl House.

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader) → Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Pretty Bunny (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor catches Angel and Y/n getting ready for a night out and stops Y/n from going. Hurt/comfort.

I Myself am Strange and Unusual (Alastor x Living!Addams family!Reader x Lucifer) → Y/n is bored and summons some demons. 

The Love (Alastor x Reader) → Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Frostbite (Alastor x Reader) → History repeats itself in odd and uninvited ways. Life cycles on even in death.

→ Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader) → It wasn't love. Alastor didn't feel love, not anymore. He'd lost that part of himself the day he died so it couldn't be love, could it?

→ Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2

Mishap of Magic (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor’s magic backfires and Y/n is there to help. Who would have guessed that a situation such as this would give him the last push he needed to tell her how he felt? 

Destruction//Creation (Vox x Alastor's Ex!Reader x Alastor) → Alastor refuses to let the past die and Y/n would rather pretend it never existed.

The Thing (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Alastor meets his shadow.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n is sent to the Hazbin Hotel as a spy.

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Y/n see’s Alastor talking to Rosie and thinks she is what he wants in a woman. Little does she know, he was meeting with Rosie to ask for advice on how to talk to Y/n.

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader) → Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Spicy Sienna and Berry Naughty (Alastor x Chubby!Gn!Reader!) → Alastor likes the fact that Y/n has begun matching their lipstick to their nail polish -- loves it, in fact. What he doesn’t like is that other people have started noticing. (this one is a bit… weird so I am marking it as suggestive.)

Burn (Human!Alastor x Human!Gn!Reader) → What happens when Alastor spots his ideal target, Mimzy’s newest hired talent? What happens when they evade his capture? What happens when, slowly, he begins to realize -- Alastor doesn’t want to kill them? At least, not anymore.

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader) → Alastor reencounters an old friend.

[jjllmx]

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: I don't think there are any? Please correct me if I am wrong. The subject matter is a little niche.

Description: Alastor reencounters an old friend.

Word Count: 2,871

Master Lists:

All Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

A/N i’ve been reading about roman magic laws for school okay?? don’t judge me. Maybe one of the nichest things I've ever written (except that one Akutagawa x Reader fic I have on my Wattpad where I made them talk to one another in ancient Greek and Latin (its called Leo, Leonis and tbh, that fic slaps if I do say so myself)). Won't be surprised if no one reads or likes this one but I don't care. This will be a monster of a fic, she's been lurking in the recesses of my mind for a hot second now.

"Why would she lie for so long? Does she think I wouldn't accept her?" Charlie was animatedly talking at Alastor as they walked the streets of Hell, "What about me, ME, says un understanding... misunderstanding?... Disunder- Wait, w-where are we?"

Alastor sprung to life as Charlie finally asked a question he had an answer to. Theatrically, he stepped into her curious line of sight, his arms held wide.

"Cannibal Town!" respectfully, Alastor turned and took Charlie's arm in his own, "There's a friend of mine I think you should meet."

"In Cannibal Town?" Charlie doubtfully asked as Alastor began to lead her towards a crowded shop entrance, "But it's... it's... surprisingly nice here."

"Isn't it, though?" Alastor proudly replied, "And it is all thanks to a very special someone."

Alastor opened the stained glass doors to the emporium, allowing Charlie to walk through them before he followed in her wake. The store was full, packed to the brim with cannibals of all sorts, all of whom seemed to part respectfully in the face of Alastor, allowing him to approach the front counter with Charlie trailing after him.

"Ah, Johnny my good fellow." Alastor hummed to the cashier, leaning casually on the counter.

The demon seated behind the table looked up with a wide smile.

"Mister Alastor, it has been quite a while since we've seen your face around these parts."

Charlie watched the interaction in mild surprise. It wasn't often she had the pleasure of meeting someone Alastor knew who didn't hate him or want him dead. Curiosity clouded her mind as Alastor waved the man off.

"I don't mean to be rude but, we're in a bit of a rush." Alastor said, politeness pooling delicately around his words, "Rosie wouldn't happen to be in, would she?"

"Ah, well, you see, Mister Alastor..." the demon seemed slightly uncomfortable, scratching at his ear slightly, "She's a tad... preoccupied at the moment?"

"A guest?" Alastor asked.

"A guest." Johnny reluctantly confirmed.

"Well, no matter. Is she in the back?"

"Yes," Johnny got to his feet, leaning forward as Alastor linked arms with Charlie once again, leading her behind the counter, "but I really don't think it's a good idea to... and they're gone."

"Wasn't that rude?" Charlie asked as Alastor pulled her behind the curtain that separated the main store from the backrooms and Rosie's apartment, "Oh no, is that guy going to get in trouble? Because of us?"

"Everything will be just fine my dear, don't you worry." Alastor patted her hand reassuringly as they came to stop before a door.

Letting Charlie's arm fall free, he straightened his jacket just the slightest bit before knocking on the door. There was a moment of silent anticipation before a voice from the other side called:

"Who is it?!"

"Alastor, Rosie." Alastor replied calmly.

There was a rustling of fabric, a handful of hasty footsteps, and the door swung open to reveal a woman. She was tall and beautiful in her long dress and her wide brimmed hat.

"Oh my stars!" she exclaimed with a bright smile, "Do my eyes deceive me? Alastor? Alastor! Where have you been? These halls really lost some of their sparkle without your lively presence and-"

The woman, Rosie, trailed off as she caught sight of Charlie standing beside her dear friend.

"Oh, who's this you brought with you? Come now, Alastor, she's much too young for you. Oh, I'm just kidding. But where are your manners, Mister? Introduce us, why don't you?"

"Ah, yes, Charlie, this is Rosie: the most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord this side of the pentagram."

At his words, Rosie smiled, giving a perfect curtsy. It was as her form lowered that Charlie caught sight of the interior of the room, and the strange seated figure it housed. Alastor seemed not to have noticed and as Rosie straightened herself up again, she laughed slightly.

"Oh, always such a charmer."

"And Rosie," Alastor continued, "it is my pleasure to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, daughter of Lucifer and heir to the throne of Hell."

Charlie smiled weakly, waving slightly at the imposing and nearly off-puttingly cheerful woman.

"How do you do?" she asked awkwardly, "I am very sorry for interrupting your meeting, I tried to get Alastor to wait but..."

"Oh, yes!" Rosie suddenly exclaimed, almost as if she had forgotten about her previous guest in all the excitement, "Come on in you two, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

Charlie was about to protest when Rosie grabbed her by the arm, dragging her into the room. Alastor followed, turning his back as he shut the door behind them. Charlie's mouth fell open slightly as her eyes finally saw the truth of Rosie's guest.

She was tall, probably tall enough to rival Alastor or Rosie herself. Skin tinged slightly blue, she seemed to be covered in a faint gold dust that clung to her draped, toga-like dress and skin in equal amount. Heaps of gold jewelry hung on every inch of her as well, wrapping her wrists, her neck, her ankles, her fingers, even braided into her hair. Resting atop her head was a crown of gold with a half moon on it, her feet were bare. With wide, white eyes that nearly seemed unseeing, the woman watched Charlie carefully.

"Can I offer you something to eat?" Rosie was asking, but Charlie could barley hear her, unable to break eye contact with the woman, "I'm sure I have a leg around here or something..."

"I am afraid were not here for food." Alastor thankfully stepped in, turning to Rosie with closed eyes and a wide smile, "We happen to be in need of some help."

"Alastor?" the woman spoke and her voice resounded in itself, loud yet soft at the same time, singular and yet somehow plural.

"Well, aren't you fresh."

That was the first thing she had ever said to him. Alastor had been wandering Hell, minding his own business when he had heard that voice say those words and felt a fire ignited in him. Slowly, he had turned around to see a pair of towering demons. Overlords, he realized, and big ones at that. Alastor's smile sharpened at its edges as he began to formulate a plan.

Charlie turned at last, as if whatever spell the stranger had cast on her had broken at the sound of her voice, to look at Alastor in mild confusion. She heard his breath hitch in his throat. The man in question was frozen, his ears twitching wildly, his eyes now wide open.

"Is that you?" the demon asked again.

Alastor somehow seemed to reassemble himself before their very eyes. Slowly, he turned to the room's only occupied chair.

"Who are you?"

Alastor feigned innocence, looking up at the titan herself as she took a step forward. In an instant, she stood at his height, looking him dead in the eyes.

"An odd one too." she hummed thoughtfully, white eyes tracking the stars, reading his future it almost seemed, "Most people go with what before who."

Alastor was unsure how to respond to that one. The titan chuckled, a grin flashing across her face. It was unexpected, disconcerting. Alastor hadn't thought her face capable of any expression save solemn disinterest. She turned her head slightly to the side, looking back over her shoulder to her companion.

"Zestial, cara mea?"

The spidery demon took a step forward, meeting her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Don't you have something you need to be getting to?"

Alastor may have been dumbstruck, but he wasn't stupid. He heard the order as clearly as if she had not bothered with the formalities of disguising it. It shocked Alastor to his core. This might be his first time encountering Zestial but, he had heard the demon's name before. Most frequently, it had been spat at him by his victims who claimed that one of Hell's oldest and most respected demons would come for him. So who was this other overlord, the titan? Sure, he'd heard of her before but enough that such blatant disrespect towards Hell's most respected made sense? No. Not at all, in fact.

Zestial paused a moment before bowing his head slightly.

"You're quite right." he hummed, "I will be seeing you presently I expect?"

"Perchance." the titan lazily replied, her gaze having long since switched back to Alastor, set on analyzing his features, "I'll let you know."

With another polite bow, Zestial had turned and began walking in the opposite direction. The titan held an arm out for Alastor. He looked at it curiously before meeting the demon's eye's again. She laughed.

"So suspicious. I thought you we're the one killing overlords, not me."

His eyes went wide.

"How do you..." he cleared his throat, "how did you know?"

It was a stupid question and he knew it. There hadn't been any secret keeping, not really. Sure, he never outright said he was the Radio Demon who broadcasted screams but he supposed there couldn't be many Radio Demon's out there really. It didn't matter that he had only been going after overlords for a month or so now, she was one. Of course she would know.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

All it took was one look. Suddenly, he was new again, spat fresh out of life on Earth and in to Hell's gaping maw. One look at her, and he dissolved at the edges, forming and reforming his own ability to speak and comprehend the world around him.

"It is." the woman hummed, a wide smile breaking across her face, revealing the blackness of her teeth, her mouth.

Alastor soon formed a bit of a soft spot for the inhuman overlord. It was that first meeting, that first walk. He had asked, hunting for information to wield against her, about her life on Earth and in Hell. It was her fault really, for answering. That's what had him stuck.

Y/n had laid her life out for him like a freshly pressed table cloth. She had been raised on the streets of ancient Rome and executed as a witch. She was perhaps the oldest demon remaining in Hell, the exterminations having eventually wiped out even the strongest members of her times. Just as Alastor had been reborn as a deer due to his death, so too was she reborn as what they had accused her of. Every ritual, every spell, prophecy itself all worked for her. It was then Alastor understood the interaction he had witnessed between Zestial and Y/n, then he understood the respect.

He found himself drawn to her more and more and, somehow, he always seemed to be able to find her when he went searching. He assumed it was some strange magical nonsense she controlled. Alastor didn't question it.

Y/n showed him Hell in a way he had never seen it before. She taught him where to gather herbs and how to use them, how to bend the earth to his will, how to spin iunges and call down the storms, the rain, the moon. Alastor devoured, fed by her hand.

It was odd, Charlie had never seen a demon like her before. The white eyes, the teeth black with what seemed to be darkness, the gold. All of it was off putting yet somehow, captivating. Alastor seemed to be acting weird, his eyes flitting wildly across the woman, taking in her every detail. Charlie wasn't sure what to do about that.

In some sense, Alastor seemed to be scared. In another, he was in an overjoyed state of disbelief. Charlie wasn't sure which was more disconcerting, or how to respond to either and so, she simply watched.

"I have a question, mea ocella."

Y/n announced one day and Alastor turned from where he sat spinning stories into his microphone at her feet. That was what she had called him, her little eye. She told him it was a term of endearment. Alastor had no reason to doubt. The red grass swayed slightly in the breeze as he looked up at her, immediately bringing a halt to his broadcast.

"What is it?"

"You've been so set on ending all us overlords for so long now," she hummed, "wouldn't you like to do something different?"

"Something like what?"

"See from the other side of the glass."

Her white eyes glowed blue, the gold on her skin shining out into the world around like stars. Alastor sighed.

"You're prophesying again."

She nodded in agreement. Y/n had never seen the point in lying, she had never known its use. Not since before she could remember, back in the times she lived. They were so distant now, so immaterial and unimportant she rarely payed those memories much mind.

"So, what is it you see me doing?"

"Simple riddle or play on words?"

The two types of prophesy, the two options. Alastor put a finger to his chin, humming in thought.

"Simple riddle. Please, not in dactylic hexameter if you would, decoding that always gives me a headache."

"But that has been the meter of prophecy since Justice herself sat on the Delphic throne, mea ocella." Y/n retorted in surprise, meeting Alastor's eyes.

"Yeah, well."

Y/n laughed lightly, looking back out blankly toward the future.

"As you wish, ocella. Just this once. My gift to you."

Alastor hummed his non-comital thanks, turning his gaze back out the the skyline of the city as well.

"One will be two, two will be four, when that number comes be ready for more. Seven years past under grim sudden stress, four becomes ten, I'll tell you what happens next. Help one bright star to the top, not too far, and you will be free from the one not the three."

"Rhymes? Really?"

Y/n looked down at him, the glow fading from her as their eyes met and the future vanished from the scope of her vision.

"You asked for no hexameter, I still get to have fun."

"Yeah, yeah."

The pair fell into a comfortable silence. Alastor ran the words of her fortune in his head, trying to gain any semblance of reason from them.

"They don't sound very... avoidable."

"That's because it's not one of the ones you can change."

"Oh."

Y/n pulled herself to her feet suddenly, her chiton swirling around her. Alastor watched in awe as her image flickered in the air for a moment between the image of herself just a head shorter than him, the one who loomed around nine feet tall, and some three headed monster at what must've been five stories. Leaning, she held a hand out for him to grasp. It took Alastor a moment to realize, shaking his head slightly as he at last accepted Y/n's help and got to his feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I've decided you are going to be an overlord, mea ocella."

"Why?"

"I think it might help you down the line."

It had been years since Alastor had seen her. Long before he had taken his so called seven year sabbatical, Y/n had vanished. Alastor knew she wasn't dead, he would have been able to tell if she was dead. Surly the world would have shifted in some new and strange way to lose the goddess of the crossroads, the titan, Hekate made flesh and blood. Nothing like that had happened and so he knew she was alive, just not where or how.

Y/n's prophecies were always accurate. Standing here before her now, Alastor recalled her words from all those decades before.

One will be two, two will be four. When that number comes, be ready for more.

One had been just him. Two? When he had died and met his shadow. Alastor realized now that three had been Y/n herself and that the fourth important person who had come into his afterlife was the very person who owned his soul.

Seven years past under grim sudden stress, four becomes ten, I'll tell you what happens next.

Seven years he'd been gone, indeed under an unexpected and disastrous situation. When, after seven long years, he had returned to Hell, he had gone to the hotel. It was at the Hazbin Hotel that he not only met Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, and Sir Pentious but that they became vital parts of his life along with Husk and Nifty who before then had mostly existed on the periphery. Those six, plus the original four, made ten.

Help one bright star to the top, not too far, and you will be free from the one not the three.

All along, all those years ago, she had known. Alastor had always respected Y/n, always harbored a soft and disconcerting love for the witch. Never before now had either felt so overwhelming. Alastor took a trembling step forward from his place at Charlie's side. The world closed in, she was the only thing he could see.

Y/n smiled as he sunk to his knee before her, his head bowed.

"Mea ocella." she happily hummed, lifting his head up gently with the tips of her bluish grey fingers.

"Y/n."

----

This fic will probably have a part two.

TAGS:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0 @kahlan170 @wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007 @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa @gabile18 @slytherin4ever @skyeliteratures @zombiesnips-blog

[jjllmx]

all my love, suguru

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of unprotected relations, declining mental health of suguru

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

or here on ao3

completed

[jjllmx]

⸻Neteyam Sully

Neteyam's First Rut Series: ⊱Chapter I: Neteyam's First Rut ⊱Chapter II: Tying the Knot ⊱Chapter III: The Heat Within ⊱Chapter IV: A Synchronous Fever ⊱Chapter V: With My Life ⊱Chapter VI: To Set Ablaze ⊱Chapter VII: Moment of Truth

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Insaitable ⊱Special Ep. II - At First Sight [prequel]

Sub-Neteyam: ⊱Sub-Neteyam One Shot - Bound (bdsm; edging) ⊱Sub-Neteyam One Shot - Hide and Peek (exhibition kink)

Dom-Neteyam: ⊱Forgiven - Forgive Me Part II (mirror sex)

Misc. Neteyam: ⊱Jealous-Neteyam One Shot - Eyes for You ⊱Comforting-Neteyam One Shot - All Your Curves

Clingy Neteyam: ⊱Part I ⊱Part II ⊱Part III

⸻Lo'ak Sully

Non-Unrequited Love Trilogy (lo’ak in rut): ⊱Part I - slight smut ⊱Part II - pure smut ⊱Part III - smutty smut

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Inextinguishable ⊱Special Ep. II - Twin Flame [double pov] ⊱Special Ep. III - Ashes [double pov]

Sub-Lo'ak: ⊱Sub-Lo'ak One Shot - Prized Obsession (edging lo'ak)

Dom-Lo’ak: ⊱Is that So? ⊱Handle Me - Part I ⊱ Part II

⸻Neteyam Sully + Lo'ak Sully

Make Your Choice Mini Series (w/ alternative endings): ⊱Make Your Choice: Part I ⊱ Part II (possibly dark) ⊱Make Your Choice Endings: Neteyam ⊱ Lo'ak ⊱ Both

⸻Ao'nung

Ao'nung in Rut: ⊱Behind the Façade Part I ⊱Behind the Façade Part II (coming soon)

⸻Rotxo

⊱Sub-Rotxo One Shot: Feel Better

⸻Jake Sully

⊱Forgive Me ft. Neteyam Sully (dark) ; Part II ⊱Little Secret ft. Lo'ak Sully (dark) ; part II (coming soon) ⊱A Night to Remember - Birthday Sex (for my dani <3)

⸻Ralak te Sepwan Ieyk (collab w/ @zestys-stuff)

⊱Chapter I ⊱Chapter II ⊱Chapter III ⊱Chapter IV ⊱Chapter V

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Ralak’s First Rut ⊱Special Ep. II - Concurrent Tides ⊱Special Ep. III - Calm After the Storm ⊱Special Ep. IV - Seed of Life ⊱Special Ep. V - Something is Brewing ⊱Special Ep. VI - Labor of Love ⊱Part I ⊱Part II ⊱Part III

Drabbles:

⊱Wandering Hands - Ralak's POV

⸻HighIssyTalks (click me)

⊱blurbs/drabbles ⊱get to know me ⊱high questions + answers + thoughts ⊱neteyam talks ⊱aonung talks ⊱ralak talks ⊱loak talks ⊱jake talks ⊱read it all under #high issy talks

⸻NSFW Alphabet

⊱Lo'ak Sully + Neteyam Sully ⊱Tonowari + Jake Sully (coming soon)

[jjllmx]

The Ralak series had me feeling all types of feelings omg i loved it so much 🩵💙🩵

⸻Neteyam Sully

Neteyam's First Rut Series: ⊱Chapter I: Neteyam's First Rut ⊱Chapter II: Tying the Knot ⊱Chapter III: The Heat Within ⊱Chapter IV: A Synchronous Fever ⊱Chapter V: With My Life ⊱Chapter VI: To Set Ablaze ⊱Chapter VII: Moment of Truth

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Insaitable ⊱Special Ep. II - At First Sight [prequel]

Sub-Neteyam: ⊱Sub-Neteyam One Shot - Bound (bdsm; edging) ⊱Sub-Neteyam One Shot - Hide and Peek (exhibition kink)

Dom-Neteyam: ⊱Forgiven - Forgive Me Part II (mirror sex)

Misc. Neteyam: ⊱Jealous-Neteyam One Shot - Eyes for You ⊱Comforting-Neteyam One Shot - All Your Curves

Clingy Neteyam: ⊱Part I ⊱Part II ⊱Part III

⸻Lo'ak Sully

Non-Unrequited Love Trilogy (lo’ak in rut): ⊱Part I - slight smut ⊱Part II - pure smut ⊱Part III - smutty smut

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Inextinguishable ⊱Special Ep. II - Twin Flame [double pov] ⊱Special Ep. III - Ashes [double pov]

Sub-Lo'ak: ⊱Sub-Lo'ak One Shot - Prized Obsession (edging lo'ak)

Dom-Lo’ak: ⊱Is that So? ⊱Handle Me - Part I ⊱ Part II

⸻Neteyam Sully + Lo'ak Sully

Make Your Choice Mini Series (w/ alternative endings): ⊱Make Your Choice: Part I ⊱ Part II (possibly dark) ⊱Make Your Choice Endings: Neteyam ⊱ Lo'ak ⊱ Both

⸻Ao'nung

Ao'nung in Rut: ⊱Behind the Façade Part I ⊱Behind the Façade Part II (coming soon)

⸻Rotxo

⊱Sub-Rotxo One Shot: Feel Better

⸻Jake Sully

⊱Forgive Me ft. Neteyam Sully (dark) ; Part II ⊱Little Secret ft. Lo'ak Sully (dark) ; part II (coming soon) ⊱A Night to Remember - Birthday Sex (for my dani <3)

⸻Ralak te Sepwan Ieyk (collab w/ @zestys-stuff)

⊱Chapter I ⊱Chapter II ⊱Chapter III ⊱Chapter IV ⊱Chapter V

Special Episodes: ⊱Special Ep. I - Ralak’s First Rut ⊱Special Ep. II - Concurrent Tides ⊱Special Ep. III - Calm After the Storm ⊱Special Ep. IV - Seed of Life ⊱Special Ep. V - Something is Brewing ⊱Special Ep. VI - Labor of Love ⊱Part I ⊱Part II ⊱Part III

Drabbles:

⊱Wandering Hands - Ralak's POV

⸻HighIssyTalks (click me)

⊱blurbs/drabbles ⊱get to know me ⊱high questions + answers + thoughts ⊱neteyam talks ⊱aonung talks ⊱ralak talks ⊱loak talks ⊱jake talks ⊱read it all under #high issy talks

⸻NSFW Alphabet

⊱Lo'ak Sully + Neteyam Sully ⊱Tonowari + Jake Sully (coming soon)

[jjllmx]

honey, 19 !

i watched atwow again and i need to hyperfixate or i'll die :)

my inbox is open for any sort of ideas & chatting !! <3

follow my art account ! <3 honibiu ( @honibiuart )

TAKEN IN BY THE SULLYS / DEATH IN THE FAMILY MASTERLIST (these are in order)

if you were the sully's human kid (1)

taken in by the sullys (2)

taken in by the sullys (3)

death in the family (1) / aka taken in by the sullys (4)

taken in by the sullys (5)

death in the family (2) / aka taken in by the sullys (6)

taken in by the sullys (7)

death in the family (3) / aka taken in by the sullys (8)

death in the family (4) / aka taken in by the sullys (9)

taken in by the sullys (10)

death in the family (5) / aka taken in by the sullys (11)

death in the family (6) / aka taken in by the sullys (12)

.

[jjllmx]

Just finished reading this and omg how did i not find this before i hope there more to come

death in the family (6) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, you finally get to the bottom of what eywa was trying to show you. she didn't tell you it'd try to kill you.

!! LINKS ARE INCLUDED FOR REFERENCE! i used these to help visualize so i wanted to include them to help you guys too <3

this is a loooooooong chapter enjoy !

(1) / . . . / (10) / (11*) / (12*- ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

when did you move from your bed?

the ground cradled you. your figure imprinted into the pillowy dirt and the blades of grass brushed delicately along your cheek, like the great mother's herself was beside you peppering butterfly kisses on your skin. it figured that she was the only one able to lull your restless soul into slumber.

blinking awake, you felt abnormally light. like gravity had been lowered significantly. like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't muster any worry for the state of your family or the dangers that threatened them.

you smiled, squinting as the sun peeked through the holes in the canopy. this is nice. you breathed the fresh air deeply, your lungs expanding slowly. this is nice.

then you focused on the tree before you. the tree of souls, standing proud in all its glory, was calling to you. whispers unheard yet drawing you in all the same.

you cocked your head to the side, thinking this has never happened before. you've visited the tree of souls on more than one occasion, and every time it stood listless.

you pushed yourself off the ground and walked closer.

with each step, the atmosphere grew darker. the only thing constant was the thrumming neon blue and lavender lighting of the tree's long weeping leaves. you stumbled onto the hill it was rooted in, falling through the curtains of neural links and—

listen.

you squinted towards the apex of the tree, overwhelmed by the glittering lighting beating its way through your pupils. huh? the voice you heard was warped, indescribable in terms of tone or pitch, neither coming from your right or left, it was just... there.

follow me and listen.

when did it become nighttime? your bones were growing heavy. a low groan tapered its way off your lips, your head teetering on the edge of dizziness once again. you curled into yourself as the whispers intensified into a crowd's roar—

/

your eyes flew open. you didn't dare to move. seeds of eywa covered your body, surrounding you in a halo of cool lighting. you could feel their presence along the fat of your thigh, back, stomach... they were everywhere. the one beside your cheek caressed you with its tentacles.

your body felt tired. you remained completely still, trying to hold on to the bliss you felt moments ago in your vision. but here the walls were painted grey and your mattress was stiff.

your eyes darted back to the closest woodsprite, the message echoing in your mind. follow me.

"what are you trying to tell me?" you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep. "to follow you?"

its movement was almost imperceptible.

"fine." you closed your eyes one last time.

at your confirmation, the sprites lifted into the air, floating out the window. one remained, patiently waiting for you to complete your morning routine and grab your tools. you climbed out the window behind it.

the grass was frigid under the soles of your feet as you strolled behind the sprite. your head was still pounding uncomfortably from your psychedelic vision.

you wandered along a familiar route towards the tree of souls. it was sunken into a crater of its own, the bedrock around it hollowing out to give it space to grow. some sprites fluttered past you, descending to take their place back at the epicenter of the great mother's presence.

"okay, here we are." you said, your tone exasperated. the sprite stood still, like an NPC character stuck at the end of its script. without any further instructions, you elected to climb down the cliff towards the tree.

you landed gracefully on the rocky terrain, despite the morning dew making it a bit slippery. the sprite was following you now, it seemed, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

how do you communicate with something you can't connect with? this question has been part of your life since forever and has extended past just the people. forget the language, there was an unspoken energy around you that you weren't built to harness.

though this situation was making you reconsider that fact.

"you brought me here." you hummed, extending your arm to let the bright rods brush over it. "what do you want to show me?"

you weren't completely serious as you spoke into the crisp morning air. if your thoughts were out there, maybe something other than silence would respond to you.

you stood there expectantly for a few minutes. if you didn't get any answers for eywa's confusing persistence, at least you could soothe yourself before you attempted to switch spider's mask.

you sighed, giving your ethereal companion a sheepish look. "i'm sorry, i just don't understand."

you stepped past it, your mind already plotting how far you were from spider's location.

then a cool wind passed over you. your eyes fell to the ground, watching a large shadow zip along.

weird.

you crouched low to the ground, scurrying to the cliff wall and pressing your back tightly to the surface. when you finally looked up, you felt the blood drain from your face.

ikran don't often hang around rocky terrain, not this low to the ground anyway, much less slotsyal. stormgliders.

your eyes snapped to eywa's sprites. they were all buzzing with life, zipping through the air more excitedly than usual. your companion floated under your hand, lifting it up and up and up until you were pointing at the apex predator.

"are you crazy?" you whispered urgently, pulling your hand back and looking at it incredulously. "no, no. i am turning the other way, thank you." you muttered, turning towards the wall and feeling for a good ledge to start your climb.

the sprite brushed along your face, making you splutter and step back out of the shade of the cliff wall. others surrounded you, drifting off and illuminating a path towards the animal.

you glared at all of them. "this is what you want from me? what am i gonna do, make friends with it?"

they floated there, steadfast in their instructions.

you gave it a look. "i will die if i get close. eaten! that's your big plan for me, great mother? really?"

you knew it was her doing. stormgliders never hunt this low to the ground, and they are never around the forest. similar to toruk, they cruise at super high altitudes and only ever descend when they're hungry.

this guy was descending, and you hated to think you were the food.

but if this was eywa's plan, you were a fool to turn away.

you gripped your bow, stringing it expertly as you gave one last glance at the sprites. "i'm listening as you've asked of me." you grumbled stubbornly, like a child complaining to their parent. "but if i die, that's on you."

/

"are you some kind of... freak?" aonung smirked down at kiri, his entourage chuckling behind him.

"he asked if you are a freak." one echoed.

"...no." kiri answered dismissively, walking away. they followed behind her, circling her like vultures.

"are you sure? you're not even real na'vi. look at these hands." aonung continued, swiping at her wrist to prove his point. she pulled back, her eyes narrowed. "i mean, look at them!" he laughed, grabbing her hands and turning them over, as if inspecting something grotesque.

kiri yanked her hands away, her glare sharp as her heart pounded with anger. the sounds of aonung's friends' laughter erupting behind her.

"hey!" lo'ak sauntered up, his expression hardened. he was already pissed off. "back off, fish lips."

"oh, another four fingered freak." aonung teased, a low laugh following as his friends began to pull on lo'ak's tail.

"leave us alone!" kiri pleaded, her voice laced with frustration.

she didn't have to say anything further—neteyam stormed into the scene, grabbing aonung's shoulder and ripping him away from his little brother.

"you heard what she said." neteyam threatened, his voice menacingly calm for the irritation he was feeling inside. "leave them alone."

"ah, big brother comin—"

aonung slapped the back of his hand to his friend, shutting him up without breaking eye contact with neteyam. his mind calculated the risks of stepping toe-to-toe with the foreigner, scanning for weakness.

"no, you're wrong," aonung corrected his friend with a smug look. "he is no big brother. he is the little brother to a demon. a human they've left behind because they are ashamed."

lo'ak lurched forward with an angry growl.

"lo'ak." neteyam snapped and the boy froze, pacing behind the older sully.

"you're gonna let them talk about her like that?"

"aww," aonung cooed, condescension dripping from his tongue. "they say birds flock together. i see the same idea extends to half-blooded demon freaks such as yourself."

neteyam gave lo'ak one more warning look before returning his attention to the metkayina kids. "my family is of no concern to you."

"yes, they are." aonung shot back. "we don't want your contamination. i would respect you, sully, if you didn't bow your head to the human you call your elder sibling."

neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. aonung had no idea who he was insulting.

"you speak as if you know her. as if you understand what she is." his voice, when it finally came, was low and precise.

he took a slow step forward. "this demon you speak of is our sister, out protector. she bled for us before she had even grew into her own strength. that alone makes her more of a man than you are." his golden eyes burned with something lethal. "we all know she isn't made for this world. that doesn't mean the planet itself hasn't accepted her as she is. she belongs here just like we do."

it made aonung hesitate for a second.

"you would not be standing if she was here. she would've knocked you into the sand without hesitation." neteyam continued, his fists tightening. " but she is not here. i am. and if you bother my family again, i won't think twice about following her example."

aonung paused. then, he raised his hands, that stupid smirk on his lips as he stepped back in surrender.

"smart choice." neteyam hummed, satisfied as he leaned back. "and from now on, i need you to respect my sister." he jabbed a finger in kiri's direction.

one of aonung's friends hissed. kiri responded by sticking out her tongue.

"let's go." neteyam ordered, patting lo'ak's head as he stormed past him.

"bye bye!" one friend sang mockingly, laughing as they turned away.

lo'ak's eyes rolled as he slowed to a stop.

"lo'ak." neteyam warned.

"i got this." lo'ak sweetly reassured him as he walked back to the group. he smiled as he approached them. "i know this hand is funny. but it can do something really cool. watch."

aonung made the mistake of humoring him.

/

at this point, your brain was tired screaming DANGER! the warning bells were going off, and you weren't listening.

the wind underneath the stormglider's wings rustled the leaves and vines of the trees below it. you were currently running for your life.

i knew this was a bad idea i knew this was a bad idea

you squeezed your eyes shut, yelling out in exertion. running in a near constant sprint for almost half an hour straight was not on your agenda today. your arms pumped at your sides, carrying you farther with every step.

the only logical conclusion to eywa's... gift was that you needed to bond with the stormglider. or escape it? but then why would she bring you and light the path towards it?

you were hesitant to accept the message she was clearly sending your way. how? you wanted to yell. how am i going to bond with this gigantic creature?

though juvenile, this slotsyal was much larger than a fully mature ikran. their wingspan was massive, and their barbed tail swinging behind them was the nail in the coffin.

the stormglider thrashed its great wings, carrying it higher and higher in the air.

your heart dropped. that only meant it was rearing to dive down and strike. its venomous tail was too much for the armored fauna of pandora to handle. one touch and you were a goner.

exactly as you predicted, you heard the piercing whistle as the stormglider dived.

holy shit. your mind was in overdrive. every thought occupied your attention for less than a second. a primal need to survive filled your veins and in the next moment you were moving on autopilot—

a screech echoed along the tree trunks as if broke through the canopy. you gripped the weighted lasso tighter, racing out of its line of sight. you scrambled up a tree, leaping down onto its head and slinging the lasso around its beak.

it landed on the ground, tumbling onto its side, wailing as it clumsily flailed its wings to regain balance.

that was the good thing about large animals. the bigger they were, the harder they fell. their size didn't leave much room for agility. get the jump on them and you're already halfway there.

you laughed to yourself as it struggled against your hold. "that's right," you grinned, peering into its eyes. it's pupils dilated upon seeing you. "you're mine."

in a burst of energy, it raised its head, catapulting you into the air. you grunted, gripping onto the lasso that was still binding its beak.

oh great mother, this better be what you intended.

it shot back into the air and it was a miracle you were able to hold on. the vertical ascent allowed you to flatten onto its head. you wrapped your legs around it's neck and clung to the long fin in the middle of its skull.

there was nothing much you could do but hold on your life until it burned out again.

it warbled in pain and you perked up. hurt?

now that it wasn't actively trying to kill you, you noticed that it lacked a neural queue. you knew stormgliders were solo agents, but almost all big animals had a queue. was this one defective? perhaps a mutation down the line?

in an instant, it dropped from the sky, crashing onto the top of a mountain. you were thrown off its head, bouncing on the hard ground with an oof as you teetered off the cliff's edge.

a white hot flash of panic flashed through your body as you clung to the lasso. you pulled yourself up, but you were surprised when the stormglider started to tug you back to safety as well.

you panted heavily, the spike of activity finally registering in your body. you winced. it was painful to stand up.

you stumbled over to the fallen stormglider. it was restless, whining as it slumped over on its side.

"you just had to make it hard for me, huh." you groaned, huffing as you assessed its state. "i guess great mother threw us both for a loop."

as the nausea died down, your vision cleared and you saw it. a clean cut through a portion of its underbelly.

you pursed your lips, already rifling through your kit for supplies to mend it. you walked back to its head, stroking your hand down its side and staring into its blue eyes.

"if i take this off, promise you won't try to eat me?" you proposed. it blinked. you sighed wondering if you were unwrapping your killer or new companion.

you got to work on patching him up. a light drizzle rained down on top of you, but it was a welcome sensation after the heat of the moment.

opposed to the tough top exterior of the slotsyal, its belly was soft and easily patched up by your tools. after plastering some gauze over the wound, you gently pat its ribs before returning to its head.

"truce?" you sighed and sat crisscross beside him.

his beady eyes locked onto you before he nudged your thigh with its snout. you accommodated him, petting the curve of its head gently.

truce.

the pieces were falling into place. since you moved to high camp, you realized how important ikran were in forest na'vi culture. only together can they reach the heights the terrain has to offer. you couldn't visit your family via the helicopters, and now you had your own mount to get there.

you've got to hand it to eywa. she may be mysterious in her ways but she does hear her children's cries and dries their tears.

the light rain subsided as the sun poked out through the clouds.

"huh." you hummed as a rainbow bent its way through the sky. "katir." (rainbow.)

/

lo'ak fucked around and unfortunately, found out.

if it wasn't clear that the metkayina kids were praying on his downfall, it was now.

joke's on them, he thought bitterly. cuz i've got a new friend.

he was having the best time with payakan—the best few hours of his life since moving to awa'atlu.

his laughter echoed across the open waters, tapering off when he saw a large shadow pass over him.

he looked up, covering his eyes with his hands as he tried to make out what was circling above them.

mom? he thought in a panic. oh shit.

then he saw the glint of a tail. he stood there dumbly. wait, ikran don't have pointed tails, do they..?

"lo'ak?!" you screamed above the wind.

"y/n?" his eyes widened.

"katir, no!" you pulled on the your new stormglider friends' ears wrapped around your entire arm, similar to the reins of a horse. "not food!"

with a screech, katir's wings extended. the sharp drop was reduced to a clumsy glide down, the gusts of wind knocking lo'ak off his feet. katir swerved, turning around and landing on a nearby rock. he churred as he shook his wings of the saltwater, bending his head to let you drop onto the ground.

"y/n!" lo'ak's grin was so wide it hurt his cheeks but he couldn't stop. he slid onto payakan's front fin, signing please, over there!

he arrived as you were chewing katir out.

"if this is gonna work, we've gotta set some ground rules." you scolded him. he huffed and turning his head away from you. "hey, i'm talking to you."

"y/n!" lo'ak screamed in delight, jumping onto the rock and promptly slipping. "wha—what are you doing here?! how are you here?"

you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to safety. you didn't stop there and pulled him into your arms. he hugged you back readily.

"this is katir," you grinned, walking over to your new friend and patting his head.

lo'ak blinked in disbelief. "i—how?"

"divine intervention." you shrugged. "i don't exactly know either. i had a vision, and eywa's seeds lured me to the area where this guy was lurking around. long story short, we tried to kill each other then reached an understanding."

"bonded?"

you shook your head. "no. he doesn't have a neural queue."

"just like you." lo'ak scrunched his face. "weird."

you hadn't thought of it that way.

"anyway," he shook his head, his beaming smile returning. "this is so crazy! i can't believe you're really here! wait until i tell—"

"wait." you gripped his arms. "you can't tell anyone else. not yet, anyway. i don't fully understand the implications of showing up here."

"what does it matter?" lo'ak scoffed. "we're fine. dad said you could join us anyways."

"when you're settled."

"we are!"

"are you?" you narrowed your eyes. "why are you out here alone?"

lo'ak's jaw snapped shut, his eyes drifting to the side. a look that told you all that you need to know.

"do you wanna talk about it?" you smiled kindly, sitting on the wet rock. he sighed and dropped down beside you.

"they were... being jerks. making fun of kiri and you."

you blinked. "is kiri okay?"

"yeah, she's fine."

"how do they even know about me? i thought dad would keep that under wraps."

lo'ak rolled his eyes, grumbling. "tuk and her big mouth."

you laughed softly. you missed this. you missed complaining about each other. "i assume you got into a fight?"

he nodded.

you smiled and ruffled his head with a smile. "still looking out for me oceans away, huh? thank you, lo'ak."

he got bashful, dropping his head and letting his free strand of hair poorly cover his face. "it's whatever. neteyam jumped 'em too."

you chuckled softly. "you won, no doubt."

"yeah."

"proud of you." you praised him. in the next second, your comm buzzed.

"y/n, they're moving."

lo'ak's ears popped up. "was that—"

"spider? yeah." you pressed your fingers to your choker. "copy." you responded, rising to your feet.

lo'ak's mind was struggling to keep up with all the new information. he was still shocked that you were really standing in front of him. "y/n, what have you been up to?!"

you smiled and pat his shoulder. "keeping kiri's promise. hopefully. and some sabotage."

katir blew a puff of air directly onto your head. you huffed and brushed your hair back into place. "yeah, yeah, i'm coming."

lo'ak stared at you in awe. in the month and a half they've been gone, you've already ascended to another level. or maybe you were always on this level, and only without the watchful umbrella of your father were you able to realize it.

"you can tell the other kids, not mom and dad." you called to him as you jumped onto katir. "make sure tuk doesn't blab, okay?"

"you got it." lo'ak mumbled. "you're... are you gonna come back?" he asked timidly, out of character for a confident guy like himself.

you gave him a tight lipped smile. "yeah."

his grin was the last thing you saw before you yipped, urging katir into the air. with a boom, he lifted off, unfurling his great wings and zooming back to the forest.

/

you stationed katir at a safe distance away from high camp. as a natural predator of ikran and na'vi, you didn't want to risk any mishaps.

before you went to spider, you needed to replenish your stockpile. naturally, the research base you were staying in didn't carry things like arrows and knives. everyone didn't think twice when they saw you rifling around. you were a familiar face, after all.

"y/n."

you squeaked as you whirled around, not expecting anyone to approach you, much less speak to you.

tarsem's eyebrows raised at your reaction, tilting his head as his features settled into an unreadable expression. his lips curled slightly as though amused by your surprised.

"hey." you quickly recovered.

"you are uneasy." he said, gaze sweeping over your fresh bruises and scars from the scuffle with katir earlier. his eyes were tender as they lingered on your injuries, concern threading through his words. "that is unlike you."

"first time for everything." you smiled politely, pocketing more arrowheads.

tarsem's lips twitched into a smile. "i do not remember you showing your discomfort so openly." he observed, curiosity in his tone.

"are you always so attentive with your people?" you hummed, your focus back to the trunk of treasures you were fishing through.

tarsem remained quiet studying you for a moment before he spoke again. "scouts spotted a rouge slotsyal above the plains this morning." he informed you. "be careful when you're out there."

"i wouldn't worry about that," you mumbled without thinking, stilling indistinctly before continuing your search.

"hm?"

"nothing. thanks for letting me know."

he nodded curtly, smile returning as he strolled past you. "you should visit more often." he suggested softly.

you eyed him, caught off guard by the shift in tone. "maybe." you answered truthfully.

your confusion of the interaction was overshadowed by the time crunch. you could review tarsem's conversation later. right now, you had a plan to bring to fruition.

you only prayed the great mother will look out for you in this, too.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky @aureolinb @whosbibi2000 @childishname @nen-nyy @moonchildxoxx @hdjfvnd

© jsooly ‘25

[jjllmx]

Read this again and it brought me back to life 😭😭😭 i really hope it gets finished or theres another part.

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

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[jjllmx]

neteyam’s twin sister is the twin that came second but carried equal responsiblity.

neteyam’s twin sister is alot more outgoing and charming compared to the quiet and more reserved half of her.

neteyam’s twin sister is a mama’s girl. always wearing her emotions on her sleeve, always so expressive. she was the sylwanin and the tom out of the twins.

neteyam’s twin sister is his best friend. his other half. spiritually bonded for life the two of them. while different they somehow mesh as well as an oiled machine. she is the one person he could go to, the one person he could express himself freely without having to be a warrior first. or the older brother first. with her he is just a child, like her.

neteyam’s twin sister is jake sully’s first baby girl and that was never going to change. his little princess that reminded him so much of tom and him at the same time. the good parts of him, that is. and there was a certain innocence to her. one that af ather should protect with his last breath.

neteyam’s twin sister sometimes came at odds with lo’ak. the two had very hard headed and stubborn personalities. so much so, they would always clash and fight as siblings do. kiri would often be in the middle of it, calling them both immature. their fights wouldn’t last long, not with neteyam interfering and making them apologize to each other. neteyam was always the one to get her to listen. only him.

neteyam’s twin sister always had little tuk following her around and copying everything she did. she is her role model after all, tuk couldn’t help but look up to her and kiri.

neteyam’s twin sister doesn’t like the amount of responsiblity he puts on himself. always offers to share the burder as they technically already shared the title of older siblings. but neteyam always refused her, always reminded her that their paths were meant to be different and that she didn’t have to follow him everywhere. she was free to be her own person.

neteyam’s twin sister doesn’t like when their father cracks down on both neteyam and lo’ak. the sky people have made their return and everything had become so tense. neteyam is constantly training, lo’ak wants to be like their father. she keeps offering to help her twin brother, keeps telling him to stop taking on so much responsibility but neteyam just smiles and assures her things are going to be okay while their grandmother bandages his recent wounds.

neteyam’s twin sister cries and cries and cries when they are forced to go into exile from their home. their shared grief brought them closer again, after a year of feeling like they were too far away from each other.

neteyam’s twin sister isn’t fitting in well with the metkayina clan. she’s not used to their world and feels out of place, out of her element. neteyam and her are back to being inseparable, navigating this whole new world together.

neteyam’s twin sister starts getting along better with lo’ak because they both shared their insecurities about being outsiders. neteyam is glad.

neteyam’s twin sister feels helpless every time neteyam and lo’ak are yelled at by their parents. but she sticks up for them the best she can, even if her parents discourage the behavior. and whenever she does, jake and neytiri always wore looks of disappointment. as if they expected better.

out of bitterness, neteyam’s twin sister is called “the perfect princess” by lo’ak and she utterly despises it and gets into another fight with him, this time neteyam nowhere in sight to break them up.

in the end their fight didn’t matter…

neteyam’s twin sister is scared to death when her stubborn yet sweet younger brother goes to save payakan. she doesn’t hesitate to go along with her twin, tsireya, and the others to help him save his new friend.

neteyam’s twin sister doesn’t hesitate to save her little sister and brother from the sky people. nor does she hesitate to go with tuk to try and save kiri. it didn’t matter if she ended up captured with the two of them. as long as the two were protected by her, then it was okay…..

neteyam’s twin sister feels a sudden hole in her chest. she doesn’t know where this feeling had come from but she dreads it. as if something was wrong. as if something bad had happened….

neteyam’s twin sister feels her heart sink when quaritch mentions loosing one of his boys. she wonders right then which brother she lost. she wonders if this hole in her chest had already given her an answer…

neteyam’s twin sister reunites with her family on stray debris, allowing them to pull her in to a tight hug. but she doesn’t bother to respond to any of it.

you don’t bother to respond to your father’s cautious yet gentle calls of your name. you don’t bother to acknowledge your mother’s tears as she cups your cheeks.

you’ve….

you’ve lost him.

you find your twin lying still on the piece of rock, right where your family had left him to come and save you.

you never could imagine loosing your twin. nor the pain that came with it. the silence that settled around you. the emptiness of it.

lo’ak’s older sister falls to her knees.

and cries.

and cries.

and cries.

and cries.

he had never seen her cry. not like this.

lo’ak’s older sister is quiet as stone when she watches her twin lay with eywa. leaving her behind for good.

[jjllmx]

Me when i dont see any Spoke x reader ffs from tokyo override: please watch tokyo override on Netflix