#✮ — whole new world

[heartfe1t]

open to anyone ( @indiestarter )

    ❝    my dad wouldn't like you sneaking around here.    ❞   and ward cameron is well... a man to be respected- or if not that... one to be feared.    ❝    you do know whose boat this is?    ❞  

[whispers-toarhapsody]

Raine didn't know how they found themselves in the human world; they weren't even a hundred percent sure this was the human world. Until they saw all the humans around, at least. But, right now, they had a much bigger problem. Because it had just started raining.

Luckily, they were able to take shelter under a decent sized wood awning; unluckily, it seemed they were going to be stuck there for a while with how much was coming down. Shivering, they looked around for any other reprieve from the weather and noticed something you'd never see in the Demon Realm: people walking around in the rain. Sure, they were people holding some kind of contraption to block the rain, but they seemed to be made mostly of cloth. Boiling rain would've easily eaten away at it, not to mention the people walking through it without the portable awning.

If they focused, they also realized the usual hissing sound and searing heat that accompanied boiling water hitting solid ground was missing. They were even cold. Curious, they reached one hand out to the falling water slowly, and they even instinctively flinched upon feeling the drops touch them, only relaxing after processing that it hadn't actually hurt.

"It's not hot," they thought allowed, unaware of any audience they may have. They recalled the many stories they would hear from Eda about her adventures into the human world, despite never joining her. "So Eda was telling the truth. The rain really doesn't boil here." It even felt... kinda nice.

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[thealphapigeon]

Honestly people who pick grass type starter pokemon are lunatics like you're already vulnerable to bug, flying, ice, poison and fire just by like. Default. And there's guaranteed bug and flying types in your starting routes in every game. That's fine. This is fine. The world sees your little guy as a walking salad. And if you're playing gold/silver and it's remakes then fuck you and your chikorita because the first two gyms are flying and bug type but whatever i suppose. So you manage to survive this divine sign from the universe you've made a mistake and evolved your little guy, and it's very rare for a grass type to remain only a grass type. Unfortunately, now that you've evolved as a split type it's likely that now you've either made moves that were not very effective to mildly effective.. or opened up a whole new type vulnerability. Grass ground? Now water AND grass type moves pack a decent punch. Grass poison? Sure bugs might not completely devour you, but psychic attacks are going to ruin your day. Arceus looked upon grass types and firmly reminded them they are at the bottom of the foodchain forever and ever amen. Yet people will still pick Bulbasaur. Talk about love man

[forever--darling]

the deepest sighs, the frankest shadows | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: it's been a week since the consciousness transfer and there is more to adjust to than just your new body. for starters, the approaching threat of the sky people and the preparations for war. or, that in an attempt to bring some light back into the world, mo'at finally announced the future olo'eyktan's mate. choices are to be made as both relationships with the sully brothers are still unclear. somehow, though your heart is already made up, and what about the perfect soldier? it brings up the question: duty or love?

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 18.1k (this is insane)

warnings/notes: the end at last, smut, minors DNI (18+ please), unprotected sex, slight choking, mating, swearing, mention of sky people, confessions upon confessions, neteyam being stupid but also completely obsessed with you, loose ends tied up, brother reconciliation, angst (has to be), crying, fluff, happy ending?

series masterlist | one of us: part eight (finale) | requests are currently open for now

Please, let him be soft. 

Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan his whole life had been compared to gunmetal, sharp arrows, and serrated teeth of the most vicious predator in Pandora. He resembled all of those things because he was a warrior, the best soldier, and a hero to many — or at least he would be once he won this war and became Olo’eyktan. Many people compared him to many things; all deadly, crenulated, and power filled. It was very deserving to be spoken of so highly and to that degree because Neteyam didn’t lose a fight.

He didn’t falter or show weakness, and like any soldier, had the ability to push down his feelings until they were so small and minuscule they were barely there. He was built and trained up since he was no more than a child preparing for this future, this prophecy, and this battle against the sky people. Neteyam Sully was Toruk Makto’s eldest son and in turn the best-prepared soldier for the upcoming war. 

Those who saw him as all those things refused to realize that he was also Na’vi, not made of steel or unbreakable shields, but of humanity. His humanity and ability to have feelings were shown a mere week before as he stood in the middle of the village, a limp body strewn along his arms. The perfect soldier then was not unwarpable or without weakness. Just like old, warn, and overused things, he had broke in front of everyone. He is no robot, no man without emotions as no leader should be without a strong heart. Fearless, improbable, and also not one of the eldest son’s traits because he very much had feared. Feared losing the very woman no one would have ever expected him to fall for. In that brief time, everyone saw that heroes hold just as much humanity, and more so heroes have the ability to break. 

But, please let him be soft. 

Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan had shattered and then when it was all said and done, with nothing left to cry for, his emotions were packed up and sent away again. Without even being fixed, he returned to being the hero that held the entire world on his shoulders. Because even if you asked and begged, Eywa would tell you just as anyone else that the world needed him. His hope, his strength, his courage, his leadership, and his strength. The world needs everything and he will give it all, including his heart.

It was no longer yours, not since the consciousness transfer, not completely. You wanted nothing more than to go to him when you woke up. You wished for him to reveal that he was flawed and breakable and somehow felt immensely for you. You wanted the whole world to know he was soft and that he was yours. You wanted to kiss him, feel him, know that the two of you could now have it — all of it while you still could. In that brief moment of clarity with all the walls built up before they came crumbling down again. It was only a matter of time, a matter of solitude before the storm would come and before the enemy would come.

Suddenly, everything had aligned and life was no longer at your fingertips. It was no longer outside of a large metal box or a sleep away. It was right here, right in front of your face. You went asleep for the last time in your original form and when you woke up with Toruk Makto staring down at you, hand cradling your face, you knew you had made it to your true form. You made it to your reality, your existence.

It all was in your grasp and you would never let it go again. You stared up at Vitraya Ramunong’s mauve neuron rods and you realized that this was why she had sent you back. With tears kissing your cheeks, you realized she had granted you this silent prayer so he could be soft and he could be yours. 

Neteyam would give them everything until he was nothing but a shell of himself, nothing but an imprint of dust. He would give and they would take it all, anything he could spare. Neteyam would give them everything so she gave him you. 

You were there because of  him. 

If only you could tell him that. If you were only given a minute, a spare moment, to say how irrefutably in love with him you were. If only Eywa could prolong a spindle of time so that if anything were to happen either of you could go with touched lips and empty mouths. You could go without anything else to say.

Somehow though as soon as you were okay and back in good health, you realized that where gunmetal can warp and tarnish, it can also be repaired. Arrows could be glued and dull teeth, sharpened. What once was could be again and you grasped that over the next week. A week full of weaponry dispenses, battle practices, meetings upon meetings of planning routes, and combat groups. The conversation revolved around the sky people, the territory they had long since crossed, and their weaponry only. Everyone had nearly forgotten about your visit with Eywa, the consciousness transfer, and you and Neteyam. 

If you weren’t practicing flying your Ikran and shooting your bow or locked in the grasps of Tuk and Kiri, you were talking strategies with Jake. Somehow he had noticed that after all your training and previous knowledge of humans, there was a warrior buried deep inside of you. You had become an asset to him despite the close loss. If you had a moment to spare, you were constantly in search of Neteyam, just begging the Great Mother for more than a passing glance or nod of acknowledgment.

If you managed to see one another, you both would momentarily freeze and just stare at one another almost painfully, so many words needing to be said. There were so many times when he would try to mouth something to you but it never got far because he was swept away in a matter of seconds. Neteyam was busier than you were, having become his father’s right-hand man and despite only being nineteen was promoted to one of the generals of the operation. If he wasn’t training, he was for laying his father’s orders. He was no longer soft or yours but the mighty warrior once again. 

Then if he had any moment at all, Tsahik was dragging him away to discuss whatever was required of him for his courtship. That was another thing that had happened, Neteyam’s mate had been announced, proudly to the clan. Mo’at thought it would help with providing calmness to the people. That despite the alarms going off in everyone’s head that there was something to celebrate, the manhood of their future Olo’eyktan and his future wife.

Tsmandi Te Nätäkx Ayitul’ite — the finest young healer in the clan. She had been training with Mo’at for years, and somehow over the last six months, you hadn’t thought to see her as more than the Tsahik’s healer in training. You should have seen the signs and many reasons why she and Neteyam could be a perfect fit. She was intelligent, kind, and able to lead the people alongside him. Not to mention she was stunning with long wavy hair, a small curved nose, and perfect blue and ivory markings along her skin. She was the perfect choice for Tsahik and somehow at the news, it was hard to even hate her for it. 

You wanted to. You wanted to hate her so bad but you knew that there was no point in it. No point in hating her when it was just as much out of her control as Neteyam’s. It wasn’t her fault that you had feelings for him or that despite most of the village realizing it that Mo’at continued to go forth with the arranged courtship anyway. It wasn’t her fault that Jake had actively noticed how his son felt about you and instead of stepping in or saying anything, he decided to stick his head in the sand and focus on the other problems that plagued the clan. Neytiri had tried to talk to her mother, to try and revert the match but despite her being the wife of Olo’eyktan, Mo’at still had say and control over the pairings. A pairing she didn’t see you fit for. They were to consummate their mateship and get married as soon as things slowed down with the sky people, possibly as soon as after the first battle and airstrike. 

Of course, you had no idea what Neteyam was thinking or feeling because whenever you saw him, he was back to focusing on his duties, the weight everyone asked him to carry. It seemed even his own heart, soul, and suffering he was trying to manage. You would bear it, but it seemed he didn’t want you to. 

A storm was coming and suddenly you had come to the conclusion that a moment would never be supplemented for you to be able to talk to Neteyam. The two of you were like the sun and the moon — revolving around one another, unable to touch and it didn’t matter how close you got, you would never meet. He was the sun, the source of your warmth, the ability for you to breathe. With such an effect to provide for everyone, came a price to pay. One that resembled a fleeting moment he shared with the moon at dusk and dawn because where he was the sun, he was the untouchable, uncurable, unfreeable. He wasn’t yours and because of the perfect soldier in him, he might never be. 

“So, based on how they are approaching the village, we know they would invade from this direction. There are no other markings that are east of the village so there won’t be any of them over on that side. The only thing we have to worry about is them coming from the sky, which is where the group on the Ikrans will come in,” Jake was in the middle of the same spiel he had been going over for three days now with the same people: all of the riders and soldiers.

You found yourself glancing over past your eyelashes to Neteyam who stood on one side of Jake, as a right-hand man, and Lo’ak on the other. Even with his troublesome and risky behavior, he was still expected to fight and the sight of the two of them together now with faded green bruises and cuts shrunken down to small lines, you were unable to look away. You hadn’t spoken to Lo’ak yet about his proposal or the idea of you two mating because every spare moment was put towards Neteyam but where there was no conversation with Neteyam, it meant you weren’t able to have one with Lo’ak. He was getting antsy evident in the way his eyes found yours in a full room or he tried to catch you while you were alone after training. Somehow it hall had been avoided though. 

“Neteyam and I will be with the airborne group,” Jake said then, his son’s name drawing your attention back to the importance of the meeting, “We will start here and fly there, waiting for a signal.” 

“If you are a spotter you do not engage until you have to. We will take care of the first lines of fire and lead the attack,” Neteyam’s voice was serious as he glanced between the riders, the edge to his tone coinciding with that of a leader. His eyes flickered towards you but no longer than they had anyone else. You felt your stomach rise and fall just as quickly as he continued, “You’re spotters, you report, and that is all. When you see something, call it in, and then wait for further orders.” 

Neteyam glanced around his father to Lo’ak who sent in a noticeable eye roll back. Jake knocked his elbow into the side of his youngest son and Lo'ak straightened up suddenly at the realization that his father had seen what he did in response to the future Olo’eyktan. A mutual understanding moved through the small crowd like a hush as Lo’ak nodded toward his father — everyone silently agreeing to listen to every word that Neteyam was saying.

This wasn’t another ‘what-if’ scenario or a hypothetical situation to use to prepare the people or yourselves. This was real and it was actually happening. Gone was the comfort that appeared with the ‘what-ifs’, a small understanding that no matter what was said or done they would remain as they were, a hypothetical situation. But now, things had inevitably changed. There was no putting this to sleep because it would still be the only thing thought about as soon as everyone left the room. 

There was no going back to how things were; before the sky people, and their arrival. Ever since the night of your ceremony when Jake and Neteyam found them near the territory line, they were always there; not just in the forest slowly creeping closer and closer but in everyone’s minds. It was no longer a scenario but a possibility that would finally appear soon. 

A few nights ago you had overheard Jake talking to Neytiri that if things begin to deter far in advance of the war, they should flee — protect their home for as long as they can but if it begins to go downhill, leave while they all still can. He had already advised many women and children to leave, and find shelter and solace within the mountains where he knew the technological advances could not operate. You were pondering how long it would take until he ordered everyone else to retreat, even the mightiest of warriors.

It was sure to happen because he wasn’t the same marine or Jake Sully he once was. The Toruk Makto had laid his reign to rest and now there was more at stake; his family. Before it was about honor and portraying a message about the quality of life. Many losses had occurred but for the greater cause of success. It seemed that even as the clan faced that same threat, Jake wasn’t as dedicated to the message, not if it meant losing the lives of many. He wouldn’t show it though, not to those still willing to lose their lives to protect their home. To protect their views, he would keep up the facade that he was the same leader he once was proud of. 

“They’re coming and they aren’t going to stop unless we do something about it,” Jake said, a small hiss falling from his lips as he thought back to this long hard fight that had become his life, “They think that they can take whatever they want, but we have sent them this message before and we will do it again. That we won’t stop, not as long as they keep coming. We will fight. You will fly with me, your Olo'eyktan, and we will remind them that they can’t do this. They can’t take whatever they want while we’re still standing. So, prepare yourself, brothers and sisters, because they are coming, but they don’t realize that we’ll be ready!”

Cheers and hollers filled your ears as you looked around at the riders, spotters, and soldiers all soaking in every single word their brave leader had to offer. He had led them to victory once against the sky people and he would do it again. That was what all their faces said as they stared forward, with no moment to fear what could happen next or if they would even be alive to see that victory. His words shook you straight to your bones but you could only stare forward, in shock, as you took in the expressions of both of his sons. Lo’ak with one of his fists in the air, a grin was stretched across his face, almost satisfyingly as he thought about the violence that was soon to come. It was a look of vengeance, wanting and needing justice for all his people's pain. 

Then there was Neteyam. 

Please, let him be soft. 

Strong, mighty warrior, Neteyam. He stood proudly, his hands on his hips, head tilted at the sight before him. Honorable future Olo’eyktan, Neteyam would follow his father to the ends of the world and would even let it take him if it meant he could save everyone else. He would sacrifice everything just to feel his father gushing with pride. That was who he was and suddenly like the worst realization, you knew it wouldn’t matter how much you wished for someone to just hear you, to let him be soft and be full of imperfections. You wished that he would walk away but that seemed like too big of an ask from you when the world needed him as much as it did. 

Somehow his eyes found yours and his mighty statue faltered slightly under the weight of your gaze and your longingness. His lips curled slightly into a frown, one holding every emotion and every word you knew he wished he could say. That he felt for you in a way he didn’t for anyone else and that he could want you the way he did but it wouldn’t change anything. His look held so much admiration and softness, but even in it, you could see the harshness of reality — the one thing he could never say out loud. I can’t. 

As if his proclamation meant nothing. As if losing you, or the fact that it had almost happened hadn’t done enough for him to leave his duties to the side. Like even though you were standing right there in front of him, everything he could want, he still couldn’t do this for you. He couldn’t go against what was expected of him at least not then, not with what was at risk. Suddenly as your heart constricted in your chest, his intense stare never leaving your trembling frame, it felt like you had been too stupid to fall under his spell. I see you. It suddenly had lost all meaning to your life. 

As soon as Jake was done making his grand speech and the noise level had faded to a mere nothing, you found yourself sneaking out from the tent, beating the rush that was sure to follow. You felt his eyes drag over your back as you slipped out into the evening air, the sun beginning to set behind the tree line. A wind rippled along your skin, goosebumps being left in its wake as you approached your tent to leave your bow and chest guard.

The many voices of the rest of the riders and spotters filled the air as they began to exit from the tent. You hurried around the corner, eyes taking in the sudden dullness that seemed to have fallen over the area. The familiar dash of children was gone, instead, it was a mere memory as the village was now completely filled with soldiers, and riders, all decked out in armor and with weapons. The warmth that once was provided by the Omatikaya people had faded to a numbing fear that rattled everyone’s teeth. 

Fear of the unknown, the fear of having to wait for the unknown. It was all that was on people’s minds and the days were no longer filled with meals, prayers, or times of celebration. In place of it, all was prepared for a war that could appear any day now. With everything, it felt like you hadn't been flirting with the possibility of death a few days prior or passed through the eye of Eywa. It was like you had never been human at all.

Somehow you integrated quickly, ideally, as if this was where you always were meant to be. It didn’t change the fact that every time you closed your eyes at night in your hut, you weren’t used to not having them open again in the link pod. It was the most significant adjustment, knowing you were no longer bouncing back and forth from one body to the other. You closed your eyes and opened them again in the morning with no interruption in between. That was your life now. 

As you approached your tent, you heard the rushed footsteps from behind you as they bounced hurriedly across the dirt of the ground. You felt your heart pick up in your chest at the possibility of it being Neteyam but the feeling faded just as quickly as you heard the person call out to you. 

“Y/N!” Lo’ak. 

You sighed, peering over your shoulder, having should have known that it would be him over his older brother. Neteyam would never run after you like that. He was deliberate with even how he walked to protect his precious image from the rest of the people and he needed to seem calm and collected. Lo’ak’s face scattered in paint of orange and green, meaning he was probably about to go out on a spotting run and was just trying to catch you before. A quick conversation you hoped, as you still hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him you couldn’t accept his proposal. 

“What, Lo’ak?” you asked, turning back to your tent, slipping inside. 

"Wow," he followed, surprise forming on his face as he watched you place your bow down on the table, “Really, you’re not going to rush off this time?” 

He had a point as for days you had been so concentrated on getting Neteyam alone, you were practically running at the sight of Lo’ak and his reckless confession that had left you backed up in a corner. A corner you now had to face head-on because what once was a hypothetical scenario had become your life overnight. You like a mighty soldier came out on the other side and now your future lay before you bare of any plans or decisions.

You were so blinded by the love you felt deep within your chest, you hadn’t thought any further than the way it had wholly consumed you. There was that word again, consumed. Consumption. Almost as if Neteyam’s love was water that would cure the dire thirst that had overtaken your lonely soul. Somehow the dire need had taken over every other physiological ask of your body. 

Lo’ak had not been a priority but how could he have been when this obsession had once again become a “will they, won’t they” scenario. 

“Y/N,” your name fell from his lips like the softest touch and you felt the recoil of your heart back into your chest, “If you plan to make a break for it I am not going to just let you go this time. Frankly, if you try to run off, I am just going to go after you and I think you remember that it is quite easy for me to catch you.” 

You sent him a narrowed look over your shoulder before you busied yourself again with removing the chest guard as well as the knife strapped to your waist, “You never stop do you? With the flirting?” 

“Well why would I ever stop when I get to see that look on your face every time I do it,” he chuckled, eyes flickering over the fierce glare and the furrow in your brow that matched the same one you once had when you were human. Even though you now stood only a few inches shorter than him and with ivory-dotted skin, you still were so much like the you he once knew, all starting from the animated expressions that coated your face in life. 

He reached forward his thumb brushing over the folded skin, “The crinkle right above your nose only ever shows up when you’re annoyed or angry. And you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” 

You smacked his hand away and sighed loudly not finding his affection welcoming in the slightest with the current circumstances at hand; the sky people, the guarantee of war, the possibility that any of them could die, the fact that he was still waiting for you to accept his ask to be his mate, or that he knew very well how you and his brother felt about one another. His flirting didn’t feel right in any way at that moment. 

“Can you stop that, just… what is it, Lo’ak?” you sighed, rubbing the furrow he had been talking about seconds ago. You hoped it would disappear under your fingers, smoothing back to normal to keep him from feeling any more satisfaction. He knew your expressions and feelings inside and out, filling you with the worst dread, “Why are you here?” 

“We need to talk,” he shrugged, casually as if the conversation he was hoping to have was just that but you knew better. Based on the glint in his eyes and the sly smile, you knew that nothing was casual at all about it and that with the charm laid on thick, he finally once again had you in that corner. 

“Lo’ak…” 

“No, I am not letting you walk away from this again. This can’t go on any longer,” he said, voice lowering as his hand extended forward as if it was going to touch you but it stopped mid-air due to the way your eyes hastily followed it. It fell back down to his side and you instantly felt guilty about it. 

His mouth parted then as if he was going to say something else but you stepped forward, practically begging him not to, “Lo’ak, stop."

“Y/N,” he warned.

“Don’t say another word,” you professed, taking a step back away from him, “Not about this. Everything I said that night remains true and I haven’t changed my mind. I won’t let you do this, I can’t. I will not hold you back and diminish your chances of falling in love.” 

“Y/N—” 

“No!” you shouted then, feeling your shoulders shake at the exasperation of the word, “We can’t. You deserve better Lo’ak and I deserve better. Marriage and mating are not some solution so you don’t end up alone. I would rather be alone than become something you’ll resent. I won’t do that to myself.” 

“You’re right,” he said, his words ringing out but muffled by the intense panic you felt as soon as his voice filled your ears. 

“No, Lo’ak—” 

“Y/N!” he raised his voice as both hands took your shoulders firmly. Shaking you lightly, your frantic eyes found his, finally flickering up from where you had been staring at the ground. You were met with a soft smile so loving and kind as a deep chuckle escaped from his mouth, “I said you’re right.” 

“What?” your ears flattened slightly in shock as your eyes widened. 

He laughed again, thumbs beginning to rub circles into the inside of your arms, finding the most amusement from the look on your face. “Look, I love you. I do, but not enough, and surely not as I should. Watching you and Neteyam this week, I realized that how I feel about you can’t compare in the slightest. And expectations or logistics of the future put aside, it would be wrong of me to make you settle for someone who doesn’t look at you the way he does. You deserve more than what I can give you and I am sorry I didn’t realize it earlier.” 

The look hadn’t faded from your face, instead, it only deepend, your hands finding his arms, able to feel the warmth of his skin under your fingertips, “Really?” 

“Yes,” he chuckled, “Plus, do you really think I want to be with a girl who would rather have my brother. No thanks.” 

Your heart clenched in your chest, twisting and turning almost like you were about to be sick even though the look on his face resembled only amusement and laughter. Like his own joke was too funny not to laugh at himself. Your grip on his arms tightened unexpectedly, “I’m—” 

“Shut up,” he cut you off, eyes narrowing at the way you were going to profusely apologize for something that had been completely out of your control the moment you had met Neteyam. Lo’ak even noticed it the first night, how you looked at his older brother like he had hung the stars. Even when he was less than welcoming during that first meeting, you saw the world in his eyes. “I’m fucking with you. It’s fine.” 

“Is it?” you asked, hesitantly. 

“Yes.”

You weren't convinced evident in the way your gaze fell back to the ground, not fully able to meet his eyes from the shame and guilt that was eating away at you. You had hurt him and led him on out of fear and it was inexcusable. With Lo'ak though, when it came to you he was always quick to forgive. Shown in the way, his fingers wrapped around your chin, lifting your head so your eyes once again met his.

“I have been second to Neteyam my whole life in everything and I don’t think I could go through with being the person you’d settle for just because you couldn’t have him. You were always right about that, how we shouldn’t choose to be with someone to settle. If we had, I think it would’ve killed me. We would have truly been miserable,” he admitted sadly with a solemn smile overtaking his features. 

You had felt your eyes well up at his words, at the pain that had decorated his face in the form of worried lines and battered scars. He was right, just as you had been a week ago and had been every day since. The two of you would have been miserable but it didn’t deny the sudden sadness that formed. The grief that had formed for your friendship that might just never be the same and the love you swore you could have felt for the Sully son in another life. In this existence, you weren’t meant for one another and your souls would never coincide but possibly in another life and another world they would have. 

“I want you to know I was never angry with you that it was Neteyam you chose. Even with him getting everything, I could never be angry with you about that,” he squeezed your arms under his palms as he paused for a brief second before continuing, “The reason I was so upset was that I was afraid he was going to hurt you. I know my brother and I knew that duty comes first, it always would, so I figured Tsmandi would come first. But watching him this last week, watching him as we all almost lost you, I can see now that nothing will stop him from feeling how he does when it comes to you.” 

You felt your breath hitch, the weight leaving your entire body as you stared up at Lo’ak in slight awe. Not a single ounce of annoyance or jealousy filled his face, no spitefulness. When he said he loved you, he was telling the truth and when he said that it couldn’t compare to Neteyam’s feelings it was said with so much courage. There was no anger there laced within his wide eyes, but so much reassurance. 

“When you came here Neteyam was a soldier who carried his mighty sword on his back. Before I would have told you that without a doubt he would stick to his orders, and his duties as the firstborn but he’s not the same person anymore. He is more than our father’s perfect little soldier but our future Olo’eyktan. He has a strong heart. He’s fit to be a ruler and to lead the clan to victory. But most of all, a man with a strong heart doesn’t take orders from anyone.” 

“No, stop that,” you denied, suddenly, his words too much. Your face fell as you thought back to the last few days ever since you woke up from the transfer in a haze, a desperate haze for Neteyam's attention. He was and always had been the soldier the world expected of him. “Don’t say things that aren’t true.” 

“But it is true.” 

He would give them everything. He wasn’t soft, and he wasn’t yours. 

You shook your head and sniffled, “No.” 

He was a king’s son and there was no room for love among duty. It was inevitable and Lo’ak’s words only drilled holes in the hope he had built up seconds before. 

“Yes it is and you’re being stupid,” Lo’ak said then effortlessly and it stung as it slid in past your chest. 

Your eyebrows knitted together again, “Lo’ak!” 

“Well you are,” he laughed, shaking his head, “You’re being just as stupid as he is. You’re stupid and in complete denial. It’s like you don’t realize you hold his heart in your hands. His feelings for you aren’t going anywhere. Neteyam is a ruler, yes with no fear, but I never said that a king sometimes doesn’t need a little push here and there.” 

There will come a ruler whose brow is laid in thorn, smeared with oil like David’s boy. He will tear your city down… 

An English poet once wrote that “there is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”

Neteyam never knew who this man was or what he did that made his life so damn significant. He just saw him as he was, a sky person that once lived hundreds of thousands of years ago, facing the same idealistic problems that seemed to also be consuming his world. No, the future Olo’eyktan couldn’t care less about William Shakespeare but more about what he said. There is a tide in the affairs of men. In reality, the saying meant more having come from his father, first told to the young boy when he was no more than ten years old. The marine himself had heard it from Norm not long after he had arrived on Pandora.

The famous line stuck with Jake after all these years and he then passed it on to his oldest son, who seemed he would need it one day. That evening, sitting in the dark tent, the newest crafted bead on his songchord being rubbed between his thumb and forefinger, that was all he could think about. There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. 

There was a possibility of violence and war soon approaching followed by a long line of grief and all he could think about was that damn poet’s line his father had told him time and time again the older he got. Neteyam sat near the doorway of the tent and peered out towards the darkness of the forest while the sound of his father’s voice faded in the background accompanied by the taking apart and putting back together of guns. One pulled apart sat at Neteyam’s feet but he had lost interest in the weapon long after the sun had set.

His mind drifted then to where it always seemed to end up, you. More specifically, the way you had looked at him during the meeting earlier that evening, the disbelief and the pain that had overtaken your face. The complete betrayal you felt as the days were fading away quickly, days where he was still free and not some other woman’s.

He had held you with your last dying breath and said the most intimate words anyone could say within the clan and yet, he stood there across the room acting as if they meant nothing. To him, it was the most significant thing he had done in his life, but in a minor lapse of judgment, he had let the rest of his responsibilities appear again and take away his attention. Where every day passed until he and Tsmandi would be asked to be mated, also was another day gone until the sky people attacked the village. It was just a matter of time which one would occur first. 

He felt his disappointment in himself increase as well as a wave of anger at his lack of awareness. He already almost lost you once and Eywa couldn’t promise the two of you a lifetime together or years to come of oblivious bliss. Nothing was promised and he was sitting there wasting every second for a battle that very well could kill him. 

“Neteyam,” the sound of Jake’s voice pulled him back into the present. 

He was clutching the bead so tightly in between his fingers, it had slipped and the entire songchord had fallen onto the ground. He hadn’t even noticed the absence that was left within his grasp. Not bothering to pick it up, his eyes expectantly found his father’s. The gun he had been putting back together sat in his lap in pieces, but he had paused to get Neteyam’s attention. His brows were raised curiously and a small curl was starting to appear on his lips. A look that Neteyamw wasn’t quite sure he had seen before. 

Jake then nodded towards the entrance of the tent, his ears flickering as he did so, “Go on.” 

“What?” Neteyam asked, unsure if he had heard him correctly. 

“Go on,” he repeated, nodding his head again, “If I know her as well as I think I do, she won’t wait forever.” 

Neteyam’s eyes widened then, hands dangled across his knees as he tried to process the words he never thought he would hear but felt himself reveling in for moments on end. Brows furrowed slightly, he felt as if it had been too good to be true because there was certainly no way. “But Dad—” 

“You’re a good warrior Neteaym,” Jake complimented as his hands began to fiddle with the weapon in his lap just as a sudden emotion appeared in his voice, “But you’re destined to be a ruler someday, to become the next Olo’eyktan. An Olo’eyktan makes decisions for himself. No fear.” 

“No fear,” Neteyam repeated slowly, still unsure if any of it was real. 

“Now, go. I will handle your grandmother.”

Jake’s final words were all the confirmation that Neteyam needed. Picking up his songchord and gripping it tightly in his palm, Neteyam rushed out of the tent, leaving the burdens and the ripped-apart gun behind. Able to feel the way the moon and the stars reflected across his skin in the dark, he couldn’t help but pause outside the tent and peer up at the sky. A soft smile began to pull at his lips and in that brief pause of time, he sent up the quietest whispers of gratitude to the Great Mother. Then as if the world had finally felt like it was going in the right direction, he tightened his hold around the songchord as a new sense of determination formed. It took hold around the base of his stomach, filling him with the greatest fire known to man; pertinacity.

With hurried steps, he made his way across the village, your tent in sight. He could see the dim lighting from the lantern inside and he felt himself holding his breath as he reached for the flap of it. What would you say when you saw him there practically groveling for forgiveness, for a chance to prove himself? How would he properly say in so many words that he was wrong and that it had always been you? It’s you. Even as the world was starting to cave in around him, it was you he thought about and dreamed about. It was you and he had been entirely stupid for so long. 

He took a deep breath, fingers clutched around the fabric but as he went to pull it back, he was distracted by the sound of a loud whistle. It made his ears twitch and he found himself turning to locate the loud noise. His hand fell away from the tent as he found Lo’ak just a few feet away slowly approaching, his arms hanging loosely at his sides and a look on his face Neteyam couldn’t quite decipher. Some lingering yellow markings were still pressed along the younger brother’s temple and arms, but they were practically invisible in the dark. A week ago, Neteyam had only looked at Lo’ak with hatred and with his fists balled tightly together, a feeling that had never been there before when it came to his younger brother. 

Now as they stood only a few feet from one another, in front of your tent, still having never addressed that night, Neteyam felt his stomach tighten again. Not only in guilt about what he had done but also in slight anger as his resentment and jealousy still lingered under the surface. Lo’ak had asked you to be his mate, and Neteyam still didn’t know what the outcome would be or what you had even decided to do. He refused to be in a room with Lo’ak unless it had something to do with the ongoing conflict with the sky people, so now standing there in the darkness of the village, there was an obvious amount of tension that still lingered. 

Lo’ak nodded in the direction of the forest behind him, shrugging his shoulders as he did so, “You just missed her. I am sure you could still catch her though.” 

Neteyam heard the words and slowly felt his stoic expression and rigid stature fade. His fists unclenched and his ears flickered curiously. His lips parted slowly, in surprise as he glanced from his younger brother to the forest practically calling his name, “Lo’ak—” 

“You’re the better man,” he said, cutting him off and shrugging his shoulders as he did so, “You always were. I was just too stubborn to get out of your way.” 

The future Olo’eyktan found himself shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe that his younger brother thought he was the only one at fault here. They both had been. Things had only fallen apart because of their indignation toward one another and their incessant need to push down all of their real feelings until they no longer felt as if they existed. It was something they both had gotten from their father and it had shown with how they chose to handle this whole situation, with violence. 

“I have always been too hard on you, Lo’ak. It's unfair.” 

The younger Sully laughed, his chest rumbling slightly almost as if he was trying to brush off all the seriousness that was forming, “It is what is expected of you. You should be hard on me because I need it. We’re not kids anymore Neteyam and I need to start taking responsibility for my own actions. I have been letting you do it for far too long. So please hear me and believe me when I say that I was wrong about this. I knew how you felt about her and even when I saw how she so obviously looked at you, I chose to ignore it.” 

“You were doing what you thought was right, I can respect that,” Neteyam replied honestly, his eyes softening at the sight of the pained expression plastered across Lo’ak’s face. 

“No, I was trying to be you.” 

His brows furrowed at Lo’ak’s admission, lips curling slightly into a frown at the emphasis of the word you. Something that he never expected to hear. “What do you mean?” 

“I was trying to be you. I thought I was protecting her… that I could protect her, but I’m not you. I was wrong, Neteyam because she never needed my protection. I was scared that you would hurt her, that somehow your duty, your need to put everyone else first would wreck everything. I was trying to protect her, but I can’t do that because I’m not you. I am not made to be a ruler.” 

There is a tide in the affairs of men. 

I am not you. 

Neteyam felt his deep inhale get lodged within his chest at Lo’ak’s words, ripping what was left of the walls he had built up to pieces. Ears pulled tautly back, he stepped forward and found his hand reaching out to take a hold of his younger brother’s shoulder, “Lo’ak, it is a good thing. I wouldn’t want you to be me. I wouldn’t want you to carry these burdens. It’s suffocating.” 

Lo’ak’s head fell slightly, almost like he was guilty he was the younger son, free of more responsibilities and expectations. Even though it had not been his choice, he felt guilty that Neteaym was the one who had his future completely planned out for him, that because of their birth order, his brother was unable to fully commit himself to you.

Neteyam squeezed his shoulder lightly, “I am glad it’s not you, Lo’ak. I am so relieved that you are who you are. I know the guilt you must feel but it’s not a weight you should waste time bearing. This wasn’t a choice you made and you need to let it go. Yes, you’re not me. You’re not a perfect little soldier, but believe me, it’s not a title worth having.”

The honest sentiment was strong as it settled deep within Lo’ak’s chest suddenly breaking through all the resentment that had been there for years. The outcast. The wrong brother. The mess up. It all no longer mattered as he stared at Neteyam because for years while he had been so busy trying to hate him and make his life harder, he failed to realize just how unlucky the firstborn really was.

It was never that Neteyam got everything he wanted but rather was given everything without a choice in the matter. Everything and everyone’s approval he hadn’t asked for. In exchange the pressure to be perfect, to do everything right, and to never disappoint. The reality that had been looming over them their whole lives was that Neteyam wasn’t the lucky son, not in the slightest, just the one that held the entire family and world in his hands. 

It surely was a responsibility Lo’ak was relieved he would never have. 

“I mean look what it has gotten me,” Neteyam said then, shame covering his face as he glanced over his shoulder at the tent, “I have hurt her. I have continuously hurt the only woman I have ever had feelings for.”

“Feelings?” Lo’ak asked, eyes narrowing as he observed the reaction that overtook his brother’s face from the question, “You love her then?”

It was a softness Lo'ak had never seen on his brother’s face before. It was like all worry and all weight had left him in a matter of seconds. What was left was a mere admiration for the woman who was sitting waiting in the woods. She had left to pray to Eywa, to ask for answers for her heartbreak that seemed to be inevitable but the answer was as clear as day and standing right in front of Lo’ak. It was the soft lift of the corners of Neteyam’s lips to the coruscated flash in his eyes. 

“Y-Yes.” 

Lo’ak nodded, slightly surprised that Neteyam finally admitted it but somehow not surprised by the response that finally confirmed everything. It had always been there under the surface. The answer to the very question he asked moments ago, but to actually hear it out loud was foreign.

“You should go,” Lo’ak said then, glancing briefly over his shoulder to the forest and the direction you had disappeared to, he could only assume to the spot Neteyam had introduced you to.

Neteyam’s face pinched together for a moment, brows furrowing as he tried to analyze Lo’ak’s expression and his sudden need to send him off into the forest. It was almost as if his younger brother couldn’t handle any more of the conversation. The younger Sully stepped back, putting some more space in between them.

As Neteyam was going to say something more, he was silenced quickly as Lo’ak raised his hands, “I am fine. It’s fine, really. I am just saying you shouldn’t waste any more time. You should go.” 

He agreed silently and knew then that after everything that had happened; the tension, the arguments, that fight that broke out somehow this one conversation had healed all wounds. It had healed those very blows that had been sent to Neteyam’s chest and had brought the worst rage out of him. The betrayal he felt seeped away and somehow nothing was left but the forgiveness and understanding that clouded his mind. It was a reconciliation that had somehow seemed to fix all of the things from over the years of growing up under the same roof, always in competition, acting as if their father’s pride was something to be won. 

Lo’ak for years had felt that he had always come second and that he would never be Neteyam. It wasn’t a disagreeable aspect anymore but rather something he could learn to see as understandable. He didn’t want to be Olo’eyktan, not really, and that came with all the standards laced within the title. For the first time in years, there was an understanding between the two, an acceptance of sorts and it all started and ended with you. 

Neteyam slipped by Lo’ak, the confirmation of you being in the forest already guiding him to a certain place he was sure you'd ran off to. The only place either of you'd end up when it was this late and with dangers lurking around. It was the only spot either of you would wait for the other and it brought the most comfort when times were dire and destructive. There was no knowing what would fall upon the forest the next day or the day after. No guarantee of what would happen to the clan, to the village, to the people, and to those who were about to put their lives at risk for the entirety of their belief system.

Neteyam very well could die tomorrow and now suddenly all he could wish for was to have one night. One night where you could be his and he could be yours, completely, honestly with nothing else wedged between the two of you. He wished to have you, to feel your skin beneath his fingers, to memorize the way you would look up at him, and the way you would say his name. Most of all he just wanted you to promise him that it wasn’t too late. That he hadn’t fucked things up that bad. 

He needed to hear that despite everything you loved him.

Just as his feet reached the tree line, Neteyam stopped at the sound of Lo’ak calling out to him again. Turning around, he found his younger brother sending him a proud smile, one that reached his eyes, not an ounce of sadness or disappointment to be shared between the two. “Just take care of her okay?” 

A single nod was all that was expressed from the older Sully, the man who had fallen so irrevocably in love he couldn’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of whatever time he had left — take care of you was the only thing at the top of his list. Fuck the responsibilities. Fuck the arranged marriage or the expected mateship. Fuck the control his grandmother seemingly wanted over who his partner was going to be.

Jake’s words rang around in Neteyam's ears as he turned back towards the forest and stepped inside.

An Olo’eyktan makes decisions for himself. No fear.

He found himself suddenly picking up his pace, the wind brushing along his skin as he began to run. His knife clattered across his thigh from the holder around his waist colliding with his songchord as he brushed past the brush and tree branches. His eyes were set forward in the dark, the lush glow of the forest the only thing to guide him as he felt his lungs begin to burn. They burned for air as his legs began to ache. Sweat was forming along his brow but the only thing his mind was set on is getting to you.

No fear. He kept repeating it to himself over and over again. Simply, because he didn’t fear much. He never gave a second thought to what his father asked of him. Being a soldier and the talk of war never scared him somehow. He prepared his whole life to someday die in battle but you, somehow telling you how he felt was so much worse. The idea of actually admitting it out loud to you was the scariest thing he'd ever do. Letting himself fall for you was something that took more courage than he would ever care to admit. Because loving you meant he was going against the crown, the expectations, and the future wife that had been chosen for him. He was going against the prophecy that Mo’at had laid before him.

As he slowed near the familiar trees and mangled brush, it felt as if the Great Mother had another plan for him all along. Almost as if she had brought you back for him and him alone. There was a great plan, a future that would be laid out before him and he felt that Eywa was promising that you would be the one by his side. 

He held his breath as he pushed the brush aside and stepped swiftly through the forest spotting you from beneath the trees. You stood near the base of the river, arms wrapped around yourself as you stared forward at the water, tracing the ripples with your eyes. Lips pursed, you shifted from side to side seemingly lost in your thoughts, so much so you didn’t hear his approaching steps. Neteyam stopped just a few feet away, allowing himself a few seconds to admire you, your side profile, and the way your hair fell effortlessly across your shoulders. The top half was pulled back out of your face and laced together in a small braid, leaving a few pieces to frame your face. Your smooth skin reflected the sheer lights of the water and he couldn’t help but trace the slope of your nose and the slight purse in your lips. 

He hadn’t been this close to you since the night among the mauve tendrils, the night among the Tree of Souls where you collapsed in his arms. Where he had bared every pain that was painted across his soul to you. He could still picture the way your face was dosed with salty tears, aching and begging for him to understand. I trusted you. His pained words still echoed in his ears now but it seemed things had changed so much since that fateful night a week ago.

It was as if you were the one now who felt betrayed, heart twisting at the thought of him being with someone else. Entirely the same way he had felt when he had found out Lo’ak had asked you to be his mate. Except for the way you stared into the empty river, gaze void of any warmth he knew somehow you were feeling far worse than even he had. 

Neteyam had known what it felt like to feel the one slipping through his grasp to another, he knew what it was like to feel so betrayed and heartbroken at the way reality messed with your perception. He had felt the wounds strike his being and somehow even with knowing all of that, he had bestowed it on you. A feeling he hadn’t wished to befall anyone had been passed off to you and the guilt was choking him. 

A click of your tongue filtered in through his ears and as he took a brief step forward, your body turned in his direction. Instantly, you froze, surprised to find him standing there, eyes locked on you in the dark. His gaze shamelessly traced the shape of your body and you found yourself in silence watching him as he did so. Your heart had picked up in your chest as a heat of some sort started to pool in the base of your stomach due to how delicately it felt like he was tracing your skin. You hadn’t heard him approach and now to have him standing there before you after so long, it had filled you with so many emotions. So much love and so much pain as he was there in front of you, soon to belong to someone else. 

He watched the glass form across your eyes as the pained expression filtered across your features. The obvious furrow of your brows and the twitch of your lips held his attention away from your smooth exposed skin. You were glued to your spot, the frustration pricking at the nerves of your body, filling you with a numbing rage at the sight of him. You had craved it for a week, needed it with every fiber of your being to see and talk to him. Days ago you needed him to promise you and reassure you that there was nothing to worry about. That Tsmandi would not be his and he would not be hers, but he never came. He never let those reassurances leave his tongue and now somehow the sight of him in the only spot that brought you tranquility felt poisonous. As if it all had become toxic. 

You turned away from him then, arms tightening around your waist as you found solace in the appearance of the blue water rather than his gold eyes. A lump had formed in your throat and the painful bob of it left you trying to conceal the tears that were starting to well in your eyes. Tears of anger as he stepped closer, his gaze burning holes into the side of your head. His shoulder brushed yours softly as he let his stare drift from the side of your pinched face to the river before him, the sound of the waterfall sinking into his ears.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he smiled softly as he thought back to that night all those months ago when you sat at the bank underneath the stars for the first time. It was the first time he had ever told someone about the nightmares he barred on his back as well as the first time he had let himself acknowledge his feelings for you. 

It felt as if the two of you had grown so much since then, aged at least five years instead of just the one. Somehow in a course of almost a year, he was no longer that delirious young boy, desperate for his father’s approval. No, he had become a strong warrior, skin coated in the toughest armor and a future of reign in his grasp. He felt like a true man as he stood next to you, a woman he wished to give his entire self to. He felt honorable and worthy and powerful. That was how you made him feel even when you wished to recoil from him, even when you wished to run and let the fear guide you away deep into the forest. 

“It’s seemed like we have lived an entire life since the first time I brought you here,” he said suddenly, stare flickering back over to you, satisfied in the way your ears twitched and you turned your head slightly to him, his words practically guiding you back to him. “We were both so young and naive that night. It was the first time I felt you break through my resolve. It was then that I knew I was beginning to feel something for the girl who appeared in the forest. It was like you were a gift from Eywa herself.” 

Your brows furrowed, lips forming into a frown as you looked over at him, to meet his eyes. The look in them took you by surprise and suddenly you found the anger ravaging you as you met his soft gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me. It isn’t fair of you.” 

He ignored your reply as well as the annoyance that dripped from your lips, “It was like you were sent here to save me.” 

His hand dropped to his side and examined your expression as his pinky brushed delicately across the skin of your outer thigh, just below your hip bone. You sucked in a breath past your teeth and felt your hands tense around your body at the feeling of his warm touch and the satisfied smirk that appeared on his lips. A pang appeared in your chest and you felt the lump in your throat get larger. You glanced down at his hand as it glided across your hip bone again, while his tall looming body seemed to envelop your senses completely.

You granted yourself a moment to divulge in the feeling, to let it shoot to your core and the desire you felt for the man before you, the undesirable, the unattainable. But then you felt your body's hotness turn to rage as he took another step closer to you, his eyes half-lidded and scanning your face. You shook your head and found yourself hissing at him, your hand roughly pushing his away. 

“Ftang (stop)!” you demanded, the warning in your voice void of any warmth as your eyes narrowed in his direction, a pained huff following from your parted lips, “What are you doing, Neteyam? Why are you here?” 

“You know why.”

“No, I don't,” you said, sticking your hand out to keep him an arm's length away. If you were going to have a conversation you needed to have a clear mind to do it and you couldn't have a clear mind with him hovering over you.

“What, you don’t have some dinner or meeting tonight with your future wife to talk about wedding logistics?”

“No,” he said simply, refusing to step back even with your threatening gaze. 

“What do you mean, no? You are to be married, yes?” you asked, suddenly confused as it was all the village had been able to talk about for the past week. It was the only topic of importance other than the sky people and the intended doom that would soon fall upon the land. 

“I don’t wish to marry any woman unless it’s you,” he admitted, reaching up so his fingers ghost over your cheek. He brushed a piece of hair that was framing your face back behind your ear and you hated the flush that appeared on your face. He smiled as his eyes flickered down to your lips still parted in confusion. 

His words hit you in the chest like a ton of bricks, words you had only ever thought you would have heard in your dreams. They were all you had wanted since the night he had come to you in the healing tent since he had cupped your cheek and whispered the very confession that had confirmed every feeling he had had.

He had barred his soul and for the last week, you had been left in the dust, left to contemplate your future before you. You watched him as he entertained the idea of mating with the chosen women for him, as he contemplated it to please the village and the people. You had been left in a spiral of pain wrenching and pulling at every will of yours to live while he had been squaring away every duty asked of him. 

You shook your head, feeling the cringe of your lips as you reached up and shoved his hand away from you. You stepped back, lips quivering slightly as your eyes stared daggers into his, “No.”

“Yes,” he replied, trying to reach out for you again, confused by your sudden need to recoil from him.

“No,” you took another step back away from him,  the twist of your lips matching the way your heart felt in your chest, “Ftang nga (stop that)! You’re being mean, Neteyam.” 

His brows furrowed, standing tall as the small quiver of your lips held his attention, “What, how am I—” 

“I waited for you,” you uttered indignantly, as the pained look in your eyes seemed to amplify, “For days, I waited. Waited for you to come to me and say something, anything. All I needed was some reassurance, hear something that confirmed I hadn’t wasted my time on you.” 

“Y/N—” 

His heart ached at your words and his guilt seemed to intensify as you only wished to push him away even further for the pain he had caused you. After everything, you felt so disgusted and hurt by the distance he had put between the two of you. He had been so caught up with his father, with planning for the attack, that he hadn’t even spared a single moment for you. A moment to express his feelings and reassure the anxieties that had been preying on your innocence for far too long. 

“They announced your courtship with Ms. Tsmandi Te Nätäkx Ayitul’ite, the next Tsahik. I waited and you still didn’t come. You let me believe that you were going to marry her, that you once again would choose your duties over me. I waited for you,” you repeated, eyes welling torturously with tears as your breath was ripped from your throat. 

His shoulders fell slightly, as the single phrase I waited for you seemed to hold just as much weight as your previous admission. The way I feel about you is consuming. Except where that one had actively repaired every damage he had ever felt like a precious oath, this one brought out nothing but dread in him.

As if those four words were a farewell and you would soon disappear from his sight, back into the forest where you had come from. Like the words were a confirmation that he was incapable of fixing what he had done, the hurt he had caused. He was standing before you offering to throw every caution to the wind, offering to risk it all; his reputation, his reign, his expectations, for you. It took him too long to have realized it but now that he had, a silent prayer was cast across his heart that it wouldn’t be too late. 

“Tsap’alute si (I’m sorry),” he professed anguished as you seemed to only be pulling away from him, “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting. I should have come to you, talked to you, and told you everything that has been on my mind since the night in the healing tent. I was scared Y/N. I am still so fucking scared. I almost lost you. You collapsed in my arms, in my fucking arms and I—I can’t. I can’t bear the thought of it, especially now with the sky people closing in.” 

“It’s not something you can guarantee, Neteyam,” you said, softly, staring intently up at him and the sudden vulnerability that was plastered across his features, “You can’t assure you’re going to protect me through this. This war is unpredictable and your protection can’t be promised.” 

“It has to be,” he mumbled out, face pinched together and hand hung in the air, desperately trying to reach out to you, “Y/N, not even for a second, was I considering marrying Tsmandi. You need to know that. This week it was never my intention to blindside you or keep the whole thing from you. I never thought about it even if it were my duty. I couldn’t, not when my heart solely belongs to you."

“Neteyam,” his name fell from your tongue breathlessly but no other words followed.

“It’s always been you. From the moment I saw you in this very forest, cowering behind my baby sister as no more than a stranger.” 

You shuddered, every desperation and need for him evident in the way you seemed to lean closer as if his words were the secret password to your being. Like he could put you back together simply by the way he looked at you alone and his sweet words. You stared up at him, so close to offering him what was left of the dying organ in your chest.

It was a lost hope and even as it anatomically was healthy enough, beating away in your chest, the phantom pain was strong and killing every will you had left. This man had played with your feelings, spun you around on his finger as he tried to decide whether he wanted you. You had stood by, letting his control over your feelings be something he could hold over you.

Somehow even with what he had put you through, the long excruciating week of tears and the fears of the unknown, you found yourself holding onto every single word he professed. You were giving in and the thought terrified you. It terrified you that somehow he would be convinced to forget about you, to leave you once again, in favor of his throne and the means of doing what was expected of him. You were cautious, cautious as you offered him everything you had left of yourself.

“You aren’t being fair,” you professed, your heart rate so loud it echoed in your ears as every last conscientious thought seemed to be escaping from you. Like at any moment you would be out of excuses and let him graciously take you. 

“No, but I am not lying about how I feel either. I never have. Oel ngati kamele (I see you).” 

Those three words seemed to bring you to reality. They hit you so hard, you felt you were back in that tent just before the consciousness transfer. He repeated them just as earnestly and desperately, needing you to believe him. Needing you to say it back as if his sanity depended on it. Like the thought of you denying him would break him entirely. 

Somehow though at the sound of them in your ears, you felt nothing. The meaning was gone and instead, you were left with an ache from the absence of the feeling his words once brought you. At that moment, you had let the fear take over and steer you away from the same desperation you were feeling as he was. For so long you had tiptoed around one another, had hurt each other in favor of protecting yourselves.

Now with all the possibilities there just at the tips of your fingers, you felt the fear rush through your veins like ice water. Coldness and spite were all you could feel then for a brief moment as you thought back to the night among the Tree of Souls. How you had poured everything out to him and he turned his back on you as if it was the easiest thing. He looked down at you with your chest open and exposed, and spat in your face. He had torn you to pieces shamelessly and you could still remember it evidently. 

He looked as you had that night, staring down at you with the same look you once had. He was offering you everything, scarily so, a dire need for you to accept him. To say yes. Your hold on him was just as strong as his and this time he didn’t hide it. He didn’t hide his need for you. His need that filled his entire body with shock waves and desirous fantasies. His need to combine his soul with yours for the rest of time, so that you would never be apart again. He didn’t hide how much he needed you, how much he needed your kiss to grant him life. 

It was all there within his eyes, his gold wide eyes, speckled with every true feeling he had. You felt petty then as you stared up at him hoping to fill him with just as much dejection as he had to you.

“You aren’t capable of seeing.” 

Sometimes, it just wasn’t enough. That’s how you felt like sometimes there weren’t enough words in the world to heal every wound. It was evident by the angry tear that slipped past your water line. It slid down your cheek, your skin still smooth and bright under the luminescence of the forest. He followed it as it settled in the corner of your lips. 

It was harsh. Cruel even to deny both of you this. The possibility of finally being together, but your pride was bent too much and somehow you just couldn’t put the hurt you felt aside — not after everything. You couldn’t.

The exhale from his lips was entirely broken, as if you had stolen his last remaining breath from his lungs. He stared at you utterly confused and hurt, not understanding that his ignorance this past week had caused you so much pain. So much that you would walk away from him completely. Suddenly the weight had returned, the weight of a broken heart. Somehow it was far worse than any weight he had felt before. He finally saw that all he wanted was you, and the thought of losing you completely to his stupidity was maddening. 

You turned from him, shaking your head slightly as if you couldn’t look at him for another moment longer. One more glance was sent to the water, the river filled with far too many memories, memories of him and you. You knew then that it didn’t matter how much you loved him, you wouldn’t be a woman who groveled, or who would beg for him.

There wasn’t a word or anything that he could say that would stop you from walking away. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

Except there was that.

You felt your breath get lodged in your throat, your steps halting from where you stood a few feet away. Fingers twitching at your sides, you found your eyes locked forward at the darkness of the forest as shock drenched your body. Lips slightly parted, you felt your heart stop completely in your chest at the sound of those three words escaping his lips. Words you never expected him to know let alone say.

Somehow they felt heavier than I see you. They spoke to the human you once were and they felt heavier on your being and your consciousness. They held so much more meaning and feeling to you and somehow you found they had stopped all of your efforts to leave. You closed your eyes for a moment.

He had you. 

With a strangled cry on your tongue, you suddenly turned slowly to face him, knowing he controlled every fiber of your being. You were a puppet on strings and he was the sole puppet master.

He stood by the bank, chest puffed out, eyes desperately trying to find yours. They quickly traced your tears and swollen lips as every honest look about him swelled across his face. He wouldn’t let you go, you knew that. After everything, he couldn’t but at that moment you wished he would set you free more than anything. Set you free from the pain that panged you so profoundly. Because it would be far easier than ever to grant either of you this. Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan owned you and he held your heart in between his palms and the thought terrified you. 

You shook your head, lips quivering as he slowly approached you each step sending your senses in over drive, “No. Neteyam, no.” 

He stopped in front of you and he saw it then with your true feelings reflected in your tears. You were scared, absolutely terrified. The thought to feel so consumed by someone was scaring you away from him and he understood it. Stood there beneath the stars, he understood it completely. Because god forbid you give yourselves to each other and somehow this war destroys it. Somehow one of you loses the other, left to wither and collapse under the weight of grief. Eywa forbid one of you is returned to her far sooner than expected.

He felt his own tears fill his eyes as he reached out, hands taking your arms softly. Hesitant for a moment, he found his stare flickering up at the sight of something out of the corner of his eye. Uncertainty plagued his mind then, only wanting what was best for you and for him. As he peered up though, he felt his chest tighten unexpectedly at the sight of an atokirina floating right above his head, emitting a soft glow. He felt his stomach clench and then relax by the sign it brought. Suddenly then, he had never been more sure in his life. 

“I’m in love with you,” his eyes fell back down to you and a soft smile appeared across his lips as he leaned closer, “I know I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve you. Not after how I have treated you all this time.” 

You felt a sob fall from your tongue as all reserves seemed to crumble before you at his feet. I’m in love with you pushing every single insecurity you felt away. It was branded across his eyes and made your whole body feel as if it was going to collapse in his arms. It was the clearest he had ever been and it had you falling apart at the seams.

Sometimes, it just wasn’t enough. Words weren't enough but those were. To you, those words were everything and more.

It didn’t matter then to you that you were terrified of losing him or that he was promised to another woman. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to be Olo’eyktan and all of these expectations hung heavily on his shoulders. None of it mattered anymore that every sign had pointed to the two of you not being able to be together because he was in love with you. He was in love with you and Eywa seemed to have blessed the match willingly. She had brought you back for a reason, for this, for him. 

Let him be soft 

Let him be mine. 

His hand drifted up until it cupped the side of your face, it overwhelming you as he cradled you softly. His thumb traced your jaw so carefully as his eyes bore straight into your soul.

“From the moment you got here, I was condescending, rude, too absorbed in myself, and still am. I tried so hard to deny what I felt for you, for months, and this last week I found myself still trying to do that. I have been so blind and so fucking stupid. Not only was I focused on the fact that I almost lost you but the impending war. I have been awful and confusing. I admit that I have done so many things, so many horrible things, but here I am, begging you to love me anyway.”

His voice broke then, his thumb moving along your jaw to your temple and the tear stains that were stuck along your skin. His heart ached for you then and he knew that he wouldn’t go on if it meant you couldn’t be his mate. He needed you like he needed air and the thought of living another day without you was murderous.

“I am no perfect solider. I am flawed and am more difficult than I would ever like to admit, but I am a man who desperately loves you,” he whispered, leaning closer, his intense stare devouring you whole, “I am offering you everything, everything I have. I have done so many terrible things, I know that. But please, just tell me that despite it all you love me.” 

His other hand which was gently wrapped around your arm slipped to your waist. As his warm fingertips pressed along your skin, you felt an exhale escape from your parted lips. Your body shuddered, out of instinct, and you leaned closer to him enough that his chest was almost pressed firmly against yours. At his lingering touch, you felt the warmth in your stomach begin to pool more just as another small breath escaped from your mouth.

His hand flattened against your lower back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your entire body felt hot then as your eyes flickered shamelessly from his dilated pupils to his parted lips. Lips that had been on your mind every night for months. Lips that you had wished would claim yours day after day, night after night. 

Tell me you love me. 

You gasped at the feeling of his heart beating profusely in his chest, clashing with your own. Your eyes then snapped up to his wide ones as he stared down at you. He was waiting for what you would say next, waiting for what you would do next. The desperation was evident, interlaced with the desire that coated his golden orbs. His golden orbs that were drenched in reflections of the forest almost as if you were back between the mauve tendrils.

The sight of an atokirina floating over his shoulder made you think that maybe you were, that you had traveled there. Like Neteyam wasn’t really there in front of you, saying all of these things. This was all just a figment of your imagination and would be nothing but dust by the morning. It was real though, as real as the Great Mother herself. All evident by the pull of your stomach and the need that was brewing at the base of your stomach for the man before you. 

You always wanted him, always wished to be claimed by him and no one else, and now here he was before you, begging, asking. All while Eywa approved of it herself. Your eyes flickered back over to his face, as the pressure within your stomach began to appear in the form of a throb in between your thighs.

His tongue swiped along his bottom lip and you found yourself following the movement with your eyes, wishing it could be replaced with your own. You couldn’t deny the feelings that were overtaking you, or the incessant need to confirm them with action. You loved him, of course, you did and it was something you wouldn’t be able to deny any longer. 

With a quiet whisper, your eyes found his and all want to deny him seemed to melt from your body, “I can not lie to you.” 

His ears perked up at your words and he found his eyes tracing the way your features had visibly softened, your own eyes reflecting all the same things his was. Desire. Need… Love. He tilted his head curiously, his bottom lip finding a place in between his teeth as the anticipation began to eat away at him.

You sighed, hand lifting from your side to press along his chest, right where his heart sat. He inhaled at the feeling as a small smile appeared across your lips, “There is no one else who has ever made me feel as you do and there never will be. It's you, Neteyam, always.” 

Your eyes softened, taking in the way he smiled down at you, a low chuckle falling from his lips in relief at your words. You smiled too then as he leaned closer, hand still firmly wrapped around your jaw. You felt your breath hitch again in your throat as his stare flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes.

His mouth parted softly as his thumb drifted to your lips, and your thighs involuntarily clenched as he traced your upper lip and along your cupid’s bow. A breathy gasp was ripped from you as he dragged the pad of his thumb down across your bottom lip, satisfied with the way it bounced back into place. 

Unable to stop yourself, your eyes fluttered shut as his hand slowly trailed down away from your face. Palm ghosting over your neck, his thumb moved from your chin down across your pulse point. He felt himself stir at the sight of your wet parted lips and the way your lashes brushed along the tops of your cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself then as his hand firmly took a hold of your neck and pulled you forward.

His lips gently found yours and for a second you could barely register the pressure. It was so soft, delicate as if he was trying to savor the first touch. You were the first to move your lips against his and even as you did, it was tender and slow, so different from the way he was clutching onto your neck. 

His lips moved effortlessly against yours and you felt yourself practically melting in his arms, legs close to buckling beneath you if it weren’t for the stronghold he had around your back. His lips were soft, slightly parted, teasing with an underlying sense that was almost demanding.

A whimper escaped from your mouth and at the sound, he pressed his lips harder against your own. His hand tightened around your neck then, and at the feeling of his thumb pressed firmly against your pulse, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting your head lull back slightly, mouth parting at the action. 

The urgency built up just as the throbbing in between your legs had. Just as the warmth seemed to spread across your entire body like firecrackers. His tongue molded with yours and at the feeling of it engulfing yours, you couldn’t help but arch your back into his.

Your hands found a place along his shoulders, fingernails brushing against his skin with ease. With a flick of his tongue, your hands dug into his back and it pulled a groan from the back of his throat. At the sound, you couldn’t help but buck your hips forward into his, desperate to feel anything, everything. 

Feeling you struggling to catch your breath, his teeth took a firm hold around your lower lip and pulled back out of the kiss, releasing it with a pop. All while his eyes traced the way some of his saliva pooled along your lower lip. He shifted on his heels as he took notice of how puffy and red they were as well as how dilated your eyes suddenly appeared. He knew then there was nothing he wanted more than to have this view for the rest of his life, to be the one who pushed you this close to the edge, to have complete and utter control over every part of your body. 

Hand leaving your neck, he reached behind himself to take a hold of his queue. He reveled in the way your eyes widened slightly as he brought it around his shoulder. His other hand that still had a firm hold around your hip tightened, his thumb brushing along the string of your bottoms. You shifted under the touch, breath completely stolen from your throat. You shook your head slightly, unsure at that moment as Neteyam stared down at you, his queue offered out to you. 

“I have always wanted you Y/N. Always,” he whispered lowly, finger twisting around the string of your bottoms as his eyes scanned your face with the utmost softness he could muster, “There is no one else I would want by my side.” 

Your heart clenched in sync with your thighs and suddenly there was nothing left to say, no other excuse to be had. He already had every part of you including the aching organ in between your ribs. What else was there left to spare?

Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan was asking you to be his mate and there weren’t enough reasons to stop you, not while he stared down at you like that with his hands touching you the way they were. You were putty under his touch and with your entire being aching to give him what was left of you, you grabbed your queue from your back and pulled it forward. You held your breath as you stared between them, their pink nerve endings twitching in the air. 

Slowly, you watched as he extended his out further towards you and with the most docile touch connected his with yours. As they firmly wrapped around one another, you felt all air be stolen from your lungs and every sensation in your body be exemplified. Tsaheylu. Your whole body suddenly collapsed forward as your eyes widened, pupils growing in size.

Staring forward at Neteyam, you watched as his own eyes dilated and his entire body jolted forward, arms tightening around you. His forehead fell to yours and for a moment you both just stood there wrapped up in the other’s arms, soft pants echoing off the forest trees. It was like you had been awakened and all you could focus on was the erratic beat of his heart in his chest and the gasping breath of his lungs You could feel it to your very core and it only heightened every sensation and desire you had. 

At the sight of his glistening lips and blown-out pupils, the ache in you intensified from the extra stimulation. He groaned slightly as your hips met his again and he couldn’t help but let his lips connect with your jaw. His head dipped, lips tracing the skin from your jaw to your neck with his tongue.

Both of his large palms gripped tightly at your hips, trying to pull you as close as he could just as his teeth poked at the surface of your skin. Finding the pulse in your neck, he bit down slightly and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back at the sudden sensation that went straight to your core. It was like every nerve ending had been lit on fire from Tsaheylu and you wished to never disconnect from him again. 

His arms were wrapped strongly around your body and you found yourself moaning out his name as his fingers traced over your hip bones, firmly enough to hopefully leave a mark. “Neteyam…” 

As his lips found your collarbone, his hands took a hold of your thighs and pulled them up and around his hips. A small noise escaped your mouth at the sudden feeling of your feet coming off the ground but it was replaced then by a moan at the feeling of his core meeting yours. The newly added pressure had you aching in his arms, as if he wouldn’t do something soon you would actually die.

His lips trailed up and claimed yours again and instantly as his tongue molded to yours again, he fell down to his knees, them hitting the ground harshly. His hands were still firmly gripped around your thighs as your knees slid to the grass on either side of his. Sat on top of him, you felt the feeling in your stomach tighten slightly. He was hard under you, straining against his bottoms. 

“Yawne (my beloved), look at you,” he said lowly, staring up at you, his eyes half-lidded and full of need, “I think this is where you were meant to belong.” 

With his hands wrapped around either one of your legs, he pushed you off of him slightly and then onto the ground. You felt your back arch slightly at the feeling of it meeting the cool grass. He crawled over you and you felt your legs tighten from around him as his body hovered over yours. With his arms on either side of your head, you were unable to stop your gawking at the sight of him looking so huge and strong on top of you. Even in the darkness, you were able to see every line and tautness of his muscles. It was like he was sculpted by the gods themselves and all you could think about was how you desperately wished for him to overpower you.

His lips found your collarbone again and then slowly as if he was taking his time, planning to use every minute of darkness you two had, they trailed down your chest. You arched into him again as his breath fanned across your breasts through the thin material of your top. With open-mouth kisses, his lips were followed by his tongue as they left a trail of wetness between your breasts all the way down your stomach. They stopped right above the line of your bottoms, right above where you ached for him most. 

He glanced up at you and smirked as his hands pushed your knees apart further. You begged then, shamefully, “Neteyam, please.” 

Teasingly, his hand trailed down the outside of your thigh before firmly wrapping around your knee. He lifted it up onto his shoulder and his lips found the inside of your thigh then. Your body tensed and then relaxed as he began to trace his lips up the side of your leg.

With each inch he got higher, you felt the anticipation flooding your system and you couldn’t help but twitch with impatience. A moan slipped past your lips as his tongue flattened across the inside of your thigh only a few inches from your soaked bottoms. Mouth falling away from your skin, he glanced up at you through his eyelashes and grinned smugly at the want in your eyes. With your leg still balanced across his shoulder, he reached up, his fingers curling around the string of your bottoms. His eyes never left yours as he gave them a gentle tug. They loosened around your frame.

Your hands tightened at your sides as you felt them fall away from your body and discarded off to the side. He groaned loudly as his eyes traced down your frame and before you knew it he was leaning in, mouth finding your inner thigh again. They trailed up slowly until he was face to face with your lower half, bare and aching for him.

His hand left your hip, fingers slipping in between your legs to part your split. At the feeling of his fingers, your breath hitched and then a second later you felt his mouth connect with you. His tongue found your clit in a matter of seconds and you couldn’t stop the twitch that ripped through your body at the skillful flick he sent to it. His other hand reached up to push your body back to the ground just as he flattened his tongue against the bundle of nerves. 

Your head tilted back at the feeling while a whimper was ripped clean from the back of your throat. He chuckles and the sound vibrates through your entire body. His middle and ring fingers then slip in with ease and you can’t help but tense under him with the newfound stretch. He waited a moment, for your breath to even out and for the uncomfortable pull to fade. After a few seconds, he dove in like a starved man, his lips wrapping firmly around your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body. A string of curse words falls from your lips like a symphony and it only fuels the man below you more. 

His fingers start to move, creating their own pace dragging along your walls as the slickness only seemed to increase in between your legs. His tongue poked and prodded at every inch of skin he could find. His pace quickened and it all was starting to become too much as anywhere his fingers didn’t reach his tongue did. It moved up and down, tasting every part of you.

His name was the only thing you could find yourself saying as his fingers suddenly curled up inside of you. Your entire body jolted, heat appearing across your skin in dabs of sweat as your heart rattled away in your chest feeling like it could explode at all the pleasure being pulled from your body. 

“Neteyam,” you found yourself calling out as the assault only seemed to continue, the overwhelmingness of it almost too much on your body. 

He ignored you as his lips firmly sealed around your clit again, tongue going to work, as his fingers curled again. The heat rushed across your entire body straight up to your face and your hips pushed up into his hand with your back continuously arched into the air. Your heel dug into the back of his shoulder at the feeling of his tongue again. He sucked at your fluids like juice just as your thighs tightened around his shoulders. With his hand wrapped firmly around your knee, he lifts your thigh higher and your jaw drops open in shock. No sounds could be formed then as the spring in your stomach began to tighten. 

You realized then what was soon to happen as it felt like he was sucking every last innocence out of your body, every last drop claiming you as his. He groaned as his pace somehow got faster. You clench your eyes shut just as his fingers hit the point deep inside of you. His grip on you was bruising as his tongue sucked and flicked and took everything you had to offer him. You were squirming at that point unable to stop the pulsing that was emitting from deep inside of you. Your chest was rising and falling so quickly that you felt as if you couldn’t catch your breath.

You pleaded for him to not stop and just like he would grant you this for the rest of his life, his fingers curled into you one more time and you felt the coil deep within your stomach snap, taking the rest of your body with it. He ripped the feeling straight out of your body and pulled the loudest cry from you with it. Your voice cracked as he continued pushing his fingers up in you, tongue not moving from where they were clasped around your clit. Your leg shook from where it hung off his shoulder as your vision blurred, expelling tears from the inner corners. Body collapsing onto the ground, he waited a moment, fingers still in your body and tongue pressed to your core, before he pulled away. 

Your ragged breaths filled his ears and he couldn’t help but smile as your leg slipped down from around him. He pulled his fingers from you and you winced slightly at the sudden feeling, your lower half tightening around nothing.

As your eyes fluttered open again, you stared at him as he leaned up over you on his knees. Your spent body being imprinted on his mind. Wiping at his mouth with his forearm, he licked his lips, the taste of you still coated across his tongue. At the sight of his glistening lips and narrowed eyes, the heat appeared again in seconds.

His lips sloppily collide with yours and as if he hadn’t already ripped it out of you once, you felt your chest arch into his. His tongue pressed along yours and you shivered at the way he tasted, like you. With the remnants of your actions splayed between your thighs across your skin, you felt the wetness appear again. He smiled at the feeling of your body against his and groaned as his hand drifted down in between your bodies to his own bottoms. Your nails dug desperately into his back and his hips jolted into yours in surprise. Fingers pulling at the band of his bottoms, he yanked them from his body. Your breath hitched again, the sixth time since he first had touched you as you felt his hardness brush against your core. 

He hissed at the feeling and for a moment his head collapsed into your neck, almost painfully. You whispered his name and it brought his gaze back to you. He felt his entire life flash before his eyes with the sight of you below him. Irrevocably you were finally his, you were there, and you were alive. You were his.

It wasn’t another late-night fantasy where his hands had wandered in between his legs. He blinked and you were really there. You were alive and he couldn’t stop his hand from drifting up to your neck again, desperately craving the gentle flutter of your pulse. Hand gripping tightly around your throat, he watched with a furrowed gaze your reaction as his tip pressed into your entrance, prodding slowly. 

Without a warning, he pushed in, bottoming out quickly. You cried out again, chest arching up into his as he hissed at the involuntary tightness around his dick. His head tilted back for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling of you squeezing so beautifully around his length, your name falling from his parted lips in praise.

After a moment, his eyes fluttered open again as spews of love sputtered from his lips. His hands reached for yours at your sides and you gasped at the way he pushed them up above your head, his fingers lacing in between yours. As you squeezed around him again, he swore, deciding then to pull out and slam back into you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he exhaled then as he did it again, the pleasure flooding his system, “Yeah, that’s it.” 

That heat began to pool again instantly as one of his hands slipped from yours down in between your bodies. His thumb found your clit. It was still swollen from the effects of his tongue, and without a second to waste he began to build up a pace. His hips rammed into yours, harshly sending your back into the ground as your legs wrapped up around his waist.

It all was building up again and you felt your head lull to the side suddenly overstimulated. It wouldn’t take long this time as it all was flooding your system; his grunts, the pleasure, the feeling of his body wrapped around yours strongly. He groaned out as you clenched around his dick again, you already fast approaching the edge. He rammed up into you harder as his hand tightly held yours. 

“It couldn’t have been anyone else, Y/N. It’s always been you. You’re meant to be my future wife, my Tsahik, my mate,” he mumbled lowly as his pace began to falter quickly, “Only you.” 

You hummed then, “My Olo’eyktan.” 

His eyes rolled slightly at the title, it sounding so formal across your tongue and he couldn’t help but speed up further. He sent another and then another thrust straight into you, as his thumb continued throwing circles into your bundle of nerves.

Somehow it all had led you here, the six months of training, him starting off by disliking you, the arguments, the issues. All of it led to this with you splayed beneath him, being fully claimed as his. You let the noises fall freely from your swollen lips as all the tension and the pain seemed to fade away. 

Neteyam’s grunts filled your ears as his palm tightened around your throat once and then twice. The pressure had you squeezing around him, it bringing you to that point quickly. He slid in so easily and quickly as your juices coated your inner thighs. His thumb didn’t stop and before you could even realize it, that spring in your stomach was tightening and then breaking completely.

Your whole body erupted into flames as a cry fell from your lips, it was so loud and so startling. You pulsed around Neteyam as he pulled out and slammed back into you, the sudden flutter of your walls, pulling a groan out of his throat. He couldn’t hold on much longer with the constant clenching around his cock. His eyes squeezed shut then as his hand moved away from your clit to dig into the skin of your hips. It was bruising as he gave one more pump before his whole entire body stilled, tensing above you. 

You exhaled suddenly at the feeling of him shooting up inside you, followed by a few more thrusts before he was pulling out completely. The lost feeling of him was surprising as the sound of his gasps filtered in through your ears. Chest meeting his, your face was flushed with color at the sudden realization.

You were mated for life.

Reaching up, you cupped his face, practically asking him to open his eyes to coat your vision in gold and specks of green. With a gentle exhale, they snapped open and met yours. An exhausted smile appeared across his lips as your thumb traced delicately along his jaw. 

You were overwhelmed at that moment by it all; the fact that you were laying in your spot with the future Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya, with no promise of the days ahead. You felt everything as well as the pulse in his body from the bond of your souls.

You were one, forever and the only thing you could think to say at that moment was, “I love you too.” 

The Na’vi say that every person is born twice. 

It is the greatest rebirth ever granted to a person. A mere moment of acceptance, of acknowledgment, a promise that no matter what, you have a place among the people forever. There is a greatness that comes from it; the connection that the people have for one another, the power they emit gracefully.

The Na’vi were more than just a tiny sliver of humanity you had fallen upon. It had become your life, your existence, your sole purpose in life. Grace Augustine had once seen that in the Omatikaya, she saw them as her destiny. Then there was dream walker Jake Sully. He led the clan to victory against the sky people and now suddenly sat upon your Ikran, queue wrapped firmly within its, dread once again was felt in the air. A moment of the unknown presented to all. 

Success was never guaranteed. Life was never guaranteed, but there were more important things than the need to breathe. Justice. Perseverance. Triumph.

All of that had masked over the necessity of a long life, of years to come because why promise life if there was a chance it would be dull and overtaken by enemies. Why have life if it is only filled with smoke-clouded air, and living in fear? So many had suffered at the hands of the sky people, and so many losses had been wasted at their feet. Their greediness overtook the humanity that once plagued their hearts. 

It was no way to live, captive in your own world. 

“Look alive, people, we got metal in the sky,” the Olo’eyktan’s voice filtered in through the transmitter strapped within your ear. 

Your body stiffened, glare narrowing at the sky before you. 

War was coming. Violence would soon erupt in the world of Pandora once again, after nearly two decades of peace. The Omatikaya people once again led the tide of Na’vi and Ikrans in the sky. Multiple bands of people scattered across the forest, waiting like silent death traps. 

This was it. 

Taking in a deep breath, you found yourself looking off to the side towards the Olo’eyktan. You looked past Jake and you felt your eyes meet his instantly. The great warrior was already staring at you. The mighty soldier’s golden eyes traced your face with the utmost determination you had ever seen. Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan flew upon his Ikran, gun gripped tightly within his palms. Hair braided back out of his face laced with feathers. His face was covered in war paint, dosing his skin in bright colors. The orange and the green stripes were an imprint and you took a few seconds to take in the sole sight of the Toruk Makto’s oldest son. He had become just as he was always meant to. 

He was made with gunmetal and veering sharp teeth. He was made to be mighty and strong and fearless. He was a warrior. A soldier. A hero. 

He once again was giving everything to the world without a second thought. They needed him as much as they once needed Atlas or Achilles. They needed the great soon-to-be Olo’eyktan so desperately and he gave everything willingly. The world needed his strength, his courage, his blood, and his sweat. Most of all, they needed his heart. 

He would give it all for his people, for his home, for you. Because he wasn’t just a mighty warrior but a ruler. A king and a king would sacrifice his entire being for the betterness of everyone else. He flew then powerfully, captivatingly, and even with all the pressures of the world on his shoulders, you knew then he would not falter. He would not collapse under the weight or break under the pressure. 

He was stronger than any gunmetal or wooden arrow. He was the chosen one and more than that he was yours. He was your love, your soon-to-be Olo’eyktan, and your mate.

Neteyam’s gaze flickered across your features, skin bathed in bright paint, a glint filling your eyes. He nodded towards you and you felt your body tense unwillingly as the sound of metal blades drifted through the air. You granted him one more look, the sight of him gracing your being with one last fateful glance. 

The Na’vi say that every person is born twice. 

With the screech of your Ikran in your ears, your gold eyes snapped back to the sky before you, and speckled with the lightest green they locked upon a metal chopper in the distance, and you knew then that it was just the beginning. 

author's note: this is the end... i don't know what to do with my life now but i hope all of your angsty hearts can rest now.

one of us taglist is not working the best right now and I have over the limit of people asking to be tagged (it says it's fifty) so, for now, I am just not going to have a taglist because I can't tag everyone and it's taking a lot of work to figure out.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

I actually started this blog for one post only. The theory is that the story we are following is currently the 5th timeline.

I would need to watch the donghua again to find hints in the show itself but for now this post is exclusively about the content we keep getting served as fanservice. Now, people nowadays see this word as negative but in this particular case, we are evidently caught in an ARG (Alternative Reality Game), which is AWESOME.

For those who aren't familiar with the concept, it is basically a treasure hunt outside of the original media. For example, if you gather enough clues during your playthroughs of OXENFREE, you'll find the coordinates of an actual place where a real object, a gift FOR FANS was hidden. In the context of Link Click, I believe the rules and answers regarding the worldbuilding are hidden in plainsight for us to discover!

I will make different posts on the clues in lyrics, but for now we're gonna have a talk about VISUALS only. And boy, do we have THINGS to talk about

First things first, let's start with

>>>>> Promotional posters.

I'm opening this analysis with this particular one because it is the most relevant to current events. Black circles are V and white ones are IV. The huge clock is the background isn't supposed to be oriented this way for starters. One V is where XII should be, which could mean our journey starts here. The other V is between Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianxi, on the light side, while both VI are on the dark side. Every other VI on this artwork is a broken piece taken out of a quadrant except for the one on the right near Qiao Ling which is still part of the biggest piece.

It is interesting that we don't see any clockhands here, only the quadrant, and the only whole number is 5, ONLY on CXS's introduction.

Not so subtil, the mirror or "painting" is labeled 'V'. Lu Guang is also looking directly at US, viewers.

Probably five lines of five x but we only see 3, of which only the first one got 5x. Four diformed shapes can be seen at LG's left, under V/VI, which could be the four previous failed timelines. You might notice that LINK CLICK is written 5times. The clock says 00:05. Oh, familiar, isnt it?

As you can see, the V is a light in the darkess at Lu Guang's feet. it is a broken piece, though. The fact it is the enlighted one could mean two things. 1) It marks the spot, where we're currently at. 2) Hope. I would argue that until then Cheng Xiaoshi always died and now, at the end of season 2, Lu Guang is in the dark because he never went that far.

VI is there too, in complete darkness, blocked from view by a ring. There is something to say about VII being completely obliterated but I honeslty don't know how meaningful that could be.

>>> It is my understanding that if a character change the past, it breaks the timeline. Past changed, present and future cannot be the same ever again. It doesn't create a new timeline like in MARVEL, there is actually no going back from a changing node, it unravels this world. Either it already happened, allegedly because of Lu Guang, or will happen in the next season, we can suppose that Timeline VI is the actual doomed one. The fact Cheng Xiaoshi is trapped is relevant too. Destroying Present and Future would trapped him in the Past, hence Come back from the dive back in time.

>>>>> Dive Back in Time

There are many things to say about this one, but I'll keep it simple since it's already a long post. Let's start with something a bit out of topic: colors. Why? It actually indicates that LG isn't from the same timeline than CXS and QL. And I swear it would be useful at the end of this post.

Blue and Red are on the same plan, no matter if we're talking about RGB or CMYK, but Green and Magenta are not. It's like CXS and QL are anchoring LG in this reality, but Magenta is not supposed to be part of the mix. Primary colors in photography are Red, Blue and Green; not Magenta. Since we're talking about photography and this is not the original timeline, I think it is intended.

I'll leave the count of squares to you (spoiler: either 5 or 3 (I'll explain this one in another post) :D).

>>>>> Overthink

I recommend you read this glorious meta about this ending. I'll just "correct" mimicha on one point:

The way the hands are "cutting a piece" of the clock; just like in the promotional poster for Train Trail. It indicates 5. I'll also add this one:

If you look carefully, you'll see two words: TIME PARADOX. As said above, a paradox should NOT be possible with the rules LC gave us so far, but it could be related to the possible 6th doomed timeline. The "dark side" could try and make it happen. Just food for thoughts.

If you want more meta on OPs/ENDs, I recommend you also watch this glorious analysis. That's all I have to say for this one regarding the number 5.

>>>>> VORTEX

Not much to say, except for this "blink and you'll miss it" screenshot. If I missed anything, feel free to share with the class!

THE TIDES has, sadly, nothing to offer on this current topic!

>>>>> 3rd Anniversary: Surprising Click

Oh boy, do I have THINGS to say. Don't be surprised when I'll make another post about this Link Click monument haha. Note: 5 PVs were prepared for this anniversary. Coincidence? (I think not).

N O W A N D F O R E V E R

The only 5 clue I found is what looks like a clock with one hand going backwards, from X to IV, it appears while the chorus is playing. That might be a bit farfetched but I'd mention it for archives purpose anyway.

B R E A K

I won't be a smartass by pointing out BREAK is a five letters word but- okay that's infuriating of them if it is on purpose.

Most of it is obvious, the same logic applies, except for the cogs and hourglasses, we see four of each falling. Since LG's shadow/light goes from IV to V, it's safe to assume that those symbolize the four failed/achieved timelines. The ones left behind. I'll probably post something about cogs and hourglasses one day.

A last one, for the road:

S U R P R I S I N G C L I C K

You should take a look at this fan's brain! They did a wonderful work. I already had this part prepared so I'm still gonna share the obvious. Five mics ("time is like music"), and five letters (with photographs inside I'm guessing). Magenta and Green are very flashy in this one.

Oh, here are LG's five magenta squares from Dive Back in Time ;D

Four failed timelines/tasks, and... loading the first out of three chances. (Again, I can't address everything in one post, this one will have a long meta on his own, don't worry :D)

T R A I N T R I A L

Two occurances worth mentionning. Once again, V is the only timeline enlighted.

B U R N I N G P A L A C E

Many things are happening in this one but only one regarding our current meta. If you pay attention, you'll see it several times, while the chorus is playing:

x x x x x

Now, if you remember correctly, green is the exact chromatic opposite, the complementary color of magenta. They aren't on the same plan (primary vs secondary)/from the same timeline. Usually, they color Lu Guang but here, there is no magenta and no Lu Guang. With this in mind, could it be the paradox OVERTHINK warned us about? We can only assume Vein is from the same original timeline as LG. Red and Green are primary colors so yeah, we'll see.

That's all for today folks!

I had this brainworm eating at my life for weeks so I'm very happy that it is finally out there.

| Part 2 |

[wist0ragic]

#☆ yandere glamrock freddy !¡ headcanons

(this is my first time writing something so bear with me 😭 it was kinda rushed near the end)

cw: possessive behaviour, overprotectiveness, slightly controlling, slight stockholm syndrome, slightly manipulative, typical yandere behaviour you would expect

- for starters as you would expect and just like everyone else would agree, glamrock freddy is a much more tame yandere

- he’s definitely not out for blood and would in no way physically harm you or others unless absolutely pushed to do so (and only then he would hurt others if absolutely necessary)

- but he will absolutely guilt trip you with those sweet eyes of his and insist that he’s the only one who could really protect you and keep you safe from the harsh reality of the world and all of its cruelties

- whether you’re an employee at the mega pizza plex or simply a customer who stops by when they can, you manage to catch the bots eye on day one

- for example let’s say we went with the idea that you were an employee that worked for the massive place, it would be your first day and of course the usual anxieties of starting something new start to overwhelm you a little

- especially since your main duties would be maintenance work on the big four

- and who else but freddy would immediately pick up on the fact that you were nervous on your first day and happily offer guidance and reassurance

- i mean he practically spends the whole day with you glued to your hip, or at least as much as he can, what with being the big man himself

- but as soon as any shows or birthday parties were finally over with freddy would immediately find his way to wherever you were and fret over how you were doing without him

- had you taken enough breaks? did you drink enough water? did you have something to eat on break? have customers and coworkers been nice to you? have his band mates been treating you well? did you miss him?

- all of these are questions that freddy would fire off rapidly due to worry

- eventually, after some time working at the pizza plex, you open up to freddy about how the monotony of work was getting to you

- and that having to deal with shitty coworkers and customers five days a week was utterly exhausting

- that’s when the idea clicked in the bots head

- freddy could tell you were tired and so who better than him to rescue you from all of that stress and nonsense?

- he just knew that he was the only who could keep you happy and content, even if that meant locking you away in his room

- “but superstar… you shouldn’t have to worry about such silly things like work. you’re too precious to be so stressed out and tired. so let me take care of you from now on. I promise I can make you happy in here with me. It’ll be just us…. forever and ever”

- and a part of that delusional offer does sound tempting you have to admit, to have the glamrock freddy care for you and look after you, but at the end of the day escape still lingered in the back of your mind

- the same could be said if you were a customer as well

- only difference is that freddy would have first met you after his performance, he recognized you from all the cheering you did, it was incredibly endearing

- after that freddy would eagerly wait for you, counting down the days until your next visit and celebrating each and every time you stopped by

- but he would still just as easily find a way to convince you to come with him in his room to spend time together

- “come on superstar! it’s been too long since we last got to hang out, let’s catch up in my room! i have plenty of time before my next show”

- and who wouldn’t trust the big ol’ sweetheart?

- that’s when you would find yourself with the door locking heavily behind you and freddy managing to slip you a nighttime candy or two

- “shhh now superstar, i’ve got you, you’re finally safe now with me” and that would be the last thing you hear before your whole world slowly fades to black

“we were meant for each other, no one else can love you the way i do, so let’s stay together forever…. alright?”

[bunnyreaper]

wc - 4.6k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), age gap (older male younger female), bodyguard!au, threat of violence.

notes - another visit to dilfville, a new series, because that's all we need, right? lol. hope you enjoy ♥

Friday nights meant one thing: unwinding after a long week of working in your home office, braving the outside world, and heading to the comfy flat belonging to your friend Jules.

While visiting her place was always a blast, Friday nights were for DnD. Leaving behind Earth for its fantasy counterpart and getting lost in the adventures of your group's merry band of do-gooders. 

Saturdays are usually spent drinking coffee, frequenting markets, and then rounding the night off with cocktails and dancing. (And Sunday's recuperating from being up on your feet all night, spending the day in bed reading whatever trashy romance novel is next on your reading list.) 

Your weekends are your sanctuary—your freedom from routine and work is your refuge. 

You dance around your bedroom, rocking your hips to the music as you pull on your clothes—a white blouse and black bustier to channel the vibes of your character Elora. 

When the doorbell rings, it's entirely unexpected. Anyone close to you knows you're just a few minutes away from heading out for the night—maybe it's a neighbour, you suppose to yourself as you head to the door. 

On the other side of your flat's door is an incredibly handsome man. Broad framed, ruggedly good-looking yet with a finely pressed white shirt and dress trousers. His features are striking, strong eyes and a brow slashed with a scar, stubble all over, and a neatly trimmed mohawk that strangely suits him. All in all, a sight for fucking sore eyes, standing so confidently and casually in your doorway like he belongs.

You hate how your eyes linger on his form far longer than they probably should, but the handsome stranger is just so enthralling.

"Hello?" You mumble, a little absent-mindedly, as you try to gather thoughts that aren't just lewd and dirty.

His stormy blue eyes meet yours, his cheek tugs into a half-smile that definitely doesn't meet his eyes, the faintest dimple appearing on his left cheek. "John MacTavish, ye maw sent me." 

"Oh, the bodyguard." You reply dumbly. Fuck. If you were opposed to the idea before, you certainly were now... or maybe you're not.

On one hand, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you—on the other, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you, while you act normal about the entire thing. 

You realise that you're acting completely the fool, so you snap out of your thoughts and step aside to allow the older man inside. "She didn't tell me to expect you... probably thought I'd run. Uh, come in." 

"Thanks." He nods as he steps through the threshold, ducking slightly as he does. 

Once inside, his eyes scan over the open-plan space of your living area, seemingly taking in every little detail. 

You watch him, sensing that his training and experience make him focus on the minute particulars of a room that others would completely skip over. 

Your mother had already clued you into the fact there might need to be security enhancements to the flat itself, and you assume those requests came at the behest of the man himself. He seems to be lost in evaluating what these might be. 

"So, what can I do for you?" You ask, filling the air with some sort of conversation starter. You have no idea what you're doing in this situation on the whole, but especially not when it comes to hiring, negotiating with, and retaining a bodyguard.

"It's what I can do fer you." He turns, taking you in now, and you start to feel self-conscious about having too many buttons undone, too much chest on show. 

Something tells you that MacTavish's gaze would make you squirm regardless—his eyes carrying a heaviness to them that seem like a fantastic attribute in a protector. Surely anyone who would even think about coming close to cause you harm would reconsider under his harsh look.

You start to wrack your brains for what he can actually do for you. Again, you have no familiarity in having personal protection, beyond what you've seen your mother undergo. Your work is fairly stable, you keep the same routine, and the biggest threat you ever seem to face is the creeps in the club. 

Well, apart from the online threats, but something about the anonymous, cowardly messages doesn't frighten you. 

"If I'm being honest,I don't exactly want a bodyguard. I don't see much of a point?" You admit, voice a little quiet. After all, you don't mean to upset or offend the man, but you're not sure he isn't just wasting his time with this job.

He squints, considering for a moment before he answers. "Yer maw sees things differently." 

She does, and that's probably the only reason you agreed to go through with this in the first place. You don't want to worry her, especially since her own security has had to be tightened due to said threats. 

"Yeah, she's really worried." 

John's brows furrow, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Aye, rightly so, considering everything." 

He seems serious and said severity gives you pause for thought. His job is to assess and protect against threats, so surely he wouldn't be here, acting the way he is were there not a valid reason for concern. The thought makes a lump form in your throat, makes your stomach twist in a way you'd rather not acknowledge. 

You try to cope with it the best way you know how—humour. 

"Eh, online threats are nothing new for a girl my age, you know? And it's not like I'm anyone important." You shrug it off, hoping that if you say the words aloud, they'll just come true. As you speak, your phone chimes with a notification from your group chat, reminding you of your upcoming plans—and the fact you're going to have to abandon this little meeting. "Uh, I'd offer you a cuppa, but I'm leaving soon." 

"Don't drink it anyway, but thanks." The man smiles slightly, before turning away once more and scanning the room. He cranes his neck to get a look down the hallway, leading to your bedroom and bathroom. "There's a difference between lads online, an' the kinda people that make up extremist groups like those targeting your maw and her party." 

"Really?" You laugh, a short, sharp sound that betrays your discomfort. You grab your jacket and keys by the door, desperate for something to fiddle with. "Thought they were all just sad loners, desperately searching for something to make them feel better." 

"Except some of them have connections, dangerous connections." 

There are a million and one reasons you don't want to go through with this, and very few urging you to. Though, removing a major worry from your mother's life is a big one—John MacTavish's gorgeous blues are another. The possible invasion of privacy lingers in your head, the worry that your father might be using this as an opportunity to have the inside track on your life, on all the things you don't tell your parents. Your mind also revolts at the idea of unnecessary restrictions to your plans, your friends being held under a magnifying glass. 

The thought of the threats being real is the only thing more startling. You sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. "If this is what will help her feel better, then I guess I better find a way to make this work." 

He nods firmly, joining you at where you hover nervously at the door. "I'd agree." 

"Unfortunately, you arrived at the worst possible time, because like I said, I'm just headed out. Can't miss the tube." You force a tight-lipped smile, making your excuse to leave—the thought of being late makes you jittery, the thought of being late continuing this difficult conversation makes you feel worse. 

"Where ye going?" He asks, head tilted. 

You know it's the first question of many. Where are you going? Who are you going with? The atmosphere already feels a little stifling, the relationship a little strained. You and John aren't friends, never will be friends. He's here to do a job, watch over you, and take your security very, very seriously. 

"This is how it's always going to be?" You ask, the question coming out a little snappier than you intend it to. 

John takes it in stride, unblinking in the face of your shortness, and yet unrelenting in his need for information. "Aye." 

Once more, you sigh. "Right... I'm going to my weekly DnD game at my friend's house, and please, I really don't wanna cancel." You plead, feeling like a child reasoning with their parents rather than two adults on equal footing. You hate the feeling, even if you know his intentions are pure. 

"How many friends?" He asks. 

"4." You answer instantly. 

"How long have ye known them?" His questioning continues, and his focus on the people you trust naturally drives you up the wall, even if again, you know it's just his job.

Your grasp on your keys tightens, your agitation growing. "I'll tell you whatever I can some other time, but please, I hate being late." You gesture to the door, indicating that it's time for him and you to leave. 

John grabs the door, opening it for you and allowing you to step through before he does. As you turn to lock the door, you expect him to arrange another time and to bid you farewell, but he doesn't. "I'll drive ye. Dinnae bother arguing, lass." 

His words have a finality to them that quiets you anyway, but the use of 'lass' renders you all but speechless. 

"Okay..." You mumble, leading the way down the stairs as his hand comes to ghost along your lower back.

MacTavish’s vehicle is parked out in the street, and as you approach the car, you can feel his eyes searching again. He beats you to the car, a sleek black Range Rover, opening the door for you before climbing inside himself.  

The action would be nice under any other circumstance, and such propriety is something you're probably going to have to get used to, but right now it just reinforces the annoying, infantilising feeling that you're currently suffering through. 

As you give your friend's address to John, he takes off without another word, flicking on the car stereo before he goes. The atmosphere is thick, stifling, and you can only hope that in time the feeling will lessen, especially if your mother makes him a permanent feature. 

On the way over, he picks up his questioning where he left off. "So, how long have you known this group?"

"A good few years, since uni." 

"We can go over names and details when you're ready." 

You take a deep breath, holding it in and then forcing yourself to calm a little. Instead, you try to focus on watching John, the diligent way he drives. "I'm assuming you have a long list of things we'll need to go over."

His eyes don't stray from you. "Aye, that we do." 

The two of you fall into tense silence for the rest of the drive, nothing but the music and the sound of the car to keep you company. In the quiet street your friend lives on, John pulls in to park on the opposite side of the road, killing the engine and the radio, making the silence almost deafening.

Your nerves are getting the better of you again, and yet John seems so comfortable, unperturbed by the awkwardness. You're unsure what comes next, what to say. 

"Not to be rude but, I'd prefer if you didn't come in." You utter, saying the first thing that springs to mind, despite it probably not being the best thing either. You flash the man an apologetic smile before you continue. "I don't know how to deal with all this, especially when we haven't agreed on how all this is gonna work?"��

You hope your earnest admission makes up for your temporary ill-manners. 

"Tha's fine, I'll stay here." He looks completely impassive. "Not ideal, but it'll do." 

He doesn't look bothered by the inconvenience, and you suppose you should assuage him of the idea it's going to be a quick visit.

"Really? I'll be gone for a few hours." 

His brow quirks. "Yer maw paid upfront, so as far as am concerned, my job's already started." Once more, his statement is absolute, and you don't bother trying to argue.

"Right then." 

John is out of the car first, headed straight to your side of the door, checking left and right before he opens to let you out. 

The action makes you both laugh and curse, perplexed by the deed as you climb out. "You're not my driver, you know you don't need to open the door for me?" 

He laughs too, derisive and short as he closes the door a little too sharply. "Not tae be rude, but I believe the words you're looking for are 'thank you'."  

"Gonna walk me to the door?" You ask, trying to shed yourself of your nerves and make the situation lighter. 

You can't stay tense and subdued for the entire duration of this relationship—besides, now you're moments away from reuniting with the others in Albion Vale and forgetting all about this mess for a few hours. That alone is enough to raise your spirits. 

John forces a cheeky, tight-lipped smile, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling almost condescendingly. "Not feeling tha' gentlemanly anymore. I'm sure ye'll be fine." 

"I'm sure." You make your way halfway across the road, before coming to a realisation, stopping and turning. "Oh, what's your number, you know, make this whole thing easier?"  

John darts out, his arm falling just beside you as he ushers you across the road and onto the other side.

"Pass yer phone." He says, holding out a large, rough hand expectantly. 

"Right, yeah." You nod, probably more than is necessary, as you pass your phone over to the man. 

John takes the phone more softly than you expect, typing in his name and number before holding it back out for you to take. "I'll be here when yer done, to take ye home." 

"Uh, thank you." You take the phone, before walking away sheepishly heading into your friend's block of flats and toward her apartment. 

With each step you take, you try to push John and the threats and everything to do with the outside world far, far out of your brain. 

The night passes by in a flurry of laughter and fun, lost in the adventures of Albion Vale and the antics of your party. 

The session wraps up, and while you would usually be in no rush to head back—you know you can't sit around and leave John, however much a stranger he is, sitting in the car outside. 

You text him to let him know you're headed down in five, and when you make it to the street less than 3 minutes later, he is there, leaning against the car door waiting for you. 

"Thank you." You whisper, climbing inside. When John joins you in the car, he scrubs at his eyes before putting the key in the ignition. "Have you not been bored out of your mind?" 

"Nothing I'm not used to." He replies instantly, pulling away before you can ask any further. 

"What did you do before this?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

From your understanding, most bodyguards cut their teeth in the police or the armed forces, and have tonnes of experience under their belt.

John oozes an ex-forces demeanour–his perfect posture, constant alertness, and the scars littering his skin. 

It'd be hard not to notice, but becomes immediately obvious with the way your eyes seem to love settling upon him when they can. You have to force yourself to squash down the drunken, misguided lust that flares within you as you watch his large hands on the steering wheel and notice his veiny, hairy, and muscular forearms. 

"Army, Captain." He answers, pulling your attention back to him in a more professional manner properly. 

Something within the way he speaks makes you think there's more to the story—though you suppose with that kind of background, he has a cache of secrets and tales that he can never really share.

"Oh." You nod, feeling a little soothed. If you have to be protected, you suppose someone with his level of experience is the best man for the job. "I'm in good hands then." 

Once more, he flashes a forced half-smile. "Aye."

A moment passes, and you find more questions bubbling to the front of your brain. Naturally, you're curious about this man who is undoubtedly going to become a big part of your life from now on, but the fact that his nature is a little reserved makes your curiosity multiply. You've long been a sucker for closed-off older men—call it a character flaw. 

"Why did you leave the army? If you don't mind me asking."

There's a beat of silence where you think he might not answer, but eventually, he does, eyes still fixed on the road. 

"Medical reasons. Nothing that affects my ability to do this job." He rushes to add, a slight spark of defensiveness flashing through as his jaw visibly tightens.

You're no expert detective, and you haven't seen your protector in action, but your first guess is that whatever ailment made him leave isn't entirely physical. The fact he's been somewhat open about it puts your mind at ease, the fact that your mother has clearly vetted him even more so. 

You offer an empathetic smile that he likely doesn't see. "I don't doubt it." 

The drive home passes quicker and easier with a bit of mead in your veins, allowing you to loosen up enough to hum along to the music playing from John's speakers. The little buzz passing through you alleviates that sense of trepidation you felt earlier, luring you into a false sense of security. 

When the car pulls up and John lets you out, you know just what to say what needs to come next. "Well, I guess you should come in so we can formalise things." 

"I'd appreciate it." He nods, before turning back to the car to grab a bag and follow you into the building.

 *

You and John sit at your kitchen island, tea in your hand and coffee in John's—a neat, stapled stack of papers sits before you.

"Here's the contract I signed with ye maw, but she's given us some wiggle room." John says, tapping the top of the paper where the bold letters of CLOSE PROTECTION AGREEMENT — 141 SECURITY sit. 

"Nice of her to allow me a say, if I'm honest." You laugh dryly—you love your mother dearly, but you'd be lying if you said she wasn't overbearing. Your initial protests about this whole arrangement had been entirely shut down, and clearly, she didn't trust you to follow through considering she sprung John on you tonight, unannounced.

"I'm sure she just wants what's best for ye." John offers as you flick through the pages.

The contract outlines the agreement between the Guard and The Principal—with stipulations on activities, compensation, and conduct. 

It's weird seeing it all laid out on paper, seeing the hefty cost of John's services, and the fact you'll be giving this man free access to your home and life. All of this to keep you safe from some nebulous threats that have not even been acted upon.

"She does, but this is inconvenient, and frustrating to say the least." You purposefully choose not to include the words 'fucking annoying' and 'torturing me with a hot man I can't have', though your next conversation with your therapist will absolutely include such descriptions and more. 

"I can understand tha'." He nods understandingly, before raising his coffee and taking a sip—his gaze unwavering as he does. "You've never had close protection before?" 

You shake your head. "No, this is all new to me." 

"Okay. We'll start by discussing exactly what kind of protection you're looking for. Part of tha' will be dictated by what yer maw laid out, like I said, we can decide specifics." 

"Sounds like a plan." You lean back in your stool, tea in hand as you contemplate. Admittedly, you should have done some research before this, but in your defence, you did think you had more time. You're not entirely sure what boundaries you can set—but you hope that John can lead the process a little. "I don't think I can do something 24/7, and it's not like you can stay here, I guess."

You cringe internally thinking about how fucking awkward that would be—your tipsy brain supplies the image of the world's most uncomfortable sleepover. 

In your imagination, John looks grumpy and uncomfortable, still tucked up in bed in that stiff shirt with his boots still on. You are, of course, in little fluffy bunny pyjamas staring at him all gooey-eyed whilst he tries to pretend everything is normal. It takes conscious effort for you not to giggle at the mental image.

"I understand. I'd suggest I escort you anywhere outside these four walls, day or night, work and social events. Conduct security checks on your flat, vet close contacts, update your digital security, things like tha'." John supplies a rundown of potential actions like it's a grocery list, yet a very severe grocery list. His collected nature does put you more at ease.

"Sounds a tad invasive." 

"I'll try to make it as little as possible." 

"Thanks, I appreciate it." You smile slightly, truly thankful for his consideration and tact.

You give John a once over, thoughts once again ticking over. "If you're going to be with me everywhere, you can't walk around like that, outside of my work, that is. No offense, it's just, all my friends are gonna think I'm a self-important twat if I start showing up everywhere with some posh bodyguard." You stop abruptly, realising how much you're bloody rambling.

"Am far from posh. But, more casual look then, aye?" 

You smile a little nervously, hoping you haven't completely offended the man. "Please." 

This whole situation is beyond difficult to navigate—untreaded paths, forging new relationships, balancing existing ones. Your friends really are going to think this whole situation is beyond bizarre. They already find amusement in seeing your mother on the news. Having a bodyguard is going to leave you subject to endless teasing, relentless mocking, and attempts to make your and John's life a whole lot harder.

Your head falls into your hands as you rub at the sockets of your eyes, undoubtedly smearing your makeup and making a mess of your face. It'll get easier, you reassure yourself.

With your eyes closed and pressed into the heel of your hands, you don't see the way John's expression softens or the way he moves closer to comfort you before hesitating and stopping short. "Wha's the matter?" 

"I'm just... incredibly anxious about how this is going to play out with my friends, with work." 

John leaps into problem-solving mode, immediately pulling from his brain some words to soothe you, as well as making note of what bumps in the road to smooth out. "Ye mother said she already consulted yer work, and they're fine to make accommodations." 

Of course, she'd already talked to David about the whole thing. "So it'll be fine aside from all the gossip it will cause." 

"It's politics and I ken yer not naïve, everybody's talking anyway, no?" He offers, and yet you don't seem assuaged, so he tries a different tactic. "It's my job to blend in. They'll barely notice me." 

"With that haircut? Sorry." You giggle—surprisingly you find the mohawk suits his rugged look, but it certainly isn't something you've seen on a man that wasn't walking the streets of Camden. Though, even with a more fitting haircut, the man is so casually striking and ever so slightly imposing that he just naturally draws attention. "In general, you don't strike me as a man who does blending in well, not in civilian life anyway."

His eyes narrow for a moment, before he struggles to fight off a smirk. "Hmm, ye might have a point. Not changing ma hair though, sorry. Nae sure ye family has enough money for tha' one."  

His more playful side makes your heart soar, and gives you hope that everything might just be alright.

"I have a crazy idea." Okay, maybe you're more tipsy than you thought you were, as your brain supplies an outlandish plot and your mouth runs away with it. 

His eyebrow arches and his eyes sparkle with intrigue. John MacTavish seems like a man who likes crazy ideas. "Go oan." 

"I'll tell my friends that you're my boyfriend, and we're just so madly in love that you have to come everywhere with me. Means no real questions." 

Your proposition is met with deafening silence, despite the huge, encouraging grin on your face.

John laughs, just the once, before his expression hardens. "Not a chance, lass."

"Why? You don't have to really do anything. Besides, it'll save you sitting outside in the car, or staring from the shadows and making everyone feel uncomfortable." 

You realise now that while you noticed a distinct lack of a ring, there's the possibility that John is still attached, and what you're suggesting is wildly inappropriate—but it's not that point he argues on.

"Aye, so I just have to spend ma time socialising instead." He scoffs.

"Well, surely you're not brooding and mysterious all the time." You wager.

Once more, he finds a smirk tugging at his lips that he can't hold back. "No' at all, but it's been a long time since I was the life of the party, and something tells me that me an' your DnD friends don't have a lot in common." 

"They might surprise you, but you also might surprise yourself. Maybe you're a secret nerd." You wink, still being jovial before you shift back to your genuine pleas. "It'll make my life a whole lot easier and be one less thing for me to stress about. My friends wouldn't second guess the story much once they got past the shock of me bagging someone older, wiser, and oh-so-handsome. Please."  

You flash your softest, sweetest doe eyes and lay the compliments on extra thick in the hopes of swaying him. In the political world, you're used to using charm to try and get what you want, and know that without charisma you'd get nowhere. Perhaps it's a bit low of you to stoop to using flirtation on someone who could likely run rings around you when it comes to negotiation, but it's worked before, and at this point, you're desperate.

John straightens up in his seat, eyes you for a moment, and then lets out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine." 

The fact he relents honestly takes you a little by surprise. You're relieved, but yes, surprised. "Huh?"

"Fine, I'll be whoever ye want me to be..." The look in his eyes shifts to something imperceptible, as he leans over the counter closer to you. "As long ye listen to what I say when it comes to yer safety and security. Deal?" 

He holds out his hand, and your own feels dwarfed when you reach out to take his calloused palm.

"You drive a hard bargain, John MacTavish. Deal." You shake, and neither of you makes a move to immediately let go.

"Aye, a know." He winks, and the action makes your heart skip a beat, your cheeks flood with heat.

Each second passes slowly, his touch feeling like too much and not enough all at once. You know at that moment that life from now on is going to be especially difficult as long as John is around.

What he says next is the final nail in that particular coffin. "Would've done it anyway, but glad I got ye to agree to ma terms, lass." 

[descendant-of-truth]

On principle I don't really like the idea of Sonic being sent after Shadow at the request of G.U.N for two reasons:

It robs us of the god-tier cold open of the original game where Sonic busts out of a helicopter to escape arrest

I always loved the setup where Sonic and Shadow meeting was pretty incidental - neither of them had any idea who the other was, but Sonic thought Shadow was impersonating him on purpose while Shadow just thought he seemed fun to mess with

But depending on what the surrounding context is, I can see how the movie could make this plot point interesting in a completely different way that still complements these versions of the characters, even if I don't prefer it to the original.

So, some ideas:

G.U.N has been the villain of the last two movies, so in order for Sonic to be working with them, they must have a pretty good deal for him. My guess is that they promised to leave him and his family alone - no more schemes, no more kidnapping, nothing of the sort - on the one condition that "Team Sonic" helps them deal with Shadow.

This would already function as a narrative parallel to Sonic enlisting Robotnik's help later for the same thing. The name of the game becomes "we don't like each other, we're enemies, but we need to work together to deal with this guy because he's too powerful," which becomes a triple threat if the whole cast including Shadow gets to team up at the very end to save the world

I think it would also be very fun if Sonic is trying so hard to talk things out with Shadow in large part because he heard that there was another hedgehog on the loose, and wants so badly to be friends with someone like him that it takes at least one full-blown beating before he gives up on that idea

(The other reason he keeps trying is "it worked on Knuckles" of course)

Now, this puts Sonic in a fascinating position, particularly when using the game as a frame of reference. SA2 was very straightforward with how it presented its conflict at first: you have a Hero Story and a Dark Story, and as such you're primed to think of everyone on both sides as either being good or bad.

And most people, I think, were inclined to play the Hero Story first; it's the one with Sonic in it, and the select screen hovers over it by default, too. It tells a very simple story of Sonic and friends stopping Eggman's (admittedly very threatening) evil plan, developing some new rivalries along the way.

It's already a little bit of a twist for Sonic and Knuckles to have formed a respectful relationship with Shadow and Rouge by the end, since you see them as villains initially, but they still remain antagonists by the end. Rouge returns the Master Emerald pieces, but she's still working with Robotnik. Shadow thinks Sonic is pretty impressive, but he still tries to kill him to stop him from saving the world.

But then you get to the Dark Story, and then the Final Story, and you think, oh. It's really not that simple.

For starters, you get to see more of Rouge's bond with Shadow. There's some conflict inherent to their relationship because Rouge is a spy and is only here to get information on Shadow, but after he saves her life, there's a definite shift to their dynamic. There's something genuine there, even if it doesn't get a lot of screentime dedicated to it.

But most important to the story is what we learn about who Shadow is, in part through his interactions with Rouge.

Shadow is cunning and ruthless - heck, his goal is to literally blow up the world. But whether out of compassion or survivor's guilt or both, he can't let Rouge die, so he saves her and then lies about his motivations for it to seem colder than he is.

And even though the things he's doing are definitely bad, his motivations are famously sympathetic; he wants revenge for his best friend, a young girl who was killed by the G.U.N military during a raid.

(It was implied that there was some sort of brainwashing done on him by Gerald after Maria died as well but that part of the story is incredibly vague)

By the end of the game, Shadow comes into his own as a hero and helps save the world instead of destroying it. And suddenly it makes sense why the stories weren't called Hero and Villain, because neither Shadow nor Rouge are especially villainous characters; Rouge is selfish, and Shadow is driven by grief and hatred, but they're ultimately kind at the end of the day. Both of them find people to care about - each other, as well as Knuckles and Sonic respectively.

But y'know, there wasn't a lot of ambiguity about who the heroes were in the Hero Story itself. Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are pretty clearly The Good Guys, and nothing they do is really questioned because they're always fighting The Bad Guys.

So what I'm seeing here is an opportunity for Team Sonic to not be totally in the right for once. Yes, it's good to stop Shadow from going on a rampage and destroying the world, but look at who they're keeping for company here. G.U.N? Robotnik and Agent Stone? As if either of those groups are trustworthy enough to not stab them in the backs as soon as it's convenient. As if they're not going to find some way to exploit Sonic for their benefit.

And frankly, Shadow is totally in the right to hate G.U.N, and Team Sonic for working with them. Given that his backstory seems to be largely unchanged, it's kind of impossible not to be on board with him fighting the protagonists at least a little bit.

Besides, I don't think it's a coincidence that Shadow is doing the wrong thing for the right reason, while Sonic is doing the right thing with the wrong people (and maybe also for the wrong reason). That has the potential to be very clever if executed well.

I can only imagine the dawning horror on Sonic's face as he realizes just how much he's not on the right side of this conflict; when he learns about what happened to Maria and everyone else on the Ark. Especially if Tom's family was involved in it, like the current popular theory going around.

Also, last-second realization: what if there's something more to that line from Tom, "it wasn't always easy, but you didn't change who you are in here"? Most likely it's going to be used as a way to show how Shadow is different from Sonic, because he did change who he was in response to trauma and it'll be really poetic when he "finds himself" again

But also, consider: maybe Sonic does end up changing throughout the movie. Maybe he does something that goes against his core principles in order to get an advantage in some way, and they kind of play around with the idea that Sonic is similar to Shadow in ways that aren't always flattering to either of them. I want those hedgehogs to make each other worse before they get better

In any case, there's a lot of potential here, and I'm very curious to see what they ended up going with

[novelizt]

THE CAUTIOUS TALE OF LIVING WITH ONE: ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ fluff with angst. strangers to housemates to lovers.

WC ➺ 6.9k

SYNOPSIS ➺ and they were roommates (kind of)

WARNING ➺ brief mention of poisonous candles + food delivery service (if that diverges from canon), and also mentions of skincare (if you're not into that)

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader; fashion designer! reader; and i have magically added another room on the second floor. your room is across from lockwood's; you're welcome. reader is also implied to be short. lockwood calls reader 'love' but they're in denial.

NOTE ➺ is it obvious that i'm in love with him? i am obsessed with lockwood x designer!reader lately. like, imagine lockwood being her muse and arm candy to fashion shows?? him being styled by her before hunting ghosts so he's ready for interviews after?? power couple, i love them. i hope you love them too.

It was one thing having a meet-cute with a pretty boy you met at a corner store, it was another to find out that he was going to be your landlord.

For starters, it wasn't very cute after the whole 'fantasizing over the possibilities' bit.

Sure, Lockwood sometimes leaves his door open; giving you a clear view of him loosening his tie and then shrugging off his shirt, but that image would often be tarnished by George walking out of his own room without trousers on. At that point, all you could think about was seeing two boys—in varying levels of half-nakedness—and how disturbed you are instead of turned on.

When you lounged about while they were on a case, you'd find articles of clothing strewn all over the place. Some of them even corroded by plasma — gross. You had the courtesy of sorting them out and even cleaning up, but you learned to be cautious of their buddy, Skull (who was best friends with Lucy, apparently), and the newspaper clippings that often narrated gruesome details you wished you could unsee.

Lastly, the fact that you lived in the same house but lived in different worlds. You were up during the day while he was up at night. All three members of Lockwood & Co. had to bear with you because your portion of rent was enough to stabilize their financial situation. Occasionally, you wondered if things would be different if you were talented—if you had the ability to go on their excursions with them; but you'd shoot down those thoughts and convince yourself to sleep instead.

The longing to be part of his world only grew stronger the longer you stayed in the room across his. The halls were ornamented with pictures of Lockwood & Co. Usually Lockwood, since he was the spearhead. With very new headline cut out from the gazette, you imagined being part of their close-knit group. From the outside looking in, they were family. Not by blood but by choice. If you were being honest to yourself, you'd admit that you were jealous, but you believed you had no right to be.

You were studying fashion, like you had always dreamed of. You had a cozy little room in a homely house. Your doubtful parents weren't around to poison your passion... but you missed being one part of a whole. You missed having people to rely on; people to gush to when your teacher said something particularly flattering; people to rush home to after a hard day when all you wanted to do was cry. But you settled for the comfortable silence between the four of you on the rare mornings you were all up at the same hour.

That morning, specifically, you kept your head down as you scuttled behind George's chair, trying to seem inconspicuous about the redness under your eyes. About to ask for some tea, you saved your breath when George pointed to the pot; your favorite brew already steaming inside.

"Thanks," you quipped, grateful to simply have to pour and sip to be engulfed by the comforting warmth of your favorite beverage.

"How was your sleep?" Lockwood asked. His voice was accompanied by the flippant noise of a newspaper being turned. That usually meant everyone was in high spirits and looking out for a new article about their great service.

"Good," you replied. "How was your case?"

Lucy glowed above her plate of waffles. "Amazing—"

"Extraordinary," George said, surprisingly more excited then Lucy.

Their enthusiasm wrapped around you and pulled you into their world for a moment. You smiled and sipped your drink. "You two sound happy. What happened?"

Lockwood looked up from his newspaper as George began to recount the tale. "Lucy kept hearing matches being struck, none of us understood why."

Lucy sat up a little straighter. "Then George found an old candle stump that had been left there. He said it smelled weird—"

"And I recognized the smell of green corn," Lockwood chipped in.

George leaned into his seat, flabbergasted at what that had just accomplished. "The bloke realized it was phosgene! How could you even know that?"

"Because I have plenty of books to read, Georgie," Lockwood said, feigning humility. He finally turned his eyes on you, looking like a kid on Christmas eve. "The candles had been infused with a poisonous substance. Whenever they were lit, the smoke would slowly poison the people who had the misfortune of breathing it in. We would have never figured it out if I didn't know that tidbit of information."

"Amazing," you gasped in true wonder.

Their line of work was risky but these three never ceased to surprise you with their brilliant feats, no matter which day of the week it was.

"Amazing, indeed," Lucy agreed.

Seems that Lucy and George were so overjoyed by their tryst that they either didn't notice or didn't mind that Lockwood had gotten a second biscuit from right under their noses. He held a finger to his lips and you mimed that your lips were zipped. He graced you with your favorite smile and you leaned against the counter to keep yourself upright.

"Oh, I feel hungry for jam," George said out of the blue. He turned in his chair and pointed to the shelf above you. "It's all the way up there. Mind getting it for me, dear housemate?"

"I don't mind at all, housemate," you replied with cheer. You turned to see just how far up he placed it, only to pale. He had stored it on the tallest shelf. It was so high up that you felt like the jar was running away from you.

"So that's where you put it!" Lucy shrieked, outraged. "It was no wonder I couldn't find it! You evil, evil man, George Karim."

"It was for the good of the house," George said discourteously.

"The good of the house my arse—"

Lockwood called your name abruptly. He said your name so carefully, you had a hunch that he was reading your mind. Your eyes snapped to him to find that he was already behind you. Your back virtually pressed to his chest; and man, was he warm. "Let me," he said. It might have just been you, but it sounded like he had spoken in cursive. You were in your head when he placed a gentle hand on your hip. His touch light and now seared into your memory.

"You cried. Did anyone hurt you?" he whispered. It was a struggle to keep yourself still.

"No. Just a rough day," you admitted, hoping your misery didn't blend into your tone.

"Oh," he rasped. "I hope you feel better now, love."

You tried to keep your voice stable. "I do. Thanks."

As quick as he had come, he was gone; delivering the jar to the thinking cloth and resuming his seat. You wonder how could he be so casual when your insides had forgotten how to function. After a moment of (hopefully) covert gaping, you willed your breathing to even and gulped down the rest of your tea.

—

No one knew how it happened. One day, Lockwood's dresser was bee-free; the next, it wasn't.

Apparently, Lockwood had left his window open all night and the bees got excited over the lemongrass essential oil in his drawer.

"Why do you even have lemongrass essential oil in your room?" George asked, ticked off.

Lockwood looked affronted by the question. "Do none of you have methods to relax yourselves?"

Regardless of his answer, you would all have to wait 'til morning to call a bee-keeper to safely take the bees out. For now, Lockwood had been buzzed out of his own room.

Lucy hobbled up to her room and locked the door when George brought up the question about where Lockwood would stay for the night. With a glance, George understood that Lockwood would not go into his room even if he was invited. George retired to his own quarters.

That left you and Lockwood to idle by the stairwell. You didn't know air could feel so thick 'til then.

"Well," Lockwood started, suddenly interested in the carpet. "I might just stay downstairs. He couches are lengthy enough."

The image of the boss of the house, your landlord and friend, retiring pitifully to the aged and sunken sofas was just sad. Pathetic, really.

You shook your head. "Stay in my room. I have a project I'm working on anyway. I won't be sleeping much."

"I couldn't possibly—"

You cut his niceties short. "You have a case to tackle tomorrow, if I recall correctly, and it's reportedly a type two. It won't sit right with me if you don't get ample rest for it. Lucy and George depend on you."

"I guess so," he conceded, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

The short journey to your room was the most shy you'd ever seen Lockwood. He was hunched into himself when he passed your door, welcomed into your corner of the world.

He had only seen glimpses of your abode. That was when you left your door ajar. Seeing it in full felt like a warm hug. The room felt so... you; from the disarray of your weighed blanket to the swaths of fabric laid across your worktable. Despite never having been in here after you moved in, he felt right at home. (Which he was, but it felt different somehow. He couldn't explain it even if you asked him.) The color returned to his face, accompanied by a sheepish smile.

"Make yourself comfortable," you said, pointing to your bed.

You gave him a feeble smile. He returned it with doubled enthusiasm before you dropped into your favorite chair and pulled what looked like the beginnings of a fabulous coat to your sewing machine.

He had settled into your sheets with ease, burying himself in your blanket that immediately drowned him with the smell of you. If he had to die, he'd like to die like this. But also, he'd like not to die because watching you from where he was felt so nice. It felt normal, and the easiness of all of this made him too giddy to rest.

The lights were dimmed and he found that you had a specific light angled at your worktable so you wouldn't disturb him.

He hid a smile under your blanket.

Even when drowse began to creep up on him, he peeled his eyes open to watch your hands work the fabric with the gentleness one would have with a baby. Your love in your work was evident in the way your eyes didn't stray and the way you continued despite the little pricks you'd get while pinning the fabric down.

Lockwood found ghost-hunting cool. He would spend all day watching a fencing match, but he could spend his whole life watching you and your love for your craft. That was the first time he had seen you work and he wished he had been more curious to see it sooner.

He fell asleep to the image of you taking a break and blessing him with a tender smile. He wasn't sure if that part was a dream.

—

George had made the earliest call to have the bees dealt with. Lockwood was relieved and disappointed at the same time. He was glad to have his room back but he'd also like to have an excuse to stay in yours. The rest of the house assumed that he was moody all morning because of the hive, so you took it upon yourself to lighten his mood.

In the middle of breakfast, you had excused yourself. He stared at your back, wondering what could possibly be so important that you skip out on the rare occasion of cake-for-breakfast. His queries came to a halt when you returned with an article of clothing folded between your arms.

It was the same color of the fabric he'd seen you putting together the last night, so it must have been what you were working on. You had finished it quickly. Judging by the smile on your face, you were happy about it, too.

"Ta-da," you sang, unraveling the piece and brandishing it in all its glory.

The outside was slate black serge fabric and the inside was lined with maroon silk or velvet. Whatever it was, it made the ensemble look especially lavish.

The surprise didn't end there. You swayed the lush coat in Lockwood's direction, smile growing as his shock did.

"For me?"

"For you," you confirm.

He takes the coat into his hands, marveling at the feel of it and reeling at the fact that he had watched you make this.

You all watched as a smile formed on his face. His eyes bright when they landed on you. "You're magic, you know that?"

Your cheeks warmed. You offered a modest laugh. "I saw yours covered in plasma burns. I thought you'd prefer a new one."

"I'll treasure this forever," the way he handled it with careful mindfulness proved it. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's the least I can do."

For a moment, you two smile at each other; feeling the words that neither of you were confident to say yet. It was lovely, and something you would definitely be remembering while you screamed into your pillow and kicked your feet at the end of the day.

George's voice brought you back to reality. "Hey, where's our coats?"

Lucy nodded in the midst of chomping down on a biscuit.

"In progress, don't worry," you assured smilingly.

Watching all three of his favorite people smile at each other made Lockwood falter. Well, George was trying to hide his behind his morning paper but they all knew he was smiling. Lockwood couldn't help his smile from growing, too.

—

Lockwood did his best to keep the coat pristine, he really did. He was conflicted between wearing it out or keeping it stored in his armoire. If he wore it, it would get ruined by the ghosts he was inevitably going to face. If he didn't, you would think he didn't appreciate it. There was no lesser evil, both would be equally anguishing.

Inevitably, you asked if he'd tried the coat yet, he had to wear it and show you how much he appreciated it. Later that day, he was harrowed by a single hole that singed straight through the tail of it.

"It isn't that bad, really," Lucy tried to say placatingly. Lockwood simply sunk into himself more.

"It's my favorite coat," he agonized.

"Roommate number three can always make you a new one," George said reasonably. "I mean, she does it for a living."

"Yeah!" Lucy said, trying to bring Lockwood's soul back. "I mean, look at that!"

When he looked up, he didn't know what was worse. The hole in his favorite coat or the boy you had given a wrapped box to. At his front door even.

You waved the boy away with a smile fit for a queen then turned to Lockwood & Co. the moment they entered your periphery. Your smile was warmer for them, but Lockwood was too wrapped up to notice.

He brushed passed you with an uncharacteristically calculated "hello."

"He's in a sour mood," Lucy explained, surrendering her rapier to the umbrella stand.

"He ruined his favorite coat," George said in his horrible impression of Lockwood.

You chuckled and glanced to the stairwell, just missing Lockwood's coat tail before he disappeared into the second floor.

—

"I have something to discuss with you," was Lockwood's way of announcing himself into your room.

You spun in your chair, giving him your undivided attention. It was a miracle that he didn't buckle under your gaze. "Which is?"

"I..." He hesitated for a moment but steeled himself as he recalled the boy and the way you smiled at him. "You didn't tell me you invite your customers into our house."

"Customer?" You tilt your head. He could almost believe you were innocent.

"Yes. That boy today—"

Realization shined in your eyes. Your light laugh cutting through his sermon. "That boy wasn't a customer, Lockwood."

"Oh, really?" He quized. He placed his fists on his hips, looking more like a disgruntled mother than an intimidating agent. "Then why did he have a box, with a ribbon?"

You stood, placing your steady hands on his shoulders. He tried not to hold his breath but he had audibly gasped. If you heard it, you showed no signs of it. "Anthony Lockwood, I would tell you if I was doing business in your house—"

"*Our* house. You live here, too."

"Fine," you relented. "our house, but that boy was my cousin. He asked me if the gift he got for his girlfriend was nice enough. He needed a woman's opinion and he got it."

The information turned in his mind. When it had clicked, his expression faltered. "Oh."

"Yes," you chuckled. "Oh."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be," you reassured. "I wouldn't play with your trust like that. Besides, I wouldn't dare do business here. I have my own boutique now."

"You do?" You were surprised that he looked more excited than you.

"I do," you confirmed with a smile. "So, you won't have to put up with me for much longer."

"What?" His smile dropped. It made your smile falter.

The tides had turned. He placed his hands on your shoulders and looked at you with the intensity he had reserved for the down-turned photographs in the house. His eyes begged for an answer and you gave it to him: "I'm... not going to be staying here much longer."

"Why?" He was demanding instead of asking.

You assumed it was because your monthly pay was important for him to keep Lockwood & Co. in business. You gave him a humble smile but he was hurt by it. "Don't worry, I'll still provide my share of rent so you can keep Portland Row afloat. I can help more when my business takes off. This place is worth saving. I'll just be living somewhere else."

His grip on your shoulders tightened. "But why?"

The laugh you gave him was humorless. "What do you mean 'why'? I'm not really an agent, Lockwood. I'm a tailor. You don't need me here."

"Yes, I do," he confessed. He realized what he had said, processed your shining eyes, and froze. "I mean— we all need you. The coat you made me is one of a kind."

You deflated. "Ah... Well, I can be Lockwood & Co.'s personal tailor . . . from a distance."

No, he wanted to scream, but he had run his mouth when he hadn't intended to. He didn't trust himself to speak again, opting to nod instead. You took it as an acceptance and stuck your breaking heart to it.

"From a distance..." he whispered. He didn't want to believe it. Envisioning your room emtpy was like living in a world you didn't exist in. It was a nightmare.

—

"I hear rent is costly in that part of town, perhaps you should stay here."

Lockwood was as subtle as a gun. He dropped that statement on you as you folded up your first box. You blinked at him until you registerered what he said.

"I can handle it."

"No. I insist you stay here," he continued. "As a friend—" he tried not to wince. "—it would weigh on my conscience to let a friend spend so much more on rent when it's perfectly comfortable here, in Portland Row — no where else."

He heard George mutter, "very suave, Lockwood," behind him. Lockwood chose to ignore it.

Your brows furrowed. To his relief, you took your hands away from the box. To his horror you took an armful of clothes out of your cabinet.

"Where is this coming from, Lockwood?"

"Nowhere!"

You didn't seem convinced. His anxiety only built as you packed more clothes into the box.

"You're doing this because you're worried?" you asked like you had an inkling of why he was really badgering you. He hoped you didn't.

It's not exactly the tune he was playing but he goes along with it. "Exactly. I don't know what kind of person you'd be rooming with, you know. They could be dangerous."

You contemplated it. You didn't say a thing for a long while and Lockwood was on the verge of breaking down when you had spun to face him, finally abandoning the box.

"Come with me then."

His blood stopped running for a second. "Come again?"

You rolled your eyes and Lockwood knew he's in way too deep because he thought you look pretty doing something as simple as that.

"Stay the night with me one time, so you know I'm safe." You stared at him, waiting for an answer.

He didn't know what to think. When you say it like that, he felt like he wouldn't be able to talk you out of it. You leaving felt more real then, and he was terrified of it.

"Oh . . . Okay."

"Okay," you repeated, giving him a smile.

He tried to return it but it lacked conviction. He couldn't feel his face when dread was nagging at him.

—

Your not-yet new place wasn't Portland Row. Perhaps that was enough reason to dislike it, or maybe it was the fact that this place was taking you away from home.

No, it was definitively he guy who emerged from the third door in the flat. The other two doors were your soon-to-be room and the shared bathroom.

Lockwood shared a bathroom with George, so, it was serious when he got the feeling that sharing a bathroom with Guy was worse.

Guy introduced himself as Leo. You greeted him with a pleasant smile but all Lockwood could think of was that Leo wasn't a name, it was a star sign.

"You'll be staying the night then?" Leo inquired. He wasn't doing anything malicious yet Lockwood felt the urge to size him up. Lockwood was tall on his own, he was intimidating when he wanted to be. Leo wasn't sure what to do with him standing behind you like an oversized guard dog.

"Yeah, just to get the feel of things," you replied. You had given Lockwood mercy when you unlocked the door and pushed it open.

He caught a glimpse of... absolutely nothing. There was a mattress on the floor but Leo didn't even have the courtesy of dressing it up with a bedspread. He wished you turned around and booked it then, but you simply gave a gentle smile and accepted it.

"Kay..." Leo said slowly. "I have an outing with friends so you have the whole place to yourself. Just remember to lock the front door properly. It doesn't click into place sometimes."

"Got it, thanks."

Leo gave you a copy of the keys and went on his merry way, actively avoiding Lockwood's pointed stare on the way out.

Being alone with Lockwood had thawed you. You laxed your shoulders and dropped your make-believe smile before grumbling at the sorry excuse of the bed you had for the night.

"Not what I expected it to be... I thought we could make it a sleepover or something but that is just sad."

"Very," Lockwood agreed. He closed the door to your room for the time being, saving both of you the trouble of agonizing over it. "Shall we head home then?"

"We're staying the night," you reminded him, pressing your finger into his chest with every punctuated word. "Besides... maybe this place has something Portland Row doesn't."

"Which is?"

"I don't know yet. I said 'maybe'."

The corner of his lip quirked up.

He watched as you rounded to the kitchen. It was connected to the receiving room, separated by a thin island rowed with barstools. He didn't have to peek to know the fridge was empty, he had your deep-set frown to tell him.

With a smile, he offered: "Shall I phone our favorite place?"

You sighed in delight, giving him that smile that made him melt. "Yes, please."

—

The restaurant you favored was always on time, but the delivery man had gone to Portland Row by mistake (since it was the usual delivery when Anthony Lockwood called in.) He had to go back and ask for the address.

The sun was gone by the time food arrived to your not-yet flat.

"Thanks, mate. Get home safe," Lockwood bade the delivery boy before closing the door.

"Finally," you cheered, setting out the table. Thankfully, Leo had the mind to keep plates, cups, and cutlery on hand. "I'm starving."

"You and me both," he grinned.

Together, you divided the dishes evently (Lockwood sliding two more dumplings onto your plate, simply because he knew you liked them) and filled the cups with tea. The light above the island was pitiful but it framed you in a nice, yellow glow.

His cheeks were full and you were stuffing your face, but the setting was so domestic he couldn't help but indulge himself. If only you two were at home, in Portland Row; that would have made this perfect.

After you had filled your bellies and washed down your food, Lockwood cleaned the table while you got started on the dishes.

"I... kind of miss home," you admitted.

Even when your backs were facing each other, Lockwood knew you were frowning. "We can go home now, if you want."

Silence.

He hoped you would agree, relent, and stay with him at Portland Row, but his hopes died when you let out a sigh. He chanced a glance at you and found you shaking your head. "Just for the night," you said, more so to convince yourself.

His heart deflated but Lockwood would follow you to the ends of the earth, so he just agreed and stayed silent.

Once he had finished cleaning up his side of the kitchen, he dropped the cloth beside the sink and, for whatever reason, trapped you between his arms while he reached over to wash his hands.

You had forgotten how to breath. Rightfully so. You were transported back to the morning you felt his warmth on your back. He had reached for something because you couldn't, he had noticed your red eyes when no one else did.

You were glad he couldn't see your face. You felt heat behind your eyes and a tightness in your throat. It occured to you that if you moved in with Leo, there would be no more of Lockwood's quiet moments of attention.

Getting away from him was the point of you moving away, but with that reality being so close, it hit you.

You would miss him terribly, you would miss the Lockwood & Co. family terribly. The question of 'was it worth the pain of staying?' haunted you at night. You would die for them, but it hurt so bad being the odd-man out for the rest of your life. And maybe you were overestimating how much they needed you around because they didn't need you at all, did they?

Your mind went blank when Lockwood backed away. The tears fell but you kept your head bowed to hide them.

There was an air of suffocating peace when Lockwood said, "I'll go look for a bedsheet."

"Okay," you uttered.

As he walked away, his footsteps rang out in your ears; Footsteps you've grown accustomed to because he would sneak into the library at ungodly hours, thinking everyone was asleep. Not you, at least.

He wasn't doing anything special but it quieted the pandemonium behind your eyes.

—

You had spent an extra few minutes in the restroom before you got around to washing your face. When you had arrived to the room, Lockwood had used a throw blanket from the receiving room couch as a bedsheet. He laid on his back, one arm on his stomach and the other splayed out to your side of the bed. His coat was shrugged off his shoulder and sprawled over his torso.

He raised his head when you entered. "Hi, love."

"Hello," you greeted with a small smile. You had to bend your knees to sit at the end of the bed.

You were reaching for your skincare before Lockwood sat up and seized your wrist. He was always gentle with you. That didn't stop you from burning it into your memory. You looked at him with a question in your eyes.

He held up two thin packages to answer you. "Face masks. You said we could have a sleepover situation, didn't you?"

You suppressed a laugh as you examined the packaging. He got collagen masks, from your favorite brand. Did he know that? You couldn't be sure. "Where did you get these?"

"From my bag?"

"I meant where you bought them," you nipped. "and since when were you into stuff like this?"

"I got them from store you told me about," he answered, leaning back on his elbows. "and I've been a regular customer since you told me my whiteheads could rival a strawberry's. It hurt my feelings."

"I'm sorry, you big baby," you snort, reaching out to pinch his cheek. He doesn't even fight it. "but it was true! And your skin looks so much better now. What else have you been using?"

He laid back fully, propping his arms behind his head. "I got that matcha cleanser you kept raving about, a PH-balanced toner... Oh! And that sunscreen you recommended me that one time."

You nodded, impressed by his dedication. "You look so much prettier now thanks to me."

"I know," he smiled. "Now are we going to do the masks or am I do I have to jump out this window and wrestle a ghost for some entertainment?"

You chuckle, patting his chest to pacify him. "We're doing the masks."

After a bit of trying to get the masks on right, failing, laughing at each other, then helping each other get them on right; you both laid back. Lockwood pillowed your head with his arm and blanketed your tummy with his coat.

The masks had to be left on for 20 minutes and what better way to pass the time than talk each other through existential crisis?

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Lockwood & Co. has done so much for people. You got commendation from Penelope Fittes! That's worth something, you know."

"I know that. I just can't help but feel like... I haven't done enough," the admission is like a weight off his shoulders. "People don't really crowd to be part of Lockwood & Co."

You turned your head, looking quite freaky with the paste-white mask. Then he sees your faultless eyes through the gaps and he falls all over again. "Well, you have so much life ahead of you to do more. The agency's impact on the world can't be ignored though, Lockwood. You've serviced a plethora of people from all walks of life. And for what it's worth, I want to be part of Lockwood & Co."

A disbelieving expression crossed his face. "Really now?"

You nodded then returned your eyes to the ceiling. You felt too vulnerable to admit it to his face. "I'm jealous that Lucy and George are fully capable agents. I love them, don't get me wrong, but I feel so inferior. I don't even have a choice to be part of that world."

"What are you talking about? You are part of that world. You're part of our world." He nudged your side. "You are part of Lockwood & Co., love. You always have been, ever since you stepped through the door."

"Yeah? Well... not in the way they are. They have talent. I can just wish I could help," you sighed.

He took a moment to think then he turned his head to you. "How about this; you can help us do research. I know it's not as snazzy as swinging a rapier but it's a pivotal part of our operations."

Your brows furrowed. "Really? You'd let me do that?"

"I would have invited sooner you if I knew you were eager to help," he replied. You weren't looking at his face but you knew he was smiling. "Only part-time though. You have a talent for what you do now."

"Thank you," you said, but he got the feeling that you didn't believe it.

"I mean it," he insisted. He pinched the coat that was draped over you. "This coat you made me; people will be fighting for a design just like it within the first year of opening your boutique. Mark my words."

"I won't give it to them," you replied. "this coat is one of a kind."

"How generous of you, but it would be a bad business decision to deprive the fine people of a coat as refined as this one."

"No," you chuckle. "I mean, this coat is really one of a kind." You flipped the collar of the coat over. Lockwood hadn't seen it before, but be saw it then. "See?" And see he did.

His initials and surname were embroidered on so carefully that it took the breath from his lungs. That wasn't all. Beside his name was a cheeky embroidered imitation of his favorite giraffe mobile and a little image of his rapier.

"It was a pain to do so I won't be doing it for anyone else," you told him, like you hadn't just put the stars in his sky. "Your coat is my magnum opus."

"Oh," he whispered, running his fingers over the threads. "Now I feel bad. Plasma burned part of it."

"I'll make you a new one in a year, maybe." You pinch his side. "Keep it in one piece until then, okay?"

"Okay..."

"And don't tell people about the embroidery," you said sternly. "I'm not made for it, and my fingers still hurt from trying."

"I promise," he chuckled. He lied. He would have to boast about it to Lucy and George. Maybe even Kipps, if he pissed him off enough.

"We still have about ten minutes before we take the masks off. Tell me a story," you requested.

"Bossy," he smirked.

"Story, please," you rectified.

He conceded. He thought about which story to tell you before settling with the original Beauty and the Beast. You scooted closer with every word he said.

"Beast is much nicer in this version," you said, stifling a yawn behind your palm. Lockwood's arm was going numb but he didn't have to heart to move when you were already so comfortable.

"Asking her to marry him every night when she's trapped in his castle is nice?"

"Consent is key," you retort. Your voice slurred off at the end. When your breathing evened, he knew you had fallen asleep.

He tried not to be endeared, but you had cuddled into his side. Your fingers found his shirt and clutched it like it was your lifeline. The best he could do was smile to keep the urge to scream in.

When the time for your masks were up, he peeled away your mask and then his, tossing them aside then readjusted the coat to cover you fully.

He did his best to refrain himself, but he was never good at that when it came to you. He dipped his head to allow himself a kiss to the crown of yours.

—

You two (read: he bent to your will) decided to walk home.

The morning was sunny and the breeze was friendly, you couldn't resist a little fresh air and the perfect excuse to hold hands with Lockwood. In your defense, he was the one who offered. "I steer, you relax," is what he said.

So, you let your mind wander as he steered you in the right direction. He gave your hand little tug when you two were about to turn a corner, tapped on your knuckles when waiting to cross the street, and, sometimes, surprising you with a cheeky pinch to your side when you weren't paying attention. There were so many smiles exchanged, you weren't sure who was enjoying the walk more.

Disappointment began to swim in your belly as Arif's came into view. Just a bit more and you'd have to let go.

Again, Lockwood demonstrated his scary ability to know what you were thinking. Instead of walking passed Arif's, he walked you right into it. He held the door for you and flourished his hand quite dramatically, too. "Ladies first."

"What a gentleman," you chuckled.

You wore matching smiles as the bell jingled above your heads and the aroma of fresh dough invaded your senses.

Lockwood reluctantly pulled away. "Go find a seat. I'll order."

You walked about, catching sight of a few couples who were out to enjoy the beautiful morning too, before settling down in a seat in the corner. It was a table for two and the wooden seats reminded you of home.

Lockwood didn't take too long himself. He found your table and set the goodies down. Your favorite doughnuts were a staple, but he ordered a slice of rainbow cake, too.

You had a bite of doughnut before asking about it.

"For you," he said, pushing the cake in your direction. "Consider it a parting gift."

Parting was easier said than done. In lieu of last night's events, you couldn't imagine leaving Portland Row for the lifeless flat. The only reason you had been able to sleep was because Lockwood was there—and he was Lockwood, no explanation needed. You'd rather feel like the odd one out and bask in the occasional warmth of Anthony Lockwood than be a lonely tenant in Leo's flat.

With a smile, you pushed the plate away. "No, thank you."

His lips twitched, holding back the beginning of a smile. "Oh, come on. Take it."

You shook your head, a smile forming on your face. "You have it. Congratulations on hiring the best part-time researcher in London."

He discarded decorum by propping his elbows on the table. "Will this part-time researcher stay in Portland Row?"

"Maybe," you quipped.

"You torture me," he groaned, setting his head on the table.

"As if 'in Portland Row — no where else' is subtle."

"I tried to be," he defended indignantly.

"I could forget about it, if..."

He raises his head, anticipation written on his face. "If...?"

"If you get me that coffee you promised me when we met. You haven't fulfilled that promise yet, and it's been a year."

He placed a hand on his heart, mouth falling open as he feigned being shot. "How cruel of me. Will you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Coffee first," you tutted.

"Coffee first," he promised, recovered from the make-believe bullet.

For the final stretch, Lockwood dragged his feet and on purpose. He pretended not to know which house was his (even if it was infamously the last one on the street,) and even stopped and stared for a few infuriating moments to bide his time.

"That isn't our door, love."

"Your name plaque is right there, Anthony, you can't fool me this time."

"Really? Perhaps we should visit the opthalmologist then, I can't read it. The doctor's is that way."

"Lockwood..."

"Okay, fine." He conceded, letting you pull him along.

You got as far as the first step before he had tugged you back, hard. The momentum had sent you into his chest. "Oh, for goodness sake—"

"You're cute when you're mad," he smiled. His gaze dipped down to your lips, successfully making your breath hitch. "Consent is key, right?" You're thouroughly convinced that he picked that moment to swipe his tongue across his bottom lip and rile you up. "May I?"

It felt like you were using the last of your air and patience as you whispered, "You may."

Patience was thrown to the wind. He dipped you—like in those corny movies you swore you hate—and kissed you like his life depended on it.

It wasn't a life changing kiss. It was how much you'd been anticipating it that made it feel like a life changing kiss. He smiled against your lips and you couldn't help but laugh into his. You could hear the applause in your head, resounding and drumming the beat of your heart. There was hollering, too. It kind of sounded like—

You pulled away reluctantly. You had to place your hand between you because Lockwood had chased your lips.

Still dipped in Lockwood's hold, you recognized Lucy and George even if they were flipped in your vision and still in their pajamas. Their applause died down slowly.

"Uh-oh," George said seriously. "we've been caught, Luce."

"Oh, my, my, my," she played along, smile turning the right way as Lockwood pulled you up and oriented you properly.

His smile was bright, so you hadn't a clue whether he'd done it on purpose. You had a hunch though. You were just about ready to reprimand him, but he'd stolen the words from your lips by stealing another cheeky kiss.

There was no use holding back your smile when you felt him smiling against you again. You would have do deal with shennanigans just like this as a, now, permanent resident of 35 Portland Row.

Caution: Anthony Lockwood's magnetic field is too strong, and he clearly had a new addiction to your lips.

NOTE ➺ something has possessed me. i have never written this much back-to-back. if you're in the middle of a lockwood brain rot too, i've posted a few other fics you might like.

please don't be shy to reblog or share your thoughts in the comments! the world needs a little more anthony lockwood.

(my favorite fic writer also noticed me so i'm in my giggly girl era eeeee—)

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[spacexseven]

would demon dazai n chuuya ever join forces and share a darling? i imagine itd be a huge mess if they both took interest in the same darling so im curious if you think theyd be able to share or if all hell breaks loose once they find out theyre going after the same person :3c

love this au, ure doing a great job ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ

hello user teethsies!! its always nice to hear from u huehue ^^ for more demon bsd content, check out the #demon au 🐟 tag!

cw: yandere characters + themes, violence

according to your very reliable source, the ritual was only supposed to summon one (1) demon.

but inhabiting your space now was not one, but two demons.

you tried to calm yourself down first before either of them could fully realize what had happened. maybe they were a package deal—unable to summon one without the other tagging alone, and you could ask them nicely to go back so you could summon the one you wanted. or maybe it didn't matter. the reason why you wanted to summon a demon didn't change just because there were two now, anyway, so as long as they were bound to you (at least, that was what was supposed to happen), you could make them do your bidding and promise to send them back right after.

but of course, none of that happened. for starters, your new housemates abhorred each other, and your so-called binding had no effect on them. it seemed you had, instead of summoning a particular demon, opened up a portal of some sort that the two happened to come across, which meant that you held no power over them.

to make it all worse, they were both completely deranged.

you're not sure what you were expecting from a demon, but it was foolish of you to think they didn't deal in trickery and torment. dazai was a master in both, somehow able to even make an invitation to stay in his torture chamber enticing (until you, fortunately, snapped out of it and realized just what that would entail). chuuya, though he never threatened you, had a permanent sneer on his face, and from the little conversation you overheard between him and dazai, was also no stranger to violent, cruel tactics.

it didn't matter why you wanted to summon them. dazai finds it silly anyway, whether it was for revenge or curiosity, the fact that you believed you could do such a thing and still be alive by the end of it was almost cute, and chuuya had made sure you knew how angry he was that you thought you could boss him around. regardless, they were here now, and...they were refusing to leave.

in retrospect, it was quite obvious when they were starting to take interest in you. dazai had always been a little too interested in you, apart from studying your clipped nails, which were completely different from his own claw-like ones, and constantly pointing out how small and human you looked, dazai found everything about you entertaining. he especially liked to make you frustrated, turning off your computer in the middle of your game, mixing salt into your sugar, hiding away your phone—little things that ruined your day,

chuuya, on the other hand, was a little harder to figure out. he seemed to hold a grudge against you, but there were times where he'd be almost...nice. after a particularly rough day or a night where you couldn't sleep thanks to someone deciding to also sleep right on top of you, you'd wake up to see your favorite drink waiting for you and all of dazai's usual tricks sorted out in advance. of course, he wasn't completely innocent. he had his own fair share of tricks, though never as bad as dazai's. chuuya was also a lot more familiar with the human world, and provided surprisingly good advice when you needed it.

the problem with the whole arrangement is that dazai cannot share anything, let alone his new human toy. he's suffocatingly possessive, and painfully competitive, constantly wanting you to spend more time with him and be nicer to him and smile more at him and—it went on. once he realizes that chuuya's warming up to you, he immediately starts plotting for damage control. he tries to send chuuya back and convince you that chuuya was only going to hurt you. while chuuya isn't opposed to the idea, dazai's hostility on spurs him on. having the two of you like the same darling will only end up in a lot of fighting.

[heartfe1t]

open to: anyone ( @indiestarter ) muse: megan landry, 21, straight, she/her background: megan's a coding genius from a small town in washington. with her scholarship to college, this is her first time being away from home, especially in a big city. tonight, her roommate's brought her to a club for the first time. suggested connections: roommate, roommate's friend, roommate's boyfriend, roommate's sibling

-----

    ❝    did that guy just buy me a drink? he's got to be like thirty-    ❞    she's definitely not used to this environment, but as she turns to talk to her roommate who brought her out, that's not who she's standing next to anymore. but she supposes either way, she's going to ask her question as she takes the drink from the bartender cautiously.   ❝    should i even drink this?   ❞    

[dozing-marshmallow]

~VISITING CHRIS MCLEAN IN JAIL~

(Months in his sentence.)

It was quite scary, walking down the aisle of inmates. You made sure to stick close to the guard escorting you to Chris’ cell. The place reeked of alcohol and sweaty bodies, flaming your nostrils, making you solely rely on your mouth for breathing. So much rubbish was thrown between floors, loud chattering from other prisoners bursted the air. Walking down, you heard too many lewd comments passing about you. 

Yikes...

Further down, you could recognise Chris’ laughter.

”How has he been doing?”

The guard thought it better to show you.

There he was. Your favourite man in tangerine.

Rather than metal bars, he was behind transparency. Isolation?...

God, he was meant to be a prisoner, not have his ravishing lifestyle still concur because he happened to have money. His wealth was as self absorbed as he was, needing to radiate everywhere, even in a time where it was simply not enough to save him. In comparison to the single bed and toilet most imprisoned busybodies were limited to, for starters, there on his wall was four portraits, two of them being of the island, one being himself, the other one being the wedding day. That may have been the most selfless act he’s done yet. We then have his toy statues of himself, you and Chef on his shelf, too self promoting to be part of the utilities of the prison...and two rolls of toilet paper. Some prisoners are lucky to even get one.

He was sitting at the edge of his flat bed, looking shallow, but when he saw you, oh man, did he get excited.

”(Y/N)!” He yelled, jumping up and onto the glass that separated you. His hands pressed onto the door and saliva already slipped out his mouth at the sight of you,”(Y/N)... You...You actually came...to see me!”

”Hey Chris...” it was so uncanny to see him without that necklace,“How are you? I have a present for you!” you marginally lift the sealed box to him... Well, half sealed since it had to be checked first. The look on those officers’ faces... You would never forget it. It was bizarre, yes, but it was allowed.

”Presents!” his excitement overflown,“You know I love presents, nothing without them! Give me, give me, give me!”

”Uh...” you saw the slot was too small for your box.

“What’s the matter? Can’t find the right pair?”

The guard that assisted you kindly took the gift and handed it to him via cautiously opening the door. Chris didn’t have any intention to assault anyone, for his mind was too preoccupied with glee as he hurriedly went to open it, only to be greeted by anarchy.

”Larry?”

”Yeah...” you beam sadly, catching sight of Larry’s green head, peering curiously out from the box,“They were able to make him shrink and I knew you were lonely in here. I would visit you everyday if I could, but the rules state that if I did, it could mean your sentence would have to double.”

“Bummer. Thooough I wouldn’t wanna stay in here any longer than I need to! For whatever stupid reason. Now that I have my best friend in the whole world! Even though I told you to take care of him...” there he goes with that glare.

Not even a damn thank you,”Sorry Chris... But it’s better I give him back to you before the environment protection crew cleansed him too much. And I don’t know how I could take care of Larry.... Besides, he would be more happy with you than with me.”

”You’re forgiven, my absolute darling!” He set Larry down on his table before returning back to the door,”Sooo, what’s new with you? It feels like it’s been ages since we had any quality time together!”

“Erm... I’ve been better...” doubt weighed your words; it was hard to keep eye contact with your husband when his eyes were endlessly wide. Not knowing what else to do, you stupidly return the question.

“Good, good...” he hums, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the glass,“How’s Chef? Dead or something?”

“Chris!” You exclaim. Your husband always had some sadism, but most of the time, it was out of humour. Disturbingly, it was almost like Chef’s death was something he wanted,”How could you suggest something so horrible so casually? Especially on your friend?”

He shrugged,”What can I say? He hasn’t come see me in a while. Or maybe he has, but I just can’t see him because he’s like a ghost. Do you reckon he could float through this glass like how they do in the movies?”

“No... Thankfully, not.” you decide to leave out Chef rejecting your offer to accompany you in visiting Chris that day,“Chef’s been...busy.”

“Busy? Busy dying?” you hysterically shake your head,“Huh...” his eyes trail off to the side, slightly relaxing,“Have you ever realised that we slowly die everyday?”

You shudder. Death was such a lighthouse for Chris to ingest. Here though? Where everyday was the same thing, with a mere minute feeling like an hour? You knew this couldn’t be good for him,“Stop talking like that... You know that’s not how you really feel.”

He raises an eyebrow,“Oh, but what if it is? I no longer fear the deaths of the people I supposedly care about.”

“Is that right?” Supposedly? You were heartbroken.

“Oh! But I still love you. A lotttttt. Trust me!” His sight quickly returns back to you, springing a large smile on his face. There was something strange about it, but you fought that thought by giving a reciprocal.

“I...love you too.” why was it so hard to say it back?

“Really? Really... Really!” He places his hands whole back on the glass, going completely quiet as he stared at you. Just staring. You would’ve thought he spaced out, but his eyes were well aware of your being, standing before him, patient. Eventually, he starts speaking again with a soft tone,”Ohh...I can’t wait...to sleep in my own cottage again with you...to touch your hair...to touch you...”

Don’t dream about it so soon...,“Me too Chris... I... The bed feels so empty without you.”

“I have a solution for that!” he chimes. Whenever Chris is this inspired, you know it’s not gonna be nice,“Why don’t you do something unreasonable and end up in here with me? After all, I did nothing wrong to be here! I blame all those people who can’t take a joke nor know how to mind their business! All my accusers were nothing but absurd! It’s not my fault the island ended up the way it did! Besides, it was totally worth the ratings! Genius, am I right?”

Still thinking like a host, are we Chris?,“I-I’m good... I don’t think they would let us be bunkmates anyway, especially if you’re in...solitary confinement.”

“Oh yeah? Even if I threw up a thousand big ones for them?“ he scoffs,“Suit yourself. I guess I’m gonna have to continue pretending that my pillow is you. Your fault too.”

“What...” he’s not joking as well. That struck a nerve,“How is it my fault you chose to sell the island to that toxic waste company?”

“Come on!” his face stretches like it’s common sense,“No one could have expected something like that to happen! It was a complete fluke! No one can be blamed for that, especially not me!”

Of course he was going to make himself the victim: he’s worn nothing but orange for the past few months, couldn’t live by his own agenda and was constantly surrounded by people. Poor little Christian, the tragedy king, hasn’t life been hard on him,“That’s the thing though, isn’t it, Chris? The island was your stewardship and it was your decision to sell it to them. The only person to blame is-“

With the slam of his hand, a wobbly echo of glass emits through your body, leaving your words untied,“Don’t you scold me! You‘re the one that came to visit me, and I know I didn’t sign up to hear you forcing the blame on me for something that was out of my hands! It was out of my estimations, okay? Ugh!”

It took a lot to keep it together. This is exactly why you could never communicate properly with him. Why couldn’t he just slim his ego and accept that jail was his fault for once?! No one else was going to serve jail for him, maybe Chef was right in avoiding Chris,“Fine whatever, have it your way.” you glance down at your wrist, where the watch Chris asked you to keep safe for him buckled,“It seems that my visiting time is up anyway.”

“Aw, seriously? You just got here!” he huffs, magically getting over the heat of the argument,“Could you promise to bring some chocolate next time you visit? It'd be a reaaaaaaally great birthday gift.”

That’s right, it is coming up soon. You nod,“I’ll have to make sure it’s fine with the police officers first, but I’m sure they’ll allow it.”

He’s certain of it,"Course it'll be! They'd allow me to keep portraits in here, but not chocolate? Barbaric!" Certainty. His hamartia.

“Hah, that’s true.” first time in ages you both found something to agree on,“Well... Take care, Chris. I’ll be on my way now.” You turn on your heel and would have accelerated, had it not been for the man in question’s interesting choice of parting words.

“No kiss? Boooooo.”

You twirl back around, trying to figure out the best way to break it down to him,“We... We can’t-“

A disgusted sigh of his plagues your sentence,“I’m not a bird, (Y/N). Tweet tweet! I can tell there’s glass here. Erm...” he was in the spotlight of improvising, which he’s lived through dozens of times,“Let's do this..." he puts his fingers up to his lips and on removal, he whistled an exhale.

On cue, you hold up a hand and clench it like you had caught it, and done the same. Chris shook from exultation on process, the orange clothing his body clothing his mind in that moment.

"Awesome! See, she still does love me! (Y/N) could never abandon me." for a minute, his voice swooned with profound romance that you founded with him once upon a time. He turns away to the side and smiles, the lovey dovey flying away,"What will happen when our hostess comes next? Will I still be behind bars? Will I get to eat chocolate bars? All the answers soon to be revealed, right here on Total...Drama...Island!”

You take that as your cue to leave. He had gone to another world. Man made. Chris had never done stuff like that before... 

"Hey kitty, what about my kiss? Big Randy over here would like one too." Randy or one of the other prisoners tried coaxing you a few steps in on your exit of the institution of criminals, lust painted all over his oily face.

"Eugh." you stick a finger to your gagging mouth to the stranger prisoner's distaste.

The inhale of the outside air was all the cure you needed from the red-blooded fumes of that place.

Talking to the wall... Would it really be okay to let Chris back on the streets like that? Was prison even a good place for rehabilitation? On one hand, yes, it was about time Chris had felt the weight of his crimes, but on the other hand, was forcing it down his throat the best way to get him to willingly amend?

You won’t be surprised if after his release, he went on to joyfully add onto his record, which was kind of unfortunate- he was your husband. 

And you want him to come home.

[yantalia545]

May I request the axis three + America with a darling who finds out they’re pregnant and tries to escape while the axis are away. Their partner finds out after this darling fled (or perhaps they suspected)

Japan:

The day he found his place empty after a long day of work was the worst day of his life. His love had run away from him. Somehow, you had managed to chip away at the locks of his front door and escape. Though there was some light of hope that resonated that day.

He had found your positive pregnancy test.

Maybe you were just scared? You were worried about what he'd think about you becoming pregnant with his child and ran off? You're such a worry, little plum blossom. Of course he's nervous. Who wouldn't be after finding out that they're going to be a father, but this is your child. A child that the two of you made together. Japan couldn't be any happier when he found out that he was going to be the father of your child. He's so excited to start a new chapter of life with you.

There's just one problem though, Japan has to find you first.

As your husband and father of your child, he sees fit that he has to be the only one to track you down. After all, how can one prove to be a good father if he has someone else do his dirty work? It's dishonoring and lazy.

Japan will have fun with this. He tracked you down months ago but is playing a little game to punish you. He'll play mind games until the time is right. For starters, he'll leave your door wide open with a gift sitting in the middle of the kitchen table for your baby. Then things will start to go missing and your place of work will go up in flames. You know this is his doing but without proof, you can't do a thing.

As he plays with you, he's also preparing for you and the baby.

He loves watching you grow more paranoid as the months roll by. Watching your belly swell with his child had been bliss too. He just can't seem to contain his excitement over your growing body. Japan will take lots of photos when you least suspect it to satisfy his growing hunger for you.

When the time is right, most likely just before you are about to have your baby, he'll swoop in a whisk you away. What kind of father would he be if wasn't present for the birthing of his child?

Germany:

Germany will most certainly use your pregnancy to its full advantage.

Being the father of your baby, he has equal rights and deserves access to his child. Using his position in power and a few bribes to the judges, he'll use this opprotuity to bind you closer to him with the deverlopment of his child. You legally won't be able to just up and run away from him without facing legal reprocusions, and with you being a govermental figure from your country, this is a big deal. You could potentially start a war with Germnay if you ever decide to run away.

You wouldn't give up that easily though. If you couldn't run, you'll use his own people against him and show the whole world of Germany's wrongdoings.

You'll tell your story of how he had abducted you for forced you to bare his child against your will. When word gets out about your story and what his court had taken part of, the whole country will be turned upside down. Fighting if the story is true and the corruption taken place by the system for keeping you here.

It'll be troublesome For Germany. He just wanted to settle down with you, but now he has to deal with rioting civilians shouting outside his door. He won't stand for this. The people spread the word of your situation will be hunted down and incarcerated. The police and agents would be involved in shutting down this uproar. Germany has them tirelessly working around the clock just to put an end to this all. He needs this taken care of before his child arrives.

As for you, You'll be on tighter reigns. If you can't be trusted with anyone, you won't be allowed to interact with anyone but him. Germany won't allow for such behaviors to continue when the baby comes. He'll have you trained. Harsh training to ensure that something like this will never happen again. You'll be a well-behaved mother and wife for him rather you like it or not. You're his!

Italy:

It had been over a year since he had last seen you. Italy had searched everywhere for you. He even got Germany involved and he still couldn't find you. His heart splintered as more time carried on with no sign of you.

It wasn't until one fateful day when Italy unexpectedly found you. He could recognize your radiant beauty from anywhere no matter how much time had passed. What pulled it all together was the little Bambina wrapped up in your arms. At that moment, Italy knew that your baby was also his. How can anyone mistake the inherited curl of his? That was definitely his baby.

Without much thought, Italy would race up to you as if it were any other normal day. He watched the color drain from your face as he gushed over you and his little bambina.

"Is this our baby?!" Italy would ask as he ripped your baby right out of your arms. Admiring his baby. The way he said 'our' baby sent a shiver down your spine. You had wished you would never see Italy again. He locked you in his apartment and made love to you; Claiming he loved you.

He was sick and in nowhere stable enough to be anywhere near your baby.

You were terrified. You swiftly tried to take your baby back, but Italy was in no hurry to give her back. Much to your dismay.

"Aww, She's so cute~! She definitely has her mother's looks" Italy gushed while you could only stare in horror. When he called your name, your heart sank. You knew you were done for.

"(Y/N), why did you leave me? You know that's not good for the baby." His voice wasn't his usual cheery tone. It was much darker. Anger boiled under his tongue as each word struck your heart like a hot metal rod.

You couldn't answer him. You could only manage to shakely reach for your baby before he pulled her away from you; Walking away with your child as he did so.

Your heart raced as you blindly followed after him. Worried for your poor baby's life in the hands of your captor and baby's father.

"Don't worry (Y/N). We have plenty of time to catch up. I think some family time is in order. After all, our family is finally back together again!" Italy cheered.

America:

The day you found out you were pregnant was the most terrifying day of your life. America had finally done it and now you're the one that has to pay the price. While you were in complete shock and denial, America was on cloud 9. He had always wanted a child and to live out the American Dream. He made it after all! He's had a rough childhood and had wanted nothing more than a stable family of his own ever since he was a young boy.

You would never give him that satisfaction. You would never allow your child to grow up under the guidance of a monster. What if they turned out to be just as terrible as him and steal girls they love? The thought horrified you to your wits end. You just had to get out of here before it was too late.

You had everything sorted out while America was away for work. You'd run through an underground foreign route the get across the border where you'd find the help to go back home. You just had to get from America's penthouse in New York City to Texas.

Your skills in speed driving got you far, but America's cops are shifty. Stopping at nothing to be in favor of a powerful man such as America, and so, every trooper was on the lookout for any sign of you.

You've managed to outrun most state troopers. You were just too quick and had the turning skills of a mad hound for them to keep up with you for long. It wasn't until America joined a drag race with your did your luck take a turn for the worse.

Being a drag racer himself, the best in the U.S, that is, you were no match for him. He managed to corner you in an ally way and it was all over; You've lost. America couldn't have been happier to finally have found you again. As your husband and father of your child, he'll take good care of the two of you. A love crazed look in his eyes as he pulled you out of your car and back into his arms where you belonged.

"That was fun (Y/N), but you really need to start thinking about our baby. That was really dangerous and could have gotten our child seriously hurt. Let's head back home where we can be a family."

Your head dropped and tears began to trickle down your face at his heart wrenching words. You're never getting away from him now. You've spent your only chance.

[zukka-fic-recs]

Hello! I am totally new to reading Zukka and would love some recommendations. If you've already done this, please feel free to just link to another post! I would love a few recs of what you consider to be "must-reads". I'm open to any length or rating (although I tend to read rated E), I would just love to start with a few that are phenomenal :)

Hi stavro!

Welcome to the wonderful world of Zukka fics!

Here's a Zukka starter pack for you, I limited it to 10 fics to stop it from getting too unwieldy, but it was really difficult to keep it so short tbh, so if you want more lmk!

Zukka Must-Reads

Blue by blacklipscurse

Available on Ao3, Complete (Part 1), Teen, Slowburn, Canon-Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Blue Spirit Zuko, Secret Indentities, Ba Sing Se, Angst, H/C, Homophobia, Physical Disability, Humour / Humor

Wordcount: 192,682

This fic is a whole damn phenomenon in this fandom and it's phenomenal to match! The way the characters are written really draws you in. It's a very emotive fic and I truly cannot emphasise how funny blacklipscurse's writing is, I laughed a lot. Especially at Zuko, and sometimes Sokka. 😅 There is a sequel but it's a WIP and Blue can stand alone. :)

absence of heat, excess of destiny by theycallmesuperboy / @baegarrick

Available on Ao3, Complete, Gen, Canon-Compliant, Alternate Universe - Soulmate, AU - Soulmate-Identifying Marks

Wordcount: 4,336

Absolute classic, and I love soulmate fics so for me this is top tier.

Real Slow by surveycorpsjean (Ao3) / zanimez (Tumblr)

Available on Ao3, Complete, Mature, Post-Canon, Fluff, Smut, H/C, Angst, Ambassador Sokka

Wordcount: 21,490

The way their relationship gently unfurls in this is very satisfying. Highly recommend!

Hallowed by HairCrescendo / @sword-and-stars

Available on Ao3, Complete, Explicit, Smut, Fluff

Wordcount: 4,615

Smouldering smut and fluffy feelings. I'd recommend all of HairCrescendo's work tbh, they're a fantastic writer and they have about a dozen more Explicit works. ;)

three words that become hard to say (I and love and you) by overcomeeithlongingfora_girl / @overcomewithlongingfora-girl

Available on Ao3, Complete, Explicit, Smut, Praise Kink, Subdrop, Domdrop, Light BDSM

Wordcount: 2,977

This fic is hothotHOT, and yet also so sweet and emotional it makes my heart hurt. Bring a fan and some tissues.

Courtesan by lesbianophelia / @mendontprotectyou

Available on Ao3, Complete, Explicit, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Light Praise Kink

Wordcount: 2,200

So scrumptious I just want to eat it. Prepare to feel things. 🔥

For Peace and Zuko by BeersForQueers / @omgbeersforqueers

Available on Ao3, Complete, Explicit, Slowburn, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Future Fic, Canon-Divergence

Wordcount: 43,277

Speaking of classics, honestly you could read anything and everything by BeersForQueers and I would recommend doing so! They're a longtime member of the fandom. They were there for this ship when it needed it most (I want you to know that I just blew a kiss to the sky). Having said that, For Peace and Zuko is one of my absolute favourites. The sequel Ice Cave makes for a lovely epilogue.

when the prison doors are opened by alternatedoom

Available on Ao3, Complete, Explicit, Underage, Sickfic, Angst, H/C, Voyeurism, Animal Killed for Food, FWB, Imprisonment, Dub-Con

Wordcount: 164,648

I don't know if this counts as slowburn given... ahem, the progression of things. On the emotional front, perhaps. Their relationship development is messy in a delicious way, really twists you around into such wonderful spirals... Idek if I'm making any sense, that's what this fic does to my mental capacity! Every character interaction is just so so good and the way the tension gets ratcheted up and then unwound is captivating. I could gush about this fic all day, but instead I'll just leave it at: it's really, really good and you should read it.

In the Soft Light by CSHfic and VSfic

Available on Ao3, Complete, Teen, Slowburn, Pining, Canon-Divergence, Alternate Universe - War Ended Early, Angst, H/C, Firelord Azulon, Miscommunication, Pining, Underage Drinking, AU - Moon Spirit Sokka, side Bakoda, Sickfic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Bed-Sharing

Wordcount: 83,904

Some of my absolute favourite authors in this fandom and all of their work is fantastic quality. In terms of spot-on characterisation, wonderful descriptions, plenty of humour to balance out the angst... Their writing is masterful, and this is one of my favourites of their fics. They have more mature/explicit works as well. ;) (Side-note: I absolutely adore Zuko in this fic).

(do you take this jerk to be) your one and only by jatersade

Available on Ao3, Complete, Teen, Slowburn, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Arranged Marriage, Bed-Sharing, Misunderstandings, Pining, AU - Royalty, Alternate Universe - 100 Year War Ended Early, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Wordcount: 55,846

I love the arranged marriage trope and I love it when authors play around with the gang's status as the children of royalty and world leaders, and this fic does all of that so well. Jatersade's pacing and the quality of their charecterisarion really elevates this fic.

---

I wanted to keep this list to complete fics, but I do have to mention feels like we only go backwards by oldpotatoe, because although it's a WIP it is iconic.

Also, a personal favourite of mine that has been discontinued (but didn't end on a cliffhanger or anything) is invisible string by wilteddaisy (taotu). I have it saved to my phone as a PDF for when I need a comfort read, that's how much I love it.

[alyssaforevermore]

Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season two, part one

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Tags: @1ivinqdeadqir1 @callmeyn @thegeorgiahuntsman @mellxander1993 @bigbaldheadname @cjmonsterwolf @abbi23323 @actuallyklee @lanxsee @livingdeadblondequeen @sweetz1919 @moonmark98 @sarahbaker2010 @ririi-3 @ryoujoking (if you've requested a tag and aren't here, I cannot tag you sadly)

Masterlist

It had been hours since you’d all fled the CDC. You kept replaying everything in your mind, from Lori and Shane to Jacqui staying behind. Things had never felt more bleak than they did right now.

“Looks complicated.” Andrea spoke, sitting at the table in the RV.

Shane sat across from her, cleaning his gun. “The trick is getting all these pieces back together the same way. I could clean yours. Show you how.”

Andrea smiled, handing him her gun.

 “Oh yeah.” Shane smiled. “It’s a sweet piece.” 

“It was a gift from my father.” Andrea responded. 

You stared at Shane, your eyes narrowing as you tuned out Andrea. Seeing him carry on like normal, as if he’d done nothing wrong, made your blood boil. As if he didn’t know you knew; as if he didn’t know you saw it.

“Oh jeez.” Dale’s voice caught your attention. “Do you see a way through?”

You stood up, heading to the front of the RV. Dale was in the driver's seat while Glenn sat in the passenger’s seat. Ahead of you were hundreds of cars, abandoned throughout the highway. Many cars’ doors were open, the occupants probably having fled in a hurry.

Glenn frowned. “Maybe we should just go back? There’s an interstate bypass-“

Dale shook his head. “We can’t spare the fuel.”

You pointed to a narrow open space. “Can we get through there?”

As the words left your lips, smoke began leaking out of the front of the RV.

“Didn’t I say it?” Dale shook his head. “I said it a thousand times.”

Shane appeared at your side. “Is there a problem, Dale?”

Dale stopped the RV. “Oh, just a small problem of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of-“ he paused, looking around. “Okay, that was dumb.”

“Is it the hose again?” You asked.

“Most likely.”

You all piled off the RV, meeting with the others who had driven behind you.

“Think you can find a radiator hose here?” Shane questioned.

“Definitely.” Dale nodded.

“There’s a whole bunch of stuff we can find.” Daryl pointed out.

You nodded. “We can siphon some fuel from these cars, for starters.” 

“Maybe find some water.” Carol added.

Glenn nodded. “Or food.”

“This is a graveyard.” Lori spoke up. “I just don’t know how to feel about this.”

You let out a low sigh. “Now’s not the time to have a conscience. We’re tired, thirsty and hungry. They’re dead.”

Everyone stared at you for a moment, the coldness of your words catching them off guard. Not Daryl, though. You knew he was probably thinking the same thing anyways.

“We should split up, cover more ground.” He mumbled, walking away from the group.

Before anyone could respond, you jogged off to catch up to him. 

“Have you given any more thought to sticking around?” You asked, your voice hushed.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” He huffed.

“You are, for now at least.” You responded.

He stopped for a moment. “Do you really care if I go?”

You looked in his eyes, a half smile forming across your lips. “Of course I do. You’re one of the only people I can stand these days.”

Daryl fought himself, trying not to smile but ultimately failing. There was a lightness between the two of you that you’d never felt before. When you were with him, everything that was bothering you seemed to fade away.

Your eyes shifted to the car next to you. “Think there’s anything good in there?”

Daryl turned, reaching for the door handle. “Only one way to find out.”

You pulled out your knife, prepared for any unwelcome surprises. You nodded for Daryl to open the door, and he did just that. Thankfully, the car was free of any dead.

Placing your knife back in its place on your hip, you climbed inside the car. You opened the glovebox, finding a few granola bars inside.

“Can you pass me the bag?” You asked, and Daryl compiled before opening the backseat.

Next, you opened the center console letting out a small chuckle.

“Anything good?” Daryl asked, looking over.

You picked up a small handgun, holding it up. “Not exactly where I expected to find one of these.”

“Any rounds?”

You checked the gun, finding all six rounds. “It’s fully loaded. Doesn’t look like there’s any extra bullets though.”

You peered out the window, your smiling fading as your face went pale. Daryl took notice, looking up as well. There were dozens of walkers headed your way, coming from the direction you’d left the RV in earlier.

“Shit.” Daryl huffed, climbing out of the car.

You followed suit, both of you closing the doors quietly as you crouched down. Somewhere behind you, you heard the panicked mumbling of one of your friends. You and Daryl both rushed over, still crouched to avoid bringing any attention to you.

A few rows of cars over, you found T-Dog who was bleeding from a large cut on his arm. You and Daryl quickly took out the walkers surrounding him, with Daryl tossing one over T-Dog and whispering for him to be quiet. Daryl grabbed a body from one of the cars as you laid down, him tossing it over you. Then, he used one of the walkers you’d just killed to cover himself.

Seconds later, the walkers had caught up to you, slowly making their way through the space the three of you were in. You could feel your heart racing, unsure if Daryl’s strategy would work. Closing your eyes, all you could hear was the shuffling feet of the dead. Thoughts of your friends and family filled your head, beginning to worry if they’d managed to hide in time too. You tried to tell yourself that you hadn’t heard screams, but no amount of rationalization was helping.

Finally the footsteps subsided and you opened your eyes. Daryl threw the corpse off of himself, rushing over to help T-Dog. You did the same, putting pressure on the cloth Daryl placed over his cut. 

“It’s bad.” T-Dog gasped.

You shook your head. “You’ll be okay, we just have to get you back to the RV.”

As the words left your mouth, screams filled the air. They were coming from the direction of the RV. You looked at Daryl, fear present across your face.

“I got him, go.” Daryl assured you.

Not wasting another moment, you stood up and raced towards the RV, the newfound gun still in your hand. When you arrived, you quickly noticed Sophia sliding down the hill and into the ditch with two walkers following her. Rick was close behind, chasing them into the woods with a rifle in hand.

Carol pulled herself out from under one of the cars, running towards the highway barrier. She was sobbing, barely able to get her panicked words out as everyone gathered around her.

“Lori, there’s two walkers after my baby.” She cried, placing her hand over her mouth.

Lori held her, looking over at you. You didn’t know what to say, your body frozen in its place. Rick was already well out of view and you knew that if you went after them, you’d just get lost at this point.

All you could do now was pray they both made it back safely.

…

“You sure this is the spot?” Daryl asked, looking into a small hole by the creek.

“I left her right here,” Rick nodded. “I drew the walkers way off that direction up the creek.”

Rick had made it back to the group a bit earlier, Sophia never having returned. He led a few of you to where he’d left her, believing she’d stayed there while Rick dealt with the walkers. 

“Without a paddle– seems where we’ve landed.” Daryl responded.

“She was gone by the time I got back here. I figured she’d just taken off and ran back to the group. I told her to go that way and keep the sun on her left shoulder.” Rick pointed in the direction you all came from.

“Assuming she knows her left from right.” Shane sighed.

“Shane, she understood me fine.” Rick argued. 

Shane shook his head. “The kid’s tired and scared, man. She had a close call with two walkers. You gotta wonder how much of what you said stuck.”

“I’ve got clear prints right here.” Daryl spoke, pointing to the ground leading up from the creek. “She did what you said, headed back to the highway.”

“What the hell happened from here to there?” You whispered.

Rick shook his head. “Maybe she got nervous, hid somewhere else along the way.”

“Let’s spread out, make our way back.” Daryl said.

 Shane nodded, helping Rick up the hill. “Hey, we’re gonna find her.”

Rick nodded, walking past Shane.

Shane held his hand out for you. You stared at him for a moment before finally relenting and taking his hand, allowing him to pull you up. The two of you caught up with the others, Daryl kneeling down.

“She was doing fine until right here.” Daryl spoke. “All she had to do was keep going, but she veered off that way.”

“Why would she do that?” Glenn asked.

“Maybe she saw something that scared her, made her run off.” Shane suggested.

“A walker?”

Daryl shook his head. “I don’t see any other footprints.”

“What do we do then? All of us press on?” Shane asked.

“No, it’s better if you and Glenn go back to the highway.” Rick spoke. “People are going to start panicking. Let them know we’re on her trail doing everything we can, but most of all keep everyone calm.”

Shane nodded. “I’ll keep ‘em busy scavenging cars.”

Shane waved for Glenn to follow him, and Rick turned to you. “You should go back with them. It’s probably safer there, and it’s getting dark.”

You shook your head. “I’d rather stick with you and Daryl.”

Rick nodded and Daryl began to lead you further into the woods. It was a while before you noticed the footprints slowly disappearing.

“The tracks are gone.” Rick sighed.

“No, they’re faint but they ain’t gone.” Daryl responded. “She came through here.”

“How can you tell?” You asked. “All I see is dirt and grass.”

“You want a lesson in tracking or you wanna find that little girl?” Daryl asked, his eyes still focused on the ground.

Daryl continued to lead you both further, before rustling in the bushes caught your attention. He signaled for three of you two split off, using Rick as a distraction while Daryl shot a lone walker. Daryl joined you both at the walker, removing his bolt and calling out for Sophia.

Rick knelt down, pulling out gloves and placing them on his hands. He then held up the walker’s hand, inspecting it closely.

“What are you looking for?” Daryl asked.

“Skin under the fingernails.” Rick responded, dropping the hand and inspecting the walker’s teeth. “He fed recently, there’s flesh between his teeth.”

“What kind of flesh?” You asked.

Rick sighed, pulling out his knife. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He ripped open the walker’s shirt, positioning his knife on its stomach. Daryl shook his head, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

“Here, I’ll do it.” He spoke, pulling out his own knife. “How many kills have you skinned and gutted in your life, anyway? Mine is sharper.”

Daryl stabbed the knife into the walker’s stomach, cutting towards himself. 

“I’m going to be sick.” You mumbled, placing a hand over your mouth.

Daryl stabbed the walker several more times, cutting into a new layer each time. “Now comes the bad part.” He spoke before reaching his hands inside. He began to feel around, scooping out bits as he went along.

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled. “Hoss had a big meal not long ago. I feel it in there.” He scooped out the stomach, tossing it on the ground for Rick to cut open. After searching it for a few seconds, Daryl was able to pull out a piece of skull.

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“The gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for lunch.” Daryl spoke, tossing the skull aside.

“At least we know.” Rick responded, standing up.

…

The sun was quickly disappearing as you finally made it back to the highway. Carol stood at the barrier, her face falling when she saw the three of you without Sophia.

“The trail went cold.” Rick spoke. “We’ll go back out there at first light.”

“You can’t leave my daughter out there on her own, to spend the night alone in the woods.” Carol cried.

“Out in the dark’s no good.” Daryl responded. “We’d just be tripping over ourselves. More people getting lost.”

Carol shook her head. “She’s only twelve! She can’t be out there on her own. You didn’t find anything?”

“I know this is hard, but I’m asking you not to panic.” Rick spoke calmly. “We know she was out there.”

You nodded. “We tracked her for a while. There was nothing to tell us that anything happened to her.”

“We have to make this an organized effort.” Rick began. “Daryl knows the woods better than anybody. I’ve asked him to oversee this.”

Carol eyed Daryl, her eyes narrowing in on a spot on his pants. “Is-Is that blood?”

“We took down a walker.” Rick explained.

“Oh my god.” Carol shook her head.

“There was no sign it was anywhere near Sophia, I promise.”

“How can you know that?” Andrea asked.

You and Rick both looked at Daryl, not wanting to explain your methods. “We cut the son of a bitch open, made sure.” He spoke plainly. 

Carol took a deep breath, sitting down on the barrier. Lori sat next to her, placing a hand on her back. Carol’s face turned to anger as she looked over at Rick.

“How could you just leave her out there to begin with?” She asked, her voice shaking. “How could you just leave her?”

Rick’s face fell. “Those two walkers were on us. I had to draw them away. It was her best chance.”

“He didn’t have a choice, Carol.” Shane defended.

“How is she supposed to find her way back on her own? She’s just a child. She’s just a child.” Carol began to cry again.

“It was my only option. The only choice I could make.”

“I’m sure nobody doubts that.” Shane spoke.

Carol shook her head. “My baby got left in the woods.”

Rick stood up, noticing everyone staring right at him. Hell, even you were staring at him. You knew he did what he could, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you could’ve done more. Maybe if you’d risked getting lost too, you could’ve found her and at least kept her safe.

You watched as Rick turned away, slowly walking off on his own.

------

AN: Here we are with the first part of season two! I'm trying to keep chapters at a more reasonable length moving forward. Hopefully this one was okay. Please remember to like/reblog if you enjoyed. The tag list is still open! <3