#Not beta'd

[jester089]

Gotta say, massive fan of the work you’ve pumped out, especially for TADC (it came out two weeks or so ago and there’s this much already what?!)

That said, could you write for the gang (separately, I’m sorry l know it’s a lot) who’s s/o resisted abstraction? Like, they were halfway through but turned back through sheer will? *Insert John Wick reference* This has been ping ponging in my head for a while. Thanks for listening! XO

Glitchy pain

I've written for something like this before. And I wasn't sure if you wanted angst or fluff. But since what I wrote before was angst I'm gonna just donna do my ideas on this one. Also to anyone else who feels like requesting don't be afraid to ask for a lot of characters. My max is like 10 and only because Tumblr doesn't like super long posts. I honestly don't think I would have a max if not for that. But really from like 7 pm to 4 am I got a lot of free time and the want to write. So ask to your hearts content. TADC crew x (kind of) abstracted reader

Caine

Caine was floating around when he heard what sounded like a pained and glitchy scream? He quickly floats over to where he heard it from only to find you clutching your head crumpled up into a ball on the floor. He was about to float down and ask you what happened before he noticed the random glitches, black spiky flesh, and randomly colored eye balls all appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. So he backed off, a little sad over the fact you were abstracting but life goes on. Until you let out another pained scream, it was almost like the abstraction reacted as the second you screamed it reverted a bit and slowed down. It continues like that for who knows how long. You in a mental and physical battle with abstraction. Caine just staring completely taken back by what he was witnessing. After enough time you vomit a nasty and seemingly living blob of black goo onto the floor and pass out. Caine stares at your motionless body for a few seconds before snapping out of it. He puts the weird goo blob into the cellar and takes you back to your room. He doesn't even know how to react, so he sits there at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Once you do he is relived to find it's still you, speaking in full sentences and everything. Sure your voice and body have the occasional glitch but overall you're ok. So he leaves you be, mostly. He still needs to study your code for how you did that. But past that and him being a bit more "walking on egg shells" around you, but nothing really changes. And not wanting the others to think your a threat, you and Caine don't tell anyone.

Gangle

Gangle was wandering around looking for you. Her comedy mask broke again and you were the only one who knew how to fix it properly. She could patch it up sure but it never lasted long. Much like Caine she heard you scream out, only difference being she recognized your voice. She quickly changed from casual and aimless stroll to sprint with reason finding you leaned against a wall holding your stomach looking like your about to throw up. She runs up to you and places a hand(?) on each side of your head staring into your eyes. She in a panicked voice asks "Are you ok?! What happened?!" You half shove her away a garbled and messy version of your voice half screaming out that it isn't safe. You quickly regret taking the energy to speak and move as a giant surge of pain jolts up your digital spine forcing you onto your knees. You let out another pained groan/scream as black goo starts oozing out of your mouth. It's only then that Gangle realizes your glitching! She panics and tells you to stay calm while she gets Caine. Gangle sprints off with a mission luckily finding Caine rather quickly. She especially screams at him to help her/follow her. He listens and follows her. When she gets back to where she left you, your passed out. But you aren't glitching anymore. And your not fully abstracted. She carefully walks over to you and sets a gentle hand (ribbon) on your face feeling a whole lot of relief when you half swat at her hand in your sleep. She'll watch you while you sleep making sure you aren't disturbed but when you're awake and she's sure you're ok you are going to be getting a whole lot of cuddles from her. Her comedy mask can wait.

Zooble

Zooble was missing a leg and was hobbling/jumping her way towards your room to ask if you'd seen it. She knocked on your door only to receive no response. She knocks again. Nothing. So she unlocks it with the spare key you gave her. She is stunned by what she sees. Obsessive scribbles covering your walls. Wall paper torn and dirtied. She takes a few cautious steps before finally hearing you say in a horrible sounding voice "P̵̛̣̤̪̑̈́̄͆̚p̴̹͇̆̑̐͠ṕ̷͔̼͙̅̀͐̿͋͜͝P̵̢͚̩̱̮̭̉͜͠l̵͔̟̰̘̼̹̼̯͉͆ḛ̴̣͈̖͛̈́̏̏͌̕͜a̴̢͇̣̮̠͕̮͆̾s̸̡͉̣̺̯͚̾̈́͋̃̑͊͘s̵̼͛̃͛̄̏̊̊͜͠ͅs̷̨̯̬̯͊e̵̢̪̜̗͙̞͈̠͌̔͠s̸̢͔̝̳̞͈̭̲͂͆̇̄͛́́͗ͅͅ ̴̗̻̳̗̜̙̹̘͒̒̑̅̂̎̚͘w̴̰̘͂͊̌̒͘w̸̢̦̑̍̈́͊W̷̨̄̑̌̂̚͝W̵̦̙͇̝̲̪̝̫̜̰̄͑̚w̶̮͐̏̀͊͠h̴̬̤̠̩̰͋͗̾̓̈́̍̅ó̴͍̭͇̯͚̮͔̽̓̔̈́ ̶̥̑͋͒̿̀Ê̶̼͎͇͍̳̯͌͋͐̓̋v̸̢͓̩͗͜͝v̴͇͇̮̻͖̪͕̰̹̫̔̌̎̇̑́ë̷̪̤̫̪͌͂̓̕͘e̵̢̨̱̘̗͙̘̱̱̩̎̾̀v̸͍̄͠ë̶̡̙̠̣̰̠́͜r̸͇̰͖̍͑͌̆̌ ̷̯̼͕͍̭̭̲͙̰̽̈́͝y̷̪͉͓͗̿̀̐̈̃̆õ̷̢̜̮̬͒̈́͒̿̀̽̈́͂̈́ǘ̸̡̟̭̩̠̜̬͙̃ṵ̴̭̮̹̯̺̜̤̈͂̽u̸̬̠͉̺͍̰͉̦͌̋́̃͌̊͘͜ ̵̲͖̩̹̲̊̐͂͝͝a̵̰̩̻̗͕͎̮͈̥̫͂̂̌̆̆̎̑a̴̭͒͐̏̎́́͝à̶̛̘̮͍̟̻͕̰̽̍͛̽̈́̃͛͝r̴͎͚͇̻̞̬͑̂̅̿͋̅̂͊̔ą̴̛̱̱̗̔̈́̈́̔͒̆̌͘͠r̵̺̰̬̹̮̬̘̜̈́̊͗͛̅̌͌͘͜ę̸̛̺̞͚̹̘̱̥̲̒̍̏̔͛̌̚ȇ̴̩.̶̛̖̙̦̝̹̰͔̉͂̆̉̐̾̐͠͝ ̵̘̙͎̼̻̩̬͖͌̉̾̂̄͜J̵͐̏̇̈́̑̃͜͝͝j̶̛̠̬̟̓͗͗͆̆̀̈́̿̂͜j̴̢͍̦͉̯͑̍̓J̷̨̧̢̳̟̠̯͖͖͚̐̈̏̓̈͐̎̐͝j̶̫̞̬͖̯̯̹̺̩͆̾̽́̈́̄ͅJ̵͖̘̫̓u̷̡̧͔̥͇͕͔̞̠̇͛̈́̎͂̌͂͘̕ş̶͕̫̎ṫ̷͈͖̲̩͉͌̅̍̈́́̿ ̷̠͕͕̖̜̻̯̻̖̃̏̀͂͑́l̷̳̣̼̓̈́̊̈́̈̎̀́̋̚͜L̶̡̜̣͔͔̼̠̗̎̇̈́̕Ļ̴̞̟̱̹͓̹̪͖͚̂̐͐̑̂͆̐̓̚͠ḽ̶̢̧̙̺̯͖̰͓͐͗̽̈́̃̔̀̾̕l̴̢̢̳̜̣̦̎́́̔̕̚e̷͔̫͉̘͉̓̓͋͊̀̿̄̕͝ͅã̷̡̢̝̮͔̮̰̱͒͌̈͊̾͂͠ͅͅv̷̗̼͎̠̝̋̓͒͛̂͐͜͜è̶̪̟̲̘̃̓ ̴̺̊̉͑̉̽̅́̕̕m̸̧̦͔̙͍̘̭̲̄͂m̸̧̫͎͌̀̃͜ͅM̴͍͍̫͚̺͚̪̺̿́̒͋̂͐̿͗̚͘m̴̛̘̼͔͑̿̏̅͌̊̾̕e̴̩̟͈̙͑̏͐̆̓͆̏̚͠͝ ̵̳̤͉͉͙̬̥̉̓́̀̓̃̀̌̊͜ͅḁ̶̧̗͈͍͍̉͂̀͆͗̾̆́̚͜͝l̴̜͓͈̄͌̓̈́̉͊͊̍͝a̵̲͒̋̂͐́̊̕̚͝â̶̢͕̫̘̮͈̻͕͙̩͑̂ḹ̵̨̮̓̓̊̍̕̚͝o̵͖͔̥̳̊̐̀͠n̵̺̥̲͔͔̿͋̊ë̶̯̤̻́̌̎̎́̾͋̄̄̋.̵̪̑͆̀̎" (Please whoever you are. Just leave me alone.) She cautiously walks over to your bed and peaks over it. Your laying there curled up into a ball torn and broken items surrounding you. Y-your abstracting?! B-but... Zooble doesn't even really register the fact. She's in shock from seeing you like this. (I mean I would be too) You let out an ear piercing scream and claw at your own face with enough force to tear the skin, if you weren't digital at least. The glitching gets much much worse for a few seconds before just, stopping. No rhyme or reason that she can see. But you can bet your a&$ that after like 5 seconds pass and you stop showing signs of abstraction she's going to huddle near your spitting out so many questions. Mainly ones like "ARE YOU OK!?!" and "Your still with me right?! RIGHT!?!"

Kinger

Kinger would more likely then not be there when your first started glitching. And that might make him officially lose it. Your the second person in this hell (Queener) who he felt close too. And he outlived you too. Still you aren't abstracted yet. Maybe their's still a chance! So he sprints off screaming out for Caine in a voice that is loud enough to make you go deaf if you were too close to him. When he finds Caine. And he will find Caine he grabs him by the shoulders and sprints towards where he last saw you. He basically throws Caine at your glitching form and yells at him to fix you! In that second you stop glitching Caine did nothing and Kinger will basically tackle you. He'll pick you up and hold you over his head like a spear and sprint towards your rooms. Once there he will set up the comfiest coziest pillow fort possible then get you all comfy inside. Once he's sure your at least mostly safe and he's at least mostly calmed down he'll ask you about what happened. (Despite him being pretty crazy I really do feel like out of everyone he would be the best at communication in a friend or relationship. I mean he's that crazy and yet he still has manners and knowledge about a lot. Tbh he might become my fav. Idk it's possible.)

Ragatha

You were helping out Ragatha with a surprise she was making for everyone to lighten their moods when you said that you feel kind of sick so you were going to call it a night. She nods thanks you for the help you gave then gives you a quick peck to the lips as a send off. Not to much to her surprise you choose to lay in her bed instead of yours. Just something you do when you don't wanna be alone. She shrugs it off and keeps working actually quite grateful that you decided to not leave, not fully at least. She keeps working but stops when she hears some very concerning noises coming from your sleeping body. She turns around to see you tossing and turning an abnormal amount in your sleep, as well as making a lot of noises that sound like when someone is choking on their own blood. Concerned she carefully walks over to check on you only to recoil when she notices the glitching. She trips over her own foot and falls over onto her back. She quickly but clumsily gets up and gets back to you. She shakes you a bit trying to wake you up, but you don't only concerning her more. She yells calls out for Pomni who pokes her head through Ragatha's door a second later. Ragatha nearly screams at her to go get Caine. Pomni startled by Ragatha's tone turns heel and runs off to look for Caine while Ragatha stays with you. She keeps whispering things like "You're gonna be ok" and "Pomni's getting Caine just hang in there". Always keeping a hand on you not caring when it starts glitching out too. When Pomni returns with Caine, Ragatha full on yells at him to help you. He looks at you, then back at her, then with a apologetic tone says their isn't anything he can do as abstraction is one of those things he doesn't have control over. Ragatha breaks into tears. So she's gonna lose you, she was even there. BUT SHE CAN'T F@%#&$* HELP?! She holds onto you like you're her last tether to reality. And you seem to get better. Your at the very least don't seem to be in pain anymore! So she squeezes you, really f&$%@#* hard happier then should be possible that your improving.

Jax

Jax found you in his room voice glitching you huddled over in pain. At first he thought it was a revenge prank and acted accordingly. "Haha, very funny Y/N. Now get out of my room I need to do something." That is until you vomited up a ton of pitch black goo. Then he started taking it more seriously. He quickly crouches down and wraps an arm around you to try and provide some support. He freaks out and quickly pulls his arm back when you vomit up more goo and starts visibly glitching. He panics and quickly looks around his room locking onto a like 3 day old unopened water bottle. He opens it and hands it to you as well as a thing to squeeze that half yells to just hang in there he'll be right back. He sprints around not even knowing who to get. He sees Ragatha and half tackles her. He shouts directly into her face that you need help and that you in his room. He tosses her in the direction of his room then continues sprinting around not long after finding Caine. He grabs Caine ignoring his protests and runs back to his room where he fins Ragatha sitting next to his bed you tucked in. Your not vomiting anything and you aren't glitching. You're just shivering. He hears you mumble his name and literally kicks Ragatha and Caine out quickly getting to your side. After he feels he wont get hurt he quickly gets into bed holding you close "If you ever do that again I'm going to take back my vow to not tease you." He falls asleep with his chin resting on your head.

Pomni

At first when you started glitching Pomni didn't really know it was abstraction. She's never seen someone abstract after all, only seeing the finished product. But when you keep getting worse and worse she realizes that something is wrong. So she leaves you with a quick kiss then runs off to the communication thing Caine made after the whole Kaufmo incident. She calls him and when he picks up she screams into the phone that your glitching out. When Caine appears next to her she runs back over to where you are not even checking if Caine is following. When she gets back to you, you're still in really bad shape. She turns back to Caine and yells at him to help you. When he tells her that he can't she starts hyperventilating, then she sees him pick you up and the cellar hole open?! OH F&#$ NO! She basically punches Caine then clings to you protectively, ready to throw hands with Caine if she has to. Caine tries and pull her off when she starts glitching but she has the grip of a professional rock climber. So Caine has to keep curing her glitches at they appear. Cause in his mind your beyond help but she isn't. Then you start to improve. No more coughing and the glitching has slowed down! Pomni glares at Caine then turns back to you with a scared and tired smile on her face. Once your ok enough to talk you are going to get an earful. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER YOU WERE FEELING BAG ENOUGH TO ABSTRACT?!?!?! (Sorry this was so long. I got a little carried away. And surprisingly I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[syrupgirl]

Sorry if you have done this before but maybe you could do a neteyam x reader and he is introducing you to his family ?

Love ur work btw

a/n: I did change this a lil so I hope it’s still ok, so reader knows the Sully’s vaguely and has only been known as a friend to Neteyam but now he is introducing reader as his potential mate. Also thank you for your compliments :p <3

(sum more notes at the end <3)

reader uses she/her prns and her body stays un-described

Mate material -Neteyam

“Is this really necessary, Neteyam,” You whined, sulking behind him. “They already know who I am, I feel like I’m meeting them again.”

He smiled and continued to wade his way toward the shore.

“Well, you are in a way. They will be seeing you in a different light now.” This man. He has some cheek.

Water whipped around your ankles as you ran after him. Taking Neteyam’s hand in yours, you spun him around and tugged on his arm repeatedly.

“Do we have to tell them? Why can’t they…Just figure it out on their own?.” You felt like child now, complaining over something so simple, but that’s how being with Neteyam made you feel; all fuzzy and floaty on the inside. Things were simple and easy when you were with him.

He finally stopped waking and took his arm out of your hand, replacing it with his hand.

“I understand if you are nervous, they can be,” he paused as if to take a moment to find the words. “intimidating when they want to be.” It came out as a laugh.

You snorted, “Your mother in particular.”

“She loves you!”

“She likes me as your friend, she might not as a mate!”

Neteyam sighed and pulled you closer; he could tell this was really bothering you.

“It’s not like there has been some, huge, drastic change. We’re still us, just…A more together version of us.”

A reluctant smile bloomed on your lips. “You sound stupid.”

“Ah.” You giggled as he pushed you away in mock offence.

“I take back what I said, you should be terrified.”

“Neteyam!”

-

Eclipse had come and the Sully family were gathered in their Marui, happily feasting on their dinner.

All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and chewing of food, until Lo’ak took it upon himself to break that silence.

“So, big bro, what happened with yn today?”

Suddenly, all eyes were on the eldest Sully. A small smirk jumped onto Kiri’s lips and she quickly went to cover it with her hand and Tuk looked genuinely worried for your health. Lo’ak had a shit eating grin on his face; he knew what he was doing.

Neteyam gulped, disguising it was swallowing a mouthful of his dinner. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw you two getting awfully close in the water.” Neytiri looked as if she had finally checked into the conversation, putting down her meal and looking to her sons.

“I just thought maybe, she might have been hurt?”

Like a hunter watches their prey, his family set their gaze on him, silently hungering for more information.

In an effort to appear cool headed, Neteyam shrugged. “She was fine, not hurt.” He looked to his brother and shot him a look, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no, just curious.” It looked like Lo’ak would leave it now and Neteyam internally sighed in relief.

“How is yn, Neteyam? Haven’t seen her in a while.” Jake asked. Oh well, the questioning wasn’t over.

-

“I think they are onto us.”

You let those words sit in the air they were spoken into.

Neteyam’s arm tightened around you and you turned more into his chest. The pool of water around you wrinkled gently with your movements.

The two of you had stashed yourselves away in a lone terrace, not unlike the ones that bordered the lagoon outside the village, but this one was a secret place for you both. Where you could be with each other without worrying about prying eyes or annoying brothers.

Finally, you answered him, “What makes you say that?”

Neteyam sat up more, causing you to be partially shoved off of him.

“Lo’ak started asking me these annoying questions while we were eating dinner last night!” He looked like he was a getting really upset; brows furrowed, arms waving wildly, voice raising.

You frowned and caught one of his flailing hands. “What kind of questions?”

“Just stupid ones! Like, why we are spending so much time together and why we were getting so close to each other yesterday in the wate-”

“Be calm, Neteyam. Slow down.” You brought his hand to your chest. “Breath, deep breaths.”

Neteyam stopped his ranting and sighed out a long breath. As best as he could, he copied your breathing.

“Now, explain to me why this bothers you so much?”

He is still for a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “He’s putting his nose where it doesn’t belong, it is just not his business.”

You snort at that, “Are we not about to announce our relationship to your family? Honestly, it’s not a surprise that one of them found out before.”

Neteyam sighed again. He turned to face you and gently took your face into his hands, looking between your eyes.

“I want it to be on our terms, not because of Lo’ak’s prying.”

“I understand that,” you hummed. Your hand covered one of Neteyam’s on your face and you leaned into it. “Sounds like we need to act on our plans a little faster.”

A kiss was planted on your forehead and you smiled giddily.

“I don’t want to push you, I know you are a bit nervous.” He mumbled into your hairline.

Your free hand found his face and brought him back to where you could look him in the eyes. Your thumb glided back and forth along his cheekbone and his eyes drifted closed.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

-

It really felt like you could not handle it.

The sun was high in the sky, beating down onto your skin. On a day like this, you would usually be bobbing up and down in the waves, happily soaking up the rays, but on this occasion all it was doing to you was elevating your already rapidly growing panic.

You and Neteyam sat on the woven walkways not to far from his marui. Today was the day where you would finally announce your relationship to his family. A monumental occasion really; the eldest son of Toruk Makto and former leader of the Omatikaya, had found himself a partner, a mate, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You had met the Sully family many times before, you regularly spent time with Lo’ak and Kiri, even spending time with little Tuk. But now, you were seeing them on such different circumstances, they might as well have been strangers.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Neteyam had offered, an effort to quell your growing nerves, unfortunately this just spurred into motion all the thoughts of things that could happen; ranging from awkward silences to Jake and Neytiri chasing you out of their marui for trying to take their firstborn away from them. Extremely unlikely and just downright stupid, but you were just grasping at straws for anything that could go wrong.

“Why can’t- why can’t you just tell them while I am far, far away?” Neteyam laughed heartily at that but you were deadly serious.

“Oh yes, I can see it now,” Neteyam gasped between giggles, “hey mom, hey dad, you know yn? yeah I want her to be my mate. Where is she? Anywhere you aren’t.” His laughed picked up at his own joke and you groaned, hitting his chest with your balled fist.

“I love your family, Neteyam. I really, really want this to go well!”

“And it will! We’ve had this same conversation over and over, i don’t know how else I can reassure you.” He reached his arm around your waist and dragged you closer to him. “Would you like me to tell you in english? I know a little.”

Neteyam said something you didn’t understand. The language sounded so silly you couldn’t help but cover your mouth to hide your giggles.

“Should we get going? They should all be home now.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

“Neteya- oh, and yn?” Jake paused. “How are you, yn?”

The entire Sully clan, excluding Neteyam, were all seated around the cooking fire inside the marui. Jake and Neytiri parked up close to each other: Jake prepping fish for cooking and Neytiri wrapped then placed it above the fire in front of them.

Kiri and Tuk sat next to their mother. The older girl attempted to teach the youngest how to repair a torn Ilu saddle.

Lo’ak lay next to his father, apparently completely uninterested in whatever was happening around him, until the two of you entered together, after which he sat up looking infinitely intrigued.

Tucking your arms behind your back, you squeezed your hands together and mustered up a smile.

“I am well, thank you, Toruk Makto.”

Jake continued to de-bone the creature he was holding before speaking to you again, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

You glanced to Neteyam, the nervousness you had buried starting to resurface again. He took a deep breath and reached behind you, taking your hand tightly in his.

Neytiri, who hadn’t looked entirely phased by your presence, suddenly perked up. Her eyes fell onto your intertwined fingers and then back to your face. It felt as if your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Actually, sir, there’s…something I want to tell you.” Neteyam’s voice had an uncharacteristic nervousness to it and you could feel the smallest shake in the hand that held yours.

The whole family froze, each with sightly different looks on their faces. Lo’ak looked like he was on the verge of hysterical laughter, Kiri had her own little smile while Tuk was ready to hang off of your every word.

“What is it, Neteyam?” Neytiri asked. She stood and Jake followed suit.

The grip on your hand tightened before Neteyam spoke, “Yn and I, we wish to be mated. Before Eywa.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the family before you reacted. Lo’ak, who had been quietly munching on his dinner, suddenly started to choke and thumped his fist against his chest in attempts to dislodge the obstruction.

Tuk and Kiri had the same reaction, shouting “What?!” at the same time. Tuk visibly more excited about the news, while Kiri looked like this was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

“My son, you are not yet a man.” Neytiri urged, slowly pacing towards her eldest.

“I have passed two of the three rites of passage of our clan! And now that we live amongst the reef people, I can complete the three by passing one of theirs!” The two of you had anticipated these concerns and had done your research on the matter. Since the Sully’s no longer lived among their own, the three tasks Neteyam had to complete to be welcomed into the Omaticaya as a man were no longer possible. It seemed only fitting that he finish of these tasks by overcoming the Metkayina’s last rite of passage that their men had to accomplish.

“Taking a mate is a serious thing, son.” Jake was now face to face with Neteyam. He had a stony look on his face. “I know you’re friends with yn, evidently a bit more than that, but this will be the person you spend the rest of your life with.”

Coming up beside her son, Neytiri put a hand on his shoulder. “Your father is right, Neteyam. These decisions cannot be rushed.”

By Eywa, you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Neteyam noticed your embarrassment and doubled down. “I know that, we know that! We have been talking about this for a long time and we’ve thought of everything.”

His father narrowed his eyes, he still didn’t look convinced, so you decided oh well, you already ready feel like you were in over your head, what’s a little more?

“If I may,” All eyes turned to you, “your son is the most caring, most passionate, and most mature man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He is infinitely understanding and loves with all he has. I cannot speak on his behalf, but I trust in the decision I have made to have Neteyam as my mate.” Your words continued to get smaller and smaller as your felt their stares bore into you.

Silence filled the space, broken up by the soft sound of crashing waves and the chittering of stray Ilu.

Neytiri spoke first.

“This is truly what you want, my son?” The mother laced her hands with the sons free one.

“More than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life.”

A look was shared between Jake and Neytiri and their children stared on.

“Neteyam,” Jake sighed, “I give you my blessing to pursue your remaining rites of passage by the Metkayina.” His hand reached up and latched onto the back of Neteyam’s head, bringing it closer to his own.

“My son, I see you.”

Your partner’s lip quivers and his brows told upward, it is clear he is using everything in him not to cry.

“And you, yn.” Jake turned to you, bringing his hand up to his brow and then back down again. “I see you.”

You repeated his gesture and sniffed, emotions running very high. “I see you, Toruk Makto.”

Jake smiled. “No need for the formalities, not now that we’re family.”

The rest of that night was filled with light and laughter. With songs and delicious food. You couldn’t think of a better way to be welcomed into this beautiful family.

Your heart had never felt so full.

a/n: so we only know 2 of the Omaticaya’s rites of passage and judging from how Neteyam has a banshee, it’s safe to assume he had begun the process of becoming a man in the clan. I don’t know if he had done his dream hunt so i just said he had🤷‍♀️yeah this took so long because I did a chunk of words every few days💀 anyways until next time, bye :p

[peachetteprice]

Hi!! I have a request

I have had this idea of singing/hummjng Simon “Ghost” Riley back to sleep after he has had a nightmare or can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

Reader can carry a tune; maybe not a grammy nominee but Simon loves it when they do sing.

Simon doesn’t ask them himself to hum or sing to him, it sort of just happens. No one knows how to calm him down like they do and the way Reader hums/sings one of his favorite songs and gently rubs his back works better than he thought it would.

Thank you 😊💖‼️

Hello! I took some creative liberties with the prompt given. It is only slightly different from what you gave me, but I hope I did it justice! Please let me know your thoughts. @skrubob

(Note: influenced by a sleep disorder my dad has. I don't know, I thought I could relate a bit more with that idea!)

Strangers in the Night

Simon "Ghost" Riley - 1.9K words

It happened again.

It happened again like it happened most nights: without much warning, and for no particular reason.

It wasn't a spectacular night. There was nothing distinct about the moon and its size, neither the thickness of its crescent nor the depth of its craters. It wasn't a notable day for the planets and their stars. Nobody had wished on a comet. Nothing, in fact, nothing had gone on in the day to warrant such an odd happening.

Like every day, whenever Simon was off-deployment, he woke up at 0615. No sooner and no later than the sun rose, did he clambour from the bedsheets with a tired groan and a stretch - only occasionally might he have triggered his shoulder blades to seize up, though, thankfully, today was not one of those days - make his careful way downstairs so as to not wake you, flick the kettle on for a brew and stare out of the kitchen window until its rolling boil turned to a simmer, and it clicked itself off.

The cuppa was perfect.

There wasn't a single thing wrong with it.

In fact, if he could have sampled a half-pint of it, dried it into a powder, dusted it onto a canvas and hung it up on the wall in the bedroom - so that he could have something of a reminder of the most well-balanced cup of tea he'd ever made - then he just might have. Though, that wasn't to say that it was anything extraordinary. Not at all. It was a simple, bog-standard cuppa with a dash of milk, a humped teaspoon of white cane sugar, and all he did at the end, when he pulled the teabag out, was make sure not to pinch the sides of it on the rim; that was all there was to it.

And that was all to re-iterate that nothing at all about Simon Riley's day was unusual.

To insist on that point, as you readied yourself to work, and he gave you your cuppa for the morning - two sugars, a whiff of milk, exactly how you liked it - he made sure to give you a kiss on your lips just as your palm neared the door handle. It lasted exactly three seconds, and there was nothing overtly obscene about the smack that followed or the light tap he gave the rear of your thigh as you left.

When you were gone, he did the laundry. The washing machine finished at nine, so he put the tumble dryer on, too. That finished at eleven-thirty, and everything else was put on the line in the garden, which dried until three. Between then and three, if only to keep himself occupied, he fixed one of the dining chairs that you had leant too far back on and splintered the wooden bar at the lumbar region, for which he had to pop to B&Q to grab another bottle of wood glue, which, by and by, was also nothing peculiar in the slightest.

Once that was fixed, and the washing was dry, he collected, folded - even ironed, if the crinkles needed a spot of flattening, in which case it was one of your work blouses or a pair of his fatigues - then sorted them into the chest of drawers in your bedroom.

And, of course, once that was put away, he had his second brew of the day. Equally as plain. Equally as perfect.

By 1800 hours, you were home, and he gave your lips another kiss. Six seconds, this time, double the length of the one from the morning, with a little more vigour, and unlike the previous, you gave his left buttock a little clench, then a pat, and off you went to check the fridge for dinner.

Spag-bol. Spaghetti bolognese. With parmesan, too. The only thing that could've been somewhat abnormal was the addition of cut-up Cumberland sausages that desperately needed eating up, though it was hardly the monumental incident required to be the reason behind it happening again. It was nice. Dinner. Not your finest work, but then again, weekday meals, especially when Simon was home and you had to cook for two again, never were.

After washing up, you gave him a peck on the cheek, and he held you for a moment against the cabinets, just relishing in the body heat that he missed that morning. And when that was over, you popped the TV on - something completely ordinary in genre, motif, and drama - and fell asleep against him on the sofa.

Perhaps it was why you didn't notice so much. Perhaps if you'd stayed awake, you would have known when, why, or how it came to be.

An hour or two - or some duration of time in between - of light sleep passed, and you woke to the sound of his electric toothbrush whirring away. You joined him in the bathroom to brush your teeth, he slung an arm about your waist and drew circles into your stomach, though you were still some variable of dazed by the sudden jolt from being asleep to awake, but it was all alright, truly, because within two minutes, you were dead asleep again.

It was uncertain how much time had passed between falling asleep and being awake again. That was the terrible thing with sleep. Sleep blurs the lines between seconds and hours. What could have been five minutes could have easily been five hours, and what could have been ten hours often felt no longer than ten seconds. Time becomes an illusion, much like the theory in which, on one planet, it is equally plausible that thirty seconds in passing may equal three days in another, and yet, both planets cohabit the same space, the same universe, mere light years apart.

When you did manage to fall asleep again after brushing your teeth, and when it did happen again, it was a mere three seconds.

There was shouting. Some rambling. It bled into your unconsciousness until, with a rather heavy dip in the sheets, a bolt from the blue, you were left wide-awake.

"Simon?" You said into the void. There wasn't much to be seen at night.

"Where? Where is it? There's a--"

--You were awake now. That was for definite. Three seconds had passed, and Simon was awake, too. There was something odd about the frenzy in his eyes. If it wasn't for his blown pupils, you would have been convinced there was an intruder somewhere in the house. But he looked delirious. Three seconds had passed, and he hadn't slept a wink for something more like three days. But in the same breath, he was barely awake.

He was somewhere in between, mumbling under his breath about a spider and how it was somewhere here, in the bedroom, and it wanted him.

He wasn't making any sense - Simon Riley was not afraid of a bloody spider.

Twenty-two hours, eighteen minutes, and three seconds had passed. Nothing pertubing had happened prior, and yet, it was happening again.

"Simon, love, go back to sleep." You enveloped the shadow of his waist and pressed him back to the mattress - luckily, he hadn't left the bed yet. He was in and out of it, then. Ever-mumbling, eyelids still bursting wide every few seconds with the type of fear that should have only been present in somebody murdered. "It's alright."

It didn't happen often.

A few times since you'd been together, all countable on one hand, which, at this point, was years. He'd told you it might happen the first night you'd slept together in the same bed. Not the first time you'd slept together, full stop, but when he moved in and co-opted the king-sized bed in the bedroom. It was real, then. The relationship.

He never remembered it in the morning. Never did. Never will. You know he never did - he would have apologised if he did. Never asks if it's happened, but he's sure it has, because he notices the way your eyes never leave him the morning after, as if you're worried he might start yelling obscenities again and you have to hold him.

You always have to hold him. Like his mother did. One arm along his belly, stroking his stomach, and the other around the curve of his head, petting his hair like he's a little lamb. He would never be embarrassed about it, what you have to do to calm him, but if he were to ever ask if he'd ever woken up in a state, looking half as scared as a little boy in the dark - you wouldn't tell him. No. It's only a memory for you, and you'd rather like to keep it that way.

"It's alright." You cooed.

Sometimes, you sing to him. If he needs it. You sung that night, actually. He needed it that night. God, you must have sounded awful. Part of you was pleased at the fact that he never remembers it once he wakes up, because you'd quite like to avoid the conversation about how you can only just about hold a tune, and not with much fluidity.

It was Etta James' I'd Rather Go Blind.

The DJs on Smooth Radio played it during crawl traffic on the M60, rattled on about how incredible of a voice she had, they did, which was salt in the wound, really - there was an accident that morning on the hard shoulder, it took all of fifteen minutes to clear - and it was all that was stuck in your head at work, on the toilet, in the break-room and in the car on the way home.

It was the only song that came to mind as you started singing. A few wobbly notes here and there, nothing but of jumble of lyrics where it was certain you'd said more than one of the pre-chorus lines in favour of getting to the chorus itself, and you could hardly stop yourself from whispering some notes that you knew you wouldn't be able to reach at a murmur.

Simon settled a little at that. You were sure there wasn't much cognition behind those eyes - he was nothing but a walking zombie whenever it happened - but his hands clasped the one on his stomach, his pupils pinched back to normal, and by the second chorus, he was calm again.

You held him for a while. A long while. Until daybreak came in. Just to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

And at 0615, when the sun crept in to cast its shadow along the foot of the bed - and it would still be another hour until you rose - Simon awoke, stretched out his shoulder blades - though, this time, they did seize up - and faced your conked-out body.

Simon did notice something peculiar, then.

Your arms wrapped around his torso - which were often the other way around - should have been clutching the covers. There never meant to be a kink in your brow. Never was. Never should have been. Only on the mornings when you looked at him with too much empathy - when something had happened the night before that you never wished to talk about, was there ever such concern knotted into them.

And, in that moment, Simon knew. He leant a kiss to your lips, later joined them at your earlobe, too, before whispering;

"Thank you, love."

And there actually was something anomalous about that day, irreverent of the last. For some reason, whether because of the stars, the moon, or the planets, Simon had an Etta James song stuck in his head. How bloody weird.

| Masterlist |

[ena-113]

A human crewmate, Mia, held a long thin box. It seemed to have paper and plastic peices inside, based on the sound. A puzzle perhaps? A few other crewmates trailed behind them.

"Hey Bob! Wanna join us? We're playing Clue, it's a board game from earth."

Bob nodded and joined the others trailing after Mia. He had no idea what a 'board game' was, but it seemed fun. They eventually all gathered around a table in the cafeteria.

"Okay, so it's a murder mystery and we have to figure out who killed Mr. Body. We're all possible suspe-" Mia started to set up the board and explain, but was cut off by Jli'yan.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but why do humans have a game centered on murder and distrust?"

"Cause it's fun, thrilling. Good for poker face practice." Kaya answered, shuffling cards. They then nodded towards Mia to continue explaining.

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prev

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[salchica]

honey + hazelnut

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. “No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God, Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine.

--

When Eddie was little he made up an imaginary boyfriend. And then he meets Steve in real life.

Published: 02/08/24 | Words:5,174 | Rating: Teen & Up | Link x

Originally for the Steddie Valentine's Day Exchange.

honey + hazelnut

“Hey Eddie, what can I get for you?” 

Eddie looks up from his phone and immediately bluescreens. The barista’s  fucking beautiful is the thing; all lean muscle and swoopy brown hair, moles dotting his face and neck, a pink mouth that Eddie just wanted to--  

He quickly reminds himself that he’s public, specifically at a coffee shop with like, normal non-depraved people around. It’s called First Sip , and the vibes are chill, if a little gentrification-chic. First Sip is hipster adjacent, the outside painted a nice forest green with plenty of bookshelves and squishy couches. Cozy . 

Eddie’s only job right now is to grab coffee and book it back to Chrissy’s apartment. Apparently  eviscerating his latest draft is a very taxing job and requires copious amounts of caffeine, but when Chrissy mentioned the ‘cute little café that just opened around the corner ’, she failed to mention the fucking Adonis that worked there. If Eddie’s brain was online, now would be the time he’d turn on the good old Munson smarm. It’s a patented technique passed from parent-to-child up and down the Munson family tree; a peacock-esque display of finger guns, waggling eyebrows and bad pick-up lines. It’s a little pathetic and honestly best taken in from a distance, but four times out of ten it ends with a laugh and a number in Eddie’s pocket. Fuck it, Eddie thinks. 

“Are you from Tennessee?” He says. Hot Barista cocks his head to the side, confused. He’s adorable. He  looks like a fucking cocker spaniel. 

“No? I was raised in Indiana,” Hot Barista says. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “Because you’re the only ten I…” God , Eddie’s gonna do it, isn’t he? “Because you’re the only ten I see.” He finally chokes out. The awkward silence seems to stretch on forever, the only sounds being the impatient sigh of the lady behind him in line and the weary hiss of the espresso machine. 

Eddie is literally a writer goddammit; the fantasy series Chrissy is currently editing is full of words that Eddie himself had put in painstaking order. He wants to scream. Not even the cheesy one-liners he’s used in the past have been this bad. The Munson ancestors have failed him. They’re probably all face-palming in hell. 

“Eddie?” Hot Barista says. Eddie can’t tell if he sounds amused or concerned. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you ready to order?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He knows a critical failure when he sees it. Eddie looks up at the menu hanging up on the back wall, the letters written in delicate, looping calligraphy against the black chalkboard. “Two black coffees, please.”  

“Great choice, black coffee is a classic,” Hot Barista says. His eyes are all shiny, like he’s holding back a laugh. Or maybe he wants to scream but can’t because he’s on the clock. He probably gets hit on all the time by poor unsuspecting people who aren’t prepared to be faced with that much cuteness before their morning coffee. Oh no, Eddie thinks, am I a creep? When did I become someone who hits on people at their literal job? 

His face feels like it’s on fire as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slides the money over the counter. Eddie mentally plots to buy Chrissy a Keurig or something so he never has to step foot in this café ever, ever again. As he moves off to the side to wait for his order, the woman behind him huffs a finally  under her breath. Eddie’s shoulders bunch up around his ears. Like sure, yeah, he’d held up the line, but he’s paid for it enough out of sheer mortification. 

I’m gonna fucking kill myself. He texts Chrissy. 

After a minute, she texts back: Did you get my latte? All business, that one. She’s too used to his dramatics. Eddie should ramp it up a notch and threaten to quit writing. Fuck the New York Times bestseller list; Eddie’s going to retire and move to Siberia. 

Here lies Eddie Munson, time of death 10:30 am. He hits send. 

“Teddy?” The second barista says. She’s pretty, with a sharp face full of freckles and the gayest shag Eddie’s ever seen. Eddie looks around. As far as he knows, he’s the only person waiting for their order right now, but Lesbian Barista had clearly called out Teddy… which is Eddie’s name, technically, if only among family and very close friends. Eddie makes eye contact with her and points at himself. She rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, you. Teddy, Eddie, whatever-- here’s your coffee,” She says. She shoves two cups across the counter. Eddie can see the steam rising from the little drinking-hole. 

“How did you know my--” 

“I refuse to get involved in this more than I already am,” She says, walking back to the espresso machine. Eddie picks up the cups and notices writing scribbled on the side: 

Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date? Text me (xxx)xxx-xxxx! -Steve.  

Eddie looks up at the counter, where Hot Barista -- Steve -- is still taking people’s orders. The line is longer than it was when Eddie first walked in, and Steve is hard at work, toned arms fighting for their lives in his tight polo. “...Holy shit ,” Eddie says. 

So. The thing is, until now Eddie hadn’t taken in Hot Barista in his entirety. 

He’s noticed parts of him of course, like the aforementioned hair, moles, and mouth-- but it’s like Eddie’s subconscious had wanted to spare him this realization by only letting him perceive Hot Barista as a bunch of separate but equally hot parts. It might have taken Eddie three tries to graduate high school, but he’s always been good at putting puzzles together… even if the obvious answer to the puzzle doesn’t make sense.  His mind is buzzing as he puts two and two together-- 

Today was the first time he’d ever stepped foot into First Sip, yet somehow Steve had greeted him by name. He presumably told Lesbian Barista to call Eddie “Teddy”,  a family nickname that only Wayne calls him, now. Instead of throwing coffee in Eddie’s face, this “Steve” had responded with his own equally bad pick-up line. 

Steve is the very picture of an All-American Midwestern boy, all gee whiz and yes ma’am and aw shucks. Eddie had thought he’d looked familiar, but only in the way that most people look familiar when they share traits with the type of people you’ve seen your entire life. But as Eddie stares, his mind superimposes a younger version of Steve over this current one. He looks like… Well, he looks like Stevie, Eddie’s “childhood friend” when he was like ten. He hasn’t thought about Stevie in years, which makes sense because Stevie was imaginary.  

He wasn’t supposed to exist.  

So, to explain: 

Eddie has always been like, really fucking gay. It’s something people tend to know just by looking at him, even when he was younger and didn’t even know it himself just yet. When he went to live with Wayne after everything that happened with his parents, the entirety of Hawkins seemingly clocked him as soon as he stepped a foot within city limits. So even though itwas like 2011 and gay rights were steadily gaining traction, people still avoided Eddie like queerness was contagious . In Indianapolis it hadn’t really been a problem, but Hawkins had never quite managed to shake off its Evangelical roots.

So the first two years Eddie was in Hawkins, he was lonely . He was the new kid with a shaved head and clothes that didn’t fit, and he doodled in class instead of listening to anything an authority figure had to say. People gave him a wide berth, and his only saving grace had been the woods behind Wayne’s trailer. He’d go there for hours after school, acting out scenes from the book he was reading at the time and even things from his own head. 

It went on like that for months, until one day he’d found a boy .  

He’d been perched in the biggest tree Eddie had ever seen, almost like he was hiding in the leaves. But since Eddie had a lifetime of observation skills - thank you, trauma -, he’d noticed the boy right away.

“Hi,” Eddie had said.

“Hello,” The boy said. He pushed his face out, and Eddie swears to this day his heart skipped a beat-- the boy was just so cute. He jumped down from the tree in a controlled fall, almost like he was floating. The first thing Eddie had noticed were the small wings on his back, delicate and see-through like a butterflies. “You have wings!” Eddie couldn’t help but state the obvious. “Is it like a costume or something?” 

“Yeah. It’s a costume,” The boy said. Eddie shrugged-- he didn’t want to ask too many questions in case the boy was scared away, but he had so many. What materials did he use, was there a YouTube tutorial, how did he get them to move independently from his body-- 

Instead, Eddie went with a tried and true, “What’s your name?” Biting back every single question he had. 

“My name is Steve, but you can call me Stevie,” The boy said. “What is your name?” 

“Eddie, but my Uncle Wayne calls me Teddy. It makes me sound like a stuffed bear or something.” Eddie complained. He’d wanted to be cool, like it didn’t fill him with warm fuzzies the way Wayne said his name with such tenderness. Steve had grinned, like he’d understood even without Eddie having to spell it out. “Want to play with me?” Stevie said, and that was that. 

This went on for months; Eddie rushing into the woods after school to play with Stevie until the sun went down. It had gotten to the point where Wayne started asking Eddie to bring Steve by sometime so he could meet his new friend. But every time Eddie had suggested it, Stevie had made a constipated face, so Eddie eventually stopped. He didn’t need to know everything about Stevie to know that he has Eddie’s best friend. 

But one day when Eddie had gone to their spot, instead of the branches Stevie was sitting at the foot of the tree, crying. It was especially weird because it was like the tree was reflecting Stevie’s mood; it was droopier than usual, and even the little mushrooms at the base of its trunk were dull and shrunken. Stevie’s wings were folded against his back, and they weren’t even their regular violet-blue… they were gray and brown, so drained of color that they almost blended in with the bark of the tree. Stevie told Eddie that his mom was moving them, that there was something about a court or custody split and Stevie had to go away.  

“Will you make me a promise?” Stevie asked. And not one to deny Stevie anything, Eddie of course said yes. “Promise you’ll never forget me, okay? Even when we’re old and big and you have friends you can see all the time and not only in the woods.” 

“I’ll never, ever forget you Stevie,” Eddie said solemnly. The moment had felt charged, even if Eddie didn't know exactly why . He’d figured it out pretty fast once Stevie leaned in and quickly pecked Eddie on the lips. 

“Now it’s sealed,” Stevie’d said.They’d shared a small smile-- it was Eddie’s first kiss, and he felt giddy with it, little bubbles of excitement popping in his stomach. 

Sadly, Eddie never saw him again. Stevie didn’t have social media, or an email; in fact no one in Hawkins seemed to have known him at all. Eddie had asked everyone if they’d known Stevie, maybe from a church camp or boy scouts or some other secret thing that wasn’t hosted at the one middle school in Hawkins, but no one knew what Eddie was talking about. He never mentioned Stevie’s wings, just in case the wrong person overhead.  

When Eddie finally hit high school and figured out he was gay, he’d just begun to accept the truth. Stevie had to have been a made up dream by a lonely kid with a vivid imagination. That was the reason he’d had wings and  been Eddie catnip, because Eddie had made him up-- a cute boy with swoopy brown hair, a little shorter than Eddie so he was the perfect height for hugging, and fucking majestic wings. Looking back, little Eddie was fucking pure. All he wanted was a cute boy to hold hands with, sometimes. 

All to say that yeah, Eddie’s queer as shit because what’s gayer than making up his first boyfriend? He’d imagined a lot… Except apparently he hadn’t . Stevie was Steve , and he wanted Eddie to call him.  He was a real, flesh and blood human being, apparently living around the corner from Eddie’s best friend. The wings were nowhere in sight, but still… 

Holy shittttttt.  

Eddie wants to text Steve, he really, truly does. It’s just he doesn't know how to start. 

‘ Hey, when you were  11 did you ever mysteriously disappear from Hawkins?’  It didn’t really have a good ring to it. 

Neither did ‘ Will you marry me and help raise my children’, so… It’s safe to say that Eddie was stumped. 

As soon as Eddie had read the number on his cup, Steve had turned around and given him a cheeky little wink. Eddie had nodded first to himself, then to Lesbian Barista, then to the harried mom with a baby on her hip sipping something that looked like a marshmallow on steroids. He’d then spun on his heel and beat it  out of First Sip and out into the frosty Indianapolis winter. 

Chrissy hadn’t even said anything when he’d pushed open her door, just grabbed her coffee and thrown it back like a shot. And now it was hours later and Eddie still hasn’t managed to text Steve. When he’d first told Chrissy about all of it, tree floating and wings included,  she’d just quirked an eyebrow. 

“Are you on drugs? Do you have a fever or something?” She’d put her hand over Eddie’s forehead, her face the picture of mock concern. “ Fuck you, man. I’m trying to be vulnerable here,” Eddie said. 

“By telling me about your imaginary boyfriend. A boyfriend with wings. Okay, sure.” She was still skeptical, which was fair in all honesty. Now Eddie’s been rotting on her couch for hours, visibly flip-flopping back and forth on whether or not he should take the risk and send Steve a message.

“Chris,” Eddie groans. He draws out the ‘s’, hoping to annoy her enough that she has to pay attention to him. He kicks his legs up on her couch. Chrissy kind of hated it when he spread out all over it, but Eddie thinks it’s completely fair with the amount of back-breaking labor he did getting the damned thing up the stairs and through Chrissy’s front door. 

“Babe, just text him,” Chrissy says. “Would you like to go out with me? It’s scary, but it’s not that hard.” 

“It’s not that simple!” Eddie objects.  

“It really, really is,” Chrissy rolls her eyes, setting down Eddie’s manuscript where she’s currently going over it in red pen. Eddie revels in the dull thump it makes when it hits the coffee table. ‘The Warded Wind’ had taken him a full year to finish, and as the third book in his trilogy it needed to be perfect. 

Eddie’s favorite thing about Chrissy is that she insists on doing proofreads without a computer to fully focus and cut out any distractions. 

“He literally disappeared off of the face of the Earth.”

“Wow, it’s so hard to hide from an eleven year old,” Chrissy deadpans. 

“Okay but if he managed to do that at 11, imagine what he could do now?” Eddie says. 

Chrissy pulls her hair back into a tight braid at the base of her skill, the strawberry blonde strands twisting against her fingers as she sighs. “Eds, can I be real with you for a second?” 

“Please.” 

“You’re gonna to text him. He’s your first kiss, your childhood friend and you said he was a total babe.” 

“All of this is true,” Eddie says. “But I just… I don’t know, there’s part of me that’s like, he knew me as a kid. What if he doesn't even like me now? 

“Eddie, you’re forgetting one very important detail,” Chrissy says. She ties her braid with a scrunchie and scoots over to the couch. Eddie flops his head to the side to look her in the eye. 

“What’s that?” 

“If you don’t text Steve, you’ll never get to kiss him again.” She sounds smug… she really does know him way too well. 

‘Hey it’s Eddie. Wanna get coffee?’  He hits send. 

The response comes almost immediately: ‘what time? u already know the place (; ‘  

Eddie pulls one of Chrissy’s throw pillows over his face and screams.  

They schedule their date for a week out, so Eddie has time to do some research. He’s literally shifted his whole perspective of his life in a matter of hours; he’d thought Stevie had been a fake boy made up by a lonely little Eddie and now he thinks that Stevie might have been real, but the wings and the frankly weird attunement to the woods behind the trailer park was just his overactive imagination filling in the details. So, research. 

Chrissy’s extremely helpful in Eddie’s light internet stalking, showing him how to go to First Sip’s Instagram and look through the tagged photos since he still doesn't have Steve’s last name. He finds out that Steve isn’t just a barista, he’s the owner. There’s a lot of pictures of him with Lesbian Barista, whose name is apparently Robin. Constantly tagged is a bunch of fifteen year olds, and in every picture with them Steve gives off caring big brother energy. Eddie can’t help but find it hot. 

But… 

Part of him, probably the part that liked to write fantasy and held a little bit of hope that there was magic out there somewhere-- that part needed to be prepared. What if Steve was a fairy? Did Eddie accidentally sell his soul to him? How does he make sure this date with Steve goes well? Can he even eat the food in the café or will that make him stuck in First Sip forever? 

So, Eddie does what any young person with access to the Internet does. He turns to Reddit. 

-- What do fairies like? Shiny things. Old Buttons. Charms. Paperclips.Flowers. Berries. Honey.  Luckily, Eddie was something of a hoarder; he loved trinkets and didn’t mind pushing them off on his friends. As for the food stuff, they literally were meeting in a café, so there was no need for Eddie to go buy all new stuff. Actually, he might grab some honey candies at the Quiktrip on the corner before going to First Sip.. 

-- What do fairies hate? Iron. Eddie’s rings are all so cheap, but there is one… It’s a dragon that wraps around his thumb that he found out at an estate sale when he first moved to Indianapolis, with little divots in its eye-holes where he assumes stones used to sit.He makes a mental note to put it in his pocket before the date. Actually, maybe he should scrub his hands while he’s at it.

-- Is it fairy or fae?  All of the answers were supremely unhelpful, but Eddie decided it didn’t really matter. It’s not like he was going to ask Steve about it, and he decides to just go with the flow and let Stevie bring it up if it ever came down to that. Eddie wasn’t going to reveal that he had a weird delusion as a kid and that’s why he stopped looking for Steve over the years. 

So like, Eddie knows he’s a creep. If Tommy Hagan or Jason Carver could see him now, they’d probably point and laugh, telling everyone how they’d ‘always known’ that Eddie would wind up in jail for something. But technically, Eddie’s supposed to be here-- one, First Sip is a public space and two, he’s not being weird. He’s just… really, really early. 

It’s been a harsh Indianapolis winter, snow and the after snow-sludge making the trek to First Sip go from ten minutes to thirty, so like any sane, reasonable person he left an hour and a half before the actual date with Steve was due to start. He’d stood outside of the double glass doors, deciding on whether or not to actually bite the bullet and go inside, eventually giving up when Steve spots him with a slightly confused wave. 

“Eddie! You’re--”  Steve checks his watch. Eddie knows what it says, but it’s too late to backtrack now. “You’re really early.” 

“I know, I was just… really excited to see you,” Eddie says. Honesty is the best policy, right?  

Steve beams. 

Eddie knows he probably looks insane, with his beanie shoved over tangled curls and his nose red from the negative temperatures outside. Hawkins wasn’t that far from Indy, and it was cold, sure, but something about the city magnifies it; like all the tall buildings trap the miserable weather and keep it all concentrated over a ten-block radius. Anyway-- all of that, the cold, the biting wind, the way he can’t feel his toes-- all of that’s worth it for the giggle Stevie aims his way. 

Eddie wonders how he didn’t notice it earlier; Steve’s laugh is just like Stevie’s, ethereal, almost like tiny bells falling against each other. He wonders if that can be counted as proof that Steve is more than human; there’s no way a normal human throat can make that sound. He wishes he still played with the Corroded Coffin guys; he wants to make an album off of that sound alone. No lyrics, just an acoustic guitar and Stevie’s bell laugh and-- 

Damn , he’s being weird again. He clears his throat, ignoring the way a group of kids at a table near the counter are staring him down. They look oddly familiar-- Eddie tries not to let it show on his face when he recognizes them from First Sip’s tagged photos. 

“We’re short staffed today, otherwise I’d say we could just have our date right now,” Steve says. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He unwinds his scarf from around his neck. “I’ll just…” He gestures vaguely at the seating area. First Sip is actually fairly busy and Eddie doesn’t see any empty chairs. Even the bench by the window is full of people clacking away on their laptops. “Actually, I’ll probably come back later?” 

There’s a tap on Eddie’s elbow, and he looks down to see a curly-headed kid in a baseball cap smiling up at him. He’s one of Steve’s, Eddie’s pretty sure, but then again he sometimes finds it hard to tell kids apart. “You can sit with us, Eddie.” The kid says. He points over at his friends who don’t even pretend that they’re not watching the interaction. They all give Eddie cheeky waves when he spares them a glance.

“Dustin, no,” Steve warns. Eddie looks around again-- all of the chairs and couches are still completely full and people don’t look like they’re moving.  This isn’t the kind of thing that Eddie had in mind when he’d left his apartment, but if the kids were important to Steve he figures he can tough it out. “It’s alright Steve, I can sit with… Dustin, right?” The kid nods, holding out a hand to shake.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of the Party, come on,” He says, pulling Eddie by his coat’s elbow. Eddie looks back at Steve and gives him a small smile-- I’ll be okay. Steve’s return look could only be interpreted as-- Be safe. Don't show weakness.  

Weird. 

Eddie sits down on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a groan as Dustin goes around the circle, quickly introducing everyone. Eddie feels pinned to his cushion; something about these kids stares makes his heartbeat kick it up a notch, and not in a good way. 

“Party, like D&D?” Eddie asks. 

“You know D&D? Point in your favor,” Dustin says. Eddie gets the very real sense that Dustin has a mental point tally running in his head. “Nerd shit is negative seven, Dusty-Buns,” The redheaded girl says. Dustin rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Dustin says. “What are your intentions with my older brother?” Eddie didn’t know it was possible for a fifteen-year old to give a shovel talk and actually look like they were going to go through with it, but the murder in the eyes of every child surrounding him gave him actual pause. He clears his throat. 

“Hi, my name is Eddie. I’m in my 20s, I write books for a living, and I play guitar in my spare time.” Eddie says. "Those are answers to questions you're supposed to ask, when you meet someone for the first time."  

“Okay, so? We didn't ask.” The kid named Mike says. His features are weirdly sharp and shark-like, getting worse as he twists his face into a scowl. 

“I really, really like your older brother, so my intention is probably just to date him.” Eddie says. 

“Hmm…” Dustin says. He tugs in two other kids-- one with a bowl  cut, Will, and a little Black girl that looked a little younger than the others, Erica. They put their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at Eddie. The other kids don’t say anything, just keep Eddie pinned with their unwavering stares. 

Unbidden, Eddie is thrown back back to his time in Hawkins, when he was a freshman in high school. He’d read somewhere, maybe on tumblr or something, that high school was the time you were supposed to reinvent yourself. And after not fitting in in middle school, he’d had a moment of weakness and just wanted to try.  

He’d walked to the only Goodwill in town, running his fingers along the racks idly until he’d seen it . The most butt-ugly, high-collared polo ever created. He didn’t even think it over, not really, he just shoved it inside his jacket and walked casually to the fitting room. He’d always known how to be a freak; how to be big and paint a target on his back. At that point he’d worn it like armor, impenetrable and permanent, his valiant attempt at hiding his soft and gooey center. He’d just wanted to see what it would be like to be the type of person everyone loved. To have everything come easy . 

“One more time... what are your intentions with our babysitter?” Lucas says. 

Eddie is almost  tempted to dilute himself to make sure these kids like him, pull on a mask and just have their approval. But something told him not to underestimate them; he doubts it will be that easy. For some reason Eddie feels like  one wrong word could get him kicked out onto the street to fend for himself. 

“I’m gonna have his babies,” Eddie says firmly. There’s a chorus of ' ew gross!', but the ice is broken. Somehow, things go alright after that. 

When Steve finally slides onto the couch next to Eddie, First Sip is pretty much empty and all of the kids have gone home. Dustin had left with a warning to ‘not mess this up’, which Eddie figures is pretty much a seal of approval. He hopes he wasn’t that intense as a kid. Maybe he should send Wayne an apology letter. 

“So,” Steve says. He’s shy about it, thick lashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“So,” Eddie says back. He gives into his impulse and covers Steve’s hand with his where it sits on the middle cushion of the couch, lacing their fingers together. “Are you really my Stevie?” Steve positively shines, his smile making his nose crinkle adorably. 

“You remember me!” Steve says. 

“I mean I didn’t at first, but to be honest no one besides you and Wayne ever called me Teddy,” Eddie says.

“You can blame Robin for that. I was sad at first, thinking that I didn't keep your promise, until she told me I was being dumb and that I needed to jog your memory.” 

“Well, it worked sweetheart,” Eddie says. Steve blushes all the way up to his hair at the pet name, and Eddie makes a vow right there to keep that look on Steve’s face forever. 

The two of them sit on the couch long after First Sip  is closed, talking about everything and nothing. It’s perfect.  

Weeks later sees Steve squirming in Eddie’s lap, panting as Eddie is hard at work marking up his neck.  Steve suddenly sits upright, pushing his hands against Eddie’s chest. “There’s something you should know,” Steve says. Eddie tightens his grip on Steve’s hips, mind fuzzily trying to work through what Steve’s saying. His inner monologue is just a loop of Stevestevesteve, so he’s a little slow on the uptake. 

“What?” Eddie asks. 

“I’m a fairy.” Steve says. 

Eddie pauses for a second, tucking hair behind Steve’s ear. “I mean… I hope so? We’re literally making out?” Eddie was all for reclaiming slurs, but there was usually a time and a place. Stevie huffs a laugh, leaning in to nuzzle Eddie’s nose with his. 

“No, watch,” and he closes his eyes for a moment, sitting back on Eddie’s thighs. 

Eddie can’t help but look at Steve’s face, trying his best to memorize every part of him. He’s so transfixed that until they start glowing he doesn’t even notice the giant fucking wings that have appeared on Steve’s back until they flutter in his periphery. 

“What,” Eddie says. There’s a little jolt in his chest, like a muted surprise. But he’d always known, hadn’t he? Steve was different, but he’d always been this beautiful, wild thing. On some level Eddie had always known it. 

His eyes trace over Stevie’s wings-- they’re just like he remembers, gossamer and violet-purple, outlined prettily by the sunset. He reaches out a hand to touch, then hesitates. 

“Go ahead, Teddy,” Stevie smiles. The wings warm underneath his hands. “Beautiful,” Eddie breathes. “I love you so fucking much, baby.” There’s a beat-- Eddie knows it’s a risk, he knows it’s too early, but it’s the truth. He doesn't want to take it back. 

“Promise?” Steve says. His eyes twinkle with mischief,  like he doesn’t know that Eddie could spend all day looking at him and not get tired.  Like Eddie’s eyes focus on anything else when Steve’s in the room. Like Eddie hasn’t been absolutely gone on him since he was eleven and lonely, and Stevie was the only thing keeping him  together. “I promise,” Eddie says. 

He pulls his very real, very not imaginary boyfriend in, and seals the promise with a kiss. 

THE END.

Notes:

Later, Steve will introduce himself as Prince Steven of the Spring Court. He’ll say that he was curious why Eddie was playing by himself when his games looked so fun. Eddie will also meet the Party as their pixie selves! Thanks for reading (:

Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

[cas-backwards-tie]

Under The Moonlight

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

Summary: You think the Commander hates your taste in music. Why is he so judgmental about what you listen to in your free time? Turns out... maybe you were caught up on the wrong thing.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: (Vlad should probably be a warning in of itself), Passive-Aggressiveness? , Spying, Grabbing,

A/N: Ugh... I love (and hate) this song bc it gets stuck in my head so easily and it gives me such fantasy vibes. I can't help but imagine wedding vibes and him with this song every listen. btw put two diff versions in links bc those are 2/3 that I have and listen to.

"You know Arabic?" He'd asked. The first time he'd stumbled upon you listening to the song, more than curious when you'd also been singing along. With a shake of your head and a slight smile of embarrassment simultaneously dusting your cheeks with blush, this only makes his eyebrows furrow. "Then how do you know the words?"

The laugh that tumbles past your lips does nothing but further turn up the heat on the already boiling frustration and inconsequential meltdown that will no doubt later take place. "By listening to it," you answer, an inkling of a smile returning in spite of his fury, "over, and over... and over again."

With an annoyed puff of breath you know he's done with you, about to make his leave. "Why?" You ask. For once, you've swapped places as your curious eyes seek out his form.

"Because it would be useful information to know." Ever the cryptic, of course that's all he leaves you with before turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest as he exits the room.

The second time he hears the song, he's in between meetings. It's one of those rare days where he has a little free time, not that he knows how to spend that sort of thing anymore. Having entered the library, he can hear the radio playing the Arabic song once more. Your voice joins it, again, and Vladimir finds himself subtly eyeing his surroundings as the corners of his lips twitch, tugging at a smile.

He schools himself, able to keep himself in line. While the bookshelves keep him out of view and no one's in the vicinity, he quietly strolls through the stacks, hand grazing the many novels. It seems that now you've been here longer, you're starting to get more comfortable. Even if your voice isn't the loudest, the quiet nature of a library certainly doesn't help as it carries your voice, he's sure, outdoors to the nearby stationed guards.

Once he's around the nearest bookshelf, he peeks far enough just to see your visage. From this, alone, can he paint a picture. Hand still on the page, he imagines you'd been reading, the radio on quietly as background noise, no doubt something you've continued to use since you've yet to get used to the quietness his climate provides. Thus, the radios around the Compound offer solace. He's noticed you around them often. In your focus amidst the book, you'd been distracted by the song, a familiar tune on the radio beckoning your attention. Of course, not being one to resist temptation, you couldn't resist turning it up and singing along.

He can't deny you're awful. Otherwise, he'd probably have to shoot you. It'd grow to be a nuisance, really... and dangerous, a warning signal no doubt. Yet, there's an innocence about you when you sing. Mocha-colored eyes roam your features as he watches, mesmerized, your eyes closed, as your upper body moves to the music from your chair. The smile that graces your lips is one to remember, and it's one that has him equally awed, and yet... in amusement.

"You really don't understand?" With a swift turn, Vladimir reveals himself from the bookshelves, his hands clasped behind his back casually. The gasp and jump that he'd elicited from you does nothing more than garner a chuckle from him.

"Why do you care?" You ask, hand still resting on your heart as you attempt to catch your breath. Staring at him with wild eyes, it boggles you, the way you feel like he's asked you this before. It takes a moment, as it's been at least a month or so, but you remember that he has. He's asking again. "It's not like you know," you tease, poking him back. If there's anything you'd learned early on, and he'd learned about you... it's that you love to play with Vladimir by matching fire with fire. And, equally, he too, loves to do so.

"Actually, I do, любимая," he quips. With slow and calculated steps he begins approaching the table, eyes raking over you once and then twice. "and I don't! I can assure you. I only find it amusing how you seem more than content to sing something which could mean anything... according to you."

While he stops to close the book atop your hand, inspecting the spine and choice of leisure, you suspect. You place your hand atop his, afraid he's going to take the book. It's only when he meets your gaze briefly, long enough to narrow eyes at you before immediately departing for the door a few feet behind you. "Wait!" You call after him. Turning in your seat, a hand comes up to rest against the bulbous ear of the chair; thudding boots abruptly come to a halt as the Commander stops, albeit he doesn't turn around. "What does it mean, then?" You ask, words getting quieter as you start to lose confidence the further the moment continues.

"I'm sure you'd love to know." That's all he leaves you with. Dissatisfied and annoyed with the pettiness and childlike behavior the Commander can sometimes exhibit, you ignore him whenever you can. After all, while he may have originally intrigued you, whatever curiosity you had is not worth whatever outcome you receive in the aftermath of one of his moods.

When you finally find out what the song means, it's at a moment you were completely unexpecting it. After a successful mission, you'd all celebrated by building a big bonfire at camp, sitting around after dinner, sharing stories, and drink. It's not every day you get to let loose, and while normally there's a fairly tight schedule to work around, you know better to take advantage of a free day when you can. With this in mind, you drink to your heart's content. After all, it's on the Commander, right? Listening to the stories, your head leans back against the wooden makeshift benches as your eyes find the bright stars above.

It may be an effortless attempt to map them out, or mentally draw out the constellations you know, but as you listen to the jokes, the stories, songs, and laugh along, it isn't until there's a momentary silence that you finally raise your head again. Scanning around the fire, you notice that everyone's gone to bed, it seems. And sure, while it's been a long day and it'd been getting late, you didn't think everyone would've left so soon. Yet, your eyes are drawn to the only other pair you see, staring at you from a few feet to your right. The last person left at the fire.

"You're not tired?" He asks, and it's weird. It's like there's no mask up this time. You're not sure if it's the alcohol playing tricks on you right now, or if you're really hearing him correctly, but he almost sounds... genuine.

Head leant back against the wood once again, you let it loll to the right, finally able to meet his gaze. The flames make his eyes shine brightly, his features illuminated in a fiery glow. His hair is slightly amess, some strands not falling in the same direction as the wind has blown them around. Nose and jaw sharply outlined by the shadows of the night, you can't help but feel warmth, and not because you're both sitting right in front of the fire. Eyes having roamed his features, they finally meet his again as he turns his gaze from the fire once more to you, clearly anticipating an answer.

With a shake of your head, you do nothing to stop the way your lashes slowly flutter, the mere thought and mention of sleep threatening. As you lift the bottle in your hands to your lips again, wanting to finish the last little fifth or sixth of drink left in it, you're met with a disgruntled hum. "I think you've had enough."

The words should be a warning to you. A loud and clear signal as to what was about to happen, and yet you hadn't put two and two together in your intoxicated state of mind. "Mm-mm. 'Slmost finished," you manage to slur out. Lifting the bottle again, Vladimir is quick to stand, closing the space between you as he snatches it out of your hand and tosses it into the fire. The glass breaks, flames fanning higher momentarily as he reaches under your armpits and lifts you up. There isn't much of a struggle considering you can't put up much of a fight in your state.

"It's time you get some sleep," he states, wrapping an arm around your back as he attempts to guide you to a tent. He guides you outside of the fire circle until you don't move. And while he's a strong man, perhaps it's the drink, or he doesn't know what, but you're being as stubborn as a rock.

"What's it mean?" You ask. This takes him aback; the Commander knows you're not ignorant, and while you may be drunk, there's certainly no way that vodka, or any sort of liquor no matter the quantity is capable of erasing such a simple fact as the meaning of sleep. While he takes a step back, eyes beginning to search for signs of injury, it isn't until he follows your gaze that he understands.

Albeit the distant snoring, the wind, the roaring fire, and crunching of both your boots, he hadn't realized. It was quiet, the radio on the other side of the firepit. The device had been left on, and while the two of you had stayed awake he hadn't paid too much mind to it, yet now he can't help but smile. Of course, of course of all moments this song would play. Right now.

"You really want to know?" Vladimir asks, not backing away as he towers over you, eyes meeting your face in the darkness as he waits for your attention to find him again. After all, perhaps with the way he's been the one to hear you all these little times, maybe... just maybe it could be a sign.

Ridiculous, of course. That's what he told himself for months now, too good to be true. He knows what he's done... what he's had to do. What he will do and must, not just for himself but for his people, for the planet, in order to not only survive, but bring the world to a state that will be beneficial for all. Nevertheless, they always say there's a price one must pay for such deeds. He knows this true... and while he might have dreamt at times of other lives and wanted for other things, those boy's dreams were crushed long ago.

That was... until the radio started playing that song only moments ago. As he scans your face, eager and almost impatient for you to turn your eyes on him, when you do, it's not what he expects. The scoff that meets him leaves him taken aback. Met with an eye roll, and an attempt to walk past him. He knows. He knows he can be rough, and while it might be harsh he grabs your arm and keeps you from walking any further away. Whatever prize he thinks he's found, whatever omen, sign, or soul tie... he's not letting this go. He's not letting you go.

"I know you're just gonna trick me again, okay?" While other times he might be delighted to hear that you think he'd play games with you, nothing but stoicism sits on his features.

Bringing you in close, he searches your eyes as he whispers. "The love words of his eyes are sweeter than songs." Vladimir cautiously places a hand on your waist, the one holding your arm releasing its grip as it slides up to rest on your shoulder. "From a couple of words, from a greeting, I become someone else. When he sways, my heart sways with him. I may sacrifice my eyes and whole life for him, and it's too little." He repeats the words, the two of you gently swaying in the moonlit camp as the music quietly accompanies him in the background through the aged radio.

"My night, oh, night, my night." It feels as if with each passing moment his voice somehow gets quieter and quieter if that was even possible, yet you're already so impossibly close. "Oh night, my night, his love makes the night longer. The love of years between him and I. Just one more step, my heart, it's not a fantasy." Your noses just barely brush against each other, breath mingling in the space between you.

"My soul just go with him and get lost in his beauty. His covets the magic of life, his charm extraordinary. The one whose eyes the moon envied. The smile is the shining sun." There's no denying the heat between you, the tension thick in the minimal space between you, both of your eyes closed as you revel in this moment. Yet, he knows he shouldn't. You wish he would. As the song comes to an end on the radio, he's the first to open his eyes, eager to watch your open yours. As you do, it's the same happiness and adoration that he's seen you with on your expression even when you had no idea what the song had meant.

You might not have known what it meant... but something about the vocals and the expression of the song had just given you the sense that it had been about exactly everything Vladimir had just described to you. "Thank you," you whisper, not quite ready to leave this moment. Not ready to leave his arms.

Zziiippp!!!

The sound of a tent opening nearby causes both of you to distance yourselves, something within each of you sobering up instantly. While, sure, he's the Commander and can have anything he wants... you both know things are better this way.

____________

translations:

любимая = loved one / darling / lovely

forever taglist: @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo ,@ohdamnadam

[33max]

for @f1-obsessed333 who in response to this post said how would maxy react if this was a kangaroo stealing his stuffie?

It is as he’s sprinting full pelt after a kangaroo that Daniel realises he would do absolutely anything for Max.

The dust from the dry Australian ground kicks up in small clouds as his feet hit the floor, one after the other, leaving a dust trail behind him. It probably looks like he is running much faster than he actually is, but Daniel only does endurance running in his fitness plan, not short sprints. Nobody could have anticipated he would have to chase a kangaroo across his farm.

He had turned his back on Max for less than a minute while he tried to barbecue them some lunch, and as he threw a couple of juicy burgers onto the grill Max started wailing from where he was sat on the deck. Really wailing, as if something awful had happened. A high-pitched screaming wail.

Daniel had rushed over, thinking the worst, that Max was hurt. But Max didn’t look hurt. He just continued wailing and pointing off to his right at the large expanse of grassland.

“He’s got Thoup!” Max choked out. Thoup is Max’s dinosaur, its actual name is Soup, but that isn’t something that Max can pronounce when he’s this little.

When Daniel looks in the direction that Max is pointing he realises that he is a short grey kangaroo. And he has stolen and hopped off at pace with one of Max’s favourite plushies.

So that’s how Daniel ends up here, running as fast as he can to retrieve Max’s plushie, Soup the Brontosaurs.

“Come back here you bouncing fucker!”

It’s not a conscious decision to tackle the kangaroo, more of a panicked last-ditch attempt to retrieve Soup for Max before the kangaroo outpaced him. But before Daniel knows it he’s jumping, wrapping his arms around the roo, and knocking it to the floor.

The roo, probably not too happy with being tackled, drops the dinosaur plushie and begins kicking its legs and tail at Daniel to get away.

That’s fair, Daniel thinks as he dodges the limbs.

“Okay,” Daniel says, tucking Soup under one arm and then holding both hands up to the kangaroo in surrender. “That’s it, that’s all I wanted, we’re good now.”

Daniel doesn’t turn his back on the kangaroo, he’s not a complete idiot – he waits for the kangaroo to bounce off to a safe distance before he turns to run back to Max.

The look on Max’s face is one Daniel has never seen before. Pure shock. Enthralment. Admiration.

“Here you go, baby,” Daniel says, handing the slightly dusty plushie back to Max.

Max just gapes at him. Mouth wide open. His binkie is long gone, it must have dropped to the floor in the chaos.

“Daddy,” Max says, very slowly. “You got Soup back.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let a kangaroo have him!”

That’s what does it. That’s what dissolves Maxy into giggles.

“Oh fuck, my burgers!” Daniel shouts, remembering what he was doing before the interruption, they’re probably burnt now.

That just makes Maxy giggle harder. Burying his face into Soup’s fat tummy.

[aibazuos]

My Brazilian ass is thinking way too much about a One Piece Brazilian military dictatorship AU and I need to put it out there or I will explode

Honestly, the only reason that's something I have such strong opinions about is bc Luffy is Brazilian and there's just so little Brazilian characters in media in general (There's more in Japanese media than in other places but I don't have the time to explain it, if you want to learn more about that you can watch this video).

I don't know how ethical it is to find parallels between a fictional work and very real events that caused the suffering and death of a lot of people. But I think that this is a way to share more of this very important moment in Brazilian history.

So, let's start with a bit of actual history before jumping into my strange attempt at mixing a media that I love and the history of my country.

(Tw: discussions of torture, death, abuse of power by the government, gun use, armed revolution, censorship and anything you can think about that has to do with a military dictatorship. I won't go into detail, but if that's something that triggers you be mindful of that)

Oh, not a TW but something you should know, there's a lot, and I mean a lot, of communism, socialism and anarchism, just so you know

The coup d'état

In 31th of March, 1964 the Brazilian President João Goulart was overthrown by the army. The coup would later be described as a "revolution" by Castelo Branco, one of the Presidents during de dictatorship. It was said to be revolution bc of the "threat of communism" that had been taking over Brazil.

I need to make this very clear, Brazil had at the time some communist and socialist party's, but there was no actual threat from them, since they weren't popular enough with the general population.

This anti-communism reasoning had been used before to instal dictatorships is Brazil, such as the Getulio Vargas government. And it's still being used to this day by far-right politicians to manipulate the public (no, I'll not be arguing about this, if you truly think Brazil has an actual communist threat you can go and find another blog for you, mine isn't the place. block me if you feel the need)

The coup, and the whole dictatorship, was funded by the US

The Institutional Acts

The Institutional Acts were extra-legal decrees that were issued. There were 17 of them and more than a 100 complementary acts.

The Institutional Act number 5 is considered the more violent one, it allowed: the revocation of mandate of any elected politician, the president to interfear in government of states and county's and it made possible for a citizen to lose their constitutional rights. This Act was the one that basically legalized the torture that was already happening.

The Torture and Assassinations

Again, not going into detail, but there was a lot of people who disappeared after being arrested. The most infamous case is of Vladimir Herzog who was found in his cell after "self deleting" with his tie. The photo of his body was sent to the news by the army, but it was questioned by the public, bc he used his tie, but his his legs could touch the floor, so not the most efficient way. I do not recommend looking for his name online unless you want to see the fake self deleting photo, there's no blood or gore, but it is a dead body.

You could be arrest for subversive behavior, basically anything that the government deemed to be against it. A lot of students and teachers were arrested, journalists, actual revolutionaries and people that they would call "communists" even if a lot of them weren't communists.

The Censorship

A lot of art was censored during the dictatorship. Some musicians, such as Chico Buarque , found ways to still criticize the government in their songs but in a more subtle way that wouldn't get them caught. But even then Chico Buarque had to flee the country at some point. (Construção, Cálice and A Banda are very good songs that he wrote during the dictatorship and that are seen a symbol of resistance, really recommend them)

Carlos Marighella

Carlos Marighella was at one point considered enemy number one by the government and was classified as a terrorist. He participated in the armed fight against the dictatorship and founded the Ação Libertadora Nacional (National Liberation Action)

Before the coup he was already part of the Communist Party and an atheist, getting arrested even before the coup bc of an offensive poem he wrote about the administration of Bahia.

The ALN was involved in the kidnapping of an American ambassador in 69, along side the MR-8, another revolutionary movement.

Later that year Marighella was killed in the back of a car after being shot multiple times by the police. The photo of his body would be sent to papers, and through that way his son, fifteen at the time, discovered about his father’s death.

His death would get the urban guerrilla slowed down, but the rural guerrillas still happen and it got more support.

In 1996 the Ministry of Justice would recognize Marighella’s death as the estate’s responsibility. In 2007 it was decided that his wife, Clara Charf was to have a lifetime pension from the government (she is still alive at 99 years old). And, in 2012, after investigations, the Ministry of Justice declared his amnesty post mortem.

(Again, be careful when searching about him, the pictures of his body are not hard to find, and it’s a very bloody image. He was shot multiple times)

The end

The dictatorship ended in 1985. At that point the military was having difficulties keeping itself in power, since the direct elections for governor in 1982 had already elected 10 governors that were in opposition to the dictatorship.

Along side that, during 1983 and 1984 there was a civil movement called “Diretas Já” that wanted the direct elections for the president back, since those stopped happening after the dictatorship took place. That movement was taken down, but even then in the indirect elections of 1985 the non-military candidate, Tancredo Neves, won the election, officially ending the dictatorship.

The end of the dictatorship had already been expected by the military. So in 1979 the president João Batista Figueiredo signed the amnesty for anyone who had committed political crimes, including the torturers. Dilma Rousseff, the first woman to be president of Brazil, elected in 2012, was one of the many people to be tortured by the military and one of the few that survived it. And the current president, Luís Inácio "Lula" da Silva, was part of the syndicalist movement during the dictatorship (not saying I like them, but they are very important figures today and I think it puts into perspective that this events weren't that long ago)

About 400 people were confirmed dead after the end of the dictatorship, but more than 20,000 were missing. It's very hard to find the information about the missing people, since even if files were made about them they are either hidden somewhere or they have been destroyed. To this day new information about this period is being discovered.

In 1988 the new constitution had been written and put into place. It still is the constitution that is being used to this day and is called the citizen constitution, since it was made for the new democratic government. It also made the presidential elections direct again.

WTF AM I DOING??? (AKA: the actual One Piece part)

(honestly there's still a lot of history during this part, I'm terrible at this)

The Marighella question

I just needed to work someone based on Marighella into this, he is such an important figure in all of this. I had two main ideas, either Gol D. Roger and Monkey D. Dragon could fulfill this role of a number one enemy but bc the main character is obviously Luffy i kinda want to make it Dragon.

I think I have some ideas abt their father-son relationship, or lack of it, that would make it interesting.

What I'm writing here is basically a pre-story and the very beginning of it, bc of it some characters are going to be left out (also I haven't watched all of one piece)

Monkey D. Garp

Born in 1904 in the city of Rio de Janeiro

Joined the military in 1922 at 18

Had Dragon in 1929 at 25

Fought in WWII as part of the cobras fumantes (smoking snakes)

Had a difficult time being there for Dragon when he was growing up since he at the time was to rising up the ranks

Tried to get Dragon to join the military

In 1951 when the Getúlio Vargas got into power again Dragon had been affiliated to the communist party for 5 years and Garp stated to hide their connection so that he wouldn't have to report his son.

Luffy is born in 1952 and Dragon takes care of him until 1955. Garp tries to take care of him for a few months, but bc he's a this point a Brigadier General he doesn't have the time to take care of a kid, so Luffy is sent to live with Dadan in Salvador.

When the coup happens Garp burns every file that has Dragon's full name

When Dragon is expelled from the communist party, in 1967, Garp thinks that he's going to calm down and stop, but a few months later more violent revolutionary actions start happening and Garp just knows that it is his son

Garp tries to disturb the investigations that are slowly getting closer to Dragon, but when the U.S starts putting more and more funds into finding and killing Dragon he is forced to stop or he'll be under suspicion of treason

When Dragon dies in 1969 Garp goes to Salvador to tell Luffy face to face abt his father's death

He again tries to get Luffy to join the military, trying to get his grandson to be safe, maybe that way he can resign

Luffy refuses and Garp knows that if he resigns he won't be able to protect Luffy, so he doesn't resign

When his colleagues start talking about this new traveling artists that are making subversive plays in the more rural areas Garp promises himself that no one will kill his grandson

Monkey D. Dragon

Born in 1929 in Salvador, Bahia

He remembers the fear that he felt every time a soldier came bearing news of his father's situation. Would this be the time they tell him he died while fighting the nazis?

The first time he learned about communism was by chance. Some activists had ran scared after the police arrived and left behind some copies of the communist manifesto. He was 14 and that was the first book he read through that wasn't for school

When WWII ended in 1945 Dragon was relieved to have his father back, but that didn't last long. Soon Garp was back to work

They moved to Rio de Janeiro after Garp came back

Since Rio was, at the time, the capital and Gétulio Vargas had just been deposed it wasn't particularly difficult for Dragon to start going to communist meetings

In 1946, when Dragon is 17, he officially joins de communist party

After he graduated high school in the end of that same year he officially moves out and start living in a college commune

He goes to the Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ - Federal University of Rio de Janeiro) to get a sociology degree

He graduates in 1950

When Vargas becomes a President again in 1951 Dragon is arrested for subversion for the first time

He's in prison for a few months

When he sees Garp after that they both know that no one can know about their connection. Vargas is in power again and an active member of the communist party that is also the son of an important figure from the military has the biggest target in his back

They wouldn't see each other for years. Both still living in Rio de Janeiro, but no attempts at contact would be made

In 1952 Luffy is born, Dragon is his sole caretake

For his son he tries to lay low, he knows what is like to have an absent father, he doesn't want his son to have the same. He does more office work, publishing unsigned papers in various communist papers and that works

For 3 years that works, but then he's arrested in a violent way. He is shot in the stomach and 2 cops press him to side of the car while putting handcuff on him

Luffy sees everything

When he gets his one call he calls one of his friends and asks them to take Luffy to Garp's house in as many codes as he can use, trying to make sure that the cops didn't know he had a son.

This time his arrest lasts 2 years, he thinks that it would've lasted more if Vargas hadn't ended his own government by killing himself

He goes to visit Garp, to visit Luffy

But Luffy isn't there and Garp won't tell him where Luffy is

He's angry, furious, but at the same time he knows that Luffy is going to be safer away from him

He never sees Luffy again

Juscelino Kubitschek (JK) is elected President in 1955 and the construction of Brasília, the new capital, starts

Things calm down for a few years between JK's government, Jânio Quadros resignation from office and than João Goulart

But the coup happens

Everyone in the party knows that if things had been hard when Vargas was president they are about to get worse now

The younger members of the party, the ones that hadn't been there when Vargas was president, either get even more radicalized or leave the party

Dragon feels like they aren't doing enough, people are getting tortured and killed and they are writing articles that are never going to be published

He's expelled from the party, his colleagues see him as being way to violent, but he takes some people with them and makes his own revolutionary group

They finally get some world out there, but the military makes sure that none of it gets to the papers, censoring everything

The military gets more vicious in their search for Dragon, so Dragon gets more violent

Civillians are never to be killed, even if they are sometimes caught in the crossfire

They throw a grenade in an U.S building and things get harder, now the U.S wants Dragon's head too

He knows that he's going to die, that the police has found his colleagues, his friends. He knows that he is one of the few left and, maybe, if he dies first, the ones that are still alive can get away, maybe live normal lives

He writes letter and records messages in tapes, most os them are for Luffy

When he gets shot the first time he knows that this it, that he's going to die there in the backseat of a car

Quickly the other shots follow

Monkey D. Luffy

Born in 1952 in the city of Rio de Janeiro

His gramps sent him to live in Salvador when he was very young

For some reason he doesn't have many memories from before he went to live with Dadan... but he remembers someone being shot

He's 5 when he meets his brothers. He loves them

School is boring

Gramps wants him to join the army when he grows up

One day, when Luffy is 7 a band of traveling artists appear in town, the cops hate them but Luffy is immediately interested

Shanks is just so cool and so strong

Luffy wants to be like him when he grows up

They get into a fight with some low grade soldiers and Luffy tries to defend them

He fails

Shanks has to protect him and gets shot in his shoulder, he loses movement of his arm

Luffy promises himself that he would get strong enough to not let anyone he cares about get hurt

Shanks continues to tell him that it wasn't his fault, the cop should't have pointed at gun at a child

Just as sudden as they came the leave, Shanks gives Luffy his straw hat

Things go back to how they were before, except now Luffy knows he will never be part of the military

Gramps is angry when he hears that

When he's twelve his teachers start talking about how the military is now in power, they say it's a good thing "We'll finally get ride of the commies, there will be order in the country"

Luffy feels something sick in him

A month later Sabo dies

Luffy and Ace didn't go to school for a week

Ace graduated and left. He said he wanted to do something good, make their childhood dreams of changing the world into reality

Luffy wants to go with him but Ace refused

Luffy is now alone

School is still boring and now his teachers continue to praise the military in everything they do. Some of them seem scared of the military though

He's 15 when he hears whispers of this “commie bastard” that is been causing havoc in Rio de Janeiro

He's 16 when the papers now have the face and name of the commie bastard, a guy with a face tattoo, " THE TERRORIST DRAGON"

He's 17 when his gramps shows up in town, with a paper in hands that declared that Dragon was dead

"Your dad Luffy, he died"

Gramps begs him to join the military, to keep himself safe

Luffy can't agree to that, not after having see the military hurt so many people and stop them from being free

All Luffy wants is to be free

That is the first time he sees his Gramps cry

His gramps said that his dad left him tapes and letters

Luffy hears and reads all of them that night

When Dadan and gramps go to wake him up next day they find an empty bed

Okay, this post is already way to long and characters like Ace and Sabo are more interesting if I talk abt them at a later point

Honestly I really recommend taking pieces of the history of your country and characters you love and smash them. It doesn't need to be something so traumatic as my choice was, you can just use something that you think is interesting.

My choice was the dictatorship bc I think One Piece deals a lot with themes like these with the marines that it was the most obvious choice. Also communist Dragon, honestly that was a big part of it too

Less important, but like, I really do need to change the names of the IRL presidents and stuff like that. bc even the idea of "Monkey D. Dragon" and "Getúlio Vargas" being two people alive at the same time is weird

I don't know if this post will get attention, but I do plan on writing more of whatever this is

Also, this shit wasn't beta'd I just needed to get this out there as soon as possible

[misdeliria]

The Same Coin (1.4k)

Following the Racoon City incident, Leon met you in his drill squad. You gave him the cold shoulder from day 1.

"I know your history, Kennedy," you sneer, leaning back on your hip. You're both still in your gear, caked in mud and reeking of sweat, but Leon can't get through his drills when you're not communicating with him.

It took less than a week for him to call you on your pettiness.

"You got real lucky once, and they considered you qualified. Some fucking bullshit." Taking long strides towards him, you shove your helmet into his chest. "You're gonna get yourself, and the rest of my team killed."

You must've felt bad after you shoved past and left him holding your helmet (or you were caught and reprimanded) because your communication skills notably worked for him the following day. You were stern and unforgiving in tone whenever you gave orders, but Leon performed well and kept quiet about your standoffish personality.

A few squad members tried to vouch for your character once the tension became noticeable, but Leon didn't experience any changes until his first assignment.

It all went to shit, but it had nothing to do with your team and everything to do with misinformation about the situation. The original directive was abandoned almost immediately as your squad members got picked off by the hoard of undead monsters.

Leon took a moment to respect your quick adaption and headshot precision once realization settled in through his adrenaline. You looked as familiar as he felt, and within hours of your deployment, only three of you were left. You, him, and Sergeant Hendy.

"Fuck!" You spit angrily, covering your flank as the sergeant was briefly overwhelmed. "Pick it up, Sarge!"

Leon felt the urge to grab the soldier's collar and drag his ass back, but you bark 'Negative, Kennedy." You even go as far as dropping your gun to run for it with Leon in tow – effectively using the sergeant's death to your advantage.

"We could've saved him," he murmured bitterly once the danger was gone and you were waiting for exfil. You had been silent since abandoning Sergeant Hendy, communicating only when necessary and relaying information from the radio.

"He was compromised," you respond, void of emotion and attachment. "It was him or us."

"He wasn't bit-" Leon started to snap back, but you silenced him with a look. An expression mixed with anguish and fear that you tried to cover up with a steely gaze, and Leon could see right through it.

"You can blame me all you want, but I made a call." You turned your head away from him, and he couldn't see your face, but he could hear the lump in your throat. "And I'll have to live with it, but- It could've gone a lot worse if we did anything different."

He earns time off after that mission, accepting a luxurious apartment stationed in D.C. for the time being until his skills are required again.

It's nearing midnight when Leon gets a phone call from an unknown number. He's cautious when he answers. Who would be calling him this late?

"Kennedy. Want to grab a drink?" Leon almost drops his phone when your voice echoes in the receiver.

"You realize how late it is?" He runs his free hand over his face as he glances at the digital clock at his bedside. He could hear your environment in the background and deduced you were already a few drinks in, stretching his legs over the edge of the bed until his feet met cold hardwood.

"Did I wake you up?" You didn't sound apologetic or even curious, like you knew the answer. Leon kept quiet, hoping to move past the question as he threw on jeans and a clean shirt, but he heard you hum in drunken amusement. "Thought so. At a bar on West Marshall. I'll let you know when you get here."

You don't, but it's a pretty dead area, and there's only one bar at the end of the street. It doesn't take Leon much effort to locate you by yourself in the corner, fiddling with a shot glass and a half-empty bottle of rum.

"Kennedy, let me pour you a shot." You're quick to serve a hefty amount, but Leon carefully declines.

"I'll take a whiskey," he tells the bartender while sliding into the seat next to you. He's tempted to stop you when you shrug and toss back the shot like water, but your actions are smooth, and you don't look very drunk. "What's the occasion?" Because there has to be a reason you're getting shitfaced by yourself and randomly calling him up, but Leon's smart enough to keep that insight to himself.

"We're celebrating," you drawl, voice cracking as you shake while pouring your next shot. Leon notes how unfocused your eyes are and the beads of sweat forming along your hairline. "As of today, I am officially a Federal Agent."

You roughly knock your shot against his glass before downing it without flinching. Leon takes his sip, but his eyes never leave your face. He can't read anything.

"This is all I've wanted for ten years." Your voice is wavering, and your eyes are suddenly glossy. A scoff makes your shoulders bounce, and you're a little too loose when you fall forward, but you catch yourself. "All it took was my whole fucking squad."

You tilt the bottle back and take large swigs of rum, and Leon decides to stop you there. His arm reaches out to take your wrist, but your other hand smacks him away.

"I could be blacked out and still kick your ass, Kennedy." You end your statement with a hiccup, followed by giddy-drunk laughter, and Leon chuckles gently at your mood swing.

You're drunk, he confirms to himself, watching you pat your pockets until you locate a worn-out box of cigarettes. You pluck one out before hesitating, warily glancing at Leon. You hold the box out to him in a silent question.

Leon shakes his head.

"Not for me."

"Good for you," he hears you murmur against the stick between your lips. Leon's not sure if you meant for him to hear, but he'll take your verbal hazing over the awkward silence. "Where is my- Fuck, there it is." You pull a lighter out next, and Leon imagines you smoke a lot off-duty.

You take a long drag, looking over the table before dragging an ashtray closer by your fingers.

"I owe you an apology," you say after an apparent moment of hesitation. You tap your cigarette against the tray, interested in watching the ash crumble away. "I've been an asshole."

Leon fails to stifle his laugh, earning a sour side-eye from you. "An understatement."

"I just- I hated you. I worked my ass off my whole career to even be considered for a task force. And the second I get it, they assign a rookie cop with almost no field experience to me."

"Yeah, I wasn't too thrilled about it myself," Leon agrees, taking a swig for solidarity.

"I thought I was getting set up to fail when they assigned you to me," you tell him, suddenly serious. "But I don't think I would've made it out alive if you weren't there. So, thank you. And I'm sorry."

You turn in your chair and hold your hand out to him, and Leon wonders if you're aware of your actions now. He smiles when he takes your hand, and you shake it for good measure.

A spark of interest flickers over your face before you pull away and hold your bottle to him to toast with.

Leon laughs as he satisfies you, bumping the bottom of his glass against yours and taking another sip. He eyes you the whole time, gulping down the last of the bottle with a pained sigh once it's finished.

"There, you drank on it," you point out, and Leon looks at you curiously. "We're settled. Shook on it, then drank."

"That's a thing?" Leon frowns as you bob your head up and down. "No, it's not."

"No, it is," you insist, gently drumming your hands against the counter. "It settles disputes better than knocking the other person's teeth in."

"Oh, really? Who the hell told you that?"

"My grandma."

Leon nodded, grateful he decided to take you up on your offer for a drink. "She sounds like a smart woman."

"Yeah," you hum with a dopey smile, reaching for your pockets and signaling the bartender to pay. "She would have liked to meet you."

[jester089]

I have a request for the tdac characters to fall in love with child reader(platonically) and basically be attached to them like their younger sibling figure, and now imagine the reader starts to slowly get insane in some way and abstracts, and they just watch in horror as they see their practically younger sibling abstract and taken away to the black hole(I forgot what its called), and they get out of character, I need some angst and out of character mfs

So young

Now I have done multiple things on this type of idea so it's probs gonna be really similar to some of my past works. I'll still do my best though. For future reference in requesting please specify if you want a oneshot or headcannons. I did a little of both for this one but it was tiring, so please specify.

TADC Crew x Child Reader Who Abstracts

You were by far the youngest in the Digital Circus. Out of everyone you actually enjoyed it there, it was colorful, safe, had plenty of things to do. And had people who actually cared about you. It was a place of respite for you after you're awful family. Well awful isn't the right word they weren't abusive or anything. Just neglectful. Caine was a lot like a weird uncle to you. Always had some kind of gift for you when he saw you and despite what he says you know he cares about you. You were just about the only person who genuinely enjoyed his little adventures and jokes so he ended up getting kind of attached to you. As much as an AI could at least.

Gangle more often then not wasn't around you. She didn't avoid you or anything but she didn't go out of her way to be around you. One time when her mask broke and you saw her crying you went to Caine to ask if she was ok. He explained as best he could to you that she isn't really sad, just her mask broke. So you asked Caine to help you fix it. A few hours later you're at Gangle's door with a fixed mask in a present box. Once she saw that you of all people, the youngest one here went out of your way to help her she started to warm up to you.

Zooble most definitely didn't enjoy being around you Lies. She always acted like you annoyed her and she wanted to be anywhere else. But the few times you two have been alone she's surprisingly nice. She taught you how to make a paper hat one time then for the next few weeks you were never seen without one on.

Kinger took on a much more loving approach with you. He saw you as young and in danger and with no one to guide you. And if you were just left alone Jax would probably swoop in like a vulture and corrupt you. So he half took you in and did his best to raise you and teach you. It was hard as their isn't anything for learning in the circus but he did his best. It annoys him to no end when he hears a censored word come from you only to learn that Zooble's been teaching you swears behind his back.

Ragatha did her best with Kinger to raise you so you had some kind of future ahead of yourself. Despite the fact that they no one ages they still want you to be prepared. She took on a very "over protective older sister" kind of way with you. You're young, weak, and gullible so she's constantly worrying about you. Enough for her to set up a bed for you in her room. Plus side is she'll read you bedtime stories.

Jax's sole goal since he found out Kinger and Ragatha were teaching you and keeping you away from him is to taint you. Whenever you're left alone he kind of just appears and offers you something fun to do with him so you'll follow him. He has fed so many lies to your malleable young brain. Like "Hey kid. Did'ja know that Ragatha loves centipedes? I actually caught one earlier today. Why don'cha give it to er?" so naturally you did. You got grounded for that. Pomni is the one you feel closest too. You're innocent and kind nature help her keep calm(er). And her being around your height makes you feel more comfortable around her so you're always seen dragging her around to do something silly. You help her look for the exit, kind of. Your different way of seeing the world has helped her find many things out though. Did you know that their's a secret building at the bottom of the the digital lake? She only found it cause you mentioned said something about Atlantis while swimming then proceeded to dive under the water scaring her.

All of them started to get worried when your usual energetic and optimistic self started to act tired, all the time. Even someone as at your age who seems to be the perfect fit isn't immune to the problems the circus has it seems. When you started to get depressed it freaked Ragatha out causing her to be more strict with you because she didn't want to see you hurt. That only made it worse though. None of them take you abstracting well. Even Jax, despite being a jerk he ended up getting kind of attached to you. Cause no matter how mean he was you were always nice to him. "Wonder if their still causing chaos in the afterlife..." Caine being the ring master was always trying to cheer everyone up and get their mind off you but it never really worked. It slightly affected him too, not because he was attached to you. But because you were so young... "Couldn't even keep a kid alive..." Ragatha after losing you would either lock herself in her room staring at your old bed trying to decide on if she should or shouldn't take it down. It the only thing she has left to remember you by. You had your whole life ahead of you. But she ended up not being able to help. Just like with all those others... "Is it even worth the effort at this point. Am I even helping..." Kinger had already lost Queenie his S/O... Now you, the one he was actually starting to see as his kid. That is what pushed him over the deep end. You two his family, both abstracted. At least he'll get too see you two again... "I'll be there soon love, just have to grab Y/N's books..."

(Idk if this is good or at all what you wanted. But I tried. Hope you enjoyed it. Also if you all could please check my request rules before requesting. It would make my life much easier. Thanks. Also I kinda wanna re-write this without the abstraction part.)

xoxo, Jester

[syrupgirl]

Sully men and the language they love in

+incl Neteyam, Lo’ak and Jake <3

NETEYAM

Quality time & acts of service

๑༄ ‧₊˚ This guy just wants to be helpful and be able to be with you whenever he has spare the time. I think being so close to his siblings made him love spending quality time with people he loves so that definitely translates into his relationship with you

⤷“Neteyam, where are you going?” Neytiri questioned, placing down the basket she attempted to weave.

“yn is going to help me with my free diving, maybe even teach me how to hunt.” He sounded giddy and was clearly ready to go. His mother smiled and looked down at her lap.

“Alright, do not get into any trouble.” Neteyam nodded frantically and without another second he took off towards the shore.

-

“Surely it cannot be that different than what Tsireya has been teaching us.”

The two of you bobbed up and down in the water, letting the waves gently jostle you while you taught Neteyam.

“You are right, not too different. But hunting under the water asks you to be able to move your breath around your body in a different way that just free diving.” You explained.

The distance between you closed and you placed a hand on Neteyam’s chest.

“Imagine the breath you take flowing all throughout your body.” His chest slowly expanded and deflated under your palm. “Like…Rain trickling from leaf to leaf, like wind weaving itself through the trees.”

Neteyam’s snorted and you whined, “Come one, you almost had it!”

He continued to laugh and brought a hand up to his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It’s just…The way you explained it. I could tell you were really trying to explain it in a way that you thought I would get.”

Heat crept up to your face and you looked away, a little embarrassed.

“I thought it might help you..,”

Neteyam’s laughing died down and he took your hand in his under the water, feeling a little bad.

“It did, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I think it is adorable you are trying to…customise your teachings for me.” He brought your hand up to his chest again and took a deep breath.

“Now, tell me what to do again.”

LO’AK

Gift giving & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ I don’t know about you, but I can totally imagine Lo’ak bringing you things he finds pretty or things he thinks you will find pretty. It might just be me over exaggerating that lone wolf, not-like-other-guys quality about him but in my head, he’s quirky like that

⤷”Lo’ak? Lo’ak!” You called. He was just next to you…Where could he have wondered off to? Leaping over a small creek, you continued to scan the foliage around you maybe to catch a glimpse of him.

The ground was moist beneath you noticed as you sat down, opting to wait for Lo’ak to turn up again like he always did. Your eyes drifted shut and you let yourself away with the gently breeze that combed and wove itself through the tall trees and colourful bushes. So caught up in the environment around you, you didn’t notice the sneaking footsteps behind you.

Lo’ak crept up behind you, a colourful flower in between his fingers. While sneaking through the thicket, he had noticed it and was immediately entranced by it’s delicate petals and long stamen. After sayings a quick prayer to Eywa in exchange for this beautiful gift, he plucked it and made his way back to you.

Now right behind you, he gently picked up the long braid that protected your tsaheylu and wove the stem through the intricately woven hair. You gasped and turned around suddenly, your hair slapping Lo’ak right across the face and he sputtered.

“Oh, Lo’ak! You scared me!” You gasped and punched him pathetically in the arm. He laughed and came to sit next to you.

“There was a flower, a pretty one. I thought you might like it.” He gently picked up the large plait and showed where he had woven the flower through. A smile settled across your lips.

“Thank you, Lo’ak, it’s beautiful.”

Lo’ak said nothing just smiled bashfully and shuffled a bit closer to you, threading his fingers through yours.

JAKE

Words of affirmation & physical touch

๑༄ ‧₊˚ Over the years, the world has worn on Jake. He’s a father and he will stop at nothing to protect his family. He worries, worries, worries CONSTANTLY, so the days where he can let the weight slip from his shoulders and just gather you in his embrace and shower you in gooey loving words feel all the more sweet to him.

⤷“Whose kids are those?” Jake sighed as he fell down next to you. “Not mine, that’s for sure. I was never that hyper as a kid.”

A laugh bubbles up from your stomach as you adjusted Tuk on your chest.

“Are you sure? Maybe they don’t mirror your childhood, but they do remind me of when you first arrived here. All clumsy and eager in your new body.” He laughed at that and wrapped his arm around you.

The sound of the boys in the river playing not far away washes over the two of you both. After a while, you remove Tuktirey from your breast and up to your shoulder to clear her airway of bubbles.

Jake’s eyes lingered on you and his youngest and smiled. He brought a hand up to gently pat her back and Tuk responded with a gurgle. He took her from your arms and lay the baby across his chest, then pulled you closer by the arm around your shoulders.

You nestled yourself into his side and lifted a finger up to stroke your baby’s cheek. She cooed and you both smiled.

“I don’t say it enough but,” you turned your head up to look at your mate, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For them-” he looked to the direction of his other children who were still occupied in the stream “-for her-” now looking at Tuk “-Everything. I don’t know where I would be today without you.”

No words were needed after that. As a tear rolled down your cheek, you closed your eyes and rest.

[suraemoon]

It Couldn’t Be Better

Elvis x Reader - snippets of Elvis’ first Christmas with your family

Warnings: None really, just fluff and flirting

WC: 3.8k (was supposed to a blurb idk what happened)

A/N: Look, I’m aware that this isn’t good and is all over the place. I’d spend a few more days on it if I could but today is Christmas (yay!) and it would make no sense to post it any other day. I put in my masterlist that this would hopefully be out by the 25th and here it is. It’s based on the prompts “It could be worse” and something along the lines of “a character’s parent makes them tacky christmas sweaters” Merry Christmas y’all!!!!! I LOVE YOU.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It could be worse.” Your voice radiates fake optimism as your manicured nails pick a piece of lint from the homemade, bright red knitted sweater on your upper half.

You look up from your quick maintenance to be met with Elvis’ scrunched nose and concentrated eyes as his hand pulls on his sweater's borderline turtleneck collar, a bright “Christmas tree” green to complement yours festively.

The sweaters were beautifully knit with white stripes going back in forth in turn with the chosen festive color. Glued on the knit were an array of tinseled pompoms and ironed on were different designs of patches. Smiles, hearts, stars, animals, santa’s, snowflakes, etc; they all looked like they’d be better suited on a girl’s poodle skirt. “Eh..I guess.”

Your mama had sent you two up to your bedroom to get ready in time for Christmas dinner with your whole extended family.

From her spot next to the stove in the kitchen, one that seemed permanent for her during the holiday season, Mama was cooking up her signature feast and the scent of food filled the air teasingly. The smell enveloped everyone and only built up anticipation for later in the day.

Earlier in the day, when the cold wind flowed in anticipation and the white snowflakes made themselves home, you and your boyfriend had been tasked with cleaning the whole house from top to bottom.

One of the most famous men in the country having his first Christmas at your house? Mama was quick to put a broom in his hand for she had the elder generational quality to not spend her time focusing on pop culture and society but instead what needed to be done in order to keep her home running smoothly, especially during the holidays.

“You need to wash my windows, clean my counters, sweep and mop the floors…”

You couldn’t stop a huff from leaving your lips at the housekeeping task for this was the first year that you desired to be in the kitchen, observant to her methods and helping when you can.

Your mother was easily the best cook you knew, she knew the kitchen like the back of her hand, and with your growing relationship with Elvis starting to become more and more serious, you started thinking about your own cooking skills…well the lack of.

One day you will be handed the baton of Thanksgiving and Christmas meals and there’s no harm in trying to learn the ins and outs of it now.

“You need to give the dog a bath, make sure every bedroom in the house looks neat…”

The urge to be a housewife never striked upon your young ambitious mind until you met Mr. Elvis Presley. He unknowingly had the ability to cooking, cleaning, and raising children seemed so much more desirable. A life centered around being his subservient, supportive wife seemed delicious when his hand was intertwined in yours. A few years ago, a younger and singler you would’ve called yourself crazy. Nowadays you just call yourself in love.

“You got it, ma’am.”

Elvis met this list of chores as long as Santa Claus’ list with a smile for he was a restless person always looking for something to do, always searching for an excuse to move, and you knew deep down that he missed his own mama telling him to do stuff.

Now, a few hours later, that genuine go-with-the-flow grin was replaced with the tug of his lip genuinely trying its best to exude politeness as his hand tugged on the collar of his christmas sweater again, the top of his pale collarbone teasing you in the process.

The sun was now lower in the sky but the clouds did not tire from dropping snowflakes anywhere they could. The warm light of your lamp illuminated your freshly tidied room.

It fit the comfort of the holiday spirit better than the sunshine of the early day where brightness flowed through every window as you cleaned them with a rag, the circular motion of your hand mirrored the making of a snowball. Now the view out of the window was a grayish storm of flurries, weather in which a warm sweater would come in handy.

To make light of an awkward situation, you decide to embrace it and do a quick spin in front of him, showing off your full festive outfit. The cranberry red of your oversized sweater is paired with a black leather mini skirt and black leather boots to match.

It’s an outfit that you wouldn’t usually ever wear for a family event like this. But your boyfriend's overwhelming presence: fingers that you knew would always intertwine with yours as if meant to be, an arm that would never fail to wrap around your waist, feet that would always gravitate towards being around you, it all filled you with an indescribable sense of confidence.

The pure sex appeal Elvis exuded 24/7, seemingly effortless as if the attraction comes with his nature, always inclined you to put your all into matching it’s magnetic energy. The spin stops and your feet go to tippy toes to reach up and kiss his sugar plum lips. “What do ya think?”

Elvis wets his lips as if your lipstick had a flavor and his eyes look you over your figure fully as he takes your hand to give you a quick little twirl. Instead of a full 360 it was more of two 180’s since he stopped a second to take a quick look at your back side.

A low whistle was the background music to the rest of your orbit and his cheeky little smile seemed to glow when in the presence of your maroon red lipstick. “I think I gotta see what’s under it. Gonna let me do a little inspection? Wanna make sure everything’s sitting right…working the way it’s sposed ta.”

“Elvis! It’s Christmas…gotta be family friendly.”

He chuckles as a response comes too quickly to brain, “I wanna get real friendly with you, honey.”

You hit his shoulder playfully, “Stop that.”

“Hey! It’s Christmas, honey. Thought we had to be family friendly and that hitting ain’t very holly jolly of ya. I’m surprised Santa didn’t give ya coal this year.”

“Oh please. I don’t think Santa would mind me putting ya in line for naughty thoughts.”

“I don’t think Santa would mind me bending ya over my knee for a smart mouth but…” He shrugs, putting his sleeves in his pants pockets.

You stick out your tongue at him and he laughs his beautiful laugh. Gliding as if on ice back to the mirror of your vanity, you apply some more blush to your cheeks. Getting a little too warm and secretly having the cheeky desire to show more skin, you subconsciously fold the ribbed collar of your sweater down a little bit.

When met with the black and purple of a hickey on the side of your neck, immediately the collar is put back in its original place, the fabric willing to revert back to how it was supposed to be worn and mocking you in the process as if saying “told you so”.

A whisper escapes your lip, “Jesus…”

Elvis perks up from the seat he has taken on your bed in response, for he loves an opportunity to talk to (and tease) his favorite girl, “Lord’s name in vain on his birthday?”

Your eyes, framed by black liner and an eyeshadowed lid, meet his through the mirror of the vanity, “Elvis what’d ya do to my neck? It ain’t ever been this much before.”

“Hmm…” His arms are at his sides, stabilizing himself against the plush of the comforter, and he looks simply adorable with his false pout as if thinking of a smart remark to respond with.

“Hm indeed.”

He chuckles, “Today about love ain’t it? You don’t wanna put ya collar down and show everyone how much I love ya?”

“Elvis…”

As if automatic, your eyes roll playfully and he decides to continue, “Not gonna show off that pretty little neck, huh? You always look pretty but you look even prettier when you’re all marked up…all claimed.”

“You’re too much.” You shake your head, trying to cool off the influx of red that has awoken on your cheeks.

“People wanna know which one’s E.P.’s girl? Oh, they’ll know. She got the love marks to prove it. She’s the only girl I wanna love on.”

Your soft hands go up to cover your face but they make sure to keep a safe distance in order to not mess up the canvas of progress you have made at the vanity. “Shoo…you’re too distracting. I gotta finish my makeup.”

“So…?”

“So…they’re staying covered.”

A few minutes later, he speaks again from a spot on your bed as you apply the finishing touches of your makeup. “No offense to your mama, honey, but…I don't think homemade holiday sweaters are really in trend. Not these ones at least.”

His slight frown gives way to a bright laugh, a sound prettier than the jingle bells adorning the sleeves of his sweeter.

“Everyone’s gonna be wearing one so we’re all gonna be weird together.”

“Mm.”

“Last year was polka dots…polka dots. So count yourself lucky you weren’t around for that.”

Your mother’s homemade knitted wool Christmas sweaters have been a longstanding tradition in your family since….forever. When asked, it was your great-great grandmother that started it years ago. Or was it your great-great-great grandma? No one would be surprised if the family’s Christmas sweater fascination started way back in the simple days of the cavemen when your neanderthal ancestors were in need of warmth and for some odd reason in addition to fire and sharpened sticks, they had the supplies to create tacky garments of clothing.

You and Elvis started dating in January, so this year was full of firsts with this cold December wrapping it up lovingly in a snug little bow.

When dinner was served at Elvis’ first Thanksgiving with your family, the unusual but warmly content silence around the large, wooden dinner table was interrupted abruptly by your mother’s sudden thought. A soft gasp called for hungry heads to look up from their plates.

You would think there was a lightbulb above her head or that an epiphany to solve world hunger was in her thoughts. Your mama looked at Elvis with a gleeful smile, “I’ve gotta ‘nother Christmas sweater to make this year!” You remember the way Elvis’ smile was apprehension coating in politeness, wondering what the hell she was talking about. Your mama made clothes? How has that never come up?

His blue eyes widened for a full second about two weeks later when he was sat quickly by your mother on the couch with a gift box practically shoved in his hands. “Sit, sit ,sit!” Your mama said as if a little kid again.

The same eagerness did not translate to when you sat down, as by now you knew the routine by heart. You got practically the same gift two weeks before Christmas every single year. Just different designs, patterns, and decor but in its essence the same gift filled with the same love. This was always around the time when mama gave everyone there sweaters either in person or by mail.

Now that you think about it…this giftbox looks suspiciously similar to the same one you opened last year. Is that why your mama made sure you were careful not to break it?

The ornaments on the tree, a brand new one from last year right next to one you crafted out of popsicle sticks and cardboard in kindergarten. The nostalgia and newness blended seamlessly on the forest green branches.

The opening of boxes takes attention away from the tree, a happy presence willing to blend into the background the best it can. Your perfectly wrapped and ribboned rectangle has not even been touched but you watch intently as Elvis tries to carefully peel the tape off the side of the box. Your mother wouldn’t have minded if he tore it to shreds. She would’ve told you off if you had dared, but with Elvis it would’ve been alright.

“Y-you really didn’t hafta get me anything, ma’am. It’s real kind of you.”

Your mother replies matter of factly, “Are you kidding? It’s Christmas! Of course I had to give my son-in-law something.” You and Elvis weren’t married. Not yet. But the law of the heart doesn’t care about physical papers. In the minds of your welcoming family, new people were accepted with open arms and once their hearts got on Elvis they never want him to go.

Elvis brings his attention to you for the first time in a while, lifting your chin up gently with his hands as he admires your face. “You already blessed me with your beautiful daughter. She’s better than any gift, no doubt.” A shade of pink flushes over your face as Elvis gives you a quick, soft kiss.

“Awww. My two little turtle doves. Well, I’m allowed to give ya more than one gift so go ‘head.”

When the top of the box is lifted off, a tiny sweet sounding gasp escapes Elvis’ lips as his eyes fall on the christmas sweater. “O-oh…wow, ma’am. It’s, it’s really somethin’.”

Mama watches intently, “Do ya like it?”

He could pass for a deer in headlights. “More than like it. I can’t wait to wear it for um..Christmas.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the false enthusiasm and at this noise mom’s attention turns straight to you and the box on your lap, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms, “Are you too cool in front of your boyfriend to open yours?”

Shaking your head, the faint sound of Christmas radio sings in your ears as you open your first gift of Christmas. It’s red to go with Elvis’ green. Youthful to contrast with a growing daughter, homey and nostalgic to compete with a fast, changing lifestyle.

Your smile is genuine as you reply, “Thanks mama. It’s really nice.”

All three of you share the most comfortable of silences. It wasn’t silent really, music flowed through the room and firewood crackled; the background ambience that makes any December day anymore special.

The memories of your mother and her cute interactions with your boyfriend (all of which showing she approved of him greatly) was interrupted by the voice of the man himself. All of sudden you were brought back where you were: in your room getting ready with the person you love the most on the 25th of December.

“You ready to go down, honey? I think I heard some people walk in.”

“Oh..yeah! Let’s go.” Taking his hand, you walk over to the door.

“Wait a second…” Your mind immediately goes to the lamp you left on but his mind is somewhere else completely. He leans down to kiss you, long and hard. The unexpected passion takes you back but your heels stay steady on the ground, all of your attention on kissing him back with the same fervidity. His calloused hand is on your soft cheek and your fingers flow through his black hair. You want the moment to never end but like all things in life it inevitably does.

“Now we can go.” His smirk is teasing and playful. He knows the effect he has on you. He knows by your red cheeks and wide eyes how weak he can make you.

“I-” Practically speechless you just nod and take his hand, walking shakily out of the door. He laughs at the sudden urgency, slapping your behind playfully as you walk in front of him.

When your face, your whole body for that matter, started to become less warm and all of the many happy greetings to family and friends were finished, the evening was going splendidly. Laughs and cheer filled the space and joy at being back together radiated off of everyone in the room.

This year, you started to become more aware of not only yourself but your surroundings. What would this look like to a fly on the wall? What would it look like to a man attending his first Christmas with the loved ones that you have grown up being accustomed to? The Christmas tree shined brightly, decorated with a mismatched array of ornaments that went together perfectly. Every seat had a person and the garlands that Elvis hung up on the walls looked down at everyone adoringly.

From your spot standing in the open arched doorway connecting the dining room and living room you are a true wall flower for a moment. You notice how the group of younger teenage cousins brought their friends over for dinner for the first time ever and it just so happened to be the year where Elvis Presley started to attend the gathering. Giggles and whispers came from the corners of the living room, juveniles no longer embarrassed by matching tacky sweaters.

Looking away, your knowing smirk turns into a wide, adoring smile as you turn your attention to Elvis playing with your littlest cousins on the fluffy rug.

Unlike their older counterparts, their innocent smiles are refreshing for they are oblivious to the fact that it is the Elvis Presley playing with them.

To the little ones, he’s just Mr. Elvis, a friend to play with. He’s cradling the youngest baby gently in his arms while sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor. A toddler in two pigtails and a bright pink knit sweater plays in his gelled hair as if on an oblivious mission to mess it up.

Little Jane managed to get her hand on a brush and was trying to play make-believe hair salon with your boyfriend. “Sit still, Mr. Elvis!”

“Oops.” Elvis winces as the hard brush hits him on the side of the head. “I’m trying, honey, I really am. Hard when you’re trying ta pull my hair out.”

“I’m tryna make ya look pretty! If you wanna look a mess just say it.”

“Maybe sometimes I wanna look a mess.”

She groans, “You hardly got a lotta hair anyway. It’s all shiny and too hard ta make ponies.” And just like that, with an attention span the size of her tiny legs, she abandons both Elvis and the brush to go play with a group of older kids about older elementary age.

Elvis chuckles lightly and focuses on the small baby still in his lap, trying to grab at him with chubby hands. His plush lashes flutter gently as he looks down and gives the little cherub all of his pretty attention and you swear right then and there, your heart was about to escape from your chest.

“Ain’t you the cutest? You’re the cutest, ain’t ya?” The baby giggles an infectious giggle and Elvis’ smirk is just as adorable.

“I gotta get myself one of ya. A cute little baby. A littlun just like you.”

“I gotta get myself one of ya.” He’s talking to a baby, and you’re his girlfriend, the only one who can help him with that wish. Stuck in place, your legs feel weak as you lean on the wall next to you for support and your stomach can be easily compared to a snow globe filled with a flurry of snowflakes. If hearts can do somersaults, yours has many times since you’ve met Elvis.

His hand envelops one of the baby’s white socks gently. “Tiny little sooties too.”

The baby’s gummy grin gets wider as he kicks his feet, fascinated with Elvis’ hand like a new toy. Your boyfriend moves up from the itty bitty feet to tickle the tiny belly lying in front of him, then his palm relaxes, moving up and down in a soothing motion over the little one’s soft sweater. By the way Elvis’ pink lips move you can tell he has started to sing a song. It’s a quiet melody just between him and the baby he's holding. The most beautiful, adorable secrets.

When you remember that you are an actual person in the room and your legs feel less like jello, in your head you decide to walk over to the spot on the rug where Elvis is sitting but before your heels could move a second step, the ringing of a bell fills the room.

“Dinner everyone!” The voice of your mother is a saving grace to every hungry soul in the house.

Elvis stands up, holding the baby securely as if he has been a professional at holding infants his whole life. The mother, your eldest cousin, walks over shyly with a blush on her face as she carefully takes the baby from Elvis’ arms so he could go eat.

“You’ve got a really cute daughter, honey…well her mama’s cute so I know where she got it from.”

Flustered, her mouth parts a little as she adjusts the smiley baby on her hip. “O-oh. Um..thank you. Thank you very much.”

He had a way of speaking, a beautiful charm, that could make any woman he comes across blush. No matter how long the sparkly wedding ring has been on their ring finger. By the way she looked at Elvis, you wouldn’t know that the young mother has been married to her actual husband for two years. You’d think the baby in her hands was Elvis’.

Elvis smirked his “I know what I’m doing” cheeky grin and kissed the baby’s cheek before walking away.

Suddenly, You and Elvis start to walk to each other simultaneously as if all that time apart wore you out and you needed another dose, attracting like the opposite sides of the strongest magnet, the two of you meet in the middle of the room.

You’re the next to get your cheek kissed and he whispers to you, “Remember when ya said earlier that things could be worse when I was grumbling ‘bout the sweater.”

“Oh, I remember.”

He holds your hand and begins to lead you to the kitchen as he finishes his thought. “I’ll tell ya. Today couldn’t get better, honey. It really couldn’t.”

As you walk, the voices of tiny children ring out suddenly, “Mistletoe! Mistletoe!” It took Elvis tapping your shoulder and pointing up to notice that the audience was addressing you and him. Through long lashes you look up and indeed a piece of green hangs above in the archway that you and Elvis stand in. To any on-looker the image of you two could’ve been a painting. You indeed felt frozen in time.

“It’s the mistletoe! That’s your boyfriend, you gotta kiss!” The tiny voices continued their protesting.

Elvis smiles at you, “Well, I guess it could get a little better. It’s bad luck to ignore the mistletoe. Need to feel ya on me…been too long.”

“Merry Christmas, Elvis.” Just like that, you reach up and kiss him, your thumb moving back and forth on his cheek as you tilt your head to the side. He starts kissing you back immediately and an eruption of tiny cheers fills the room.

[sauron-kraut]

Summary: Ar-Pharazôn wants to find out if Maiar have a prostate.

I have no excuse for this other than that it's been too long since I posted Mairon/Ar-Pharazôn PWP.

Set in their early days - the dynamic is not yet as bitter and resentful as later on in their relationship with one another.

Pairing: Ar Pharazôn x Mairon

Words: 1064

Warnings: explicit content, pwp

As always: If you like this little piece, comments on AO3 are appreciated! 🖤

Not beta read!

[wrencatte]

mini fic 10! Fallen Order - Pre Dathomir - Cal & Greez Greez decides Cal needs to learn how to cook. Cal POV - 1.1k ao3 minific link - chapter 9 (hearing)

Awake earlier than he rightly should be considering the bantha shit he dealt with yesterday, Cal shuffles out of the engine room still drowsy, hair sticking up to really show how not ready he is for the day. BD-1 nearly trips him on his wobbly way to the caf maker, the droid pattering over to Cere to tell her about something or other. Cal’s not really listening, focused solely on the near future that has sweet hot caf in his system. He’s thwarted not even halfway there by Greez shoving his hand in front of him. Cal screeches to a halt and stares at the object in the latero’s palm.

“That’s an egg,” Cal says slowly.

Uncooked he knows because it’s speckly blue now, but the shell turns grey-ish when boiled. Why Greez is showing him an uncooked qiqirn egg, he has no idea, and he doesn’t really care because it’s not caf. Please, sweet caffeine, you are needed.

Greez rolls his eyes. “Take it, longbean. You’re helping with breakfast.”

“I am?” Cal looks longingly at the caf maker. It’s mostly filled which means it’s fresh and hot and he doesn’t have to wait. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Too bad.”

Greez lets go of the egg without as much as a by your leave, causing Cal to scramble before it gets scrambled – and he’ll have to be the one who cleans it up. He cradles it carefully, still thoroughly confused as to how he ended up in this situation. He doesn’t remember ever hinting that he wanted to learn. And he knows for a fact Greez never brought up the idea before now.

Cere sips her own caf nonchalantly, focused on her datapad and whatever research she’s deep diving into this time with BD leaning over her arm to read along. Cal narrows his eyes. She looks pretty absorbed so that focus could be real, sure. Cal almost believes it. Almost. There’s a hum in the Force, one of amusement, that gives her up too quickly. The fact he notices it means she’s not trying very hard.

Case in point – Cere’s eyes flicker up to meet his, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Cere should help too,” Cal decides. Her grin widens.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m only allowed to touch the caf maker,” she says.

“I had to replace my counter tops because of her. She is in no way allowed to help in my galley. Forget it.”

Cere raises her mug in acknowledgement.

“Maybe she should learn?” Cal tries.

Greez sighs – unnecessarily loud in Cal’s opinion. “Get over here.”

He throws one last longing glance at the caf maker before shuffling over. “I know how to cook,” he mumbles as he tries to hand the egg over. At Greez’s doubting expression he slumps, face growing warm, and clumsily cracks the egg into a little bowl. “I can boil water. That’s the first step, right?”

“Sure, yeah. And I bet it served you well in the hellhole that is Bracca, plenty of fresh water that’s not gonna destroy your sensitive human stomach, right?” Cal grimaces. “I thought so. Boiling can only get you so far. You’re gonna learn how to cook and I’m gonna teach ya.”

The eggshell, including the bits he may or may not have accidentally added to the bowl, get traded for a knife and a cutting board of greens. Cal angles the knife, at least chopping is something he can do. Greez clears his throat. He angles it another way. Greez lightly knocks his wrist to bump it to the right spot. Ah, okay, he remembers seeing him cut them this way before. Cal gets to chopping. The echo on the knife prickles pleasantly under his palm. A savory sort of happiness that he feels on a lot of Greez’s cooking equipment. He lets it guide him into cutting Thavnaririan onions and Shaaloani peppers.

He doesn’t rely on them though. If Greez wants to teach him how to cook, he’ll let Greez teach him how to cook.

Cal can’t help but wonder. Without looking, he asks, “Why do I need to learn when I have you?”

They’ve only been a crew for a few months, sure. He’s still relearning how to be a person who trusts, who is a Jedi, who may actually be worth something. But Cal can’t imagine not heaving Greez’s food waiting for him when he wakes up, when he comes back after a hard day of feeling like he’s made zero progress on their quest for the holocron. He even gets snacks and a packed meal shoved into his arms when he’s heading out.

He shouldn’t be so used to it now. Shouldn’t be looking forward to the happy echoes every time he’s in the galley.

The ones that make every meal even better because love and care and joy are etched into every plate and bowl and utensil. It’s something he’s missed. The Temple’s kitchens were overflowing with the care the cooks put into their craft, the determined happiness of Initiates learning their ways around the workspace, the joy of the people who partook in the meals so lovingly made. It was hard to get that in a war. Even harder on Bracca.

A hand rests on his forearm and Cal realizes he stopped chopping; the vegetables are a little blurry. Greez carefully takes the knife from him and sets it to the side. He doesn’t press his hands to his eyes, he at least has that brain capacity, but he tucks his face into his elbow for a second, his exhale a little shuddery.

No one says anything while Cal takes a second to compose himself, and he is so very grateful for it. Crying over cooking. Wow. Not even cooking, just chopping vegetables and remembering.

When Cal’s breaths finally settle and he drops his arm, face flushed in embarrassment, Greez silently hands him the knife again. He finishes up the peppers, focusing a little more than he needs to.

“Cooking with someone makes the food taste better,” Greez says eventually when the first omelet is sizzling. Only Cal’s will have the Shaaloani peppers, both Cere and Greez find them too spicy. Cal hums, keeps his eyes on the browning edges. He should flip it. “It’s always good to know how to cook, but really, it’s for me. Cere is hopeless and I miss having a cooking partner.”

“I’m not against it,” Cal tells him softly. He flips the omelet. It’s a little browner than it should be. Overcooked, maybe, but it’s still edible, right? Greez doesn’t say anything about it. “It’d be nice to know how to make something other than heated grainmush.”

Greez shudders. “Gods, never mention that tasteless gruel in my galley. Is that what you ate on Bracca?”

“Among other worse things.”

“I’m going to teach you so many dishes you’ll forget that one was ever an option, got it?”

Cal smiles as Cere slides a cup of caf over now that the more finicky bits of prepping are completed. “Got it.”

[mymultiverse00]

Mrs. Blum

My head is pounding. Over and over again, it’s drumming out a cadence in 4/4 time that I can feel behind my eyes, and in my ears, and all the way down to my stomach. I feel sick and hung over, but I have no idea Why I’m hungover. I don’t remember getting drunk last night. Actually, I don’t really remember anything from last night, but whatever I got up to has left me feeling sick as hell and I do not like it.

I pry my eyes open slowly and am momentarily blinded by a blazing hot sun shining in through a wall of very tall windows. Where the Hell am I? I wonder, taking a moment to try to focus on what’s going on outside, sitting up with a start when I finally start to recognize the landmarks. There’s an enormous fountain outside with dozens of people standing around it, and loud music playing in the distance. The Eiffel Tower stands across from that, looking very regal and pretty, but somehow not quite the right size. Eventually, my turtle slow brain clicks over. I’m in Las Vegas. Why the hell am I in Las Vegas? I really need some answers.

I look around the room a little and confirm that I am in a very large suite at the Bellagio Hotel, and judging by the overturned bottles and dirty glasses everywhere, I’ve been having a party. A tiny twinge between my thighs and complete lack of clothing tells me I’ve also been having sex, and likely quite a lot of it, but with who? That mystery is about to solve itself when the bathroom door suddenly flies open and a very naked and very aroused Roland Blum steps out.

“Roland! What the fuck are you doing here?” I shout, yanking sheets and blankets up over myself to hide my naked body.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Y/n!” He growls back. “Could you keep your screeching to a minimum this morning? I’m hungover as fuck and that’s not helping.”

“Sorry, you just surprised me is all, but what in the world is going on here? What are you doing in my hotel room and why the hell are we in Las Vegas?”

“Well, Mrs. Blum,” he began, swaggering over to join me on the bed. “First of all, it’s our hotel room. And second, it was your idea to come here in the first place, but I guess you chose to forget that.”

“My idea…? Wait. What did you just call me?”

“Mrs. Blum. Unless you want to keep your maiden name like some kind of bra burning feminist? We got married last night, kid.” He flashes his left hand at me, showing off a gold wedding band.

“What?!” I squeaked, scrambling to check my own ring finger and finding an enormous diamond resting there.

“Yeah. You came over to my place last night, crying about some shit that probably doesn’t matter and I offered to fuck you. You said the only way you would ever fuck me is if we got married so… there you go,” he concluded with his hands spread wide like some corny magician, giving me that self satisfied smile he always wears when he knows he’s won an argument.

“So you’re telling me, you drove us all the way to Vegas - to marry me - just so you could get some pussy?” I ask in disbelief.

“You’re damn right I did.”

“Huh.” I sit back against the headboard, taking in this new information and trying like hell to recall any of those events. “Was it any good?”

Roland gives me an offended look. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that, doll.”

“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never had sex with you before, not sober or as a married woman. I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Well then, let me tell you, wife,” he says lasciviously, slowly pulling down the sheets to expose my bare breasts to his eyes. “Married pussy is the best pussy. You wrapped your long legs around my head so goddamn tight last night, I thought I was going to pass out a couple of times! Then you did this thing to my ass…,” he shivers at the memory. “You’re a real freak, Y/n, and I gotta say, I like it!”

“And you’re ok with being married? To me?” I ask timidly.

“Fuck yes, Y/n. I’ve wanted to get inside your snatch for years! I got my trophy now, and I’m keeping it.” He leans over and kisses me roughly on the mouth. His beard tickles, but in the best way.

“So what do we do now?” I ask.

“Well, if you’re hungry, I can feed you my dick. If you’re not, I’ll eat your ass until you pass out. After that, who the fuck cares?”

I giggle. I’m beginning to come around to the idea of being married to this foul mouthed lawyer, and I’m thinking it might be helpful if I could remember having sex with my new husband, so I give in.

“Tell you what, husband. I’m going to order some room service from downstairs and then I’m going to eat it while I sit on your face.”

He growls in response, sliding in closer to me so his massive cock rubs against the side of my thigh. He starts sucking a bruise onto the side of my neck and pulling at my nipples.

“After we eat, if you’ve been a good boy, I’ll let you rail me against those big glass windows over there, for all the tourists to see.” His head pops up and he smiles widely.

“Goddamn it, Y/n. I fucking love being married to you.”

“Good. Now, I’ll sort out my breakfast, why don’t you sort out yours?”

“Yes, Mrs. Blum.”

The End

[makeshiftproject]

Blue and You

summary; you ask megumi a silly question and he takes it 'seriously'

wc; 686

“If the entire world turned blue, do you think you would be able to pick me out of the crowd?”

Megumi paused his writing to look at you, and despite your thoughts, he seemed to take your question into consideration. He always did that and you wondered how he managed to keep it up, consider your questions so genuinely when you only ever spewed insanity.

“What do you mean if the world turned blue?” He had abandoned his schoolwork to face you completely, an action that would likely receive him a lecture from his father though he didn’t seem to care much.

“Say you were like sitting in class and all of a sudden the world turned the exact same shade of blue” The answer didn’t make much sense, you hadn’t thought this out much. You suspected Megumi already knew that as you watched his eyes squint slightly in thought.

“So it would be like everything was covered in a blanket of blue?” You watched him drum his fingers along the surface of his desk as you nodded, getting slightly distracted by the quiet melody he was making with the taps of his fingers “So would everything lose all defining features?”

“Well..” You fell silent as you tried to think of the answer that would make it most difficult for him to answer “Not exactly! It would be like if everything started to wear those weird green screen suits that actors wear” You turned your head to meet his piercing gaze, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief

“How would that even make sense?”

“Well it would be like everyone was wearing a fitted blanket of blue” You watched how his eyebrows pinched together as he squinted at you, though you couldn’t quite tell if it was in confusion or annoyance “Don’t be so judgemental Megumi!”

You watched his features relax for a split second before his lips started to slightly form a smile, like he was trying not to laugh “If you can give me an explanation as to how that works, I’ll consider answering your question”

You look at him in disbelief, not entirely believing that someone so intelligent would be unable to grasp such a simple concept “C’mon! It would be like everyone lost all their colour and just became… blue!” He raised an eyebrow in your direction as he picked his pencil back up “If you for example turned blue, then I wouldn’t be able to distinctly make out your eyes, but I would be easily able to make out your nose and lips and your hair would be all slicked down”

The corners of his lips lifted slightly as if he was about to tell you a joke “So it would be like everything was wearing a VFX suit” Your jaw dropped as you soaked in his look of amusement “That’s exactly what I said!”

“Really? I recall you saying ‘weird green screen suits that actors wear’” He swiftly dodged the pillow that you hurled in his direction “They’re the same thing!!” He smiles slightly before speaking again “I think I would still remember you” You look up at him confused “If the entire world theoretically went blue I would still remember you”

“Remember?” 

“Well it would be easy to forget everything wouldn’t it? Everything would just blend into blueness”

You laughed slightly at his words “Then I think I would remember you too” You fidgeted slightly with your fingers as you looked him in the eyes.

“How so?” He asked, it was funny how much it seemed like a challenge to you.

“Like if there was a line of things and you I would be able to pick you out” You felt high on the moment, giggling for no apparent reason “It would be like blue, blue, blue, then you”

“You think so?” His pencil rolled over the top of his long forgotten work, his gaze fixed wholly on you.

“I know so” You hummed quietly, allowing silence to blanket the room, feet dangling from the edge of your chair as you listened to the quiet ticks of the clock behind you.

note; literally first time i've posted on this site ever and its a drabble I wrote at 1am... anyway enjoy! sorry if he's a bit out of character I'm literally fighting sleep. also I got the idea for this from the song blue and you by mad honey so give it a listen!